game of whist. I am sure there is more to know.’
‘I assure you, those are the sum of my attributes,’ Nora said as rudely as Miss Habersham might dare with such a man.
‘We shall have to agree to disagree on that point, Miss Habersham,’ Stockport said in nonchalant tones that left her unprepared for the dangerous words that came out of his mouth next. ‘Ah, we approach the verandah. Fresh air, Miss Habersham?’
The hair on the back of Nora’s neck prickled in forewarning. She had waited all night for the other shoe to fall and now it had.
Victory at last! He had the nasally Miss Habersham right where he wanted her—private and alone, where he could confront her with his growing suspicions. He had worked all night for this moment, suffering through endless hands of whist and meaningless village gossip.
It had been highly enlightening to watch the lady in question play so ruthlessly. She was a far better partner than her conversation at the table indicated, which served to support the growing pile of evidence that Miss Habersham did not simply know The Cat. She was The Cat.
The previously reticent Miss Habersham had not been so timid during cards. Over cards, Miss Habersham had demonstrated a tenacity that seemed out of character for her, but not for The Cat. The Cat and Miss Habersham had sharp tongues. The whiny spinster had found the spine on two occasions now to reprimand him when he pried too closely into her personal life.
There were other characteristics they shared as well. They both had those piercing ice-jade eyes. Beneath the frumpy gowns of Miss Habersham there hid a delectable figure to rival the one The Cat flaunted. Now it was his turn to have the upper hand. He would make The Cat squirm before he pounced.
‘I must apologise, Miss Habersham. I find that I have business we must discuss and I’d rather do it privately.’ He wanted to laugh while Eleanor fussed with her glasses, pushing them up higher on the bridge of her nose, doing her best to look discomfited by such male attention. Didn’t she realise the game was minutes from being over?
‘If you want to bring up the issue of security at the Grange again, I must stick to my initial position and decline your offer,’ she began with characteristic nervousness.
Ah, very astute. Stockport gave her points for quick thinking. One of the conversations he’d had with ‘Eleanor’ had been about security, unlike the conversation he’d held with The Cat yesterday.
‘I am afraid I have a slightly different topic in mind. What do you know about The Cat?’ Brandon said without preamble.
‘Why, only what I hear in town,’ Eleanor said. ‘Why would you ask such a thing?’
‘Your house hasn’t been touched. I find that odd,’ he pressed, not allowing himself to be gulled by the wide-eyed shock and the hand flying to her throat in horror at his question.
‘Neither has yours, I understand,’ she retorted archly. ‘Perhaps I should be asking what you know about The Cat?’
Brandon smiled. ‘My point, exactly.’ He leaned intimately close. Perhaps if he could fluster her, she would forget herself. ‘Miss Habersham, I do know quite a lot about The Cat. I thought it was time for us to share what we know.’
His plan to discomfit her was failing. Eleanor made a great show of her chagrin. ‘Are you insinuating I am harbouring a fugitive? Take me inside at once. I find this conversation very unseemly.’ She was all Miss Habersham. So convincing was her outrage, his instincts faltered. Had he guessed wrongly about her identity?
All the signs couldn’t be wrong. Brandon pushed onwards.
‘What if I don’t?’ Two could play this game within a game. There was no harm in it since Miss Habersham didn’t really exist. He was ninety per cent sure of it.
‘I would scream,’ she said in high dudgeon worthy of any thespian.
The other ten per cent of him almost believed her.
Brandon bowed in mock-surrender. ‘I doubt you’d do either, but things will be as you wish. I’ll escort you inside.’ He stepped aside to let her pass ahead of him, taking the opportunity to audaciously whisper in her ear, ‘When the night began I knew three things about you, Eleanor. Now I suspect a fourth.’ It would serve her right to let her stew over the possibilities of what he knew.
An hour later, Brandon let himself into Stockport Hall and lit a brace of tapers left on the entry hall sideboard for his convenience.
He walked to the study, letting his candles cast shadows on the walls. He peered inside. Disappointment swamped him. His light illuminated nothing but emptiness. He’d thought she would be here. He had made sure that Eleanor had left the card party before him, giving the masquerading spinster plenty of time to change guises and sneak into the mansion.
This was rich! The Earl of Stockport plotting an assignation with a thief. What depths he had fallen to if the highlight of his social calendar was a clandestine rendezvous.
It was the final stroke in the evening’s débâcle with Miss Habersham. Doubt was beginning to replace his earlier confidence. At the card party, Eleanor had used the same deflecting technique in their conversation that The Cat had used at the Christmas ball. It was proving to be a ridiculous connection.
He must be more affected by The Cat than he’d thought if he was seeing the elegant, stealthy Cat in the dowdy form of the village spinster. He’d been so certain of his instincts on the verandah.
Brandon reprimanded himself the length of the stairs. Still, he had been so sure! But he’d also been sure The Cat would keep her word and return his ring. It was after midnight. The promised day of arrival was gone. For a man used to being right, he’d been wrong about a lot lately.
Brandon pushed open the door to his sitting room. A fire burned low and warm in the grate, assuring him from its glow that the room was empty.
He strode to the low table holding a decanter of his best brandy. He poured a glass, making a mental note to have his valet fill it in the morning. He did not remember drinking so much of it, but apparently he had. The decanter looked to have poured a glass or two.
Brandon headed to bed, tumbler in hand, eager to put the evening behind him. He raised his glass to his lips and halted at the threshold of his bedroom in disbelief.
‘Hello, Stockport. I’d offer you a drink, but I see you already have one.’ Rich tones purred from the bed where The Cat reclined in semi-darkness against the pillows, clad in her customary dark garb.
Ridiculous elation buoyed Brandon. She had come! He tamped down his relief, determined to play it coolly while heat flared within him. ‘Don’t you ever knock?’
‘Occupational hazard.’ The Cat uncurled her long limbs and rose from the bed.
Brandon took a swallow of brandy, trying to ignore the effect The Cat’s sinuous walk was having on him as she crossed the room to stand before him. There was something different yet disconcertingly familiar about her attire, but his jangled mind was too busy focusing on her presence in his bedroom to place it. ‘What are you doing here?’
She held up the small pouch for him to take. ‘That should be obvious. I am returning your ring and something else that belongs to you. You should keep your money in a safer place.’ She patted the
