Chapter 8

Killian shifted in his saddle. He and Drake had been riding for hours. They would soon reach Berkshire. The weather turned on them when they passed Reading, and a summer storm made Killian wish for the comforts of his carriage. The country roads were turning into rutted lanes bogged with mud. Even on horseback, it was a dangerous slog through increasingly slippery terrain.

‘Brilliant plan to ride to Everly Manor.' Drake glared at Killian from the back of his impressive stallion.

‘We're almost there.' Killian hunched his shoulders as water dripped down his neck and into his collar. His trousers were covered in mud, and it would take all the hot water in Berkshire to thaw his bones.

‘Can we revisit our conversation about Miss Simmons? You've seen her three times since the ball, and still you haven't gotten any information about Sarah Bright. One might assume your motivations are becoming rather separate from your mission.'

Killian regretted inviting Drake to join him. ‘Assumptions make an ass of you, Drake.'

Although Drake wasn't wrong. The more time he spent with Hannah, the more time he wanted to spend. And it had fuck-all to do with Sarah Bright's investigation.

Despite Hannah's provocative amendment to their arrangement, his visits with her had been gallingly proper.

One thing was certain, Lady Philippa no longer topped his list of benevolent women. She must have had a change of heart since the ball. The duchess was taking her duties as chaperone in a stupidly serious manner. She kept her sharp gaze on him like a hawk. When Killian had finally stolen a moment alone with Hannah in the garden, the damned butler wandered into the rose patch with shears and a vase, sent on a mission by Her Grace.

Killian only hoped this house party provided him with opportunities to satisfy Hannah's curiosity before he expired from thwarted desire.

‘I assume you have yet to discuss the particulars of Major Patrick Cavendale's unfortunate death with his family? You'll have a hard time avoiding his father and brother at Berkshire.' Drake winced as he manoeuvred his horse around a large rut in the road.

He never spoke of his leg injury, but Killian was there when the Afghanistan soldiers stretched Drake on the rack, dislocating his limbs in a sickening pop of ligaments. Killian knew Drake's body was covered in scars – the least of which cut through his left eyebrow – because Killian had been forced to watch every moment of his friend's torture. And yet, Killian emerged from that stinking prison unmarred. It was a special kind of agony to be spared from pain while the men he was sworn to lead and protect sustained horrific injuries on his behalf.

Killian was kept healthy and relatively well-fed while being forced to watch his men slowly decimated by torture, infection, starvation, and disease during their two-year imprisonment. It was almost more than Killian's mind could survive. Major Patrick Cavendale had not been so lucky. The poor boy's sanity broke before his body. In the end, his death had been a mercy.

Shame tasted as bitter as hemlock, but it didn't change Killian's mission. ‘Lord Bradford will be at the house party. He's still our best lead in this investigation. Besides, I can't avoid the Cavendales forever. Patrick's death is my responsibility. Had I taken command of the forces instead of listening to Major General Elphinstone…' Killian shook his head, rage and humiliation making him want to punch someone hard enough to feel his knuckles break. ‘The whole affair was damned from the beginning. We never should have been there.'

‘Elphinstone was an idiot. You are not.' Drake slowed his horse, and Killian matched the pace with his own. The scent of wet earth and sweet bracken surrounded them as raindrops pattered the ground. ‘I carry the scars of war on my body, but I don't envy the burden you bear, Killian. Only a fool would believe you escaped the war unscathed.'

‘I've never understood how you continued a friendship with me. I deserve nothing but hatred from you. When the very fires of hell were licking at your feet, I just sat there, useless. A weak coward.' The words tore something from Killian's soul. His throat was raw, his nerves exposed.

Drake stopped his horse as the rain fell around them.

An icy droplet slid down Killian's jaw like a frozen tear. In the waning light, it was impossible to read Drake's expression.

‘You believe yourself a coward?'

Killian ground his teeth and pressed his lips together, refusing to let them quiver. He would not break down and sob like some pathetic schoolboy. He cleared his throat but didn't trust his voice. Instead, he dipped his chin in a quick nod.

‘We don't speak of the war. After today, I never wish to again. But know this, Killian: none of us would have traded positions with you. Not a single man. You kept us alive in that reeking hole of a prison. Not once did you falter. Your stubborn belief that we would be rescued allowed us all to hope. Your refusal to break, when every single one of us would have, gave us the strength to endure. To live on, no matter what they did.'

‘I did nothing.'

