Page 40 of Duke of Treason (Rogues from War 3)

Blanching to an ashen hue, she almost lost balance, but caught herself in time. “You did it on purpose.” She accused hotly. How could she have been so neglectful to think of this possibility. It was not like she did not know of these things.

“On purpose?” Arching his brows, he pinned her with his stare. “We always go too wild to care; would you not say?”

From ashen, her skin burned at the reply. Eager to hide it, she rotated to the door.

“Promise me.” He insisted firmly.

Incapable of anything else, she nodded weak before she forced herself out of the cell to close the peep iron door behind her. She would instruct the nearest innkeeper to deliver a note to Miller informing of His Grace’s whereabouts, so he could release the unnerving man.

That she might be expecting his babe filled her with excitement and terror in equal measure, she thought, climbing up the stone stairs to emerge near the chapel. She would have to plan for the possibility of it, nonetheless.

There were more pressing matters to carry out though. Reaching town, the first of them. Resolutely, she exited the castle to have her carriage prepared and Iseult saddled, while the maid readied her trunk.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Busy, smelly and smoggy London offered Annabel no welcome as she neared her house in the newly constructed Chesterfield Street. Not big, not small, it accommodated herself and the servants comfortably.

Tucked in her carriage from the last stop, she sought to preserve her privacy. Iseult tethered to it, the harnessed horses sailed through the crowds and the noise like a boat cutting masses of water. Two days in rainy, then dusty roads and shabby inns made her weary. So, it was with relief that she greeted her butler at the entrance upon requesting tea and a bath.

Inside silence and cool greeted her. The fireplaces unlit, since no one expected her, reflected the sense of emptiness she was reluctant to admit even to herself. She knew Romulus would not follow her for he had no chance of capturing her again. The impression something had remained back in the castle, like a forgotten piece of clothing, would not abate. She could not tell what it was, but it lingered.

The night received her with a frosty bed. It was when that impression came back to her. The longing became undeniable, together with the flood of memories of those couple of weeks in Cornwall. Even the thought of the stained glass-windows in the castle’s library provoked a rush of nostalgia, as if they belonged to a time and place distant and impossible to retrieve. Fortunately, sleep overtook her, saving her from having to look deeper into these feelings.

* * *

Useless to waste any time to report to her superior’s office, which took her there early next morning. Lord Wingfield received her with his usual round bellied complacency, one that always caused her a mild displeasure.

“Lady Winchester.” He bowed over her gloved hand. “I began to wonder if you forsook us.”

For this meeting, she dressed a dark blue dress with a modest neckline covered by a fichu up to her neck.

With an elegant curtsy, she schooled a neutral expression. “Lord Wingfield, I would not do such a thing.”

He motioned her to a seat in front of his desk and sat at his chair. Annabel proceeded her account of the assignment, her discoveries and the difficulty to send word to London. Though each word brought her back to her days in Blackthorne, she succeeded in tamping them down quick.

“Lady Winchester, your impressive accomplishments inspire admiration though the news are not so fresh, I must say.” Hands rested on his belly, he looked at her with reluctant approval.

“I find the delay unfortunate, indeed, my lord.” Straight back, she tilted her coiffed head in acknowledgement of his praise. “But I hope it helps the current investigations.”

“It certainly will, my lady.” He scribbled something on a sheet of paper. “Every evidence points to the Duke’s treasonous actions.”

Heart plummeting to the bottom of her stomach, she kept her composure despite the disappointment those words wrecked in her. “I am happy to have contributed, my lord.”

“So am I.” He conceded. “Notwithstanding, our agency will need solid confirmation.”

Evidently, they would not cast one of the highest peers of the realm into the gallows without incontestable proof, she thought with a grim twist of her insides.

After a few more formalities, the countess took her leave expressing willingness to move on to future assignments. Anything that would wipe the past weeks from her mind.

The sinking feeling clogged her throat with the possibility of Blackthorne’s very real crimes. While it dwelled in the realm of suspicions, there had been a chance of it being cleared. Nothing else

to do now other than blanking out the whole thing. And the man. The latter being wrenchingly troublesome.

Her carriage joggled on the way back home, her thoughts scattered and something too akin to desolation threatened to take her over with inexorable force. It would be impossible to separate her feelings from her previous mission and from that man. Her body missed him already, and she did not want to think about the other ways she might miss him too. The only way was to keep herself busy hoping it would be enough to avoid the memories.

* * *

Romulus stood by the window of his study, a week later, perfectly convinced that he did not come to London after her. Obviously not! He had several affairs to see to and his presence would be cherished if he decided to visit his club.

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