And he’d made such a fuss out of telling her how he felt about infidelity. Over and over! The nerve of him, deliberately lulling her into false security with his trumped-up moral standards.
“Gentlemen talk, Kendra, and I’ve heard nothing of a mistress in London.”
She looked away from the concern in Ford’s deep blue eyes. “You’re my brother. He wouldn’t tell you about something like that.”
“For heaven’s sake, you’ve been wed only a couple of months.” The concern was gone from his voice, replaced by an impatience that set her teeth on edge. “The last card party was before you even met the fellow, and I heard nothing of a mistress then. Yet there you go, as usual, leaping to conclusions. Wait to hear what Trick has to say for himself, will you? I cannot believe we misjudged him so keenly.”
She crossed her arms. “Well, you did.” She stared at a portrait of the first Marquess of Cainewood, some stern-looking, long-dead ancestor. Another controlling man, no doubt. Her brothers had misjudged Trick completely and pushed her into this marriage. It was their fault she was hurting now.
Their fault she had fallen in love.
Dear heavens. She turned away, bringing her hands to the wetness on her cheeks. In love—in love with a man who would never return it. Never trust her, never open up and share his life. She’d tried and tried to be the sort of wife he wanted, to no avail. She’d tried to listen, to trust him like he’d asked, only to be slapped with this bald-faced lie.
“Kendra.” Ford drew her gaze. “You need to reconsider this in logical terms. I’m sure Trick has an explanation.”
She’d come for her family’s love and support, to find her own twin was siding with Trick. More tears threatened, but she wouldn’t let them fall. Had Ford not heard a word she’d said?
Well, of course not—he was a man.
“This is your fault—yours and Jason’s and Colin’s. You stuck me with this lying adulterer of a husband. Where is Cait?”
“Upstairs, I think, probably napping. But Kendra—”
She was already out of the room.
SEVENTY-TWO
GARRICK’S kitchen had clearly been unprepared for breakfast guests. Engaging in desultory small talk with their reluctant host, Trick and Pendregast waited over an hour before an aging maid brought a tray of meat pottage and coffee. Two trips later, the table was also laden with spiced bread, caraway-seeded biscuits, fruited wheatmeal griddle cakes, and currant buns.
Sweets. Kendra would love this breakfast, Trick thought, wincing at the resulting stab of guilt.
The three of them ate until the butler arrived in the doorway. “A visitor, my lord.”
Garrick blotted his flabby lips, then stood and patted his even more flabby belly. “Enjoy your breakfast, gentlemen. I shall return posthaste.”
“Five minutes, I’m guessing,” Pendregast said when the man had left.
“I’m going to follow him,” Trick said. “If he returns before I do, tell him I was in need of a chamber pot.”
He rose and peeked into the corridor. Thankfully, it was deserted. Slipping out, he flattened himself against the wall, moving along it until he nearly reached the front door.
Having already closed it, Garrick was leading a short man down the other wing of the house. Trick waited, watching, until he saw them enter a room. Then he hurried after them and listened through the door.
There was a scraping sound, something heavy sliding open and then shut. Hearing no voices, he cracked the door open and took a look.
A study. Empty, just as he’d thought. He ducked inside and hid himself in the kneehole of an aging oak desk. It wasn’t long before the grating noise came again. He bent his head to see between the desk’s claw-footed legs. A section of bookshelves disappeared, then slid back into place as he watched.
Garrick set something down on the desk above Trick’s head. “Very well. But I don’t want to see you for another month. Send someone else in the meantime—we cannot risk having the same men traveling the roads all the time. Not until that blackguard is caught.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I’ll see you out.”
When the door closed behind them, Trick scooted from the cubby. A pewter candlestick now sat on the desk, and Garrick hadn’t bothered to extinguish the taper. How convenient.
Trick felt around the bookcase for a handle, a button…ah, there it was. A latch. Throwing it, he was able to push the shelves behind the ones adjacent.
He took the candle and held it up to illuminate the windowless space beyond. A fair-sized room, if bare of luxuries. Atop a table sat three crucibles, a melting pan, dies, shears, and other equipment Trick didn’t recognize. But the coins scattered over the surface were familiar indeed, as were the bars of base metal.
He’d seen all he needed to see.
Minutes later he strolled back into the dining room, adjusting his breeches conspicuously. “Nice place you have here, Garrick.” He aimed a discreet nod at Pendregast.
Garrick grunted. “I’m due for renovations.”
“So you’ve said.”
Pendregast pulled out a pocket watch. “Lud, I’ve forgotten an appointment. Garrick, my thanks for the fine food and company. Amberley, I’ll stop by to see you later.”
More senseless chitchat that lasted an hour, then longer. Heart’s wounds, Trick thought, would this never end? What on earth was taking Pendregast so long?
Garrick grew restless, pacing the chamber but unable to politely escape while Trick kept eating and engaging him in conversation. It got to the point where Trick wondered if he could cram in another morsel of food without vomiting, but he supposed the meal might hold him for the long ordeal ahead. Although this had been surprisingly easy, the next few days would be much more difficult.
But then this would be over. With any luck, by Monday night he’d be at home with Kendra. For the rest of his life, if he had any say in the matter.
