I regret to inform you that I have taken ill with a cold and will be unable to attend to my duties at your estate for several days. I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause and will return to my work as soon as I am recovered.
Respectfully,
Miss J. Sinclair
She sealed the letter and handed it to Peters with instructions to deliver it immediately.
Then she sat by the window, watching the road and wondering how she was going to protect Victoria from a desperate man with nothing left to lose.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Here, kitty,” Octavia cooed, holding out a small piece of dried fish. “Come try this lovely treat!”
Archimedes’ ears flattened against his head. He hissed and pressed closer against Laurence’s chest.
Laurence Whitby, Duke of Ashcroft, sat in his drawing room with Archimedes curled in his lap, only half-listening to the conversation between Hugo and Octavia. His mind kept drifting back to the previous evening. Joan Sinclair in his arms, the scent of her hair, the way she had melted against him for one perfect moment before pulling away.
Hugo laughed from where he lounged in a chair by the fire. “Octavia, don’t you know by now that cat hates everyone except Laurence?”
Everyone except Joan, Laurence thought. Archimedes had taken to Joan Sinclair immediately, abandoning his master to curl up in her lap at every opportunity.
Octavia pouted prettily. “But I’m so good with animals! They always like me. I need to try harder.”
She reached toward Archimedes again, and the cat’s hiss intensified into a growl.
“I think that’s a no,” Hugo said, still grinning.
Octavia withdrew her hand with a sigh just as Jenkins appeared in the doorway.
“Your Grace, a letter has arrived for you. From Miss Sinclair.”
Laurence felt his pulse quicken. He took the sealed letter and broke the wax, his improved vision allowing him to read the neat, careful handwriting.
She had a cold? And she couldn’t come?
He read the brief message three times, his jaw clenching with each pass.
“Joan?” Hugo repeated, sitting up with interest. “Isn’t that the lady from the ball last night? The stunning one in the red dress?”
He grinned knowingly. “No wonder you practically dragged her away from me. She’s a special lady, isn’t she?”
Laurence didn’t respond. His mind was racing. He had seen Joan just last evening. She had been perfectly healthy, flushed from dancing, yes, but showing no signs of illness.
This is an excuse, he thought grimly.She’s avoiding me.
The realization stung more than he wanted to admit. He had been pretending his vision hadn’t improved, had been maintaining the charade of needing her assistance, simply because he wanted more time with her. Wanted more excuses to be close to her, to hear her voice, to watch the way she became animated when discussing the children’s progress.
And now she was avoiding him with a transparent lie about being ill.
But what if it’s not a lie?a quieter voice whispered.What if she truly has taken ill?
Hugo stood and moved toward the sideboard. “Either of you want a drink? It’s barely past noon, but I feel like it.”
“No, thank you,” Octavia murmured.
Laurence shook his head, still staring at the letter.
Hugo poured himself a glass of brandy and stepped out into the corridor, leaving Laurence and Octavia alone.
