‘A re you saying that this is your property, Mrs Stratton?’ Richard was still holding the sheet of paper out of Deb’s reach and his intent gaze had not wavered from her face.
Deb looked at him, bewildered. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I found it in the book. How did you get hold of it?’
Richard ignored her question. ‘So you are claiming that neither the book nor the sheet of paper belongs to you?’ he asked.
His high-handed manner lit a flicker of temper in Deb. ‘I am not claiming anything,’ she said sharply. ‘I am telling you that that is not my book. You should know-you gave it to me yourself!’
Richard took the book from her hand and turned it over, scrutinising it. A shadow of a smile touched his mouth. ‘It is certainly not the copy that I gave to you, but that does not mean it is not yours,’ he said smoothly. ‘Presumably you had a copy that you were using before you received my gift?’
Deb glared at him. ‘I am not entirely sure of the purpose of your questions, Lord Richard,’ she said cuttingly, ‘nor by what right you are asking them-’ She broke off as a cart came around the corner of the road, its wheels churning the dust, harness jingling. Richard gave one sharp glance over his shoulder, caught her arm and bundled her unceremoniously through the wooden gate and into the shrubbery, along the mossy path and past the tangled ranks of holly and laurel.
Deb was taken aback at the manoeuvre. It was not that she suspected him of any sinister motive, rather that his sudden action had taken her by surprise. As soon as they were out of sight of the road he released her arm and Deb sank down on to the stone bench that had once had a very pretty view across to the river, until her garden had grown so out of hand that it was now hidden from sight.
Richard remained standing. In the pale sunlight that was filtered through the leaves Deb saw that he was watching her with narrowed gaze. She rubbed her arm automatically and gave him back a defiant look, but under her bodice her heart was beating rather quickly. Whatever this was about, it was no game. She could sense that instinctively.
‘I apologise for my actions just now,’ Richard said, immaculately polite. ‘I had no wish for us to be seen or overheard.’ He glanced around. ‘I take it that we are hidden from view here?’
Deb nodded. ‘No one can see us from the house or from the road.’ She looked at him. ‘I do not understand.’
Richard paused for a moment, then came to sit beside her on the bench. He sat forward, turning the sheet of symbols over in his hand.
‘Please, would you answer some questions for me?’ he asked.
Deb nodded silently, her eyes fixed on his.
‘Before I gave you a new copy of the poetry book, what were you using?’ Richard asked.
Deb frowned. ‘I shared Olivia’s copy before,’ she said. ‘I do not have a great deal of money to spend on books.’
Richard’s gaze searched her face. ‘Tell me what happened today at the reading group,’ he said.
Deb rubbed her forehead as she tried to remember. ‘We studied “The World” by Henry Vaughan,’ she said, ‘then, after we had finished, Lady Sally asked us to go into the conservatory to have a look at the copy of the watercolour book.’
‘Did you take your book of poetry with you?’
‘No,’ Deb said, wrinkling her brow as she marshalled her thoughts in order. ‘I put it down on the table in Lady Sally’s library and picked it up again as we were on our way out. Except…’ she met his eyes ‘…I must have picked up the wrong book. We had all left our copies there. There was quite a pile of them. We all have the same edition and the books must have become muddled.’
‘You all have the same edition,’ Richard repeated. He was smiling ruefully.
‘Yes.’ Deb looked enquiringly at him. ‘All five of us have this book.’ She tapped the cover. ‘Mine was the only new copy.’
Richard’s gaze was intent on her. ‘When did you know about this?’ he asked, gesturing to the paper with the symbols on it that was still in his hand.
‘I found it when we arrived back at Midwinter Marney Hall,’ Deb said. ‘I dropped the book and the paper fell out. It was folded over, as though it had been used as a bookmark.’
She saw Richard’s eyes narrow thoughtfully. ‘Had you ever seen it before?’ he asked.
‘No, never.’ Deb shifted on the bench, increasingly uncomfortable. ‘To what end do you question me like this, my lord? Please tell me.’
Richard sat back and relaxed his shoulders against the stonework with a sigh. ‘I beg your pardon. It must seem most uncivil of me.’
‘It does,’ Deb said, determined not to be deflected, ‘and you have not answered my question yet.’
Richard laughed. ‘No, I have not.’
There was a small silence whilst Deb waited and Richard declined to elaborate. Deb could feel his gaze on her and could sense the rapid calculation going on in his mind as he weighed what she had said. She shivered a little in the cool shade. She understood what was going on. He was trying to decide whether he believed her. He was deciding whether or not he trusted her.
