Bridgewater stepped into the night and peered down the estate’s rolling lawns.
Wretched little rat. Was Undine in league with the boy? And for what? An uncomfortable sense of having been betrayed burned in his chest, though in truth, he couldn’t imagine Undine being responsible for the loss of Simon’s keys. He didn’t know what Simon had hidden in his house, though the man should certainly be experienced enough to know to destroy sensitive communications. Bridgewater wished he could search Simon’s hiding place himself—and he would have if Undine hadn’t been there. Now he’d have to wait for the excitement to settle.
He shifted and rolled his shoulders, but the thought of Undine working against him was like a broken blade under his skin. Forget the suspicion, he might, but every time he turned, he was reminded of it with a stab of pain, and some unlucky time, he was going to turn too fast and find the blade had cut an artery.
He felt like he’d forgotten something important about her—something he knew once, before he’d been blinded by her beauty and fierce independence. But now she was his. Treacherous land, hard won. And land hard won lived by the rules of the victor—and the harder the win, the harder the rules. If she’d betrayed Bridgewater or England, if she’d taken something from Simon and Bridgewater found it on her, she would find herself a very unhappy bride.
“Lord Bridgewater?”
He jumped. The priest from Coldstream stood before him, habit and all.
“Good Christ, man,” Bridgewater said, “what are you doing here? You mustn’t approach a man in the dark like that! What if I’d had a sword in my hand?”
“Then I’d have only received what I deserved. I do beg your pardon for interrupting you, but I’ve traveled all day to reach you.”
“Well, I’m afraid you’ve come too late. Lady Bridgewater and I were married this afternoon.” He marveled at the man’s idiocy—traveling forty miles without a thought as to whether he was needed or would even be welcome.
The man’s face burst into a jubilant smile. “May I wish you joy of your marriage! She’s a handsome woman, very handsome. I take it you found a priest? I must apologize for my abrupt departure yesterday. I received a very alarming letter from the bishop, but when I got to Coldstream, I found the bishop to be, well, not quite in his senses. I do believe he’d suffered a mild fit. He was—well, perhaps ’tis better not to dwell on it. He’s recovered now, though, you’ll be glad to hear, and he urged me to come here at once.”
Bridgewater groaned to himself. He supposed the man would expect a tithing for the church for his unnecessary efforts or, at the very least, a place to stay till morning.
“Father, er… What is your name again, please?”
“Kent, milord.”
“Father Kent, I will see the servants find you a bed for the night. I suppose it’s too late to expect you to go to the inn in town.”
“I would be much obliged, sir. Perhaps I can say a few words of blessing in the morning.”
“I doubt that will be necessary. Wait!” An idea struck Bridgewater. “Now that I think about it, my wife was to make her confession, but she was too much engaged in her hair and clothing—you know how women are. Could you find time to hear it?”
Kent nodded. “Perhaps I could hear yours as well?”
“The priest heard mine, of course,” Bridgewater lied, “but Lady Bridgewater still bears the burden of her sins.”
“An inauspicious way to start a marriage.”
“Father, I must be honest. I’m afraid Lady Bridgewater has been involved with some unsavory activities, including some that may involve Lord Morebright, our host here.”
“Pardon me, sir,” a voice behind them said.
Bridgewater turned and found a footman standing in glow of the now-lit entry hall. He’d asked the man to give him news of the search. Bridgewater gestured him to a private area past a hedge.
“Was anything amiss?” Bridgewater said in a low voice.
“He’s still looking,” the footman said.
“Good. Where?”
“The silver room, the gold chest, his office.”
“The reception room?” Bridgewater asked with false lightness.
“Oh, aye. I forgot to mention that. I don’t know what his lordship was looking for in there. The only thing of value is the liquor, I suppose. But he was in there with the door closed for several minutes.”
“’Tis probably where he thought he’d left his keys.”
“Indeed,” the footman said. “I’m sure you’re right.”
So the old fellow has some secrets, does he? But Bridgewater was more concerned about Undine. The odd exchange he’d witnessed between her and the boy made him certain something was going on between them.
“Thank you for your report. Please don’t mention my interest to his lordship. There’s no point in worrying him further.”
If the man was wise, he’d know his silence would be rewarded before Bridgewater took his leave of the estate.
The footman bowed deeply. “Aye, sir.”
Bridgewater returned to the priest, who had turned politely to observe the heavens.
“Is something going on?” Kent asked.
Bridgewater explained the situation, leaving out his own interest in Simon’s secrets.
“My wife has been involved in some unfortunate dealings,” Bridgewater said. “This will end, of course, now that I have the ability to keep an eye on her. But her transgressions were serious—lying, stealing, using her wiles on men to extract information, and I’m afraid this time, she might be involved in something that may get her in some very serious trouble. She was conspiring with a troublesome boy here.”
The priest stared, wide-eyed. “My lord, the things you’re suggesting are…are…”
“Shocking. I agree. For her sake, you must get her to confess.”
“I will certainly speak to her.”
“Do it,” Bridgewater said. “Now. Immediately.”
The man took a step and stopped. “You do realize that if I get her to confess, I can hardly report the nature of her confession to you.”
Bridgewater stared at the man, whose eyes had taken on an unpleasant adamantine hardness.
“I may be the only thing standing between her and prison,” Bridgewater said hotly. “It’s imperative I know exactly what’s she’s done. You may redeem her heavenly soul, but only I can redeem her here on earth. Do you understand me?”
The man’s jaw flexed. “I understand you perfectly.”
“And you’ll tell me what she says?”
“I’ll tell you exactly what you wish to hear.”
He’d had gotten the man’s agreement, but it seemed to Bridgewater that he hadn’t gotten what he’d hoped for.