Page 19 of Undercover Infidel
“You knew?” My eyes met Con’s, and I bristled at the recrimination I saw in them.
“I only recently learned she was in the area, but I certainly wasn’t aware she’d be here.”
“Would you excuse us?” he said to Tag before leading me into an alcove. “You recently learned she was here? When was this?”
“I neither care for your tone nor do I owe you an explanation.”
“We previously discussed?—”
“No, Con, you shared your opinion, and I disagreed. It was not a discussion.”
“Do you intend to talk to her about Labyrinth?”
“Of course I do.”
“Against my wishes?”
I shook my head. “As I said, I don’t owe you an explanation.”
“Wait. There’s something else,” he said, grabbing my hand when I turned to walk away.
“What?” I snapped.
“Tag is worried aboutsomething.”
Admittedly, I’d found Tag to be quite tense every time I saw him. I’d begun to think his tight shoulders and the way his gaze continually swept our surroundings were merely habits of a man accustomed to constant threat assessment. “What about?” I asked, softening my tone before quickly realizing we were in the midst of investigating a threat on par with the development of a nuclear bomb. “Err, I mean specifically.”
“We’ll find out later,” he whispered, putting his palm on the small of my back as we left the alcove and entered the conservatory where brunch was being served. David and Sullivan sat by tall windows overlooking the estate grounds, deep in conversation. Gus perused the serving dishes at a buffet table, while Mairi Drummond stood nearby, talking with one of Tag’s staff members.
Despite being invited as a guest, Mairi maintained a certain reserve that spoke of decades spent navigating the complex social hierarchy at Ashcroft. The recent revelation of her true relationship to the family seemed to have done little to erase her old habits.
I glanced around the room but didn’t notice Dr. McLaren or the man I’d seen in the background of yesterday’s video call. Seconds later, they enteredthrough a set of French doors that led in from an outdoor seating area.
“Margot!” Dr. McLaren approached, and we joined hands. “How serendipitous that you’re here this morning.”
I fought to steel my expression despite the turbulent emotions—relief at seeing my mentor, confusion at finding her here of all places, and the lingering hurt over her abrupt retirement that had left me feeling so adrift. Particularly since it came just as the Labyrinth investigation began.
“Dr. McLaren,” I managed, accepting the older woman’s embrace. “It’s a lovely coincidence to see you here.”
“Life is full of surprises, isn’t it?” Dr. McLaren said with the enigmatic smile that had always preceded her most important lessons.
We cheek-kissed, then she turned to an older gentleman dressed in a tailored tweed jacket who was examining an antique pocket watch with unusual intensity.
“Brose, this is the woman I was telling you about earlier, my protege. Margot Sterling, meet Ambrose Ashcroft.”
“Lovely to meet you,” he said, taking my hand and kissing the back of it. As our eyes locked, I couldn’t help but think he looked less like the eccentric uncle in person than I’d expected and more like a distinguished academic.
“Ambrose,” Con greeted him. “I didn’t realize you’d be joining us,” he lied.
The older man smiled thinly. “Niall always invites me. I simply choose to accept when it suits me.”
Tag appeared at Con’s shoulder. “Ambrose has been pestering me again about selling him a few pieces from the east gallery.”
“Still on about those, is he?”
Later, when we were well out of Ambrose’s earshot, Tag confided, “He asks every time he visits. Same routine—claims they’re crucial for some exhibition he’s curating. I’ve told him for years they’re not for sale.”
“Persistent old codger,” Con replied, his voice low. “Never quite takes no for an answer, does he?”