‘I thought it looked like some kind of code,’ Deb said, taking the bull by the horns.
Richard raised his brows. ‘Did you?’ he said.
Deb gave a sharp sigh. ‘Will you stop being so evasive, my lord? What is on the sheet of paper? And what-forgive my bluntness, but I know no other way-does this have to do with you?’
Richard hesitated, then looked her straight in the eyes, meeting her candour with equal frankness. ‘This, Mrs Stratton, is a coded letter.’ He looked at her and said deliberately, ‘A letter from a spy.’
Deb felt winded. She blinked at the paper in his hand and then at his face. ‘A spy’s letter? You mean it is written in code because it is a secret message?’
‘Exactly that,’ Richard said.
Deb felt a clutch of fear that she might have bitten off considerably more than she could deal with here.
‘And your part in this?’ she whispered. She waited, holding her breath, whilst there was a small pause.
‘I told you that I once worked for the Admiralty,’ Richard said, with a faint smile. ‘In point of fact, I still do.’
Deb felt a curious rush of relief. She studied his face, dark, impassive, a little grim. ‘What are you-a spy catcher?’
‘For want of a better word,’ Richard said, grimacing.
Deb got to her feet and took a pace away from him. Her perceptions of Lord Richard Kestrel, which had already been shaken thoroughly over the last couple of weeks, underwent another shift.
‘You have indeed perfected your disguise, my lord,’ she said. ‘I should never have thought it! The gambling wastrel of a rake, who cannot manage to remove his boots without the help of a valet.’
Richard winced. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I am sure I was never quite as bad as you describe.’
Deb stared at him, shaking her head. ‘It seems impossible, my lord.’
‘That there are spies in Midwinter or that I should be here to capture them?’
‘Both!’ Deb rubbed her forehead again. ‘I cannot believe it-not here in Midwinter…’
‘It is as possible for a spy to operate here as in any other place,’ Richard said. ‘It is more likely here, in fact, given the strategic position of the harbour and the proximity of the French coast.’
Deb stared at him, her face suddenly pale as she thought through all the implications. ‘But if the secret message was in the book of poetry…’ Her eyes widened. ‘You thought the letter was mine?’ she whispered. ‘You thought that I was the spy?’
‘I found the paper in your book,’ Richard pointed out, with a slight smile. ‘What was I supposed to think?’
‘Yes, but-’ Deb flung herself back down on the stone seat and let her breath out on a sharp sigh. ‘I told you that it was not my book.’
‘You did tell me that, yes. Am I supposed to believe everything that people tell me?’
Deb flinched as she took his meaning. There was no particular reason why he should accept her word and yet she found that she had assumed he would. She wanted him to trust her. It seemed excessively important to her. She bit her lip, fighting an absurd and unexpected desire to cry.
‘I assure you,’ she said with dignity, ‘that I had nothing to do with this.’ She met Richard’s level, penetrating gaze. ‘Do you still suspect that I did?’
There was a long, taut silence, and then Richard shook his head slowly. There was a smile in his eyes now. ‘No, I do not believe you to be a traitor, Mrs Stratton. I never did, although I may well have let my feelings get in the way of sound judgement.’
Deb stared at him. His head was bent and he was examining the inside cover of the book intently. He glanced up suddenly and caught her gaze. His mouth curved into the shadow of a smile. ‘Of course, you could be playing a deep double game!’
‘Richard-’ Deb said, on a note of entreaty. She felt very vulnerable. She coloured and corrected herself. ‘I beg your pardon, my lord.’
‘Richard will suffice,’ Richard said, his smile deepening. His hand covered hers in a brief, reassuring grasp. ‘Be easy, Deborah. I am only teasing you. I doubt you could deceive me, for you are one of the most transparently honest people that I have ever met.’
‘I am forever cursing my inability to hide my feelings,’ Deb said, a little shakily.
Richard smiled and for a second his hand tightened over hers before he removed it. ‘Do not,’ he said softly.
Their eyes met and held. ‘Oh, dear,’ Deb said helplessly, feeling all the attraction that she had worked so hard to repress rushing back, ‘this is very unfortunate.’ She frowned, trying to wrench her thoughts away from Richard Kestrel and back to the matter in hand. It was extremely difficult to concentrate.
‘The spy,’ she said. ‘The person that you are hunting…If the message was in the book, the spy must belong to Lady Sally’s reading group.’
Richard nodded. ‘We think that she does.’
Deb shot him a troubled look. ‘But it cannot be so. It is not possible.’
‘What is impossible? That there should be a female spy or that she should be a member of your reading group?’
