Page 56 of Blame It on the Earl (The Duke's Estates 3)

“You think so?”

“Yes. I’ve seen it.”

They faced each other beside the never-yet-marital bed. The sense of connection that had arisen in the sea cave, flamed in stolen kisses, skipped through balmy summer air, and come solidly down to earth vibrated between them. Sarah felt it, a bond woven stronger every day.

“We only need speak to those who have worked at Poldene a long time,” Kenver said.

Her heart flared with gladness.

“Cook,” he went on. “And the head groom. Tamara was a bruising rider.”

“You know this, but not why she’s gone?”

“Someone said it.” Kenver shook his head.

“Perhaps you remember more than you think.”

“I could hardly remember less.”

The cook disavowed all knowledge of anything—sisters, letters, memories. She seemed desperate to hustle them out of her kitchen. In the stables, the head groom was the same at first. But when Kenver pressed him, he let slip that his predecessor had been “loitering about the place” yesterday.

“Benning?” asked Kenver.

The man looked annoyed at himself, but he admitted it.

“Benning worked here for thirty years,” said Kenver.

“Where will we find him?” Sarah asked.

The head groom merely looked uncomfortable.

“He retired to a cottage out at the edge of the estate,” Kenver replied.

“Let us go and see him.”

“Now?”

“We are still dressed for riding,” Sarah pointed out, indicating her scorched habit. Though it seemed that a great deal of time had passed since they returned from their picnic, it had actually been less than an hour. Even so, she couldn’t help feeling that they had very little time left before someone came to thwart them.

“Horses are put away,” objected the head groom.

“A thing that is easily remedied,” said Kenver.

A little while later, they were riding out of the stables again, in the opposite direction from Tresigan. “I wonder if your father will set his dogs on us,” Sarah remarked.

“What? Of course not.”

“It won’t matter if he does. They like me. That annoys him, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Kenver admitted.

“I wager he’s told them they have bad taste.”

Kenver choked out a laugh. Or perhaps it was a gasp. Sarah didn’t care. She felt powerful and free for the first time in a long while.

After about half an hour, they came to a small thatched cottage at the edge of a woodland. Two horses grazed in a fenced field beside it. A white-haired old man came out as they dismounted. He was a little bent but clearly still strong.

“Hello, Benning.”

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