LITMIR.BIZ

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      ‘Catherine Wardale was my mother,’ Nell said, seeing the colour drain out of his face until it was waxy.

      ‘What?’ The sharp exclamation was Miss Price’s, even as she hurried to take Lord Narborough’s arm.

      ‘Father.’ Hal caught him as he swayed, supporting him to the nearest chair. Nell dragged at the bell pull then ran to help them. Behind her the door opened. ‘What’s happened? What have you done?’

      ‘Resembled my mother,’ Nell said bitterly, not looking at Marcus. ‘Not, I believe, a crime. Give Lord Narborough some air. I have rung for help—he needs his drops.’

      ‘I am all right.’ George Carlow shrugged off Hal’s arm and pulled himself upright in the big carved chair as the butler came in. ‘My drops, Watson, in the study. And a tea tray for there and for the drawing room. Come.’ He looked at the four clustered round his chair. ‘The study and some explanations, I think.’

      Marcus went to Nell’s side as they settled around the hearth in the study. She turned her head away and stared into the fire, giving him her shoulder. He could hardly blame her. How could a declaration of love go so hideously wrong? How could he have told her then, on the heels of berating her about her secrets?

      ‘Little Helena.’ His father was shaking his head as he looked at her. ‘You must have been four when I last saw you. The resemblance has been haunting me and then I saw it just now. It was Catherine’s face when they took Will away.’

      ‘She is dead now,’ Nell said without turning. ‘A congestion of the lungs four years ago. It seems a broken heart can take a long time to kill.’

      ‘Oh, my dear. And Nathan and Rosalind?’

      ‘Rosalind took a post as a companion to a lady—under a false name. We were never to write, or contact her, in case of discovery. She would always write to us.’

      ‘And your brother?’ demanded Miss Price.

      ‘Nathan vanished, suddenly, as though he had been snatched out of thin air.’ Nell’s voice was flat, as if she were recounting some dull and trivial piece of gossip. Knowing her now, sensing every nuance in her voice, Marcus could read her pain and the effort such control was costing her. He wanted to hold her, make this all go away.

      ‘There was no money, our landlord was…violent, and Mama was sick. I had to move us away. We lost contact with both of them. I tell myself Nathan is not dead and that Rosalind is safe.’ Her composure cracked, and with it her voice. ‘I cannot always believe it.’

      Marcus put his hand on her arm and she froze. After a moment, he lifted it away and heard her sigh. ‘Helena—’

      ‘Nell,’ she murmured.

      ‘Nell says she did not know that the Earl of Narborough, to whom she was to deliver a parcel with unknown contents, was George Carlow,’ he said to the others, determined to present the facts fairly in the midst of the emotion threatening to swap them all. ‘All she knew about the scandal was that her mother hated the name Carlow.’

      ‘Nell?’ Hal asked.

      ‘Mama never spoke of what had happened to Papa. I knew virtually nothing until I read her letters and diaries over the past two weeks. And I could not bring myself to do that until I came here and realized that I had to find out.’

      Watson came in with the tea tray and placed it before Diana, but she got to her feet. ‘If you will excuse me, I must help Lady Narborough. I will not say anything of this, of course.’ The door clicked shut behind her, leaving the four of them in silence.

      Without a word, Nell shifted in her seat so she could reach the tray. She passed the drops and a glass of water to Marcus’s father, then began to pour tea with a steady hand as though this were a normal social tea party. Marcus watched, unable to believe she could appear so unaffected. Then, as she turned to hand him his cup, he saw her eyes, filled with a miserable anger and realized that she was holding on to her control with fierce determination.

      ‘I give you my word I did not know who you were,’ she said to Lord Narborough, the quiver of passion under the calm words more convincing than any display of extravagant emotion would have been. ‘Once I knew, then I was afraid, both for you and for myself. I do not understand who is doing this, or why. But I knew that Marcus would not believe me if I told him that.’

      That hurt, an unexpected thrust of pain in his chest, made worse because it was true—he had not let himself trust her.

      ‘Perhaps his loyalties were divided,’ his father said, surprising him. He looked sharply at the older man. There was a faint smile on his lips. He knows. He knows I love her.

      ‘No,’ Nell said. She stared into her cooling tea. ‘Marcus knows where his loyalties lie. And that is right, after all. It would be wrong to place…desires before the safety of one’s family, one’s sense of honour.’ She lifted her head and looked directly at Marcus, the tear tracks plain on her cheeks. He wanted to hold her, wipe them away, kiss away the memory of them. ‘It is how I feel, after all.’

      ‘Nell,’ the earl said gently, ‘it is possible, you know, that the people one loves may yet do things that are very wrong. Your father was involved with someone.’

      ‘Amanda Hebden, Lady Framlingham, I know.’ She nodded. ‘It is in the letters. And Lord Framlingham was not treating her well. But why would they not duel? Why murder?’

      ‘Because Kit Hebden was about to unmask your father as the spy—that is the only reason, the only possible way to explain it. Believe me, Nell, I tried to find another explanation, and in all these years I have failed.’

      ‘I believe you tried,’ she said, her voice flat. ‘And I am sorry I did not tell you before who I was. That man, whoever he is, might have shot someone this morning.’

      ‘But knowing who you are takes us no further forward,’ Hal interjected.

      ‘It does,’ Marcus said, thinking aloud. ‘It tells us that this is not some campaign against the Carlows alone. This is someone with a connection to that affair who, for some reason, is attacking both the child of the man who was executed and the family of the only survivor of the three friends.’

      ‘You are right.’ The earl sat up, alert. ‘Hebden’s family has all gone except his daughter—she lives with her mother’s family. So, who does that leave?’

      ‘The real traitor? The man who murdered Lord Framlingham?’ Nell asked, defiance in her voice.

      ‘Oh, my dear.’ The earl shook his head. ‘For your sake, I wish that were true.’

      ‘I want to go home,’ Nell said flatly. ‘I should not be here.’

      ‘But the danger,’ the earl protested.

      ‘You mean the man who shot Marcus who might know where I live? That man never existed. I shot him.’

      ‘I know,’ the earl confessed, and Marcus almost smiled at the gasp of surprise from Nell.

      ‘It was an accident,’ Marcus said, clarifying it for Hal. ‘I was following her, frightened her. And then I used that as a weapon to make her come here.’

      ‘So—’ the earl frowned ‘—Nell is stalked by our mysterious enemy, who must have exerted some time and trouble to trace her. She is sent with the silken rope, thus making her appear to be part of the conspiracy, then hounded by you and blackmailed into coming here. Do I have that correctly?’

      ‘Yes, sir.’ Marcus held the grey eyes. ‘I thought her in danger—and a danger to us. And you will both have to forgive me, but I put our family’s safety first.’

      ‘I forgive you,’ his father said dryly. ‘You will have to discuss absolution with Nell.’

      ‘We have nothing to discuss.’ She looked at him. ‘Nothing at all. I quite understand Marcus’s feelings.’

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