‘Either. Both!’ Deb made a wild gesture. ‘There is only Olivia and me, and Lady Sally and Miss Lang and Lady Benedict!’ Her voice sank to a whisper. ‘It must be one of us, yet it cannot be…’
Richard’s steady gaze did not waver from her face. ‘It must be one of you,’ he repeated implacably.
‘Not Liv!’ Deb said. Her gaze was pleading. ‘I could never believe her a traitor!’
Richard shook his head. ‘No. I doubt that Lady Marney is the one.’
‘Then it must be one of the others.’ Deb frowned. ‘Miss Lang is silly and vulgar and I do not like Lady Benedict, but that does not make her a spy…’ She gave a gusty sigh. ‘There must be some mistake.’
Richard’s face was still. ‘There is no mistake, Deborah.’ He shifted on the seat. ‘Nor is this to be taken lightly. This person has killed more than once and may well kill again. She is passing secrets to the French that endanger the lives of thousands of innocent people. She has to be stopped.’
There was a silence. Deb’s gaze fell on the book and she picked it up. It bore absolutely no distinguishing marks and, thinking back to the meeting of the reading group, she could not think of any way of telling the books apart. She picked it up and opened the pages at random. It smelled of a very faint scent; not perfume or flowers or polish, but something else. Deb sniffed at the spine. She could not place the smell, but she knew that she would recognise it if she smelled it again.
‘How providential for you that I accidentally left my book behind,’ she said, ‘or you might never have seen the letter-’ She broke off as she caught the edge of Richard’s rueful grin. ‘What is it?’ she demanded.
Richard’s grin broadened. ‘That was no accident,’ he said.
Deb stared at him, the hand clasping the book sinking into her lap. ‘What do you mean it was no accident? I left Midwinter Marney in a hurry and forgot that the book was on the table!’
Richard stood up and stretched. ‘You may think that is what happened, but the truth is rather different.’ He slanted a smile down at her. ‘I saw the coded letter when I brought you your cup of tea, Deborah. You were looking very absorbed and very furtive, and I knew I had somehow to persuade you to forget the book and give me the chance to have a look at the code.’
Deb stared in amazement. ‘Oh! You mean that you…When you were talking to me…’
‘I deliberately diverted your attention,’ Richard confirmed. ‘I needed to distract you.’
‘You mean that all that outrageous flirtation was designed to make me forget my book?’ Deb’s tone was stormy and her feelings were not soothed when Richard nodded, still smiling.
‘It worked, did it not? You stalked out like an outraged duchess and I picked up the book and followed you.’
Deb clenched her hands. ‘Oh, you…you hateful wretch!’
‘I know,’ Richard said resignedly. ‘I am a cad and a deceiver.’
‘You are without a doubt the most odious man I have ever met!’ Deb said wrathfully. She jumped to her feet. ‘We have all seen you and your brothers, mingling with us all and flirting and inveigling yourselves into our good graces. Now I discover it was all a means to an end…’
Richard’s gaze was dark and amused. ‘I cannot deny that we set out to charm the ladies of Midwinter,’ he said smoothly, ‘but-’
‘Oh, do not seek to make excuses,’ Deb said, cutting him off sharply. She felt cheap and betrayed. ‘How can there be any justification for the way you behaved?’
Richard had also got to his feet and, although he was not touching her, his gaze held her as still as though he was forcibly restraining her.
‘I was about to say that my behaviour towards you was always sincere, Mrs Stratton,’ he said. ‘With you, I feigned nothing.’
Deb fought her emotions and the insidious instinct that told her he was telling the truth.
‘You would say that, wouldn’t you?’ she retorted. She let her breath out on a huge sigh. ‘I would be a fool twice over if I believed you!’ she added bitterly.
Richard said nothing, but his dark gaze challenged hers and Deb was the first to look away.
‘I do not know if I can trust a word you say,’ she complained, in a more moderate tone.
‘No,’ Richard agreed levelly. ‘I can understand that.’
He came to her and took her hand in his. When she tried to free herself he pulled her around to face him. Deb’s breathing constricted.
‘My lord-’
‘I will let you go in a moment,’ Richard’s face was suddenly grim again, ‘but this is important. You know far more than is safe for you now, Deborah. I must beg you to keep quiet about this. Tell no one. No confiding in your sister…’
The touch of his hand conveyed urgency and something more personal that tugged at Deb’s heart. She sighed. ‘I suppose I cannot speak to anyone.’
