CHAPTER 6
A shiver snaked down Charlotte’s spine as the lamplight played over Sheffield’s pale face and the flicker of fear in his eyes. His attraction to the brilliant Bluestocking had been apparent since their first few encounters, but she hadn’t realized how serious his feelings had become.
She looked to Wrexford, who was already up and moving to the sideboard. “Sit,” he said, thrusting a glass of whisky into Sheffield’s hand, “and drink, Kit. Then tell us what has you so worried.”
Sheffield set it aside untouched and raked a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. “She’s gone!” His boots beat an agitated tattoo on the carpet as he began to pace around the room. “I tell you, she’s vanished into thin air!”
“Sit,” repeated the earl. “We can’t be of any help while you’re babbling like Hamlet.”
Expelling a ragged sigh, his friend dropped into one of the armchairs. “Right. Cold-blooded logic and precise order,” he muttered, then took a moment to compose himself.
“Logic,” murmured Wrexford, “is how one solves a problem. So, yes, let us try to apply it to this one.”
The earl’s dry tone seemed to soften Sheffield’s distress.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, pressing his palms to his temples. “It’s just that . . . well, I’m worried.”
“Understandably so,” cut in Charlotte. “Lady Cordelia didn’t show up for her tutoring session with Raven, which seemed decidedly odd.
However, Wrexford has pointed out that there are any number of reasonable explanations for why she might have left London without informing her friends.
” She quickly recounted what the earl had mentioned, and repeating it made her feel more convinced he was right.
Sheffield, however, shook his head. “No. She wouldn’t have left without telling me.”
“Kit—” began Wrexford.
“She wouldn’t have!”
The earl fixed him with a searching stare. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because we had a meeting scheduled, and she wouldn’t have missed it unless something was wrong.”
“What sort of meeting?” asked Wrexford.
As Sheffield averted his eyes, Charlotte saw a flush steal up to his cheeks. “I prefer not to say.”
Hell’s teeth. Her dismay deepened. Sheffield’s charm and good looks made him a great favorite with the ladies, and he made no secret of his occasional dalliances—though in the past they had always been with married ladies, who knew the rules of the game. If he had seduced an innocent . . .
Affairs of the heart could unleash unpredictable and explosive emotions.
The earl must have read her thoughts, for he grimaced and uttered a scathing oath. “Damnation, Kit,” he added, disappointment resonating in the gruff growl.
Sheffield flinched, as if struck. “You think . . .” A sputter. “No, no, I swear, it’s nothing like that.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sworn to silence, so I can’t reveal the reason.”
His chest rose and fell. “But what I can say is that her brother has been acting erratically lately—all ebullience one moment and then plunging into the depths of despair in the blink of an eye. As the three of us know from our previous investigation, the family is facing financial difficulties because of the late earl’s profligate spending, though they hide it well.
And we also know Woodbridge allowed Cordelia to rescue him from the last crisis. ”
“And you fear he has done so again?” A note of skepticism colored the earl’s question.
“Yes.” Sheffield scrubbed a hand over his jaw.
“Lady Cordelia has appeared increasingly distracted of late.” His eyes narrowed.
“And the last time I paid a visit to their townhouse, I was passing the drawing room—the doors were half-open—and saw Woodbridge with several other gentlemen. There were papers being signed, and when one of them caught sight of me, he quickly nudged the doors shut.”
“Have you any proof that something unsavory is going on?” pressed Wrexford.
Sheffield remained silent—which to Charlotte was an eloquent enough answer.
Catching a quick warning glance from the earl, Charlotte agreed that for the moment it was best to make no mention of the scene she had witnessed between the brother and sister. Their friend’s emotions were already too much on edge. “Sheffield, perhaps—”
“Something is wrong,” he insisted. “I . . . I just know it in my bones.”
“I’m sorry, Kit,” responded the earl. “But we’ll need more than that.”
“Can’t we ask Griffin to do some investigating?” asked Sheffield.
“And give him what to go on?” The earl made a face. “The only bones Griffin cares about are the ones on his supper plate. Unless you can put more meat on the ones you’re offering . . .” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug.
Their friend blinked. “So, you won’t help me?”
“We didn’t say that,” answered Charlotte quickly. “Of course we’ll make some inquiries. But without any clearer idea of where or why, I fear we’ll be stumbling around in the dark. Is there nothing else you can tell us?”
Sheffield held himself very still for a long moment and then abruptly got to his feet. “Thank you. I won’t take up any more of your time.”
