should pass these reports along as soon as possible so your father can take action on them. He is losing a fortune even as we speak,” Sean advised the lad.
A pair of old Middlebrook’s shipping managers were skimming funds on both sides of the water. Middlebrook had specifically asked him not to kill anyone involved. Some wag or another must have added “paid assassin” to Sean’s list of dubious talents. The thought prompted a grin. Fear certainly had its uses.
“I assume he left instructions as to my remuneration?” Sean asked politely.
Sean had sensed the fear underlying the elder Middlebrook’s disdain the day he had hired him. But only once in this business had someone tried to cheat him. One of his clients—a banker, ironically—had refused to pay once Sean had completed a job for him. A neighbor discovered the man dead of knife wounds the very next day. Never mind that Sean had spent the entire evening with the chief inspector of Scotland Yard. Never mind that the real culprit had been caught and punished by hanging. The gossips would have it that Wilder “had his ways.” Sean didn’t mind. Reputation was everything in this business.
“Oh yes, of course. I’m to see to it.” Middlebrook stashed the folder of facts in the desk drawer and handed over an envelope containing a presigned cheque. Sean verified the amount and they shook hands. “Tea’s in one hour. You’ll stay, of course?”
The boy’s offer of refreshment was solely due to ingrained manners, Sean knew. He meant to refuse, but on second thought, accepted. He would see the girl one more time. Just once, to find out whether she was recovering from whatever had caused her tears.
Not that he cared all that much. It was that cursed curiosity of his. Besides, a four-hour trip loomed ahead and he felt sharp-set even now. He only hoped he wasn’t delaying his departure for a mere handful of cucumber sandwiches.
“James and I are just off to the stables. You’re welcome to join us,” the lad said.
Sean smiled at the halfhearted offer. He had put the lad off with his bluntness. Of course, that had been his intention, but it served no purpose now. He had the balance of his fee in his pocket and an hour to kill before a free meal. “Yes, I could use a brisk walk after that carriage ride. I’ll admit knowing nothing about the business, Middlebrook. What sort of horses do you breed?”
That did the trick. Middlebrook and Maclin carried the conversation, with Maclin darting anxious looks as though he expected Sean to make off with all the cattle. Suppressing satisfied laughter, Sean only needed to add polite grunts and hums of feigned interest.
Normally he would not have bothered with this little pup and his horse-mad prattle. He would have taken his leave the moment the boy forked over the blunt. Sean assured himself that only hunger had prompted his acceptance of the invitation. The young man’s weeping sister had little to do with his tarrying at Midbrook Manor.
Getting involved with a woman like this one, however intriguing she might be, would prove foolish at best. Camilla Norton had intrigued him recently, too, he reminded himself with a barely restrained grimace. And for all his experience with women, that relationship had proved fiasco enough for the year. Give him a good, honest whore any day of the week.
He had his life sorted out just the way he wanted it now and he wasn’t about to muck it up again. Control, that was the thing. He had worked damned hard to attain that and, by God, he meant to keep it, too. No more women messing about with his finer feelings, what little there was left of them.
This curiosity about Laura Middlebrook was only that, Sean decided firmly. Simple curiosity. The girl would be well over whatever was wrong with her by teatime. He would fortify himself with whatever culinary delights were offered at tea, see that she was fine, and then he would be on his way.
When the time came, tea proved interesting. Not the tea itself, Sean mused, but the serving of it. Miss Middlebrook poured. All over the table, as a matter of fact. He had to shove back sharply to keep from getting a lapful. She reacted strangely, as though the accident rated a distant second to whatever really concerned her. Even her brother’s sharp curse didn’t seem to register.
She summoned a maid and had the mess cleared away. Then she retired to her own chair with a cup and gave rein to her preoccupation. Sean wanted desperately to ask what that was.
Instead, he consumed every morsel set before him, absently answering Middlebrook’s questions between bites of delicious little spiced beef pies and cakes iced with lemon sugar. Very deliberately, he concentrated on the food, ignoring the girl.
“So, your mother lives in Cornwall? Lovely place, I’ve heard. Never been there myself. My betrothed has an aunt and uncle who reside in Trevlynton, though, on the coast,” Middlebrook chattered on. “Just got myself spoken for, y’see. Nineteen’s rather young to get myself yoked, but I was lucky to find a pearl like Jillian. Can’t let her get away. Are you wed, sir?”
“No,” Sean snapped. He had shot the boy a threatening look before he realized the question wasn’t meant as a taunt.
Suddenly Sean could not wait to get away. This empty-headed chatterbox and his gape-mouthed friend annoyed him. As did his own inclination to sort out the little Middlebrook beauty’s dilemma. “I am poor company this afternoon, and I do have things pending in town,” he said curtly. “I will excuse myself now and head back.”
“Of course,” Middlebrook agreed rather heartily. “Good of you to come all this way to deliver the results of your enquiries.”
Sean inclined his head. “Your father compensated me well for it. Part of the job.”
“Laura, fetch Mr. Wilder his hat and cane, would you? There’s a dear,” Middlebrook said. Maclin exhaled with what appeared to be profound relief.
The girl set down her cup with a clatter, rose hurriedly and immediately tripped on the edge of the rug. Sean caught her before she hit the floor. She shuddered in his arms like a wounded bird. He battled the urge to embrace her fully, to calm her trembling, to try to make her smile. A dangerous impulse, and a stronger one than he wanted to admit.
But what had her so flustered she couldn’t even take tea properly? Devil the little chit, she couldn’t even walk straight.
“There now,” he soothed. “Are you steady?” He lowered her to the settee, knelt and took her hands in his. “Did you injure yourself?”
Her head shook frantically. When she finally did speak, the words issued on a gasp. “Fine. I’m fine.” She snatched her hands away from his and buried them in her lap. “I’m all right.”
Middlebrook had gone around the back of the settee to rest his hands on her slender shoulders. There was nothing else Sean could think to do but rise and take his leave. Certainly the wisest course. “If you’re certain?” he said, still unwilling to leave her in such a state. He was definitely not behaving like himself at all. “I’ll see myself out.”
She nodded, seeming only a bit less muddled. Her shoulders squared like a little soldier’s, and a strained smile stretched her lovely bow-shaped lips. “Goodbye, Mr. Wilder.” She drew in an audibly shaky breath. “Do…do come again.”
Come again? Not bloody likely he’d do that. Sean located his hat beside an Oriental urn in the foyer. The cane was missing. His favorite sword cane, too. But after a few moments of looking about for it, he abandoned the search. The loss of it seemed a small price to pay for getting himself out of Midbrook
