He was watching her now, but not openly.
“You have enemies,” she said.
“Yes,” he agreed. “I have. No doubt many. I thought I had guarded against the possibility of them injuring me. It seems I overlooked something of importance.”
“Or someone is an enemy whom you did not suspect,” she amended.
“That is possible,” he agreed. “I think it is more likely that an old enemy has gained a power that I did not foresee.”
“You have someone in mind?” She leaned forward a little. The question was intrusive, but she had to know. Pitt was in France, relying on Narraway to back him up. He would have no idea Narraway no longer held any office.
“Yes.” The answer seemed to be difficult for him.
Again she waited.
He leaned forward and put a fresh log on the fire. “It’s an old case. It all happened more than twenty years ago.” He had to clear his throat before he went on. “They’re all dead now, except one.”
She had no idea what he was referring to, and yet the past seemed to be in the room with them.
“But one is alive?” she probed. “Do you know, or are you guessing?”
“I know Kate and Sean are dead,” he said so quietly she had to strain to hear him. “I imagine Cormac is still alive. He would be barely sixty.”
“Why would he wait this long?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
“But you believe he hates you enough to lie, to plan and connive to ruin you?” she insisted.
“Yes. I have no doubt of that. He has cause.”
She realized with surprise, and pity, that he was ashamed of his part in whatever had happened.
“So what will you do?” she asked again. “You have to fight. Nurse your wound for a few hours, then gather yourself together and think what you wish to do.”
Now he smiled, showing a natural humor she had not seen in him before. “Is that how you speak to your children when they fall over and skin their knees?” he asked. “Quick sympathy, a hug, and then briskly get back up again? I haven’t fallen off a horse, Charlotte. I have fallen from grace, and I know of nothing to get me back up again.”
The color was hot in her cheeks. “You mean you have no idea what to do?”
He stood up and straightened the shoulders of his jacket. “Yes, I know what to do. I shall go to Ireland and find Cormac O’Neil. If I can, I shall prove that he is behind this, and clear my name. I shall make Croxdale eat his words. At least I hope I will.”
She stood also. “Have you anyone to help you, whom you can trust?”
“No.” His loneliness was intense. Just the one, simple word. Then it vanished, as if self-pity disgusted him. “Not here,” he added. “But I may find someone in Ireland.”
She knew he was lying.
“I’ll come with you,” she said impulsively. “You can trust me because our interests are the same.”
His voice was tight with amazement, as if he did not dare believe her. “Are they?”
“Of course,” she said rashly, although she knew it was the absolute truth. “Thomas has no other friend in Special Branch than you. The survival of my family may depend upon your being able to prove your innocence.”
The color was warm in his cheeks also, or perhaps it was the firelight. “And what could you do?” he asked.
“Observe, ask questions, go where you will be recognized and cannot risk being seen. I am quite a good detective—at least I was in the past, when Thomas was in the police force and his cases were not so secret. At least I am considerably better than nothing.”
He blushed and turned away. “I could not allow you to come.”
“I did not ask your permission,” she retorted. “But of course it would be a great deal pleasanter with it,” she added.
He did not answer. It was the first time she had seen him so uncertain. Even when she had realized some time ago, with shock, that he found her attractive, there had always been a distance between them. He was Pitt’s superior, a seemingly invulnerable man: intelligent, ruthless, always in control, and aware of many things that others knew nothing about. Now he was unsure, able to be hurt, no more in control of everything than she was. She would have used his Christian name if she had dared, but that would be a familiarity too far.
“We need the same thing,” she began. “We have to find the truth of who is behind this fabrication and put an end to it. It is survival for both of us. If you think that because I am a woman I cannot fight, or that I will not, then you are a great deal more naive than I assumed, and frankly I do not believe that. You have some other reason. Either you are afraid of something I will find out, some lie you need to protect; or else your pride is more important to you than your survival. Well, it is not more important to me.” She took a deep breath. “And should I be of assistance, you will not owe me anything, morally or otherwise. I care what happens to you. I would not like to see you ruined, because you helped my husband at a time when we desperately needed it.”
“Every time I think I know something about you, you surprise me,” he observed. “It is a good thing you are no longer a part of high Society; they would never survive you. They are unaccustomed to such ruthless candor. They would have no idea what to do with you.”
“You don’t need to be concerned for them. I know perfectly well how to lie with the best, if I have to,” she retorted. “I am coming to Ireland with you. This needs to be done, and you cannot do it alone because too many