‘Please,’ Richard said, and Deb heard the insistent note in his voice. ‘Be careful, Deborah. With good fortune we may trap this person soon, but in the mean time I must ask you to be on your guard.’
Deb nodded. ‘I understand.’
‘I am not sure that you do,’ Richard said, an edge to his voice now. ‘Whoever has lost this book will know that one of the other members of the group must have it. You are all in danger now and I do not want anything to happen to you.’
Their gazes locked and all manner of unspoken feeling passed between them. There was a moment of absolute stillness and then Richard pulled Deb close and lowered his head to hers.
A quiver went through Deb. The kiss was soft and deliberate, but almost before it had started Richard was drawing back and leaving her with an ache of disappointment. She opened her eyes reluctantly and knew that he must be able to see the longing clear in her face and know what she wanted. His expression changed as he looked down at her. Deb had time only to draw a quick breath before he pulled her back into his arms and his mouth settled hard on hers this time. His tongue coaxed her lips apart and slid deep.
This time the kiss was long and sweet and lingering. It left Deb trembling all the way down to her toes. She clung to Richard and responded to him with untutored passion and he held her and kissed her back with a will and finally, when they were both panting and breathless, he pressed his lips to her hair and stilled her shaking body against his.
‘Deborah…’ His voice was rough, but it held an undertone of laughter. ‘I cannot quite believe how we have come to this, but we are in your shrubbery and up in the house you have a very proper lady’s companion-’
‘Mmm…’ Deb rubbed a cheek against the smooth material of his jacket. She was glad of the strength of his arms about her for she felt distinctly light-headed.
‘And you are late for your appointment to drive with Mr Lang-’ Richard continued.
Reality returned. Deb’s eyes flew open. ‘Mr Lang! I forgot all about him.’
‘Good,’ Richard said, and Deb could hear the raw masculine satisfaction in his voice. She eased away from him and looked into his face a little uncertainly, suddenly recalled to where she was and what she had been doing. How was it possible to forget herself so completely in Lord Richard Kestrel’s arms? His touch filled her with the most exquisite longing to take and hold and be possessed by a passion so fierce that she had never dreamed it could exist. She felt torn. Long-repressed desire-feelings that she had forbidden herself for so long-were threatening to triumph over rational thought and sweep her away. Another tremor shook her and she took a step back, pressing both hands to her cheeks in embarrassment.
‘You make me forget propriety,’ she said. ‘I must go in…’
‘Of course,’ Richard said gravely. He took her hand away from her face and pressed a kiss on the back. ‘Deborah,’ he said. ‘I shall call on you soon…’ He sketched a bow and released her hand reluctantly, and when he reached the bend where the path was lost from sight, he turned and looked back at her and Deb’s heart leapt to see the expression on his face. And then he was gone.
When Richard reached Kestrel Court there was an unexpected level of activity about the place. Servants were unloading baggage from a coach that was drawn up on the gravel sweep before the house, and from the direction of the stables Richard could hear upraised voices and the sound of laughter. He quickened his step and rounded the corner into the yard. His elder brother Justin, Duke of Kestrel, was standing there chatting to the grooms and holding the reins of a prime piece of horseflesh, a raking chestnut hunter that was showing its teeth and looked as though it possessed a thoroughly bad temper. Richard walked round the beast and gave a low whistle.
‘What do you think?’ Justin asked, grinning.
‘What you gain in speed and stamina you lose in temperament,’ Richard said.
Justin looked resigned. ‘That’s exactly what Hobbs said.’ He gestured to the head groom. ‘Told me I’d bought a pig in a poke.’
‘I assume you rode him from London?’
Justin nodded, handed the chestnut’s reins over to the groom and fell into step with his brother. ‘Bought him at Tattersalls on Thursday and rode up to Chelmsford yesterday and on up here today.’
‘How did he handle?’ Richard asked.
‘Like he wanted to break my neck,’ Justin said ruefully.
They went across the gravel, where the coach was still disgorging huge amounts of luggage, and in at the front door.
‘You travel with more of an entourage than Mama,’ Richard said. He stopped dead and looked at his brother. ‘Oh lord, don’t tell me this is Mama’s baggage?’
‘Just the advance guard,’ Justin said. ‘Mama plans to spend the winter here and wishes to do so in comfort.’
Richard groaned. ‘But it is barely October! Are we to see cartloads of luggage arriving by the week?’
‘I imagine so,’ Justin said.
Richard groaned again. ‘Whatever has prompted her to come to Midwinter? I thought she detested the place as a little provincial backwater.’
‘She heard that Cory Newlyn had found himself a bride here,’ Justin said with an expressive lift of the brows, ‘so now she thinks to find one for each of us.’