Drake's lips curved in a tight smile. ‘You did more than you'll ever know.'

‘It was my job to lead you, to keep everyone safe.'

Drake's harsh laughter cut through the drizzle. ‘No one can keep everyone safe. But you can bring Lord Cavendale and his son a measure of peace. Tell them Patrick died honourably and leave it at that. It's bad enough we had to watch him go mad. There's no reason for them to know the details.' Drake spurred his horse on, cantering down the lane. His shouted words echoed back to Killian. ‘Some burdens must be put down if you want to have the strength to carry on.'

That was Killian's mission now. To carry on. To find a killer. To atone for surviving a bloody war when so many better men died. But there was no room in the fragments of his heart for a beautiful woman who reminded him the world could still hold mystery and sweetness. So, he would seduce her, sate her curiosity, and indulge his desires, but he would not allow the broken, battled vessel of his heart to get involved. Even if the task seemed insurmountable.

Everly Manor was a grand estate sprawling over a vast expanse of Berkshire's fertile land and forest. The house itself boasted award-winning gardens, the largest ballroom in the parish, and some of the best hunting in the district. While it did not eclipse Lady Philippa's country estate in size or design, it was nevertheless impressive.

In deference to Lady Philippa's title and position, the duchess had been settled in the grandest guest suite overlooking the front of the house. Hannah, by proxy, was shown to a very handsome room one door down from Philippa's.

Philippa and Hannah received a warm welcome by their hosts upon arrival, whereupon they retired to their rooms to refresh themselves and prepare for dinner. Betty was aquiver with nerves and anticipation with so many happenings below stairs. The girl's excitement bordered on frantic.

‘There are ever so many people to meet. How will I remember them all? And it's so large! I'm sure to get lost. Will you be wearing your grey evening gown tonight or the brown? I knew I should have packed your silver dress, but you told me not to. Her Grace said I shouldn't listen to you about your clothes as you never take an interest.' Betty's eyes widened, and she pressed her lips together. ‘Bother. I shouldn't have said that last bit.' Her pink cheeks flamed to crimson.

‘Betty, it's fine. The grey dress will be perfectly adequate for tonight.' Betty was speaking faster than usual, and there was a sheen to her eyes, making Hannah worry she might burst into tears at any moment. ‘I wonder if you should take a seat and collect yourself.'

Betty fulfilled Hannah's prophecy when her eyes filled. ‘I've made a blunder of this. There's just so much flurry downstairs, and I don't want to disgrace you or the duchess, miss.'

Hannah placed her hands on Betty's shoulders and squeezed. ‘You're doing fine. I'm sure being in a new place and learning the personalities of so many other servants is daunting. Don't worry. You'll be a credit to us, I know.'

Betty nodded, her cap bobbing as it was prone to do. ‘The staff here aren't half so nice as back home. There was a boy in the stables who was right cheeky. He asked how a pretty girl like me wasn't married already.'

Hannah raised a brow. ‘Did he? Shall I speak with Miss Ivy Cavendale about it? I don't want you being harassed.'

Betty shook her head. ‘Oh, no, miss. I'm sure he meant no harm. A lad as handsome as him is probably used to all the girls fawning. But I set him right. I told him I was too smart to let some man tie me down. I don't answer to anyone except you and Lady Philippa, and that suits me just fine.'

Hannah didn't miss the way her maid's lips curled in a smile at the memory.

‘So, this stable boy is handsome, is he?' Hannah couldn't resist teasing.

‘Handsome won't buy you eggs in the winter. That's what my mum always told me.'

‘She sounds like a very bright woman.'

Betty's voice grew soft. ‘She was. A right gem was my mum.'

‘Oh, Betty. I'm so sorry. I didn't realise…' Hannah could have kicked herself. How stupid for her not to know such a personal detail about her maid. The girl knew the most intimate particulars about Hannah's life, yet she knew nothing in return.

Betty turned to the wardrobe and pulled out Hannah's grey evening dress, laying it on the bed. ‘No need to apologise, miss. Mum would have been proud of me, working in such a fine house, with ladies as brave and wonderful as you and the duchess.' She turned back around, all business. ‘We'll get you out of your traveling clothes and ready for dinner, miss. You look wonderful in any dress, so it won't matter if yours is plainer than the others.' She bit her lip.

Hannah was saved from a response by a knock on her door. Betty rushed to open it, and Philippa swept in wearing a stunning evening gown of cobalt overlaid with black lace.

