Page 85 of The Rise of a Forsaken Lady
“Not if she is getting married to Baron Hillbrook,” Wethington said.
Heath reacted like he had gotten shot and all lethargy disappeared. “Pardon me? What marriage?”
“A constable we posted to keep reconnaissance on the Allerton Estate reported that the Lady finally capitulated under constant courtship from the Baron and has finally said yes to his request.”
You mean badgering. She would have never said yes under any other normal circumstances.
“Hillbrook has ties to those also,” Heath said as he began to analyze the killings from another angle. “Do we know if the Baron had formed any new acquaintances lately…”
“Only Duke Stratham,” Wethington said.
“That was strange,” Heath pondered out loud. “What business would a Duke have with a Baron?”
“To my knowledge, they are forging a business together.”
And was it a coincidence that the man who got shot was Duke Stratham’s son? Certainly not. Heath had learned long ago nothing was a coincidence.
“Lady Penelope would never willingly go to him,” Heath asserted to the narrowing of Wethington's eyes.
“And what grounds do you have to make such a statement?”
“Lady Penelope and I forged a connection when I was placed there,” Heath replied. He was tired of hiding it and willing to let it all fall open. “To say it bluntly, I am in love with her and if I prove this marriage to be on of coercion and if I can remove her from it, I am tendering my resignation to the service forthwith.”
Wethington's eyes widened fractionally. “That is a very meager reason to give up your sworn devotion to the Crown.”
“You’ll find many more men like me, and some will be even greater,” Heath said. “I am grateful for the eight years I have spent serving my country, but it is time I moved on with my life.”
Wethington's eyes were calculating. “And what if this Lady says no?”
“Then I’ll have to deal with that, as well,” Heath said, trying to not let the daunting reality of Penelope shunning him take root. “What can you tell me about Baron Hillbrook.”
The older man took on deep contemplation, “We know that he lives as any other Lord, went to Eton, graduated Oxford with degrees in Business and Economy, hopscotched to India, Italy, Scotland and lastly, America. His father had some investments that came to nothing, and his mother ran off when he was young. He is a wealth-hungry sort, Murray, dipping into opportunities when they arrive. That is the only reason I can see how he attracted the notice of Duke Stratham. They are all afflicted with greed.”
“But does he have any clandestine activates?” Heath asked. “Does he visit a gaming hell, have any illegitimate children, does he owe anyone?”
“As far as we know, without the habit of drawing in men into his political debates at his home, the man is clean,” Wethington said with a downturn of his lips. “Either that or he is proficient at making us see what he wants us to see.”
The latter.Heath was assured.
“I want to get inside his home,” Heath said. Something is not adding up. It seems like everyone except Hillbrook is getting targeted.
“Murray, we cannot authorize this,” Wethington said calmly. “Any infiltration, if caught, will be your responsibility.”
“I accept all accountability,” Heath said knowing that he would never get caught. Something was off with Hillbrook, and he had to find out what it was.
“Very well,” Wethington's lips were thin. “Be careful.”
* * *
Russell House, Baron Hillbrook’s residence.
The icy winter wind was unforgiving on Heath’s face, cutting right through the black clothes he wore. He grasped the thick curtain of ivy and hefted himself over the stone wall and onto the Baron’s ground. As the dead season got fiercer, the yard was bare, a sinister stretch of land where eerie shadows lingered.
Crouching, he ran quickly to the side of the house that seemed abandoned. There was one light flickering in the lower room. It was a good bet the Baron was out. It was dark, but he’d always had good night vision and could see the rain gutter ten feet above him.
He leaped, grabbed a window sill, climbed to the terrace and pulled himself up and over the railing. He found an open window and went through it quickly. His soft-soled shoes were mere whispers as he crept down the hallway of the memorized plan of the Baron’s home. He had to get to the man’s study. Taking a deep breath, he pressed the door open, the wood scraping over the raised carpet.
He closed the door behind him and studied the room. It was typical of any study, large desk, walls lined with books, three wingbacks surrounding a coffee table and a thick Aubusson carpet beneath. Wide windows built high on a wall, let the light from the full moon shower the room with silver.
