She looked at him a moment, a tiny frown furrowing her forehead. “No, I never really expected that I did. Only a bit of you is on the surface, Rohan, and sometimes I wonder if that little bit is even you at all.”
He kissed her mouth again, then smiled. “Let’s go for a walk. I do have some rather startling news that has shaken me to the core. I hope you will have some ideas about all this. You see, my brother Tibolt is now involved.”
“The vicar?”
“Yes, the vicar.”
Two mornings later, Baron and Baroness Mountvale left Dinwitty Manor, their host waving to them as they disappeared around the final curve of the graveled drive.
“When will Phillip’s crenellated tower be finished, do you think?”
“The only reason Phillip was here this time of year was that he wanted to get it started. We will visit him again in the fall. It will be done by then. Phillip never lets moss grow when he wants to move a rock.”
“That was a very strange metaphor.”
He nodded, distracted. The morning was foggy, the air chill and heavy, with rain threatening soon.
“It’s a pity we didn’t discover anything more yesterday,” she said. He nodded, taking her gloved hand in his and flattening it palm down on his thigh. He covered her hand with his own.
“The inn we visited yesterday where I was with George and those two men—it brought back so many memories. It was nearly five years ago, Rohan. I was so young and naive. So stupid, really.”
“No, you weren’t stupid. You were just taken in by a young man who knew quite well what he was about and how to get what he wanted. You were seventeen years old, for God’s sake. You did very well, Susannah, given your circumstances.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry no one could tell us about Lambert or Theodore Micah. Is his name really Lambie Lambert?”
“Evidently so. I think that Micah went into hiding when Lambert didn’t come back. If he has a scintilla of a brain he buried himself deep in a cave somewhere. Maybe that cave near the cliffs at Beachy Head that George could have told him about, the one the three of us played in as boys.”
She was thoughtful a moment, then said, “You know what, Rohan? We must think of a way to make him come to us. If we put our brains together, I wager we’ll come up with a good plan.”
He stared at her. She was wearing a delightful bonnet of cream-colored straw trimmed with small silk daisies, a pale yellow ribbon tied in a bow beneath her chin. She looked elegant and intensely feminine, and yet this had just come out of her soft mouth. Surely a female wasn’t to come up with such strategies—strategies that belonged only to the male mind, or at least should.
“You will think of nothing at all. I don’t want the bastard to come anywhere near you.”
She turned her hand up and squeezed his. “There will be a difference this time. We will be ready for him. We will play him like a fish on a line. We will reel him in. We will then cosh him—after, naturally, we find out what is going on here.” She paused a moment, looking at the window when the rain began coming down, a miserable cold, gray drizzle. She shivered, and he pulled her a bit closer to him. He spread the soft wool carriage blanket over her legs.
“There will be no reeling unless I am the reeler and you are safely stashed away to keep you safe. I cannot undergo another crisis like the last one you placed me in.”
She gave him a siren’s smile, and he knew he was in trouble. But, dammit, she was his wife. It was her duty to obey him. What sort of woman had he married? “I would very much like to make love to you,” he said, and si
ghed, knowing that he couldn’t, not just yet. “Tomorrow? Please tell me tomorrow is the day. I’m in dire straits, Susannah.”
“Are you certain a husband should discuss such things with his wife? Aren’t there rules about such things? It’s awfully personal, Rohan. It embarrasses me. Don’t you remember? You promised you wouldn’t embarrass me, but you’ve done it again.”
“As I recall, I was quite right about your first bout of embarrassment. It lasted only a minute, no more.”
“But this is different. I won’t moan this time.”
It was Rohan who made a deep moan in his throat, leaning his head back against the squabs. He closed his eyes. “I won’t look at you. That should help. That mouth of yours drives me to distraction. And then there are your ears—thank God your bonnet is covering those ears of yours.”
Her fingers tightened around his. “Perhaps tomorrow is just fine,” she said. He turned his head slightly away from her so she wouldn’t see the satisfied grin on his mouth. The smile fell away quickly enough.
Tibolt. He remembered how proud his parents had been of their second son until he had locked himself in Mr. Byam’s vicarage and shouted that he wouldn’t come out until his father promised he wouldn’t make him trod the path of sinful pleasure. No, his father must allow him to become a man of the cloth. His parents were flabbergasted, baffled. They told him that he would follow in their footsteps, then in those of his wonderful older brother—namely, Rohan. Finally they agreed, still hoping, doubtless, that Tibolt would change his mind, for he was young yet and hadn’t really experienced the lust of youth. But the years had passed and he hadn’t changed his mind.
At least, they’d said to each other, and in the hearing of their eldest son, namely, Rohan, at least they had him, and he would follow in their footsteps, he would be all things to them, he would carry on after they were gone, they counted on him. Did he not already swagger just like his papa? Did the girls not already look soulfully at him whenever he passed?
Rohan shook all those memories away. It was Tibolt who was important now. What had happened? Had Tibolt really been somehow involved in something nefarious with George before George had drowned? It seemed mad. Perhaps McNally had been lying. Perhaps Tibolt knew nothing about anything. Perhaps even if McNally had seen Tibolt, their meeting was innocent. But he knew he had to find out. Rohan had merely said to both Phillip and Susannah the previous evening at the dinner table, “Tomorrow we will travel to Branholly Cottage to see Tibolt. I want to know the truth. I must know the truth. If there is nothing, then I will come back to Oxford and break both of McNally’s arms.”
Phillip had nodded and said, after he swallowed a particularly tasty bite of baked lobster smothered in lemon sauce, “I will keep an eye on our Mr. Bligh McNally. If Theodore Micah shows his face, I’ll hear about it. I will put it about in the proper quarters that I want him. You and Susannah will return to Mountvale House? Or will you go to London?”