“Bloody hell,” muttered Wrexford as their friend kicked the door shut on his way out.
Charlotte heard the hint of pain beneath his exasperation. His gruffness hid a deep loyalty to his friends, and she sensed that Sheffield’s obvious disappointment had cut him to the quick.
“You mustn’t feel guilty, Wrexford,” she counseled.
“Right now, he’s caught up in a maelstrom of emotions.
You were right to press him on the facts.
Without some sort of solid information, it’s hard to know how to help.
” The lamp flame shivered. “I, too, am very fond of Lady Cordelia. But we both know she’s not afraid of taking risks—or of breaking whatever rules are necessary to achieve her goal. ”
“Lady Cordelia would never be involved in anything evil.” Raven suddenly appeared in the doorway, a wraithlike shadow silhouetted against the darkness of the corridor. He lifted his chin. “I’m sure of it.”
Charlotte felt her heart lurch, all thought of chiding him for eavesdropping chased away by the look on his face. “I fear it’s not that simple, sweeting. There are times . . .” Oh, how to explain it? “There are times when a choice isn’t a clear-cut one between good and evil.”
Raven blinked, his sharp features pinching in disbelief as he shot a glare at Wrexford. “D’you think she’s guilty?”
“You’ve grown up on the streets, lad,” replied the earl, “and have seen that life rarely gives us the luxury of seeing the world in black and white. What m’lady means is that sometimes we’re forced to find our way through a confusing muddle of greys.”
Thank you, Wrexford, she thought, flashing him a grateful look.
“You heard Mr. Sheffield. He doesn’t think her capable of evil,” retorted Raven.
“Mr. Sheffield has certain feelings for Lady Cordelia,” said Wrexford. “His judgment is colored by his emotions—”
“Love makes us see the best in those for whom we care,” interjected Charlotte. “Even if circumstances have forced them to be less than we wish them to be.”
Raven drew a shuddering breath. “So you’re not going to try to prove her innocent?”
“Of course we’ll look into her disappearance,” said Charlotte. “But given the facts we know—”
“The facts all said your cousin was guilty as sin!” exclaimed Raven, his voice rising to a near shout. “But you refused to accept it could be true.”
The accusation was like a knife stab to the heart. “You’re right. I didn’t give up, and nor shall any of us do so in this case.” Two quick strides brought her close enough to enfold the boy in a fierce hug.
“We will do our best, sweeting, I promise you that.” His bony shoulders felt sharp as knife blades against her chest. So hard, and yet as fragile. “But you must steel your heart for the fact that it might not be good enough.”
He stepped back, looking very small and uncertain in the flitting shadows. “I think you’re wrong. So . . . so . . .” Fisting his hands, he spun around and darted away into the darkness.
She stared at the ink-black shadows, wishing she could force them to surrender their secrets. “Lud, as if I needed life to become any more complicated,” she whispered.
“Speaking of which,” said the earl, “there was something else you wished to discuss with me.”
“Never mind that now,” replied Charlotte, suddenly feeling too overwhelmed to think straight. “I fear Raven won’t leave this alone. I must think about how to keep him—and Hawk—from getting into any real trouble.”
“Leave the Weasels to me,” said Wrexford.
She mustered a smile of thanks, but trepidation quickly squeezed it from her lips.
He sat in silence, and though she looked away, Charlotte felt his gaze probing, probing. Damnation. How was it that he always seemed to see more than she wished to reveal?
“You know, sharing worries helps to rob them of their power,” he murmured. “I would hope that by now you would trust me to confide what else is troubling you.”
“It’s not a matter of trust, Wrexford,” she replied. “It’s . . .” A sigh. “It’s just that I feel I burden you with enough of my problems as it is.”
“Friendship isn’t a burden.”
Their eyes met, entangling her in a connection she didn’t dare try to define.
“If you’re wrestling with two conundrums,” he added, “chances are you won’t deal with either of them very well.”
“Ever practical and logical,” she murmured.
A flicker of amusement lit in his gaze. “Yes, well, you know me—my outlook on life is blessedly unclouded by feelings.”
“Impossible man,” she muttered.
Which made him laugh.
The rumbled sound somehow seemed to loosen the tightness in her chest.
“If you must know,” conceded Charlotte, “Alison informed me this afternoon that my brother Hartley, the present Earl of Wolcott, now that my father and his first heir have shuffled off their mortal coils, reached out to her and would like to meet with me.”