For Your Arms Only by Linden, Caroline (best ebook reader for ubuntu .TXT) 📕

“You will be fine,” Madame said to her. She patted Cressida’s arm. “Just wait here. Come no closer. We shall see to Alec.”

Cressida nodded, and the two of them spoke a moment before heading off toward the house. Within seconds they had melted into the shadows, and even the next flash of lightning didn’t reveal a trace of them.

The wind howled, and a shower of acorns fell from a nearby oak tree, bouncing off the carriage roof with dull little pops. The horses tried to rear up in alarm, nearly pulling Cressida off her feet. If she didn’t tie them up, they could take off and drag her along with them, or leave her behind entirely. She managed to urge them onward, to the bend in the road Mr. Wallace had pointed out, and tied the reins to a sturdy tree branch.

But she couldn’t see the house from here. Anxiously she paced along the road, finally slipping through the trees to peer into the darkness again. The lightning, when it came, was now almost as bright as day, but she couldn’t see a sign of anyone—not Madame Wallace, nor Mr. Wallace, nor Alec.

What was happening? Even though she had told Madame she ought to have stayed at Penford, she was practically shaking with the desire to see better, to know what was going on inside the house. Was Julia mistaken? Perhaps the journal hadn’t referred to Will Lacey at all. If they had come to the wrong house…She laughed out loud in despair. Madame and Mr. Wallace would be breaking into the wrong house, Alec would be off somewhere completely on his own, and she would be standing here in a thunderstorm with two terrified horses, biting her fingernails to the quick worrying about all of them.

She hadn’t even begun to comprehend her father’s actions. It was there in his own hand, baldly spelling out how he had persuaded Nob into treason and profited from it, then again from another man’s supposed death. She thought of all the times Papa had gone off and come home flush with cash—blood money, most likely. Perhaps that was why he had gone to see Lord Hastings; he had never given them a good explanation of how he knew a colonel. Bitterly Cressida wondered what secrets the colonel might have, and if Papa had held something over him, too. Had Papa met his end there, having gone too far, or perhaps here in the house in the hollow below her? The wind whipped through the trees where she stood, making the branches creak and moan as they swayed. It was a mourning sound, wrenching and sorrowful, and a tear leaked from her eye as she acknowledged that her beloved Papa, with his booming laugh and affectionate embraces and the way he always made them all smile, had been worse than a scoundrel; he had ruined other lives and lived on money wrung from other people’s guilt and shame. She had suspected for a while that he’d met his death, but for the first time, Cressida thought it might be a blessing if they never knew, if Papa just disappeared and was never heard from again.

The wind was rising. The interminable heat hadn’t abated when they left Penford, but she had snatched up a cloak out of habit. It was still in the carriage, and as the wind changed and became noticeably cooler, she shivered. No rain had fallen yet, but the air was thick with it. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, and turned to go back to the carriage. She should check on the horses, and the cloak would feel good. There was nothing to be seen in the darkness anyway. With any luck, Madame Wallace and Mr. Wallace would return soon, with Alec in tow, and they could go home.

She only made it three steps.

Chapter 29

Alec found Angus Lacey in his study, dozing off over in the chair by the fire. For a moment he stayed in the shadows, noting how much the man had aged. The hand that lay on the book in his lap was gnarled and crooked, veins standing in blue lines across the back. His head drooped to one side as he slept, and for a moment he looked almost dead.

Alec stepped into the room. He had already made sure Morris wasn’t about, and the footman and butler were securely locked in the butler’s pantry. Alec didn’t want to hurt anyone any more than he wanted to be interrupted.

At his footstep, Lacey started awake. “Eh? Morris, close the window,” he muttered, then jerked as he saw Alec. For a moment they regarded each other in silence.

“How dare you,” growled Mr. Lacey. He struggled to his feet and gripped his cane. “Get off my property at once. I have nothing to say to a traitor and a liar.”

Alec stood his ground. “Understood. I, however, have something to say to you.”

The old man’s lips curled in a sneer. “Nothing you say can interest me. Get out.” He started to walk past Alec toward the door.

“No, this time you shall not walk out on me. I have not come for my sake.”

Lacey glared at him with hatred in his eyes…and fear. Alec saw the apprehensive loathing and it struck not fury, but pity, in his chest. Mr. Lacey suspected what he had come about. He didn’t want to hear, not because of his revulsion for Alec, but because he knew Alec had come to confront him with his own sins. “I don’t care whose behalf you’ve come on,” Lacey said. “Say your piece and remove yourself from my sight. If I were a younger man, I’d thrash you myself for coming here.”

He smiled grimly. “No doubt. Allow me to explain my purpose before we come to