Page 45 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
His earlier question of what was going on was translating into what the devil Nigel and Nolan were up to.
But as he walked deeper into the barn, Thomas acknowledged that although this problem-of-sorts, along with the matter of the seed supply, clearly lay at his cousins’ doors, none of the more serious incidents could be attributed to them. They’d been away in Ayr when the Burns sisters had died and the Bradshaws had fallen ill.
He reached the end of the barn, where a large open area had previously played host to a jumble of old carts, drays, and carriages. All had been shifted and crammed somewhat haphazardly aside to accommodate three new carriages. Spanking new carriages, barely used. One was a sleek, elegant, high-perch phaeton, another a well-appointed racing curricle, while the third was a closed gentleman’s carriage of distinctly modern design. Thomas opened a door and looked in. Fine leather, polished oak, and gilt trimmings met his eyes.
He closed the door and, for a moment, stood looking down at the barn floor.
He wasn’t intimately acquainted with the clan’s finances, with the profits and cash flows from the estate. He’d never sought such information; the clan had never been his inheritance—there had been no need for him to know such details.
That said, he was a businessman, one most others in Glasgow considered extremely shrewd. Even without knowing the details, he knew beyond question that the clan’s wealth would not stretch to the acquisition of such carriages, let alone the horseflesh presently gracing the barn.
This, he suspected, was a part of the answer to their question of what was going on. He stirred and started back up the aisle. Drawing level with Sean, he met the head stableman’s eyes and nodded. “I’ll take your advice—I’ll ask Nigel.”
Jaw setting, Sean nodded back.
Thomas paused long enough to ask his questions about the samples to be sent for testing, and to hear Sean’s reply as to how long it might be before the results came back: “A month or more, depending on how much work from others is already waiting to be done.”
As he strode back to the house, Thomas recalled the scene he’d witnessed the afternoon before, when Nigel and Nolan had ridden into the stable yard.
He hadn’t understood the sullen reception they’d received.
Regardless of all the other threads still flapping in the breeze, he was fairly certain he understood that now.
* * *
He was alone at the breakfast table when Lucilla walked in. She was wearing a day gown in a shade of bronzy-green that, combined with her fire-red hair, made him think of autumn.
The gown’s fine material also revealed far more of her figure than either the velvet of her riding habit or the stiff silk of her evening gown had, which did nothing for his comfort.
Of course, after smiling in greeting, then filling her plate at the sideboard, she came to the place beside him. He rose and drew out the chair for her, held it while she sat and settled, then sank back into his own.
Clearly comfort wasn’t something he was destined to experience any time soon.
Luckily, Norris, closely followed by Niniver, arrived. The pair served themselves and took the places opposite him and Lucilla. In between bites of toast and jam, Lucilla asked Niniver and Norris about Alice, and the conversation slid into safe arenas.
But just having Lucilla close played havoc with his concentration. As distractions went, she was as potent as they came, at least for him. If he’d beenrestlessbefore, having her within his senses’ reach only intensified the feeling.
He remained puzzled by her question about what he knew of the Lady. Why ask that? The implication and her reaction to his answer suggested she’d thought he would know more. But, again, why? What could she have expected him to know?
Despite the fact he had—he thought fairly definitely—stepped back from her last night, and signaled his decision not to pursue the path she’d seemed hell-bent on rushing down, her attitude to him this morning could best be described as equable.
He had no idea why he could sense her mood so clearly, yet he could. She was calm, serene—and focused.
He wasn’t sure on what.
Before he could decide whether he needed to remain on guard against her, Nigel and Nolan strolled in. The pair greeted Lucilla, their siblings, and him with almost identical, arrogantly insouciant airs. Unimpressed, he waited until they’d served themselves and sat, Nigel at the end of the table with Nolan to his left, next to Niniver. He waited while both started in on the ham and eggs on their plates, until Nigel paused and reached for the mug of coffee he’d poured himself.
“There are,” Thomas said, his tone even and uninflected, as unaggressive as he could make it, “eight excellent specimens of horseflesh, plus three new carriages, in the old barn.”
Nigel froze, his mug halfway to his mouth. A heartbeat passed, then his gaze flicked up to Thomas’s face.
Thomas arched his brows. “Who do they belong to?”
Nigel’s gaze darted to Nolan. Impassive, Nolan looked back at Nigel. Then Nigel turned to Thomas and smiled. “Good cattle, aren’t they? Very nice steppers.”
“So they appeared.” Thomas waited, his gaze on Nigel’s face.
Nolan leaned forward, reaching for the jam pot. Picking it up, he grinned at Thomas. “There’s no mystery, cuz. We’re looking after them for a friend. He’s been forced to sell up—trouble with his creditors, don’t you know? The horses and carriages in the old barn are the ones he wants to keep, but he thought it wise to get them out of sight for the nonce.”