Richard shot him a look and pushed open the door of the study. ‘You had better be careful then, Justin.’
Justin closed the door behind them and threw himself down in one of the fauteuils.
‘Not me, old fellow!’ he said. ‘Thought you might appreciate the help, though. You seem to be making a bit of a ham fist of it yourself. How is the divine Mrs Stratton, by the way?’
‘Divine,’ Richard said, trying and failing to repress a smile. ‘I was with her just now.’
Justin laughed. ‘And you are totally épris again?’
‘Not again,’ Richard corrected. ‘I never stopped.’
Justin grinned unsympathetically. ‘How very frustrating for you.’ He gave his brother a sly look. ‘So Mrs Stratton is still the epitome of virtue?’
‘Mind your own damned business,’ Richard said. He was astonished how protective he felt towards Deborah.
Justin’s grin deepened. ‘It must be serious if you are refusing to talk about it.’ He flicked the three-day-old copy of the Suffolk Chronicle that was resting on the table. ‘Plus you are reading the local papers,’ he observed. ‘Next thing you’ll be telling me you have taken up tea drinking.’
‘Splendid idea,’ Richard said, reaching for the bell. ‘You’ll take some?’
Justin looked scandalised. ‘No, thank you. What happened to my fine French brandy? Have you drunk it all?’
Richard nodded towards the decanter. ‘Help yourself.’ He put a hand in his jacket pocket. ‘Take a look at this, Justin.’
He tossed the sheet of code down on the table between them. Justin glanced at it casually, looked again and drew his breath in with a soundless whistle. He looked at Richard, his dark eyes alight.
‘At last! Where did you find it?’
Richard laughed. ‘In Mrs Stratton’s copy of the seventeenth-century poets.’
Justin frowned, opened his mouth to speak and closed it again. ‘Explain,’ he said economically.
Half an hour and two glasses of brandy later, they had talked the matter through.
‘So the spy is using a pictorial code,’ Justin said thoughtfully, ‘where the symbols represent groups of words rather than letters, you think?’
Richard nodded. ‘I think it would be good to ask Cory to take a look at this. He has done a lot of work with Thomas Young on hieroglyphs. He may have some useful ideas about breaking pictorial codes.’
Justin nodded. ‘We should send it directly.’ He swung the brandy glass gently between his fingers. ‘As for the members of Lady Sally’s reading group…I cannot believe it, but we are no further forward in finding the spy.’
‘No, but our field of suspects has narrowed,’ Richard said.
‘Only if one discounts Mrs Stratton.’ Justin hesitated, then took a deep breath. ‘She could be playing you for a fool, Richard. You are scarcely impartial in this.’
There was a moment of tension and then the lines of Richard’s body relaxed. ‘She could. But she is not.’
Justin did not say anything; he merely looked a question.
After a moment Richard said slowly, ‘Mrs Stratton is transparent as water, Justin. She finds it impossible to dissemble. She would have to be a damnably good actress to carry this deception through. I am certain that neither Mrs Stratton nor Lady Marney is the one we seek.’
Justin nodded slowly. ‘Miss Lang?’
‘The least likely option of the three remaining. I cannot believe she has the coolness or the intellect to carry it off.’
‘So it is Lady Sally Saltire or Lady Benedict.’ Justin looked thoughtful. ‘What do we do?’
‘Watch them.’
Justin gave him a crooked grin. ‘I infer that you have been watching Mrs Stratton a little too much, Richard?’
‘A great deal too much.’ Richard laughed. ‘So I leave Lady Sally and Lady Benedict to you.’
Justin sighed heavily. ‘Leaving you free to pursue your interest in Mrs Stratton, I suppose.’
‘Precisely.’
Richard went over to the desk, drew the inkpot towards him and started to pen a quick note to Cory Newlyn. Justin got up and sauntered over to the door. ‘Mama always hoped that Papa’s example of faithlessness would lead her sons in the opposite direction and breed uxorious men,’ he said. ‘She will be glad that one of us at least will not disappoint.’
Richard laughed. ‘Fate has a manner of thwarting our plans, Justin,’ he said. ‘Unless I can find a way to convince Mrs Stratton of my good intentions, she will never trust me enough to marry me. As for you and Lucas…’ He shook his head. ‘Parson’s mousetrap will catch you in the end.’
Justin took a guinea from his pocket and tossed it idly in his hand. ‘Care to wager on that, Richard?’
‘No,’ Richard said, bending his head over the letter once again. ‘I never wager on a certainty.’