Page 9 of Submitting to the Widow

“From your journal pages.”

Stephen wanted to give her a proper dressing-down, he wanted to howl in frustration, he wanted to have her right there, again, on the over-decorated chaise in her steamy bower.

Instead, he demanded, “Can you at least give me a pen so that I can sign the damned thing?”

* * *

Murray awaitedhim in the tavern again, with a cold pint in front of him on the battered wood table. “Did you take care of the Indian chit and make sure she understands how much legal peril she’s in if she keeps the pages?”

Stephen made a dispirited clucking sound with his tongue. “She bested me again.” When he motioned to the bar maid, she brought him a pint without asking first.

“My dear old Gran had a saying for what you’re suffering from.”

Stephen merely lifted his head, not bothering to ask, because he knew Murray would tell him whether he wanted to know or not.

“Never let yer backside run away with yer head,” she’d say.

Stephen took a long draw on his pint. “Your Gran never met the baroness.”

“Sir - you have to get hold of yourself.”

“No such luck. Tried that last night. Damned if I couldn’t even pleasure myself and drive her out of my mind.”

“There has to be something we can do.”

“She made me sign a contract.”

“What? The master of London courtrooms forced into a corner?”

“I’m afraid so.” Stephen lowered his head, lost in self-incrimination.

“Well I’m not going to let her get away with this.”

Stephen leaned forward, alarm bells circling his thoughts like a horse-drawn fire wagon. “Murray—stand down.”

His valet was silent for a moment, but then started up again. “She rattles around in that old hulk of a manse with just a few servants. And that conservatory…there must be a hundred windows and doors. Surely one of them is left open, or I could…”

“Murray—.” His voice was sharp in rebuke. “I cannot even hear a suggestion of your, erm, criminal intent.”

“Yes, but sir-once we have the pages, her power over you is ended. She can’t…”

Once again, Stephen cut Murray short. “You forget one salient detail.” At the quizzical look on his valet’s face he continued. “Captain Eleanor Goodrum is involved in this matter. She expects a quid pro quo investigation from me…and you…to ferret out information on the four men on the list she gave me along with information on the whereabouts of the baroness.” At Murray’s quizzical look, he continued. “If we do not provide the information she requires,orwe do not deal fairly with Lady Trevellyn, she has the power to ruin me.”

“No. If we get the pages, then she has nothing on you, sir.” Murray leaned forward and spoke in a whisper, seated at the very edge of the tavern’s wooden bench in rigid, self-righteous anger.

Stephen gave his valet his best courtroom withering glance, complete with one raised eyebrow. “You are so gullible. Don’t you realize the woman no doubt has copies of the pages she sent out to Lady Trevellyn? And she won’t hesitate to use them against me if I don’t deliver on the commitment I’ve made.”

Murray slammed down his tankard so hard, the foamy amber liquid spilled out onto the battered wood table. “What kind of woman uses such under-handed methods?”

Stephen smiled wanly at his valet’s indignation. “Thekindof woman we’re dealing with is one-of-a-kind, Captain Eleanor Goodrum.”

5

Murray suspected he was breaking every sort of law, including the unwritten ones covering the gentleman-valet relationship. But, dammit, he had to see for himself what the hell was going on with the crazy Indian baroness.

He refused to admit there was nothing he could do to help his employer. He’d been inspired when he’d seen how the cloudy night had muffled the light of the moon so that he could see where he was going without much danger of being seen himself.

When Barrister Forsythe had described the odd design of Trevellyn House, he’d thought his employer was exaggerating. But now that he’d glided with great stealth to the rear entrance of the conservatory, his jaw dropped. The conservatory loomed like a giant ship in the night. It was as though the manor house had been an afterthought to the immense conservatory. However, he suspected from the construction that the conservatory was a recent addition to the ancient pile.