‘You aren't dressed yet.'

Betty's hands shook as she unbuttoned Hannah's dress. ‘That's my fault, Your Grace. I'll have her ready in a trice.'

‘Don't rush, Betty. A late entrance is so much more dramatic.' Philippa perched elegantly on a rose and gold chair in the corner of the room as Betty bustled around Hannah. ‘Shall we review our strategy for the evening?'

Hannah lifted her arms, and Betty removed her brown travel dress. Hannah waited until the dress cleared her head before she answered. ‘Certainly. We know Lord Cavendale, his son, and eldest daughter, Miss Ivy Cavendale, are in attendance. Miss Millicent Whittenburg will also be here. And of course, Lord and Lady Bradford. Philippa, you mustn't say anything about the man's moustache.'

Philippa laughed. ‘Well, certainly not to his face, but you can't expect me to stay completely mute on such a ridiculous subject.' She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. ‘Delacroix was able to find out from Ivy Cavendale's maid that Lord and Lady Hastings are also in attendance with their daughter.' Delacroix was Phillipa's lady's maid and was skilled at discovering information from the servants' quarters. ‘Apparently, Miss Annabelle Hastings is pursuing Alfred Cavendale. Or at least, her mother is pursuing a son-in-law with Cavendale's pedigree and purse.'

‘Quite the gathering. Which suits our purpose. It's always easier to disappear in a crowd.' Hannah stepped into her grey gown, and Betty began the arduous task of fastening the buttons along the back. Hannah shimmied her shoulders to help Betty adjust the dress. It was high-necked, terribly unfashionable, and far less revealing than the silver dress she had worn to accompany the duke. At least she could move her arms freely.

‘I heard there'll be another gentleman in attendance. St George something-or-other.' Betty finished the last button and ushered Hannah to a chair so she could attack her hair with a brush.

Hannah cocked her head. ‘Lord Franklin St George?'

Betty broke into a wide grin, her eyes flashing. ‘That's the one!'

Betty dismantled Hannah's hair and brushed it out to begin anew. ‘According to Sam, this St George character is best friends with Alfred Cavendale.'

Hannah caught Betty's gaze in the mirror. ‘And who is this Sam? He wouldn't happen to be a handsome and cheeky stable boy, would he?'

Betty's mouth fell open for a moment before she snapped it closed. ‘He, um, well, he sat next to me at dinner, you see.' Her hands flew over Hannah's hair. Deft fingers braided, curled, pinned and tucked the strands into a silky masterpiece. ‘He had all kinds of funny stories. Kept the whole table in stitches, miss.'

Philippa shared a glance with Hannah. ‘Just mind he doesn't charm you out of anything you want to keep, Betty.'

Nodding her head while her hands kept busy, Betty bit her lip.

‘If you're quite finished, dear, we must head to dinner. You did a wonderful job with Hannah's hair. Elegant.'

Betty's cheeks flushed, and she carefully placed the last pin. ‘You look ever so lovely, Miss Simmons.' She dropped a quick curtsey.

‘Thank you, Betty.' Hannah smiled. ‘Do keep your ears open for any word amongst the servants about a lady's maid who would have been employed here a few weeks back. Sarah Bright. Don't make it obvious, but if you find anything out, please let us know immediately.'

Betty nodded. ‘Of course, miss.'

‘Right, shall we make our entrance?' Hannah ignored the sudden flush of heat at the thought of seeing Killian. She rose from the chair and waited for Philippa to precede her.

Philippa opened the door leading the way down the stairs to the drawing room, where the party was gathered for drinks before dinner.

Hannah noticed Lord Killian immediately. He stood next to the fire, sipping what she guessed was whiskey. His sharp gaze caught hers the moment she walked into the room. The left corner of his mouth curled in the hint of a smile.

Her stomach flipped uncertainly. Blood pulsed through her veins. Tingles of awareness sparked in her fingers, the base of her throat, and the apex of her thighs.

Damnation!

How could a half-smile from across the room make her body react so strongly? Her gaze locked on his lips. She remembered their texture, soft and firm, as he pressed his mouth to hers. It had only been a week since the ball, but it felt like eternity.

Since she made her scandalous proposal to Lord Killian, minuscule progress had been made. She confessed her proposition to Philippa the night she made it. For the first time in ten years, Hannah regretted being honest with her patroness. Philippa was all encouragement when she thought Hannah showed no interest in the Duke of Covington, but as soon as Philippa became aware of Hannah's arrangement, the duchess turned into a fearsome she-wolf guarding her cub. It was ridiculous. Hannah was not some innocent creature needing supervision.

