Chapter Thirteen

Sir Garth Burton to see you, my lord.”

At Wells’s announcement, Leath glanced up from the latest report from Derbyshire. Not that he concentrated with any purpose this morning. Miss Trim’s presence—quiet, helpful, damnably tempting—at her desk made that impossible. The devil inside him kept whispering that if he invited her to his bed and she assented, the sin was hers.

“Garth Burton? Here?” he asked in surprise. Burton was among the few parliamentary colleagues whose support had never wavered, despite the scandals. But he lived in Wiltshire and Alloway Chase wasn’t on the way to anywhere. This couldn’t be a merely social call. What the devil was afoot? “Send him in.”

Miss Trim had risen. “I’ll leave you, sir.”

A female secretary was unusual enough to cause comment, although unlike most of London’s rattlepates, Burton knew how to keep his mouth shut. Still, perhaps it was best if his visitor didn’t see her. But before he could respond, Sir Garth was through the door, advancing with an enthusiastic lope and an extended hand.

“Leath, old fellow. It’s been too long.”

Leath returned the handshake with a warmth he didn’t need to feign. “What are you doing in this neck of the woods? Yorkshire in October is an odd choice for a jaunt.”

“Ah, thereby hangs a tale,” Burton said, his eyes sparking with curiosity as they settled on Miss Trim.

“My secretary, Miss Eleanor Trim,” Leath said drily. Eleanor dropped into a curtsy.

“Miss Trim,” Burton said with a brief bow before shoving a satchel stuffed with papers at Leath. “Wellington sent me. The party’s in chaos and if we’re not careful the government will fall. He… we need your help.”

“Mine?” Leath asked, wondering if the world had gone mad. At their last meeting, the prime minister had made him feel about as welcome as a cat at a mouse’s birthday party. Without looking at Miss Trim, he knew that she watched him with an intensity that set the air crackling. He hoped like hell that Burton didn’t notice.

“You’re the only one with the imagination to save us from this blasted mess. Every attempt so far has only deepened the quarrel between the reformers and the voices of restraint.”

“I’m recalled to London?” Leath asked, puzzled that he wasn’t leaping about the room, cheering and ordering champagne. After all, this sojourn in the country was only ever meant as a temporary measure until the fuss over his uncle and Sophie blew over. His place was in Westminster steering the nation, not here mooning over his lovely secretary and counting the legs on his livestock.

A shadow crossed Burton’s affable face. “No, not yet.” He paused. “But I’m sure that your assistance will lead to reinstatement in the cabinet. Eventually.”

Leath’s smile was sardonic. Still, he wondered at the wave of relief sweeping through him that he needn’t pack for an immediate return to the halls of power.

Sir Garth clearly mistook his silence for anger. “I’m sorry. I wish I had better news for you. You have no idea how we’ve missed you over the last weeks, especially with these damned rabble-rousers. Your good sense and deft touch would have nipped the trouble in the bud. If it was up to me, I’d be bundling you into a southbound coach right now.”

“It’s all right, Burton.” And the strange truth was that it indeed was all right. “It’s not your fault that I’m still persona non grata. Although I’m not sure what I can accomplish from this distance.”

Burton looked almost as grateful to hear the composed response as Leath had felt when he’d realized that the man wasn’t summoning him to the capital. “We need someone to find a solution that placates all involved.”

“You’ve come a damned long way for a chat,” Leath said tartly.

Burton laughed. “It’s a devil of a problem. As you’ll see when I give you the details.”

The door opened and Wells directed the footmen to set up a meal. “My lord, I arranged a light repast as it’s approaching noon and Sir Garth has been traveling. I hope that meets with your approval.”

“It certainly meets with my approval, Wells,” Burton said with the boyish grin that went a long way to hiding the sharp brain under his mop of ash-blond hair.

“Thank you, Wells,” Leath said.

“I’ll check on her ladyship, sir,” Miss Trim said.

He stopped her with a wave of his hand. “No, I need you.”

He had a sinking feeling that was no more than the truth. Perhaps he shouldn’t be quite so glad that Burton’s arrival didn’t mean an immediate departure for London. Some distance from Miss Trim might remind him that he’d once been a sensible man.

To soften the command, he sent her a faint smile. “Please take notes.” He turned to his colleague. “You’d better tell me everything. And don’t waste time trying to place a positive gloss on it. I need to know just how much blood we have to mop up.”

In the leafless woodland, early sun sparkled on the frosty grass as Nell guided her horse after Leath. She rode Adela, a sweet-natured chestnut mare who had replaced the stolid Snowflake as Nell became more proficient in the saddle. Ahead, his lordship sat astride a powerful black thoroughbred that looked ready to carry him to the gates of hell.

He’d been particularly quiet this morning. She assumed he brooded over his continuing exile from London. Yesterday’s mail had detailed the successful results of his meeting with Sir Garth Burton last week. She wasn’t surprised that Leath had rescued the government from disaster. But as she’d worked with the two men until after midnight, she’d found herself awash in admiration for Leath’s tireless dedication and ability to follow a winding path to a solution that nobody had considered. Sir Garth had left the following morning, expressing frank disgust at a government that excluded a talent like Leath, whatever scandals darkened his name.

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