“Aye. Odd thing is, no one in the towns surrounding Welton’s seat knew of her. When asked about the girl, everyone looked at us as if we were daft.”
“How did you find her?”
“The vicar had the birth records.”
“Well done,” Christopher praised, even as he frowned in consternation and tapped his foot upon the Aubusson rug. Maria had been stabbed in an attempt to speak with her sister. They were obviously being kept forcibly apart. “I have to find her.”
“Ah, well, we did.”
Christopher’s wide-eyed gaze shot to Walter’s beaming face. “At one of the posting inns, Peter caught himself a pretty miss. He was talking to her, trying to wiggle under her skirts, and she says she’s been hired as lady’s maid to a viscount’s daughter and the viscount she describes sounds like Welton. So we followed her to Lincolnshire and discovered the girl she tends is named Amelia Benbridge.”
“Bloody hell.”
“A dumb stroke of luck,” Walter said. “But we’ll take it, eh?”
“Yes, we will. Peter is absent,” Christopher noted. “I assume he stayed behind to watch the girl? Excellent.” He glanced at Philip, who waited by the door. “Fetch Sam.”
His fingers drummed against the surface of his desk. “Welton hired this girl?”
“That’s what she said.”
Blowing out his breath, Christopher considered what he knew. Welton had Amelia. Maria wanted Amelia. Welton supported Maria’s household and introduced her to men like Eddington. Christopher still had no notion of what Eddington was paying her for, but he now had no doubt that it was not for sexual favors. A picture was forming, but the image remained too murky to understand.
Sam stepped into the room.
“Tomorrow you are to go with Walter and the others to Lincolnshire,” Christopher said. “There is a girl there. I need to know if she is the same girl Lady Winter sought. If it is, send word to me but remain with her. Follow her if she leaves. I want to know where she is at all times.”
“Of course.” The determined set of Sam’s jaw told Christopher the man would do his best to redeem himself, just as Tim was doing.
“Clean up,” Christopher said to the others. “Relax the rest of the night. Tup a willing maid. You will receive boons for your hard work.”
“Thank you,” they said in near unison, smiling.
He waved them out, then took a moment to collect his thoughts before rising and ascending the stairs to his bedroom.
Maria knew he had the resources to help her. Now that they had breached each other’s outer defenses, would she share this with him? He hoped that she would.
With that goal in mind, he began to make plans for a seduction of a deeper kind. He wanted her heart, every dark corner and crevice of it.
Would she trust him enough to give it to him?
“The Earl of Eddington wishes to know if you are at home.”
Maria looked at her butler through her mirror’s reflection. His face was studiously impassive, as was hers, but inside she was a jumble of hurt and confusion. She nodded.
Bowing, the servant retreated.
Sarah continued to work on Maria’s hair, weaving pearls and flowers into the elaborate arrangement, but when the knock came and Eddington entered, the abigail curtsied quickly and retreated.
“My Lady Winter,” the earl drawled, striding into her boudoir. “You are, as always, an incomparable vision.”
He had never once bothered to mince his steps around her, a comfort in bearing she wasn’t certain she liked. The earl was dressed without fault in a striking burgundy ensemble, his dark hair restrained with the ends curled and hanging midway down his back. Lifting her proffered hand to his lips, Eddington then took a seat on the small stool beside her.
“Tell me something,” he said, his heavy-lidded eyes studying her intently.
“I wish I had something to offer you,” she murmured, unwilling to share news of Sedgewick until she knew for certain whether Christopher cared for her or not.
The earl sighed, as if quite put upon, then he opened his snuff box. He caught her hand, set the pinch atop the fluttering vein in her wrist, and sniffed.
“You are distressed over something,” he noted, staring at the betraying pulsing of that thin blue line.
“My abigail cannot seem to manage the style I desired.”
“Hmm…” He rubbed his thumb back and forth across her wrist. “What are your plans for the evening? Are you still on holiday?”
Maria tugged her hand back. “No. I have an assignation with a certain criminal of renown.”
“Lovely.” Eddington smiled with pleasure. Even though she was fairly immune to his lauded charms, she could not fail to note how attractive the man was. And a spy, too. Quite delicious, if one liked a rakish hero.
“Do you plan to ask St. John outright how he secured his release?” he asked conversationally. “Or do you plan to glean the information I need to recapture him in some other fashion?”
“If I tell you my secrets, what value would I have?”
“True.” He stood and lifted the lid to her patch box. Selecting a diamond shape, he prepared it and secured it next to the corner of her eye. “The agency could use a woman of your talents. You should consider it.”
“And you should go, so I can complete the task you set for me.”
The earl stood behind her, setting his hands on her shoulders. “Do not dismiss my offer out of hand. I am sincere.”
Maria met his gaze in the mirror. “I never dismiss anything out of hand, my lord. Most especially attractive offers made by men who stand to gain a great deal from my downfall.”
Eddington grinned. “You don’t trust anyone, do you?”
“Sadly”—she looked at herself in the mirror—“I have learned not to.”
Tim pinned Sarah’s delightfully robust figure to the master sitting-room wall, his hand cupping her fleshy buttock and urging her against his erect cock. The lewd embrace had been the sole focus of his interest until he had heard Lady Winter’s discussion with Lord Eddington in the next room.
His eyes closed and his forehead rested against the wall some inches above Sarah’s, who was so much shorter. It pained him greatly to learn of the betrayal. He had come to like and respect Lady Winter and had hoped her association with St. John would continue indefinitely. They both had a certain gleam in their eyes when referencing the other, and St. John had never looked happier than when he was in her ladyship’s company.
“The earl has departed,” Tim rumbled, stepping back. “Lady Winter will be needing you now.”
“Will you come to my room later?” she asked breathlessly.
“I’ll try. Go on now.” He spun her about and urged her toward the nearby door with a pinch of her ass.
He waited until the latch had secured behind her, then he left the room.
Time was of the essence.
If he made haste, he could tell St. John about Lady Winter’s true nature and return before he was missed.
Chapter 19
Colin whistled softly as he brushed the satiny-smooth coat of one of the carriage bays. His heart was both lighter and heavier, a strange mixture that he did not know how to manage.
It was beyond foolhardy, he knew, to seek Amelia out. She was far too young, and many stations above him. They could never be together. Not in any way. Their few stolen kisses were a danger to both, and he felt the cad for even stealing those.
She would be set free one day, exposed to the world at large and men like Lord Ware. She would look back on these days and her fervent girlish infatuation and wonder what she had been thinking to imagine herself in love with a groomsman. He was simply the only dish on the table, so she imagined herself hungry for him. But once she was set before a banquet, his common contribution would be like porridge amongst a multicourse meal.
“Colin.”
He turned at the sound of his uncle’s voice, watching as the rotund man entered the stable. “Yes, uncle?”
Yanking off his hat, Pietro ran a hand through his graying dark hair in a gesture rife with frustration. Aside from the differing widths of their middles, they looked very much alike, their Gypsy heritage unquestionable even though Colin’s was diluted by a non-Gypsy mother.
“I know you’ve been seeing the lass in the woods.”
Colin tensed.
“The guards tell me she’s been meeting the lord from the neighboring property, and now you’ve interfered.”
“I haven’t.” Colin resumed his exertions. “She saw him yesterday.”
“I told you to stay away from her!” Pietro approached, anger evident in the set of his shoulders. “Take your needs to the village wenches and dairymaids.”