Page 8 of While You Were Spying

“When word of this leaks, you’ll be linked to the Dashing girl.”

Ethan dug his fingers into the chair arm. “The gossip will die if I don’t fuel it.”

Alex did not look mollified. Ethan released the chair and laced his fingers behind his neck. Attempting a casual air, he stared at the portrait of a reproachful ancestor hanging above the fireplace mantel. The ancient earl watched him with fierce blue eyes.

“I’ll look into her identity further.” He leaned back, suddenly liking the way everything was coming together, liking the notion of seeing the girl again, ensuring she was safe. There was little he could do at present if Skerrit suspected him, but at least he could find out more about her. “I’ll investigate.”

“We don’t have time for that, Winter,” Alex argued.

Ethan dropped his gaze from the portrait to his brother.

“Oh, dear,” Pocket murmured.

“I need your help with Skerrit.”

“You have it,” Ethan said, voice edged with annoyance. The two brothers locked stares.

“Oh, dear!” Ethan heard Pocket moan. “Not again!”

“Stop your ‘oh dears,’ Pocket,” Ethan snapped. “I want you to uncover something about this girl so I can locate her tomorrow.”

“Oh, dear,” Pocket muttered again.

“Find out what village she lives in and what her father does, whether he’s a farmer or a merchant—anything you can.”

“I shall do my best, my lord.” The valet closed the wardrobe’s door with a snick. “But I wonder if you might be referring to one of Viscount Brigham’s daughters? If I am not mistaken, their family name is Dashing, and I believe their estate is in these parts.”

Alex’s head jerked up. “Tanglewilde? It’s only a mile or so from Skerrit’s farm.”

Ethan thought back to the girl and shook his head. “No, she’s not gentry. She was plain. A country miss. Probably just a coincidence.” But Ethan felt a sliver of doubt lodge in his mind. Was he mistaken or had her accent been too refined for a simple country girl? And shehadcarried herself rather well...Of course, any well-trained servant could ape her betters.

A tap on the door interrupted them, and Ethan discarded the whole asinine notion. Pocket went to answer the knock, and while he spoke quietly to one of the servants, Ethan returned to staring at the frowning relic of the man in the portrait. Ethan was accustomed to disapproval and scorn, but he was also accustomed to having his way. The Miss Dashings of the world had never caused him serious problems before. Why should this one nosy chit be any different? He wouldn’t allow anything or anyone to interfere with his plan to snare Skerrit.

“My lords?” Pocket said, closing the door again. “I am afraid I have some disturbing news. One of Mr. Skerrit’s servants found him with a pistol ball to the brain.”

“What?” Ethan rose. He’d left the man very much alive no more than three hours ago.

“There’s more,” Pocket said. “It seems a card bearing Lord Selbourne’s name was on the body. The magistrate”—he consulted a card—“a Squire Gravener, is downstairs, and he has requested an interview with both of you.”

“A card withmyname?” Alex stared at Pocket. “How the hell did he come by that?”

“Damn.” The deeply lined mouth of the man in the portrait now seemed to smirk. Ethan closed his eyes.

Perhaps everything wouldn’t go as planned.

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