The Swordmaster's Mistress: Dangerous Deceptions Book Two(42)

He leaned back and let his mind focus on the situation. There had been no further attacks on Guinevere. Did that mean her enemy had been satisfied with the death of the Viscount, whether or not they were responsible for it, or were they biding their time to strike again? And were there two enemies, or one? He wondered about Theo Quenten, the young rake with the run of the house, easy access to a powerful drug and motive for hastening his uncle’s death.

But Theo and Guinevere seemed genuinely fond of one another in a perfectly harmless manner and there seemed no reason for him to be behind the attacks on her. Which meant that if he had poisoned Lord Northam, then –

Jared lost the thread of where this was taking him and it took a moment to realise why. Guinevere was completely lost in her book, making soft unconscious noises as she read. There was a low hum of pleasure, a little gasp, a catch of the breath, a murmur of amusement. The very tip of the index finger of her right hand was between her lips and as he watched she made a little, ‘Ooh,’ of surprise, her lips pouting around the fingertip for a second.

It was almost unbearably erotic – the sounds, the finger, those lips – and his body reacted predictably. It knew where it wanted Guinevere’s mouth, it knew what it wanted to do to provoke those breathy little sounds, and for once his will was not strong enough to control either it or his imagination.

Jared crossed his legs, picked up his notebook, laid it on his lap and was duly grateful that Faith seemed to be dozing and that Guinevere was utterly engrossed in her book. Lusting after Gui – Lady Northam – was professionally unacceptable, was turning his brain into porridge and could well blunt both his judgment and his reactions. What he needed was hard physical exercise, but for the moment all he could do was to rehearse in his mind complex moves from one of the manuals his swordmaster had made him learn by heart. The feint une-deux-trois, commonly called the double feint is but a disengagement more than at the feint une-deux…

He was halfway through the section on over-arm feints from Olivier’s Fencing Familiarised when the sound of the wheels the cobbles brought him back to the present. This must be Stilton at last, the coach was slowing.

Faith was awake, Guinevere was asleep, the book open on her knee. ‘My lady.’ The maid leaned over and shook her gently by the arm. ‘We have arrived.’

‘Thank goodness for that.’ She sat up blinking and reached for her bonnet. ‘I do apologise for being such poor company.’

‘You need your rest.’ Jared swung down from the carriage and surveyed the main street with an unexpected jolt of recognition so powerful that he held on to the door handle for a second while he got his balance. So this was where he had ended up all those years ago, hungry, exhausted and furiously, bitterly, miserable. He had been in no state to ask the name of the village where the last cart on his journey had tipped him out, but it had been here, and thank Fate for it.

Now a rapid scan showed nothing more threatening than several other vehicles changing horses or putting down passengers, a flock of geese being herded by a very small child and several women with baskets gossiping in front of what looked like a general store.

He went into the inn while one of the grooms helped the women down. That was not familiar, of course. He had bedded down in a hayloft belonging to the inn opposite, the rival Angel, and that decision had changed his life.

Now a big man with a stomach to match and the practiced smile of an experienced innkeeper came out to meet him. ‘Cooper Thornhill, at your service, sir.’ He sounded as though he expected his name to be known.

‘I require your best room for Lady Northam, with her maid, and a chamber for myself. My name is Hunt, her ladyship’s courier. And, naturally, a private sitting room for her ladyship. Dinner in an hour.’ He stripped off his gloves as he spoke, projecting the absolute assurance that his requirements would be met.

‘We are very booked up, Mr Hunt, but I will see what I can do.’

‘Not good enough. Perhaps the Angel can be more accommodating.’ Jared began to turn away.

‘You misunderstand me, sir. It will be but the work of a moment. I will just move a gentleman, meanwhile if her ladyship would like to come through to the private parlour my good lady will attend on her.’

‘That poor man,’ Guinevere scolded in a whisper as Jared held open the door to the sitting room for her.

‘Which one?’

‘The landlord and the man he is throwing out of the best bedchamber.’

‘The best room in the house is probably the most secluded and the most secure.’ And I’d rather not have to sleep across your threshold if possible. Although he would if he had to.





Chapter Fourteen


The bedchamber proved to be excellent from the point of view of one weary female traveller and, apparently, met whatever criteria Jared was applying. Guin watched the inspection, telling herself that it was amusing, not worrying, that her bodyguard found it necessary to assess how someone might climb in through the window, come down the chimney or force the lock.

She picked at her dinner, retired to her chamber and took a bath, sent Faith heavy-eyed to her rest in the adjoining dressing room and climbed into her own bed. Then discovered that she could not sleep.

Guin got out of bed again, wrapped her robe around her shoulders and went to sit in the window seat looking out over the yard at the rear of the inn. It was quiet now, dark but for the spills of light from the windows and from the stable door where an ostler’s whistling floated faintly to her ears.