“Nay, perhaps not.” Cleo smiled kindly, but she could feel her cheek flush with the acknowledgment of her barely clad state.
The Earl drew in a deep breath and let it out in a tired sigh. “I understand. My apologies, Miss Wallace, for the inappropriate suggestion. I just thought perhaps we had shared something special in our mutual sorrow.”
“Please forgive me, My Lord. I did not mean to cause offense or to diminish what we have thus far shared. You are correct in that we share a bond formed of mutual pain, but I would not wish for either of our reputations to be compromised. We are guests in your home, after all, and people are prone to assume the worst.” Cleo felt a moment of shame as she realized that she had not forced Arthur MacDonald to observe the same proprieties. She had readily accepted his offer to use their given names.
“I understand, but I will still hold out hope that someday you will feel comfortable enough with me to dispense with such formalities.”
“I will apply myself to that end, My Lord, but until then, I thank you for your patience.”
“I am a patient man. I will wait.” The Earl walked her to her bedchamber door, bent over her hand, and kissed the back of it. “I bid you a goodnight, Miss Wallace.”
“And I you, My Lord. I will see you at breakfast as promised.”
“I will dream of naught else,” and with one last bow, the Earl turned and disappeared into his own bedchamber at the end of the corridor.
* * *
Arthur MacDonald left Irondale for Oxford, urging the horse to go as fast as was healthy for them both. Arthur’s heart felt as if it had traded places with his stomach and was churning with worry for Henry’s daughter. In her letter, she had said that she had deciphered the code that her father had left for her. Arthur knew in his bones that if anyone found out that she had managed such a thing, she would be in great danger. Her father had been murdered and Arthur could not shake the notion that it had everything to do with the coded messages that he had left for his daughter.
Henry, help me tae protect her. What were ye thinking leaving such a dangerous task tae the lass. Ye had nae way o’ kenning that I would be there tae protect her. Why did ye nae tell me o’ what ye were doing? I cannae believe that ye would have been so selfish as tae place her in danger unless it was something terribly important, but what could be so important as to be worth the risk. Ye should have told me, Henry. I dinnae ken if I will ever be able to forgive ye for doing this tae the poor lass and leaving her alone tae deal with it all. I ne’er would have guessed ye capable o’ such a thing, Henry.
Arthur had studied the coded message over and over again but had been unable to translate it. He had never dreamt that Cleo would be able to do so on her own, or so quickly. She was intelligent, beautiful, a force to be reckoned with. He had no doubt that she would make the man who had murdered her father pay for his crimes. His primary concern was that she not be the murderer’s next victim before that happened. Arthur wished more than anything that he could somehow spare her such pain.
I will nae let anything befall her. Nae matter what I must do tae protect the lass, I will do it.
When Arthur finally arrived at the Wallace’s home, he dismounted and slapped the dust from his boots and clothing. He had not taken the time to stop and bathe at Jacob’s. Her message had sounded urgent and he had treated it as such. Once he had finished attending to the immediate matters of the Irondale estate, he had left to answer Cleo’s call. There was something within him that could not deny her, even if she had not been in danger, he knew that he would have jumped the moment that she called.
Walking up to the front door, Arthur pounded on the wooden portal and waited impatiently for the housekeeper to answer. Mrs. McGrath answered the door with a frown, but when she saw Arthur, her face softened. “Miss Wallace is nae here, My Lord. She has gone tae London with her aunt and the Earl of Dustshore.”
“Dustshore? Why would she go tae London with the Earl of Dustshore? I was unaware that they were friends.”
“They are nae friends, My Lord, but he is a possible suitor. Her aunt has been pressing the matter with some earnestness.”
“A suitor? Dustshore, a suitor for Cleo?” Arthur felt his heart go from his stomach to his throat. He had known that Dustshore found Cleo to be appealing and had made no qualms about telling Arthur such, but it had never occurred to him that Cleo might reciprocate those feelings. “Why London?”
“They plan to visit the British Museum. Her aunt gave her little choice in the matter. If ye came, I was tae tell ye o’ her whereabouts. What ye do with that information is entirely in yer hands.” Mrs. McGrath’s voice held a very heavy layer of suggestion to it emphasized by the lift of her brows and pointed stare.
“Aye, I thank ye, Mrs. McGrath. Ye are a fine woman, indeed.”
“Aye, I am at that,” she chuckled, swatting the air in front of her to shoo him on his way. “If ye plan tae catch her, then ye had best be on yer way, My Lord.”
“Aye,” Arthur nodded and turned back to his horse.
“My Lord,” Mrs. McGrath’s voice called after him.
“Aye?”
“Take good care o’ our lass.”
“I swear it, Mrs. McGrath. Nae harm will befall her as long as I am at her side.”
“Then fly tae London like the wind. Fly tae her side.”
Always,Arthur’s heart promised without his permission. Aloud, he said nothing, but stepped into the saddle and took off riding once more, this time for London.
* * *
Morning came and Cleo met the Earl of Dustshore for breakfast as promised. Aunt Caroline and Lady Chapman took their breakfast in their rooms as was the privilege of wedded ladies, even widows as they were. “How did you sleep?” the Earl asked, genuinely concerned after the events of the night.
