Nyle for leaving the manor unprotected and only after promising never to do such a foolish thing again, Thora was dismissed from her brother’s study. Like a scolded child, Thora went upstairs to her room sulking and threw herself across her bed. Luckily Lord Huntscliff had chosen to stop at the front steps of the manor to wait for his colleague, Mason, who had lagged behind. It had spared her the further humiliation of Huntscliff witnessing her upbraiding. She could imagine him jesting to his colleague of the drastic action he was compelled to take to keep her tongue still.
Unbeknownst to Thora, it wasn’t Garren who’d done the jesting but Mason. “Was like finding a mouse in a closet back there in the boathouse!”
“Don’t you mean mice?” Garren asked.
“One mouse.” Mason grinned. “The other’s a much larger rodent.” The heat of Huntscliff’s stare had him back-stepping until he realized that the big man’s menacing glare was not meant for him but for someone or something behind him.
Turning, he saw Viscount Radley Simon-North and Marquis Calder Brightington approaching from the direction of the stables, deep in conversation. He was only able to comprehend a few words at this distance but instantly knew what had put the scowl on Huntscliff’s face when he heard one of them utter Thora’s name.
Later, during the midday meal—a light fare of freshly baked breads, fish patties with leeks, and a variety of cold meats and several cheeses Thora sat with Lord Avery Flemington, purposely avoiding Lord Huntscliff. Her actions did not go unnoticed by the sharp-eyed Mason Greenstreet or by her brother.
Thora decided to continue her sleuthing. Even though it took great inner strength to speak her friend’s name, her smile never wavered as she queried Lord Flemington. “My lord, on your last visit to the manor, did you by chance dance with Ivey?”
Lord Flemington appeared taken back, shock written all over his face. “Lady Thora, I am well aware how deeply you were affected by Ivey’s terrible tragedy. Are you comfortable discussing your friend even now?”
“Oh please, Lord Flemington,” Thora pleaded, “it would give me such peace to know that she had been enjoying herself that evening.”
In a soft, consoling voice, Lord Flemington answered. “I’m sure she was. I didn’t have the opportunity to dance with her, but Viscount Simon-North and Marquis Brightington had the pleasure, and I do believe Mr. Leedworthy took her across the dance floor. You see . . .” He suddenly faltered, staring down at his plate. “It took most of the evening for me to summon the courage to ask Miss Mayfield to a waltz that night.”
Thora watched the brawny man as his eyes lifted and tentatively stole glimpses of Lauryn Mayfield. How someone so fierce in the boxing arena could be so timid with a female was something Thora found utterly adorable, and she gave him an endearing smile.
Seeing her expression from his seat two tables away took Garren by surprise. The tenderness she displayed for Lord Avery Flemington had him wondering if she had deeper feelings for the man. Garren put down his fork and pushed his plate away, his stomach now in knots. He genuinely liked Flemington, but he was still a suspect.
Inwardly, Garren muttered a curse. Why does that woman insist on putting herself in danger? Nyle had been right to ask him to come here. Thora needed looking after.
Turning from Thora and Flemington, he glanced over at another table where Cecilia Boothwell was lively engaged in conversation with Viscount Simon-North. No doubt, he mused, looking to replace her lover. Her former love, Sandler Leedworthy, sat alone with his back stiffly turned from Cecilia. Laughter from the next table stole his attention and he found Marquis Brightington had said something to amuse the Lady Mayfield and her daughter, Lauryn. Each man painted a guiltless picture, yet one of them was a predator waiting for his chance to strike.
Unbeknownst to Thora, it wasn’t Garren who’d done the jesting but Mason. “Was like finding a mouse in a closet back there in the boathouse!”
“Don’t you mean mice?” Garren asked.
“One mouse.” Mason grinned. “The other’s a much larger rodent.” The heat of Huntscliff’s stare had him back-stepping until he realized that the big man’s menacing glare was not meant for him but for someone or something behind him.
Turning, he saw Viscount Radley Simon-North and Marquis Calder Brightington approaching from the direction of the stables, deep in conversation. He was only able to comprehend a few words at this distance but instantly knew what had put the scowl on Huntscliff’s face when he heard one of them utter Thora’s name.
Later, during the midday meal—a light fare of freshly baked breads, fish patties with leeks, and a variety of cold meats and several cheeses Thora sat with Lord Avery Flemington, purposely avoiding Lord Huntscliff. Her actions did not go unnoticed by the sharp-eyed Mason Greenstreet or by her brother.
Thora decided to continue her sleuthing. Even though it took great inner strength to speak her friend’s name, her smile never wavered as she queried Lord Flemington. “My lord, on your last visit to the manor, did you by chance dance with Ivey?”
Lord Flemington appeared taken back, shock written all over his face. “Lady Thora, I am well aware how deeply you were affected by Ivey’s terrible tragedy. Are you comfortable discussing your friend even now?”
“Oh please, Lord Flemington,” Thora pleaded, “it would give me such peace to know that she had been enjoying herself that evening.”
In a soft, consoling voice, Lord Flemington answered. “I’m sure she was. I didn’t have the opportunity to dance with her, but Viscount Simon-North and Marquis Brightington had the pleasure, and I do believe Mr. Leedworthy took her across the dance floor. You see . . .” He suddenly faltered, staring down at his plate. “It took most of the evening for me to summon the courage to ask Miss Mayfield to a waltz that night.”
Thora watched the brawny man as his eyes lifted and tentatively stole glimpses of Lauryn Mayfield. How someone so fierce in the boxing arena could be so timid with a female was something Thora found utterly adorable, and she gave him an endearing smile.
Seeing her expression from his seat two tables away took Garren by surprise. The tenderness she displayed for Lord Avery Flemington had him wondering if she had deeper feelings for the man. Garren put down his fork and pushed his plate away, his stomach now in knots. He genuinely liked Flemington, but he was still a suspect.
Inwardly, Garren muttered a curse. Why does that woman insist on putting herself in danger? Nyle had been right to ask him to come here. Thora needed looking after.
Turning from Thora and Flemington, he glanced over at another table where Cecilia Boothwell was lively engaged in conversation with Viscount Simon-North. No doubt, he mused, looking to replace her lover. Her former love, Sandler Leedworthy, sat alone with his back stiffly turned from Cecilia. Laughter from the next table stole his attention and he found Marquis Brightington had said something to amuse the Lady Mayfield and her daughter, Lauryn. Each man painted a guiltless picture, yet one of them was a predator waiting for his chance to strike.
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