receive the visitors. Nora marvelled at Brandon’s talent for easy conversation.
Nora stepped forward and let Brandon make the introductions. She saw the ladies seated comfortably on the couch near the fire while Brandon and Witherspoon took the two wing-backed chairs opposite. She probably should ring for tea, but she didn’t want to encourage Witherspoon to stay. It would take fifteen minutes to get a tea tray together and another twenty to politely partake of it with company. It was difficult to play the gracious hostess when a picnic in the summerhouse with Brandon loomed on the horizon.
Witherspoon must have sensed the need to expedite his visit. He shifted in his seat to directly face Brandon. ‘I appreciate being received, my lord. We did not have an appointment.’
Nora watched his face. The man might sound self-effacing as he kowtowed to the Earl, but his eyes told a different story. She hoped Brandon could see the calculation in them.
‘I am always glad to meet if I am at home.’ Brandon inclined his head slightly.
‘I felt what I have to say cannot wait, considering the state of affairs in Stockport-on-the-Medlock. It has to do with The Cat.’
Brandon affected a look of cool interest. ‘Have you heard something?’
‘It is something I noticed during the incident at St John’s. I think we may have been looking in the wrong direction for The Cat. I think there is reason to believe The Cat is a woman.’
It took all of Nora’s self-control to avoid looking at Brandon. Any contact might arouse suspicions.
‘Why would you think that, Witherspoon? It’s a highly unlikely hypothesis,’ Brandon said in an even tone that conveyed only the tiniest bit of inquisitiveness. For all intents and purposes, he sounded like a bored man forced to listen to ludicrous tales.
Witherspoon swallowed hard. Nora was gratified to see that the Earl’s haughty demeanour had disconcerted him. Then, Witherspoon gathered his backbone. ‘When the intruder turned to watch you with the bag, the cloak fell away enough to reveal certain, ah, womanly parts.’ Witherspoon choked out the last.
Nora couldn’t resist the jibe. ‘You mean breasts?’ she asked with an air of innocence. The three guests blanched at the use of such a term in mixed company.
Brandon coughed discreetly. ‘I see. We will need more proof, but in the meanwhile it can’t hurt to expand our search to encompass both genders. I appreciate your thoughts, Witherspoon.’ Brandon rose and held out his hand. ‘I am sorry to rush our visit, but my betrothed and I have an appointment shortly.’
‘Thank you for your time, my lord,’ Witherspoon said, rising too. ‘And, of course, we want to extend our felicitations on your upcoming nuptials.’
Nora’s head was reeling by the time Brandon shut the door behind their guests. ‘He knows The Cat is a woman.’
They’d both lost their appetite for a picnic. The allure of the summerhouse faded in the wake of Witherspoon’s visit. In silent accord, they drifted into Brandon’s study and shut the heavy door behind them.
Nora settled on the sofa, the whole nasty scene with Witherspoon playing out again in her mind. His revelations spelled disaster for The Cat. ‘I think The Cat should rob him blind and force him out. I am sure I could “persuade” his wife to apply some more pressure. She’d decamp to London with a little more effort from The Cat.’
Brandon joined her, sternly denouncing her plan. ‘Absolutely not. As long as you’re here, you’re in retirement. Besides, I need Witherspoon’s money.’
‘You’re hard up?’ Nora gasped incredulously, thinking of the fortune that had been paid out for a wardrobe full of gowns for occasions she’d never attend. The ruse was getting dangerously expensive.
‘You shouldn’t have bought all those gowns. I am horrified when I think of the money wasted on them. Did you know I have six gowns specifically for afternoon tea? I’ll never wear them. It will take me some time, but I will pay you for the clothes,’ Nora said with resolve.
Brandon rolled his eyes at that. ‘By doing what? Robbing my neighbors? You most certainly will not. A wardrobe will not beggar me.’
Nora furrowed her brow, perplexed. ‘But you need Witherspoon’s money. You’re poor.’
Brandon gave a friendly chuckle. ‘Hardly. Poor is a bit over the top. My pockets aren’t to let. But it is getting more difficult each year to keep the estates functional. My estates generate enough to support repairs to the tenants’ cottages, to buy seed and farming implements for the fields, but there’s less and less profit for expansion and other expenses. I fear it will only be a few more years before the tenants will be forced to look elsewhere for their livelihoods. Aristocracy is an expensive career. The agricultural economy hasn’t helped.’
Nora saw the pieces fit together at once. ‘The mill is your plan for financial security.’
Brandon nodded. ‘It’s at the foundation of it, the first building block. I need the investors’ money to build for the future of Stockport-on-the-Medlock. I can’t build that future alone. My pockets aren’t that deep.’
Nora felt sick. Her plans would ruin more than his credibility. A few weeks past, such ironic justice would have suited her perfectly. Now, looking at the man across from her, she could barely stomach the thought of all she’d be responsible for. She had to cut ties here before she was too emotionally involved to see reason.
‘None the less, Brandon, I am not comfortable being a kept woman,’ Nora said slowly. ‘Even if you were the richest man in England, I would be reluctant to accept the wardrobe you’ve lavished on me these past few days.’
‘My intended needs the appropriate clothing. No one would believe I was to marry a woman of dubious fashion.’
‘I will pay for the gowns,’ Nora insisted.
Brandon took her hands in his, squeezing them in reassurance. ‘You talk too much. Maybe I’ll get my money’s worth out of the gowns. After your two weeks are up, you might decide to stay.’
Nora sighed. ‘I am not free to marry and I won’t be your mistress.’
‘If he were dead, you would have a choice,’ Brandon said softly.
Nora drew back. ‘What have you done, Brandon? You will not commit murder on my behalf.’
Brandon laughed. ‘Nothing that bad, Nora. Did you imagine I sent thugs to kill your errant husband?’ He sobered. ‘I did send my friend Jack, Viscount Wainsbridge, though. If Reggie Portman is still of this world, Jack will find him.’
Brandon slipped a hand behind her neck, sifting her hair through his fingers and drawing her close for a deep kiss. ‘Until then, we have two weeks to ourselves to wait and see and enjoy. Promise me, two weeks, Nora. The Cat can take a holiday,’ he whispered against her neck.
‘I promise,’ Nora replied softly. But it was already a broken promise. She still had the haul from St John’s to pawn for cash and get to Mary Malone. Brandon kissed her again and Nora felt a twinge of guilt. He couldn’t see the fingers she crossed behind her back.
Конец ознакомительного
