“No, thank you,” replied Anna. “I wish to make a few notes in my journal before I retire.”
“Then I shall see you in the morning. Bonne nuit, mademoiselle.”
The evening could hardly be termed “good,” she thought wryly, as the latch closed with a soft snick. Upsetting wasn’t quite right either, though the sight of Lady de Bl
ois flirting shamelessly with Devlin had made her stomach feel rather bilious.
Josette thought her confused emotions had something to do with love?
Love? Oh, surely not. Granted, her body seemed to respond to the marquess with enthusiasm, while her mind was ordering quite the opposite reaction. And granted, Josette had spoken with the cool assurance of a woman who knew what she was talking about.
Still, it seemed illogical.
But as logic wasn’t proving helpful in solving any of her conundrums, Anna decided to add some of her maid’s observations on love to the notes for her current manuscript—the ideas offered some interesting ways to add some spark to her main characters. Emmalina and Alessandro were getting a little too predictable.
After scribbling a few quick pages, she sat back and closed her notebook. The hour was late, but her nerves were still too on edge for sleep. Instead, she rose and unlocked the bottom drawer of an old tea chest that was serving as a decorative plant stand. Hidden beneath a portfolio of blank writing paper lay the finished pages of the latest Sir Sharpe Quill adventure.
Gathering up the last few chapters, Anna curled up in the armchair by the hearth and read through the scenes. Things were shaping up rather nicely, she mused. The pacing felt right and the setting’s description was wonderfully exotic, thanks to a book of engravings on the Ottoman coast that she had found in an antiquarian bookstore just before leaving London.
There was just one small bothersome detail. Emmalina needed to fire off several shots with one of the new military-issue rifles, and while Anna knew that the cartridges and firing mechanisms differed from those of a standard musket, she wasn’t quite sure of the exact details. She could, of course, omit any mention of them. But she liked to get things right.
Perhaps there was an illustrated book on modern weaponry in the earl’s library. Shuffling the manuscript pages back in order, Anna went to relock them in her hiding place. She would check on the book first thing in the morning, while the men were out hunting. But as the key turned, the metallic click suddenly reminded her that the prince had mentioned bringing one of the latest model German hunting rifles with him, in case the opportunity arose to stalk the hills for the famous Highland stags.
The weapon would likely be stored in the Gun Room, and with the gentlemen having to rise so early, the place was certain to be deserted at this late hour.
It was worth a look, Anna decided. Taking up a pencil and her pocket sketchbook, she changed into a pair of soft-soled slippers and tiptoed out into the corridor.
Devlin hurried down the stairs, anxious to escape the cloying cloud of perfume that seemed to be shadowing his steps. He had managed to extract himself from Lady de Blois’s clutches before having to take a tumble in her bed. But it had required some dexterous moves on his part. She hadn’t been pleased by the excuse that the prince and his friends needed him to make up the right numbers for a late night card game. He had promised to make amends.
Thank God I have no gentlemanly scruples about breaking my word.
England’s needs must, after all, come before those of a randy widow.
Or was a lust for sexual dalliances the only reason she had come north?
That was only one of the many questions needed to be considered as he reviewed what progress he had made in his investigation.
Given the circumstances, Devlin decided he had hadn’t done too badly. Through casual conversation and careful observation during the evening gatherings, he had ruled out well over half the guests as possible suspects. The group of family and friends who had accompanied the young London heiress were conventional, conservative aristocrats who would likely expire from shock at the idea that they might be involved in any murderous plot. As for the local gentry, none of them possessed the imagination or boldness to attempt an assassination.
The German party who had accompanied the prince to Scotland presented more of a challenge to assess. But in the end, he had decided that they were likely just what they seemed—a pleasant, good-natured group of friends who seemed genuinely fond of their royal companion.
That left the French contingent, the ill-tempered Russian colonel, Lord McClellan…
And the Sloane family.
The baroness was a very unlikely villain. Again, a lack of imagination.
The two sisters were a different story, though. Caro, with her charming exuberance, did not seem to possess the necessary deviousness to carry off a crime. Anna, on the other hand, had both the cleverness and the self-control to be…dangerous.
Shaking off his suspicions, Devlin told himself that the French party were the far more likely suspects. He was aware of the fact that on a number of occasions, an exiled French aristocrat living in England had turned out to be a secret agent of Napoleon. Some did it out of idealism, some did it out of greed. He had a feeling that both Lady de Blois and her brother-in-law were not as plump in the pocket as they wished to appear. To begin with, he had taken a careful look at the comtesse’s emerald necklace during one of the earlier amorous moments.
The jewels were paste.
And lurking beneath the trilling laughs and sensual smiles was a steely coldness that seemed at odds with her efforts to appear a seductive Siren.
That they might be working in tandem—one to create a diversion, one to create havoc—was a thought that couldn’t be dismissed.
Still mulling over the comtesse and her behavior, Devlin turned down one of the side corridors, intent on taking a shortcut to his quarters in the men’s wing. The passage led down a short flight of stairs and past the side portico. Just around the next corner was the Gun Room, where all too soon, the hunting party would be assembling in the wee hours of the morning.