What she meant was Mrs Waltham suspected foul play.
Nicholas dragged himself out of bed and shrugged out of his crumpled coat. He could feel Helen’s gaze roaming over his back as he visited the washstand, and he was somewhat thankful when she left the room so he could change into clean clothes.
“Has Helen said anything about Chadderton?” Sebastian asked as he stood, arms folded across his chest, watching Nicholas tie a knot in his cravat. “She is out of sorts today, and Chadderton mentioned you gave him advice on how to court her yesterday.”
During the strained pause, Nicholas silently cursed.
“I’ve spent the morning wondering why you lied to him,” Sebastian continued. “After the incident with Parbrook, I thought we both agreed it would be better if she married.”
Nicholas slipped behind his indifferent facade. “She doesn’t want to marry Chadderton. And while I acknowledge a union might mitigate the scandal, I’ll not have her suffer my parents’ fate.”
“Where were you last night?”
Nicholas had locked his bedchamber door in case Sebastian came spying. “I walked the grounds, then downed half a decanter of brandy and fell asleep.” He decided to direct the conversation away from Helen. “Why? Do you fear I followed your advice, killed Charles Holland and dumped his body in the lake?”
Sebastian gave a nonchalant shrug. “I have seen how you deal with scoundrels. But I would rather you were honest with me. I cannot help you otherwise.”
Nicholas snorted. “I didn’t kill Charles Holland. I haven’t seen the man since yesterday afternoon. I don’t know why he’s missing, but I confess, I have not told you the whole truth. Let us find the fellow, then I shall explain what Holland wants from me.”
Sebastian seemed mildly appeased, and so, along with Helen, they joined the hunt for the missing fop.
“We should check the folly?” Sebastian gestured to the narrow woodland path. “Perhaps Holland met Miss Thorndyke there for a secret assignation.”
A blush stained Helen’s cheeks. “Miss Thorndyke is not the sort to sneak about in the middle of the night, though I did see her speaking privately with Mr Holland yesterday.”
“That’s odd in itself.” Sebastian was forever cynical. “The valet said Holland left his room to take some air, that he seemed preoccupied, a little agitated. With the folly tucked away amid the shrubbery, it’s the perfect place for a man to contemplate his life.”
Sebastian did not wait for a response but marched ahead in the direction of the woods and beckoned them to follow.
Helen cast Nicholas a sidelong glance and whispered, “We both know Mr Holland is not in the folly, not unless he visited in the dead of night.” There was an awkward pause. “Have you told Sebastian you’re leaving for London today?”
“No, not yet.” But he would be gone as soon as they located the crook. “He will understand why when I tell him about the blackmail demand. Silencing those who seek to destroy my mother’s name must be my priority now.”
Why would anyone want to steal her letters?
Was it a lie to gain his trust, his sympathy?
He would begin by speaking to Holland’s housekeeper in Bedford. Before he took to the road, he would threaten the valet. The Frenchman surely knew something of his master’s activities.
He hadn’t time to play amateur detectives with Helen.
He hadn’t the luxury of indulging in fantasies.
And she was such a damned distraction.
“But that’s not the real reason you’re leaving,” she said, daring to be bolder than she had ever dared before. “You’re leaving because of what happened between us last night. Why do I get the sense I won’t see you again? That you’re about to disappear from my life for good?”
“I dine at your house every Wednesday.”
The thought of seeing her in such intimate surroundings would prove difficult now he had revealed something of his inner torment.
“Nicholas, you seem more distant than ever. It’s harder to bear after hearing what you said last night.”
“You need to forget about last night.” He was a damn hypocrite. He’d thought about little else. “At least, for the time being. I must focus on dealing with Holland.”
He glanced ahead. Sebastian was thrashing the undergrowth with his walking stick, prodding and poking the bracken as if looking for a corpse.
Hell! What if Holland had tripped, smacked his head on a rock, and perished during the night? What would happen to the evidence of his mother’s blasted affair? What about the missing letters, stolen by—