The lines of propriety that governed their interactions were blurring and changing again.
He inched toward her.
She peered up at him with the same bewitching expression that had had the ability to stop him in his tracks for as long as he could remember.
He took another step. His gaze fell to the fullness of her parted lips. The smoothness of her porcelain skin.
He would not push her, but neither would he hold her at arm’s length. Not if she needed him.
After several silent seconds she swayed toward him, and the intoxicating scent of lavender met him first. How easily he could get lost in the memories it evoked. But he wanted to be here. Now.
Not once since leaving her at Even Tor did he dare to dream he would be back in this place with her. And the fact that she trusted him . . .
He reached out to set his hand on her shoulder, and she melted against him.
The sense of freedom and home overwhelmed him as he wrapped his arms around her. For the first time in years, it seemed as if he was right at the place he was supposed to be.
He stroked the glossy locks of her hair as they stood alone in the morning stillness and then let his hand fall to the small of her back. When she let her head rest fully against his chest, he rested his chin atop it, just as he used to. He could feel her breath and her warmth, but he could also feel her tension and fear.
“I will not leave you to face this by yourself,” he whispered. “Do you believe me?”
They stood there in silence for several ethereal moments until she nodded and stepped back.
In that single moment, she was aligning herself with him.
His pulse raced with the significance of what was happening between them. And his heart was soaring.
Chapter 33
Conflict raged within Anthony.
Never had he felt so vivacious and alive. The very thought that Charlotte might be a part of his life set his soul ablaze.
Yet a thread of uneasiness coiled.
He’d pledged obedience to Mr. Walstead’s instructions. He was a man hired to do an assignment—to keep Henry and Charlotte safe, whatever the cost. He was fulfilling that obligation, but now the priorities were shifting. In order to continue to keep them safe, the King’s Prize must be dealt with.
Anthony found Timmons in the stables between shifts. This budding relationship between his friend and the lady’s maid would likely amount to nothing, but if Timmons did indeed know about the King’s Prize, then Anthony would have to factor that in to his plans moving forward.
“We need to talk about Miss Sutcliffe,” Anthony announced bluntly as he stepped into the privacy of the stone structure.
“Miss Sutcliffe?” scoffed Timmons dryly, looking up from the horse he was brushing. He slowed his action and leaned with his elbow on the horse’s back. “Ah, so your sweetheart’s tattlin’ on me, is she?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m concerned, that’s all.”
“Ah, I forgot. You’re in charge.” Timmons resumed the task and dragged the brush over the animal’s flank. “I must remember t’ mind me manners. Funny how ye never really cared about what I did or didn’t do before.”
Anthony’s patience with Timmons’s cavalier attitude was growing thin. “I don’t know what is bothering you lately, and honestly, it’s not my business. Just don’t do anything reckless.”
“I could tell ye the same thing,” Timmons jeered. “Doesn’t really matter what t’ outcome is, does it? Whether we keep ’er safe or don’t keep ’er safe. Whether Walstead finds the King’s Prize or doesn’t find the King’s Prize.”
Anthony’s ears pricked at the reference to the emeralds. “That ambivalence sounds odd coming from you. You said yourself you wanted this Prior job.”
“Bah. Walstead’s bringin’ in other men, and ’e’s got men workin’ on it in Leeds. We are t’ nannies now, watching over t’ babies while others do t’ real work.”
Determined to stay on task, Anthony veered the conversation back to the jewels. “Ever heard of the King’s Prize before this?”
Timmons stepped around the animal to brush its other side. “Never. You?”
Anthony shook his head. “No. Have the other men said anything to you about it?”
“Not much more’n Walstead told ye.”
The cool indifference in Timmons’s tone was concerning. “What do you think of Ames and Broadstreet?”
“Worked t’ Swendel Bay transport job with Broadstreet. Why?”
“Curious. Is he a good sort?”
Timmons shrugged. “As good as any of the rest of us, I suppose. Keeps to ’imself. Nerves of steel.”
“And Ames?”
“Never met ’im. Must be on Walstead’s bad side if ’e stuck ’im out ’ere with us.”
After leaving Timmons, the tense conversation stayed with Anthony. Nothing about it sat well with him, but even so, he was fairly certain Timmons did not know the whereabouts of the King’s Prize. But at the moment, he had another pressing matter to consider: two other watchmen were on the property—neither of whom Anthony knew.
That needed to change.
Anthony found Ames as he was patrolling the back garden and jogged to catch up with him in the day’s fading light. After Anthony called his name, the shorter, stockier man turned.
“Haven’t had a chance to introduce myself,” Anthony said as he approached the other watchman. “Walstead said this is your first assignment for him.”
“That’s right,” Ames responded, his voice low and raspy. “Never expected to be stuck out in the country, though.”
“This is an unusual assignment. I’ll give you that.” Anthony fell into step with him as he walked toward the back garden. “How’d you go about getting on with Walstead? Last I heard he wasn’t taking on new men.”
“I was a thief-taker in London, with Thomas Smith. He recommended me to Walstead.”
Anthony knew the name. “Why’d you leave London for Leeds?”
“I was part of an undercover assignment, and my identity was revealed. Doesn’t scare me none, but it put the men I work with in danger. So I left London, and Walstead took me on. How about you? How long you been with Walstead?”
“Almost three years.” Anthony shifted his efforts to finding out what Ames knew about this case. “Walstead said that the hunt is on for these emeralds.”
Ames snorted. “Awful lot of fuss for some jewels that may or may not even be in the country. But the mill workers feel they’re owed something, and you know what lengths folks’ll go to when they feel like their backs are against the wall.”
“Are there any leads to their location?”
Ames shook his head. “Some say Roland Prior hid them in Wolden House. Some say they’ve already been sold. Some say he gave them to his wife; others say he gave them to his mistress. There’s no telling with a man like Roland Prior. But Mr. Walstead and Mr. Prior have a team of men searching for them ’round the clock.”
Suspicion that Ames knew more than he was letting on flared. After all, Charlotte said she thought someone had been in her chamber. He tried to gauge the man’s intent. “And you? Do you suspect Mrs. Prior has them here?”