The Charmer (47 page)

He looked down, his eyelids
lowered. He dropped his hands to his sides and scrunched them into fists.

She forged on. "All I do
know is, seeing you hurt wounds me too. Knowing you're hurt because of me makes
me feel ill."

His head jerked up. "Because
of you? What do you mean?"

"You went to Sutton Hall to
search Jeffrey's study for letters after I told you what I saw there this
afternoon. It's no great leap to suggest you went to discover more."

"But that is not
your
fault, Susanna."

"Orlando, my problems are
not yours. You seem to have appointed yourself my champion and although I'm
flattered, I want you to stop. It's become too dangerous. You are a
gardener."

"So you've reminded me.
Often."

"Don't pout."

"I'm not pouting."

"And you
are
a
gardener. If it bothers you to be called that, perhaps you chose the wrong
profession."

"It seemed like the right
choice at the time," he said through his clenched jaw.

She sighed. Men and their foolish
pride. "Remove your shirt and let me tend your wound."

"Aren't you interested in
what I discovered in Lynden's study?"

"I'm more interested in
checking your injuries first."

He picked up his pack, opened it,
and tipped the contents onto the mattress. Pieces of parchment fluttered down
and settled among the three knives, a small club, flask, and sling that also
fell out of the pack.

"Why do you need so many
weapons?" she asked.

"Traveling alone can be
dangerous." He sat down cross-legged on the mattress and gathered up the
pieces of parchment. "Bring that clever mind here and help me puzzle this
out."

"No. I'm going to tend to
your wound. Remove your shirt." She stalked back into her bedchamber,
picked up the ewer, basin, and a cloth and returned to the parlor. He'd removed
his shirt and the sight of his broad, naked back halted her. His head was bent
to his task and he didn't notice her staring at him. Oh my! She would never
tire of his undulating muscles, the smooth skin, the strong curve of his spine.
She could stare all day.

She set the basin down beside him
and poured water from the ewer into it. She dipped a corner of the cloth in and
set to work cleaning the blood away. He tensed at first but relaxed again when
she wrapped her free arm around his chest and pressed her body into his back.

Both remained silent as they set
to their tasks. Just as she tied a clean, dry cloth around his arm, he thumped
his thigh. "Got it," he said, sliding the last few pieces into place.

"What does it say?"

"It's a letter from Whipple
to Lynden." He read:

"Fail," she echoed.
"Fail at what?"

Orlando regarded her for a long
time. "Susanna, I've heard of Lord Whipple before. I didn't tell you
earlier because I didn't want to alarm you."

"Tell me what?"

"My father worked for his
neighbor, and it was common gossip that Whipple is a Catholic."

A dangerous faith to follow in a
Protestant country, although not illegal in England. Unless... "Do you
think he's preparing to...do something terrible? Something treasonous?"

"I think it's likely given
the secrecy surrounding these letters and Monk's presence here. Whipple may be
involved in a plot to overthrow the queen and replace her with a Catholic
monarch. I also think Lynden must be somehow embroiled in the scheme."

She felt sick. Surely not
Jeffrey. "Impossible. He's not a devout man, and I don't think he cares much
about any faith, let alone the Catholic one. And what do you think Whipple means
by 'your
cousin's ineptitude'
? What does Phillip have to do with any of
this?"

He drew her onto his lap and
tucked her head under his chin. She rested her cheek against his chest and
listened to his steady, rhythmic heartbeat. It calmed her and his warmth chased
away the chill in her bones.

"I don't know. But we'll
find out, Susanna. Together."

She closed her eyes and breathed in
his scent.
Together
. Knowing he would be at her side kept the fear at
bay, but not the newfound worry that she was the key to solving the riddle.

Finding out why might endanger
both their lives.

CHAPTER 12

T
he rain cleared and the clouds
parted just as Orlando finished breakfast. He helped Cook clean up then went
out to the well to draw more water. He left her with a full pail and took
another into the stables to add to Silver's trough. Susanna joined him there.

"Good morning," she
said. Her movements were graceful yet languid and soft, like a contented cat.
She must be as sated as he following their night of passionate lovemaking.

He smiled and caught her round
her waist. "Good morning, my goddess."

"Orlando," she
whispered, "someone might see."

"There's no one here."
He stole a kiss before she gently pushed him away.

Together they took the tools out
to the garden. Orlando set to work building a shelter following the plans from
Susanna's French orange grower, while she tended to the trees themselves,
checking their leaves, the soil at their base, and the trunks. He thought he
even heard her speaking to them from time to time. Later, when Monk still
hadn't appeared, she put her tools down.

"I'm going up to the Hall to
find him," she said.

"I'll go. It's too dangerous
and I was the one who—"

She put a finger to his lips.
"Hush. Don't say it." She glanced at the arch. "Someone might be
listening."

He kissed her finger, her wrist,
her mouth. She didn't move away but sighed into him. He groaned against her
mouth. "I want you," he murmured.

She reached up and dug her
fingers through his hair, holding him against her. She moaned, low in her
throat, and his groin pulsed in response.

At the edge of his awareness,
something caught his attention. He broke the kiss, looked around.

"What is it?" she asked,
sounding a little breathless.

"It felt like we were being
watched." He strode to the arch and looked across the ruined formal garden
at the front of the house, the gravel area leading to the outbuildings around
the back, and the eastern wall of the house itself. He saw no one.

"Do you think someone was
here?" she asked.

"I was probably mistaken,"
he lied. He didn't want to alarm her, but his instincts were never wrong.
"Let's keep working. If Monk hasn't shown by dinner time, we'll both go to
Sutton Hall." He didn't want to leave her at Stoneleigh where she was
vulnerable without him, or let her go on her own. Not until Monk's, and
Lynden's, intentions were clear.

