The Swordmaster's Mistress: Dangerous Deceptions Book Two(78)

Under the cat’s paw, Jared thought. Poor devil. Either he has no idea what his Lettie’s about, and he seems dull enough for that to be possible, or he has been dragooned into at least complacence, if not actual involvement.

Mrs Quenten stood up. ‘I shall retire, if you will excuse me. Bella dear, how may I go out onto the terrace? I cannot sleep unless I have taken a short stroll in the fresh air.’

‘This way.’ Bella stood up and led the way. ‘I will go up myself when I have shown you. Good night, everyone.’

Dover opened the door then slipped through behind them carrying a tray of dirty cups. He was followed shortly afterward by Theo, yawning and apologetic.

Dover was back ten minutes later with a jug of hot water to refresh the tea urn and Jared strolled casually across the room to speak to him under cover of handing over his own cup.

‘She sent her ladyship away, said she would only be a minute and she was. I pretended to just come along as she came back in and went to lock the door but I had a look outside once she was clear. There’s a small cairn of white pebbles by that sitting room door.’

Jared released a breath he had not been aware he was holding. ‘Hooked.’

‘I’d say so, sir. My lord, I mean.’

‘Sir will do.’ It was taking getting used to. So far Jared had failed to respond to at least three members of staff using his title until they repeated themselves. ‘I’ll be up within half an hour. Tell Sir Andrew.’

Dover took himself off, holding the door for Sir Andrew to leave. Mr Quenten announced that he would be to his rest and within minutes Jared was alone with his father and Guinevere. ‘My bed chamber, sir. Guinevere, I suggest you go to your room, keep Faith with you and lock the door.’

‘You may suggest what you like, but I am joining your council of war, Jared.’ She smiled at his father who beamed back at her. The old devil approved of Lady Northam, it seemed.





Chapter Twenty Five


His assorted troops distributed themselves around Jared’s bedchamber leaving an armchair for Guinevere. ‘There is a jib door concealed in the panelling on each side of the small sitting room,’ he said without preliminaries. ‘In daylight they are obvious once you look, but at night they are not. Dover has arranged screens in front of each. Dover and I will be behind the door to the library, my father and Sir Andrew behind the other into the garden room. We will keep them locked until we hear someone in there and then open them slightly. Dover has oiled the locks.’

‘You are expecting Bainton to come to meet Mrs Quenten there?’ Sir Andrew asked.

‘I am, sir. I cannot believe that they will not say enough for an arrest. I will show myself the moment I feel we have reached that point but if you feel, as a magistrate, that you have heard sufficient, then you will emerge. Dover will go to block the outside door, my father, the inside one. I will take Bainton if you will deal with Mrs Quenten.’

‘You are Theo’s magistrate, the one who convinced the London Justice not to arrest him,’ Guinevere said. ‘I thought I recognised your name.’

Sir Andrew bowed slightly.

‘Why is Theo not here?’

‘We do not wish to compromise his position,’ the magistrate said. ‘Given the rumours and accusations, the less he has to do with this, the better.’

‘We had best go down now.’ Jared buckled on his sword belt, feeling comfortable for the first time since he had taken it off for dinner. He slid a long knife up the sleeve of his coat. ‘Lady Northam, do not forget to lock your door.’

‘Yes, Lord Ravenlaw.’ She spoke so meekly he looked at her, suspicious, but she said only, ‘Do take care, all of you.’

The house was falling silent around them as they filed downstairs and took up their positions in the dark. Voices floated up faintly from below stairs, then those ceased. Then there was Durrant’s heavy tread as he walked the corridors, stopping to turn the key in the sitting room door and pass on to his hooded chair in the front hall where he would pass the night, dozing.

Jared made himself relax, letting his shoulders drop, steadying his breathing. Beside him he heard Dover ease one shoulder against the wall, his ear close to the crack of the jib door. There would be nothing for a while.

The soft creak of a floorboard behind him sent him spinning round, the knife from his sleeve already in his hand before he saw the faint outline against the uncurtained window and smelled the drift of jasmine fragrance. ‘Guinevere?’

She came closer, her feet silent on the boards, and he realised she was without shoes and dressed in something simple and black.

‘Go away,’ he breathed. ‘Dangerous.’

‘Where you go, I go,’ she murmured.

He had her in his arms kissing her before he realised what he was doing. She clung, moulding herself against him even as he heard the faint rustle as Dover turned away and he got himself under control. ‘Guinevere – ’

She came up on tiptoe, her lips warm against his ear. ‘Always.’

His heart was thudding so loud that it took Dover’s elbow in his ribs to steady him. Then he heard it, the sound of the key in the sitting room door. Jared unlocked the jib door silently but left it closed. Light flooded across their feet then faded. Someone had brought a candle around the screen to check it. Inside the room he could just make out the sound of movement, then the rasp of the faulty lock on the outside door. He eased open the jib door by six inches at the same time and then stood listening. Beside him Guinevere and Dover were silent, still.