“What if Jessica stumbled upon the lord in the woods and mistook him for Mr Archer? What if Adair is playing an evil game? What if he knows exactly why you bought this house, knows your secret?”
Sophia’s heart sank to uncharted depths.
Each new theory left her floundering.
“Let’s suppose you’re right. As an investigator, you will want to focus on one suspect. Narrow down all possibilities.”
“Hence the reason I want to get Jessica away from this house.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “You mean to investigate Fitzroy?”
“His soiree affords an opportunity to pry into his affairs.”
The thought of spending time in Fitzroy’s company filled her with dread. The suggestion that Finlay might accompany her to a gathering sent her joyful heart leaping.
“Us? Surely you cannot mean to play escort. You hate the theatre.”
“I hate the rank stench of the Thames foreshore but have spent many a night there stalking criminals.” He anticipated her next question before a word left her lips. “Evan Sloane owns a large dwelling near Little Chelsea. It’s quiet and secluded but within easy travelling distance of Mayfair. We shall stay there. Sloane and D’Angelo will take care of Jessica while we conduct our investigation.”
While every imaginable doubt surfaced, the thought of escaping Blackborne for a few days was too tempting to resist. And from what she had heard, Finlay’s colleagues were adept at protecting the innocent.
“Are you sure Mr Sloane won’t mind?”
Finlay snorted with mild amusement. “Trust me. He will welcome the distraction. The man suffers from bouts of boredom between cases.”
“I’m not surprised he gets restless. There’s a whisper he has buccaneer’s blood in his veins.” The grandson of a seafaring man must long for adventure.
“One shouldn’t listen to gossip. But rest assured, he’s the perfect person to care for Jessica. Sloane would rather die than have someone steal his bounty.”
Chapter 8
Keel Hall stood amid the sprawling fields beyond Little Chelsea. Those who knew nothing of Evan Sloane’s heritage would consider it a conventional house name. Those who knew Sloane’s grandfather was a buccaneer who commanded the high seas, a man who punished traitors using a tactic known as keelhauling, knew the name reflected the owner’s ironic sense of humour.
The first rays of dawn approached, stroking the dark shadows of the landscape with a soft golden hue. The sight brought a glimmer of hope. They’d left a house steeped in secrets, journeyed through the night to reach a place of salvation.
The ride from Blackborne was not without its hardships. Jessica had been reluctant to leave, fearing what would happen to Blent in her absence. She had ridden with Sophia through the eerie wood, talking incessantly about her volatile feelings for Mr Archer.
“When I think back, I wonder if I ever loved Mr Archer,” Jessica had declared. “He was so different then, always so irritable.”
Different then? And now?
The comment strengthened Finlay’s suspicion that Fitzroy Adair was responsible for the confusion. Had the scoundrel constructed an elaborate deception? Had he met her in the woods, taken advantage of the woman’s muddled mind to wreak some sort of vengeance?
“I think Mr Archer had a mean streak. Dr Goodwin insists we were very much in love.”
Yes, because the good doctor liked meddling with people’s memories. And without the strict regime of tonics and tinctures, Jessica appeared a little less disturbed. Her mind flitted back and forth between the past and present, but there was some logic to her statements.
“Love doesn’t live in the mind,” Finlay had said. “It doesn’t matter what Dr Goodwin tells you. You’ll feel the truth in your heart.”
Sophia had stared at Finlay for the longest time. He couldn’t look at her without remembering the warmth of her body or the love flowing from her lips. Kissing her had only added to his torment. He had betrayed Hannah. He had married one woman while still deeply in love with another. It didn’t matter that Hannah knew the truth. It didn’t matter that he had tried to be a good husband. Nothing could rid him of the rotten feeling in his core.
“I cannot imagine Mr Sloane being receptive to visitors at this early hour,” Sophia said, dragging Finlay from his reverie.
“Sloane doesn’t fall into bed until dawn.”
Finlay nudged Corvus up the long drive flanked by conical topiary trees, and Sophia followed. As they passed the ornamental water feature of two mermaids lounging in a giant shell, he couldn’t help but smile. Sloane hoped he would wake one night to find the creatures frolicking in the fountain. A romantic encounter with a sea nymph was his greatest fantasy.
“Still, we should have stayed at an inn and sent word before arriving unexpectedly. What if he has company?”