His caution turned out to be unnecessary.
Monk sauntered in soon after. "Where have you been?" Susanna asked,
looking up from the plans for the orange tree shelter.

Orlando straightened. His grip
tightened on the shovel. Monk came up to him, his shoulders square, his gray
eyes dark with venom as they skimmed over Orlando's face to his right arm.
Assessing if it suffered a cut? But Bessie had quickly mended the doublet that
morning and it was thick enough to hide the bandage Susanna had wrapped around
his wound. 

"I was busy this
morning," Monk said to Susanna. "My apologies for being late."

"Very well. You can start
now."

He suddenly clapped Orlando on
his injured arm, right over the bandage, and pain burned up to his shoulder.
Hell
.
The man had a grip on him like death.

Orlando gritted his back teeth
and smiled.

Monk squeezed harder.

Orlando smiled more. His entire
arm was on fire, but he would not show weakness to this man.

"Mr. Monk!" Susanna's
shrill voice sliced through the crisp air. "Kindly cease your pathetic
attempts to prove who is the stronger and pick up a mallet. According to these
plans, we need to sink the supporting structure deeply into the ground
first." She waved the diagram at him.

Monk let go and Orlando breathed
out and in, conquering the pain.

"Plans?" Monk asked,
crossing to where she stood near the pile of wood. "Did you draw them
yourself?"

"No, they came from my French
supplier." She handed the parchment to Monk and he inspected it closely,
brushing his fingers across the drawing.

"Very good," he said.
"I know a little about building, and these plans seem quite detailed."

"Then let's delay no further
and get to work."

Monk smiled. "Yes,
madam."

Orlando picked up a beam. He
would keep as close to Monk as he could while the cur was in Susanna's
presence. He doubted Monk would harm her in daylight in her own garden, but it
was best to stay alert.

"Why were you late?" he
asked.

"I told you," Monk
said. "I had things to do. If you have a problem with my tardiness, I suggest
you take it up with Lynden."

"How long were you standing
at the arch there?"

"I wasn't standing anywhere.
I came straight in."

The man was a very good liar. He
looked directly at Orlando as he said it without even the faintest flicker of
his eyelashes.

Or he was telling the truth.

They set to work. Orlando
remained close to Monk and Susanna kept her distance, thank God. Although she
was always polite to Monk, Orlando could see her wariness around him, the
watchfulness in her eyes, the tension across her shoulders. It must be
distressing to think her cousin-in-law might have hired a man to kill her.

"M'lady!" Bessie called
from the arch. Hendricks stood beside her, looking grave.

Susanna straightened and
stretched her back. "Is it dinner time already?"

Bessie and Hendricks exchanged
glances. "We need to have a word," the manservant intoned.

Susanna huddled with them.
Orlando wished he were closer to hear but it was clear from the way the
servants shot furtive glances at Monk that it was about him. Monk himself
either didn't notice or pretended not to. He continued to dig.

Susanna dismissed her servants and
trudged over to where Orlando stood leaning on his shovel. "Mr.
Monk."

He turned at her sharp voice.
"Yes?"

"My maid informed me that some
of my papers have been disturbed."

Monk's grip shifted on the shovel
handle. "You think I did it?"

"You were late this morning.
Care to tell me what you were doing?"

Monk took a step toward them and
Susanna sidled closer to Orlando. He wanted to put his arm around her shoulders
and reassure her. Instead, he moved to stand between them.

"I was with Lord Lynden,"
Monk said, a hand up in surrender. "He'll confirm it if you ask him."

"What are you looking
for?" Orlando growled. "What's in Susanna's papers that you
need?"

"I told you—"

"Enough! We know you're
lying. You've searched the outbuildings, you almost succeeded in climbing
through Susanna's window, and now you've rifled through her papers." He
squared up to Monk, toe to toe. "Cease your lies, and give me an answer or
I'll be forced to extract it from you."

Monk's nostrils flared and a
muscle pulsed in his jaw. He kept his wintry gaze on Orlando, which in itself
set him above most men. He would not be easily intimidated. This might get
interesting.

"Call off your dog, Lady
Lynden," Monk said idly. "His yapping annoys me."

"Not until you answer his
questions," she said.

A strong breeze whipped through
the garden, rustling the orange tree leaves and cooling Orlando's skin but not
his temper. He was about to thump Monk to teach him a lesson when he spoke.

"Your arm is bandaged,"
he said. "I'd wager you were cut by a blade last night up at Sutton Hall.
Correct?"

Very well, Orlando would play his
game. "I was there to find out more about
you
. Why Lynden has
employed you, where you hail from, and how you both know Lord Whipple."

Monk raised his eyebrows.
"Lord Whipple?"

"Don't act the fool."

"Orlando," Susanna
warned.

"It's all right. It's time
to confront this eel." To Monk, he said, "I don't trust you. I never
have. So I searched your pack and found a letter of introduction from
Whipple."

Shadows passed over Monk's eyes.
"You looked through my belongings?"

Orlando shrugged. "A
necessary measure."

"I beg to differ."

"You'll be begging for your
life soon enough if you don't tell me how you know Whipple."

"We had business dealings
with each other. Complicated matters. You wouldn't understand, Mr. Holt, being
a gardener."

"Even a gardener can
understand murder, Mr. Monk."

Monk went very still. The
throbbing vein in his throat was the only sign of movement. His gaze shifted
past Orlando to Susanna then back again. "You think I'm here to kill her?"
When Orlando didn't answer, Monk added, "It's quite a leap from rifling
through her papers to murder."

"Yes, I suppose so,"
Susanna said. She came up alongside Orlando, her brow furrowed.