Chapter 17

R upert jerked back, releasing Clarissa’s hand as if he’d been burned. The expression on his face was the same panicked look he had worn when they’d spotted the muzzle of the gun. Oh, crikey!

Clarissa stared at him in fraught silence. Why would Rupert have lied about needing glasses?

The crunch of footsteps on the snow recalled her to her surroundings. She turned and saw Lord Helmsley jogging up from the castle.

“Everyone’s inside,” he panted. “Did you find any… Rupert!” he exclaimed, noticing Rupert, who had been partially obscured by a tree. “What are you doing out here, my boy?”

A cheerful, vacant expression settled over Rupert’s face. “You won’t countenance it, but Miss Weatherby was determined to look for the poachers herself! I could hardly let her go after them all alone, now could I?”

“I… I suppose not,” Lord Helmsley said, turning to Clarissa. The second the earl’s attention was fixed on her, Rupert gave her a pointed look accompanied by a subtle shake of his head. The earl glanced back at Rupert, frowning. Immediately, Rupert plastered the empty smile back across his features.

So, Rupert had not advised Lord and Lady Helmsley that he was working for Sir Henry. A thousand questions rattled around inside Clarissa’s head. Why hadn’t he been forthcoming with his friends about what he was really doing at the castle? Why had he pretended to need glasses?

What was going on?

But Rupert was her partner, and she had come to trust him enough to follow his lead. She gave the earl a cringing sort of smile and said, “Wasn’t that gallant of Mr. Dupree?”

“Ah,” the earl said. “Yes, well, Rupert is a very good fellow.”

“He is indeed,” Clarissa confirmed. She held out the rifle. “This was the only thing we found of note.”

“This is the weapon, then?” Lord Helmsley took the rifle, then pulled back in surprise. “But this is one of my rifles!”

This was unsurprising, considering the assassin was someone inside the castle, but they were supposed to maintain the illusion of poachers for the sake of Rupert’s cover. Clarissa asked in a pointed tone, “Did you not tell me it had gone missing recently, my lord?”

“No.” The earl’s eyes widened as Clarissa jerked her head toward Rupert. “I mean… yes. That’s right. It went missing a week ago. I guess, uh… now we know why.”

“Well, it’s a lucky thing they missed, isn’t it?” Rupert asked, looking unconcerned. “Say, it’s awfully cold out here for Miss Weatherby. Shall we head back inside?”

“Let’s,” the earl said tightly.

They trudged back to the house three abreast. Once inside, Lord Helmsley peered at Rupert, no doubt wondering how to get rid of him.

Rupert made it easy for him. “After all that, I fancy a hot drink. Would anyone like to join me?”

“Thank you,” Clarissa said, “but I think I’ll go up to my room and change out of these wet boots.”

“Ah. Jolly good.” Rupert bowed over her hand. As he straightened, he whispered, “Meet me in the orangery.”

Clarissa gave the tiniest nod, then turned to follow the earl up the stairs. On the landing, they encountered Lady Emily, who seemed either unaware or unconcerned that someone had attempted to kill a member of their party. “Look what I found, Miss Weatherby—mistletoe!” She gave a bright laugh. “You’d best keep your wits about you, for your many suitors will be contriving to catch you beneath one of my kissing boughs.”

Clarissa smiled weakly in return. As if she had time to worry about suitors right now, with a murderer on the loose!

Although… She glanced over her shoulder. Rupert had finished passing his hat and gloves off to a footman. Catching her eye, he nodded once before heading off to find the hot drink he had mentioned.

It was the strangest thing, but “You go right. I’ll go left” suddenly seemed like the most romantic words in the English language. Rupert hadn’t dismissed her. He hadn’t treated her like some silly girl.

He had treated her like his partner .

Suddenly, that seemed more important than the fact that he apparently could not read.

The earl led her to the Baxters’ suite, where Lady Helmsley was also waiting. Clarissa informed everyone of what she had found in the woods. She made no mention of Rupert, and if Oliver Baxter found it a strange coincidence that Rupert had tackled him just before the shot was fired, he said nothing about it.

“At this point,” Clarissa concluded, “the evidence overwhelmingly suggests that the would-be assassin is residing within the castle.”

Rosalind Baxter made a bleak sound.

Lady Helmsley pressed her niece’s hand. “I think you should both keep to your rooms until the threat has been eliminated.”

From his vantage point standing next to the window, Oliver Baxter narrowed his eyes. “Whatever became of this experienced agent the Home Office was sending?”

It was on the tip of Clarissa’s tongue to say, He saved your life not half an hour ago .

But, for whatever reason, Rupert preferred to remain incognito. Although she still didn’t understand why, he was her partner, and she was not about to betray him.

“I do not know,” Clarissa replied. “It would appear that they have been detained.”

Oliver snorted. “Perfect. If we had a more competent protector, I would suggest we venture forth and try to draw the villain out. But, as we are left to the dubious protection of England’s most renowned wallflower—”

“We both owe our lives to Miss Weatherby!” Rosalind snapped.

Oliver glowered at his wife. “I would seem to owe my life to dumb luck.” He laughed. “Unless you’re suggesting that Rupert Dupree is a highly trained government agent.”

Rosalind was having none of it. “We would have already been dead. That rock would have crushed us were it not for Miss Weatherby’s quick thinking. You know nothing of her career and experience. It is unfair of you to disparage her simply because she is a woman.”

“I appreciate that, Mrs. Baxter,” Clarissa said. “As for Mr. Dupree, he insisted on searching the woods with me while everyone else took shelter inside the castle. I thought it the act of a true gentleman.”

Oliver Baxter’s nostrils flared. No doubt he did not care for the implicit comparison—that Rupert had stayed to help while he fled inside, not even pausing to ensure the safety of his wife.

But before he could speak, Lord Helmsley said, “Yes, Rupert has always been a fine young man, and I will not hear anyone speak against him underneath my roof.”

A sulky frown settled over Oliver’s face, but he wasn’t about to gainsay the earl. Instead, he glared at his wife. “Easy enough for you to be grateful. You’re not going to be confined to this room, waiting for Miss Weatherby to sort this out.”

Rosalind looked bewildered. “I will certainly be confined to this room. I intend to practice the utmost caution.”

Her husband rolled his eyes. “You might as well go out. It’s not as if anyone cares whether you live or die.”

Lady Helmsley surged to her feet. “I have had enough of these dismissive comments toward my niece! I, for one, care very much whether she lives or dies, and as her husband, you should too.”

“Indeed,” the earl said darkly. “You will probably say it is none of my affair. But this is not the way a gentleman speaks to his wife.”

Oliver Baxter was clever enough to recognize defeat when he saw it. “I apologize, my lord. The stress of today’s events has put me in an ill humor.” He sketched a brief bow, then headed for the connecting door to the bedchamber. “If you will excuse me, I will take some time to consider how I wish to proceed.”

After that, Lady Helmsley announced that she would sit with Rosalind for a time. Maintaining the guise of poachers being their primary suspects, they determined that Lord Helmsley would question the servants to see if anyone knew how the rifle had gone missing.

And Clarissa headed out toward the orangery to confer with Rupert.