Still, if something didn't happen soon, she would be needing a cold bath. At times, she worried she would melt from the smouldering thoughts consuming her about the devilishly handsome Lieutenant General.

The result of Philippa's sudden adherence to social conventions was three visits from Lord Killian culminating in nothing more scandalous than a brief kiss in the garden before they were interrupted by Stokes.

Philippa might think she was shielding Hannah, but her newly found protective streak only made Hannah more determined to follow her set course. She was a woman of four and twenty with no plans to marry. Philippa had given her permission to explore her passions, and if she wanted to engage in a physical affair, that was her prerogative. She had no expectations beyond that and no intention of involving her emotions. Therefore, no harm could come of her save the damage to her reputation if they were discovered. Philippa already said she didn't care about that, so Hannah's venture held little risk.

Hannah thought again of Killian's promise to offer marriage if he breached her maidenhead. It was equal parts ridiculous and infuriating. A man wasn't expected to marry all the women he bedded. Indeed, every gentleman in England would be a bigamist if that were the case. So why should such a demand of constraint be placed upon her?

His offer might stem from some ridiculous sense of honour, but no joy could be found in a forced union inspired by something as inconstant as passion and infuriating as obligation. Hannah wasn't even sure she wanted to take their explorations so far. But if she did, it would not result in marriage.

She was certain two missions would be accomplished by the end of the fortnight. Finding Sarah Bright's murderer and satisfying her physical desires for Lieutenant General Robert Killian.

She would start her second mission immediately.

Before Hannah could approach Lord Killian, Millie and Ivy rushed over in a flurry of pastel skirts.

Ivy reached out both hands to clasp Hannah's. ‘I'm so delighted you're here, Hannah.'

Millie towered over her friend. ‘What are you wearing? Did someone recently die? Should we be extending our condolences?'

Hannah looked down at her dress. ‘No.'

‘Millie! Ignore her, Hannah. You look lovely.' Ivy slapped her friend's arm.

‘Your face looks lovely. And your hair. Your dress is dreadful.' Millie's gaze traversed Hannah's unfortunate dress.

Hannah stifled an unladylike snort at her friend's brutal honesty. ‘I like my clothes.'

Millie frowned at Hannah. ‘Dowdy dresses of a matron with no taste and very little income?'

‘Millie!' Ivy hit her friend again.

‘What? I'm being helpful. Hannah, how can you possibly seduce the delicious Duke of Covington when you're dressed like my least favourite governess? Ugh! Do you remember her, Ivy? She reeked of pickled onions. I swear she must have smuggled them around in her pockets.'

The butler entered the drawing room and announced dinner. Lord Killian approached as heat pooled low in Hannah's belly. She willed her hands to remain steady as he extended his arm to her.

‘May I escort you to dinner?'

Millie raised an eyebrow several shades darker than her fiery hair, and Ivy covered her grin with a gloved hand.

Hannah cleared her suddenly dry throat. ‘That would be lovely, Your Grace.' She placed her hand on his arm and breathed deep to catch the scent of bergamot and leather.

Killian dipped his head closer to her ear as they followed the group into the dining room. ‘I have a favour to ask of you.' His voice was intimately low.

Hannah kept her gaze straight ahead by sheer force of will. ‘I'm intrigued,' she murmured.

‘Send your maid to bed before midnight, and keep your door unlocked.'

Hannah tightened her grip on his arm. ‘That's two favours.'

‘Will you do it? Please?' There was a desperate growl in his voice.

They reached her chair, and Hannah turned to face him. She nodded quickly before she lost her nerve. This was her opportunity. Time alone with Killian. But now he'd made the offer, anxiety and anticipation waged a war within her. Could she actually engage in a physical affair? Her body screamed a vehement yes even as her mind warned her of the consequences. But Killian was nothing like the putrid baron, nor any of the other dandies she watched from the darkened corners of ballrooms as they seduced the women of the beau monde. He was honest, and brave, and honourable. Even if his faith was misplaced in the House of Lords, and his stubborn opinions were wrong, and his views on love were irrevocably jaded.

Killian exhaled. His green eyes darkened as his pupils dilated. ‘Good.' He turned and walked to his seat further down the table.

Hannah sat before her shaky legs gave out completely. Dear Lord. She was actually going to do it. She was going to seduce a duke.