“Won’t you miss Geordie?”
She already did. Those few minutes she’d spent saying good-bye had been so difficult. But she wouldn’t drag her brother away, not into such uncertainty. “Sometimes those we love are better off without us.”
That was absolutely the case for Truman.
“I thought it would be more discreet to send you, but I should’ve gone myself.” Truman stood in the parlor where he’d first received Rachel when she appeared the night her mother was dying.
Linley hobbled closer, once again using his cane. “Maybe she has a point, my lord.”
He tossed the brass poker he’d just used to stir up the fire against its holder, but in his frustration he missed, and it knocked over a table. “And what point is that, Linley?”
Surprised by this uncharacteristic display of temper, his butler remained silent.
Mrs. Poulson ducked her head in to see what had caused the racket. Truman shooed her out by saying it was a clumsy mistake and she could right things later.
“You have no answer?” he demanded of Linley once Poulson was gone.
“Not one that will please you, my lord.”
Pressing on his temples to ease the headache that had started earlier, he strode to the fireplace and gazed into the flames. “What will become of her?”
“She will stay with her neighbor until I can find her a position in London.”
“Will she be safe there? I don’t want her mistreated.”
“I believe she’s in good hands. And having her out of the house is far better for you, given that His Grace and Lady Penelope will be here any day. Miss McTavish has done you a great favor.”
He clenched his jaw at the thought that she wouldn’t be with him tonight. It had taken him so long to find the contentment he felt in her arms. “I didn’t ask for this favor.”
“Which is why I am so impressed.”
“I’m glad someone’s happy.” He was weary of the mystery he’d lived with for two years. Weary of Katherine and the toll she continued to take. Weary of the constant battle. He just wanted to be left alone to rebuild his life. And he wanted Rachel to be part of it. If only he had a better option than the one he felt forced to take—but he wouldn’t have a better option unless he could find at least one of those damn paintings.
“If you were Mr. Cutberth, and you’d stolen a Bruegel or two, where would you hide them?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.
Linley puffed out his cheeks as he considered his answer, seemingly glad they could get back to business as usual. “Somewhere safe, of course. Somewhere I could get to them when I was ready. And somewhere they wouldn’t be connected to me, if they were discovered in the interim.”
“So not at your house.”
“I would think not, my lord.”
“I agree. But what other safe place would a man like Cutberth have?”
“The colliery. Possibly.”
“My colliery?”
“Parts of it have been closed off. There are so many tunnels—it’s a maze. And those who work there know its intricacies far better than you.”
“Perhaps I’ll ask Cutberth’s wife about his activities.”
“I can’t imagine he told her he was going to steal your paintings.”
“He might have. They could be in it together. And if not, who would be more likely to notice something odd about his behavior?”
“There is that, I guess. And considering what Mr. Tyndale told you, she might be eager for revenge.”
“Such betrayal isn’t easily forgiven.” He would know, wouldn’t he? Of course, he might’ve had a chance at forgiveness if Katherine had been the least bit penitent. Her affairs had had nothing to do with love—only torment.
“If we go to Cutberth’s wife, she might tell him. And if he realizes you suspect him he could take evasive action,” Linley said.
“I’m counting on the fact that she will tell him. And I’m hoping the knowledge that I suspect him will frighten him into making a mistake.”
“What if he panics and destroys the paintings?”
Whether it would be wiser to wait or not, Truman was running out of patience. “It’s a gamble, but I have to make my move sometime.”
Linley shuffled closer. “Is this about Rachel, my lord?”
“It’s about freedom,” he said. “At last.”
“Back already?”
Startled, Rachel dropped the broom she’d been using. She’d come to the bookshop to pack up what was left of her family’s belongings and clean the building so the earl could lease it after she was gone. But first she’d boarded up the window that’d been broken and locked the doors. She hadn’t expected—or wanted—to be interrupted.
“How did you get in here?” she asked.
Jonas Cutberth dangled a key in front of her face.
“Who gave you that?”
“Let’s not worry about such details. I’m here now. That’s what matters.”
“Then my question is why—why are you here? Don’t you have to be at the mine?”
“I’m on my way there.”
“You’re late for work, by my guess.”
“This shouldn’t take long. I just want to know how much you told Lord Druridge before he tossed you aside. Because he did toss you aside, didn’t he? I can’t imagine you’d be standing here in your old rags if he was still anxious to dip his wick.” He tsk-ed at her “fallen” state and then laughed. “At least you got to pretend to be important for a few weeks. I just hope that fleeting moment was worth losing all your friends and your dignity.”
Rachel couldn’t help but wince at the image he painted of her. She wanted to tell him the situation hadn’t been as he represented it. She’d only gone to Lord Druridge’s bed because she loved him. She hadn’t even taken the dresses he’d given her when she left.
But why bother? She’d only look more foolish for allowing herself to fall in love with a man who was as far above her as the moon and the stars.
“I told him everything,” she admitted and was actually relieved to say it. She’d hated feeling as if she were breaking a confidence, if only because of the respect she used to have for Cutberth.
His taunting smile disappeared as quickly as if she’d wiped it away with a rag. “I hope to God you’re just trying to make me angry.”