Page 24 of Mine This Winter
Would she? Oliver had kept a wicked secret for five years. He had taken a servant into his bed. Did it not prove he was a walking monument to deceit?
Mrs Astley swallowed a mouthful of saffron cake. “From what I hear, the mistress may soon be the wife.”
The wife? No wonder Oliver had been keen to host the party. The man was desperate to see her wed. No wonder Oliver was angry. Mr Garrick’s arrival had scuppered his plan.
Mrs Astley gestured for the footman to pour the tea. “Tensions are running high, my dear. A storm is brewing, and I’m not referring to the weather.”
Mr Payne appeared looking more gaunt than usual. He smoothed his hand through his dark hair, bowed and moved to sit beside Gwen. “Good morning. I see the weather is still grim. The heavy clouds suggest more snow.”
“What a pity. I hoped you would leave once the roads were passable.” Gwen gestured to the seat beside Mrs Astley. “You should sit there, sir. I would hate to deprive lovers of a chance to hold hands beneath the table.”
Mr Payne’s sunken eyes widened.
Mrs Astley merely grinned. “Miss Caldwell saw us in the garden last night. I suspect she knows you need her dowry and the connections that come with marrying a viscount’s sister.”
Mr Payne froze. Conniving men rarely knew what to do when confronted with the truth. “I—I?—”
“Do close your mouth and sit down,” Mrs Astley said, offering a satisfied grin. “The game is up. You may as well enjoy your breakfast.”
Lord Bancroft entered the dining room with Miss Netherwell and Sir Robert and soon engaged the guests in mundane conversation.
As per the plan, Gwen had to await Simon’s arrival before she could sneak upstairs to inspect the bedchambers. She did not need to wait long. Minutes later, the gentleman strode into the room, a perfect picture of masculine dominance.
Their eyes met, and her insides melted. She struggled to keep her breathing even, let alone maintain an impassive expression.
Visions of his naked body burst into her mind. She watched him help himself to food from the platters, entranced by the sight of his firm stance and large hands. She’d been wrong to think making love would sate her growing need for him. It was quite the opposite. All the food on the silver platters wouldn’t stifle her hunger.
Gwen excused herself before Simon sat down.
Mr Payne made to chase after her, but Mrs Astley forced him back into the seat. “Don’t go making a fool of yourself. No one likes a dribbler.”
Gwen climbed the stairs. She slipped into Lord Bancroft’s room without notice and forced herself to focus.
The bulging valise on the floor struck her as odd. Daring to peer inside, she found folded clothes and a coin purse stuffed with sovereigns. No list. No incriminating letters. Not even a weapon.
She searched beneath the pillows and mattress, in drawers and cupboards, all to no avail. Without evidence, they could not accuse the lord of treason.
In contrast, Mr Payne’s room was in utter disarray. One could barely see the floor for clothes, let alone glimpse a flimsy piece of paper. Judging by the state of his bed, he had not slept alone last night. The crumpled sheets reeked of Mrs Astley’s French perfume.
The maid was already cleaning Sir Robert’s room. Gwen entered on the pretence of checking Jane’s work. Still, there was nothing amongst the baron’s belongings but books.
Suspecting the spy might have hidden the list somewhere less conspicuous, Gwen thought to check Mrs Astley’s room. Doubtless every man had been in there. But nagging questions drew her in the opposite direction.
Did Oliver have a French mistress? Had she duped him into betraying his countrymen? Anything was possible. He had friends in the Foreign Office and made regular trips to London.
Gwen was about to knock on Oliver’s bedchamber door but noticed it was ajar. Peering around the jamb, she saw Myrtle ferreting in the nightstand.
The maid jumped out of her skin when Gwen entered. She slammed the drawer shut and thrust her hands behind her back. Never had a woman looked so guilty.
“Myrtle? Why were you rooting through my brother’s things?”
Myrtle’s eyes shifted nervously back and forth. “Forgive me, miss. Since Mr Garrick came, I’ve not had a minute’s peace. There’s rumours. Terrible rumours.”
“What rumours?”
Myrtle’s grimace spoke of a brief tussle with her conscience. “That Mr Garrick is here on the King’s business. That he’s come to catch a spy. Happen he’s here because of his lordship’s French mistress.”
Mother Mary!
