Finlay managed a weak smile. “Of course.”
His issues were more complicated than that, but Sophia was right. He had come to Blackborne as an agent of the Order. Helping those in need was his priority.
He opened the drawing room door and stepped aside. “Please, lead the way.”
Sophia took the lit chamber stick from the long oak table in the great hall and led him up the dim staircase. Neither spoke as they crept along the first-floor landing. Finlay followed her into a bedchamber. It was a vast room with a vaulted ceiling, red furnishings, and a dark oak bed on a raised platform. The view from the oriel window overlooked the forecourt, the moat, and the woods that seemed to stare ominously back. And yet he found the small chapel situated to the right of the forecourt more disturbing.
“Will you be comfortable here?”
He glanced around the lofty chamber but didn’t ask why he had the grandest room in the house. Nor was he ready to learn where she slept.
“The room is more than ample for my needs.”
“I don’t suppose you keep town hours, not when work demands your attention at all times of the day and night. If it suits you, shall we meet in the dining room at nine? I shall distract myself with the mundane task of eating breakfast when I tell you about the strange events that have occurred these last few weeks.”
Finlay nodded, keen to have her leave the room.
“Excellent.” Sophia shifted nervously for a moment. “I pray you won’t be disturbed tonight, but I shall explain more tomorrow. Good night, Mr Cole.”
Finlay inclined his head. “Good night, my lady.”
My lady?
He almost laughed at the irony.
Fate had decided she would never be his.
She placed the chamber stick on the dressing table and left.
Finlay hummed so as not to count the light pad of footsteps crossing the landing, else he would know precisely the direction she had taken.
Something drew him back to the window.
He peered at the church and the vast army of trees in the distance, as if appraising his opponents. Being at Blackborne would amount to more than a hostile encounter with a potential abductor.
His hardest battle would be with himself.
Chapter 3
The dining room clock chimed the quarter hour.
Panic rose in Sophia’s chest as she stared at the empty seat across the table. Last night, Finlay Cole had played the professional enquiry agent so well he could grace the stage. He had listened impassively to her tale, seemed unperturbed by the terrible event still haunting Jessica.
But it had been an act.
She had seen the real man—the one who hid his emotions behind his impressive beard—the second he entered the room. She had seen the tortured look in his obsidian eyes when she’d stemmed the tide of tears. Seven years’ worth of torment had left the air brimming with tension. In the lavish ballrooms of the ton they could be civil, cordial. Here, in a place full of nightmares and ghosts, it was impossible to maintain the facade.
Sophia stopped slathering butter on her toast and kept her gaze fixed on the door. Finlay Cole was her last hope. Without his assistance she feared she, too, would become a candidate for Bedlam.
She waited.
The mantel clock struck the half hour.
Finlay was anything but tardy.
What if he’d found their reunion distressing? What if he had woken in the night, saddled his horse and bolted back to London?
Surely he would not abandon her.