‘I suppose I cannot speak to anyone.’
‘Please,’ Richard said, and Deb heard the insistent note in his voice. ‘Be careful, Deborah. With good fortune we may trap this person soon, but in the mean time I must ask you to be on your guard.’
Deb nodded. ‘I understand.’
‘I am not sure that you do,’ Richard said, an edge to his voice now. ‘Whoever has lost this book will know that one of the other members of the group must have it. You are all in danger now and I do not want anything to happen to you.’
Their gazes locked and all manner of unspoken feeling passed between them. There was a moment of absolute stillness and then Richard pulled Deb close and lowered his head to hers.
A quiver went through Deb. The kiss was soft and deliberate, but almost before it had started Richard was drawing back and leaving her with an ache of disappointment. She opened her eyes reluctantly and knew that he must be able to see the longing clear in her face and know what she wanted. His expression changed as he looked down at her. Deb had time only to draw a quick breath before he pulled her back into his arms and his mouth settled hard on hers this time. His tongue coaxed her lips apart and slid deep.
This time the kiss was long and sweet and lingering. It left Deb trembling all the way down to her toes. She clung to Richard and responded to him with untutored passion and he held her and kissed her back with a will and finally, when they were both panting and breathless, he pressed his lips to her hair and stilled her shaking body against his.
‘Deborah…’ His voice was rough, but it held an undertone of laughter. ‘I cannot quite believe how we have come to this, but we are in your shrubbery and up in the house you have a very proper lady’s companion-’
‘Mmm…’ Deb rubbed a cheek against the smooth material of his jacket. She was glad of the strength of his arms about her for she felt distinctly light-headed.
‘And you are late for your appointment to drive with Mr Lang-’ Richard continued.
Reality returned. Deb’s eyes flew open. ‘Mr Lang! I forgot all about him.’
‘Good,’ Richard said, and Deb could hear the raw masculine satisfaction in his voice. She eased away from him and looked into his face a little uncertainly, suddenly recalled to where she was and what she had been doing. How was it possible to forget herself so completely in Lord Richard Kestrel’s arms? His touch filled her with the most exquisite longing to take and hold and be possessed by a passion so fierce that she had never dreamed it could exist. She felt torn. Long-repressed desire-feelings that she had forbidden herself for so long-were threatening to triumph over rational thought and sweep her away. Another tremor shook her and she took a step back, pressing both hands to her cheeks in embarrassment.
‘You make me forget propriety,’ she said. ‘I must go in…’
‘Of course,’ Richard said gravely. He took her hand away from her face and pressed a kiss on the back. ‘Deborah,’ he said. ‘I shall call on you soon…’ He sketched a bow and released her hand reluctantly, and when he reached the bend where the path was lost from sight, he turned and looked back at her and Deb’s heart leapt to see the expression on his face. And then he was gone.
When Richard reached Kestrel Court there was an unexpected level of activity about the place. Servants were unloading baggage from a coach that was drawn up on the gravel sweep before the house, and from the direction of the stables Richard could hear upraised voices and the sound of laughter. He quickened his step and rounded the corner into the yard. His elder brother Justin, Duke of Kestrel, was standing there chatting to the grooms and holding the reins of a prime piece of horseflesh, a raking chestnut hunter that was showing its teeth and looked as though it possessed a thoroughly bad temper. Richard walked round the beast and gave a low whistle.
‘What do you think?’ Justin asked, grinning.
‘What you gain in speed and stamina you lose in temperament,’ Richard said.
Justin looked resigned. ‘That’s exactly what Hobbs said.’ He gestured to the head groom. ‘Told me I’d bought a pig in a poke.’
‘I assume you rode him from London?’
Justin nodded, handed the chestnut’s reins over to the groom and fell into step with his brother. ‘Bought him at Tattersalls on Thursday and rode up to Chelmsford yesterday and on up here today.’
‘How did he handle?’ Richard asked.
‘Like he wanted to break my neck,’ Justin said ruefully.
They went across the gravel, where the coach was still disgorging huge amounts of luggage, and in at the front door.
‘You travel with more of an entourage than Mama,’ Richard said. He stopped dead and looked at his brother. ‘Oh lord, don’t tell me this is Mama’s baggage?’
‘Just the advance guard,’ Justin said. ‘Mama plans to spend the winter here and wishes to do so in comfort.’
Richard groaned. ‘But it is barely October! Are we to see cartloads of luggage arriving by the week?’
‘I imagine so,’ Justin said.
Richard groaned again. ‘Whatever has prompted her to come to Midwinter? I thought she detested the place as a little provincial backwater.’
‘She heard that Cory Newlyn had found himself a bride here,’ Justin said with an expressive lift of the brows, ‘so now she thinks to find one for each of us.’
Richard shot him a look and pushed open the door of the study. ‘You had better be careful then, Justin.’
Justin closed the door behind them and threw himself down in one of the fauteuils.
‘Not me, old fellow!’ he said. ‘Thought you might appreciate the help, though. You seem to be making a bit of a ham fist of it yourself. How is the divine Mrs Stratton, by the way?’
‘Divine,’ Richard said, trying and failing to repress a smile. ‘I was with her just now.’
Justin laughed. ‘And you are totally epris again?’
‘Not again,’ Richard corrected. ‘I never stopped.’
Justin grinned unsympathetically. ‘How very frustrating for you.’ He gave his brother a sly look. ‘So Mrs Stratton is still the epitome of virtue?’
‘Mind your own damned business,’ Richard said. He was astonished how protective he felt towards Deborah.
Justin’s grin deepened. ‘It must be serious if you are refusing to talk about it.’ He flicked the three-day-old copy of the Suffolk Chronicle that was resting on the table. ‘Plus you are reading the local papers,’ he observed. ‘Next thing you’ll be telling me you have taken up tea drinking.’
‘Splendid idea,’ Richard said, reaching for the bell. ‘You’ll take some?’
Justin looked scandalised. ‘No, thank you. What happened to my fine French brandy? Have you drunk it all?’
Richard nodded towards the decanter. ‘Help yourself.’ He put a hand in his jacket pocket. ‘Take a look at this, Justin.’
He tossed the sheet of code down on the table between them. Justin glanced at it casually, looked again and drew his breath in with a soundless whistle. He looked at Richard, his dark eyes alight.
‘At last! Where did you find it?’
Richard laughed. ‘In Mrs Stratton’s copy of the seventeenth-century poets.’
Justin frowned, opened his mouth to speak and closed it again. ‘Explain,’ he said economically.
Half an hour and two glasses of brandy later, they had talked the matter through.
‘So the spy is using a pictorial code,’ Justin said thoughtfully, ‘where the symbols represent groups of words rather than letters, you think?’
Richard nodded. ‘I think it would be good to ask Cory to take a look at this. He has done a lot of work with Thomas Young on hieroglyphs. He may have some useful ideas about breaking pictorial codes.’
Justin nodded. ‘We should send it directly.’ He swung the brandy glass gently between his fingers. ‘As for the members of Lady Sally’s reading group…I cannot believe it, but we are no further forward in finding the spy.’
‘No, but our field of suspects has narrowed,’ Richard said.
‘Only if one discounts Mrs Stratton.’ Justin hesitated, then took a deep breath. ‘She could be playing you for a fool, Richard. You are scarcely impartial in this.’
There was a moment of tension and then the lines of Richard’s body relaxed. ‘She could. But she is not.’
