Not that he cared all that much. It was that cursed curiosity of his. Besides, a four-hour trip loomed ahead and he felt sharp-set even now. He only hoped he wasn’t delaying his departure for a mere handful of cucumber sandwiches.
“James and I are just off to the stables. You’re welcome to join us,” the lad said.
Sean smiled at the halfhearted offer. He had put the lad off with his bluntness. Of course, that had been his intention, but it served no purpose now. He had the balance of his fee in his pocket and an hour to kill before a free meal. “Yes, I could use a brisk walk after that carriage ride. I’ll admit knowing nothing about the business, Middlebrook. What sort of horses do you breed?”
That did the trick. Middlebrook and Maclin carried the conversation, with Maclin darting anxious looks as though he expected Sean to make off with all the cattle. Suppressing satisfied laughter, Sean only needed to add polite grunts and hums of feigned interest.
Normally he would not have bothered with this little pup and his horse-mad prattle. He would have taken his leave the moment the boy forked over the blunt. Sean assured himself that only hunger had prompted his acceptance of the invitation. The young man’s weeping sister had little to do with his tarrying at Midbrook Manor.
Getting involved with a woman like this one, however intriguing she might be, would prove foolish at best. Camilla Norton had intrigued him recently, too, he reminded himself with a barely restrained grimace. And for all his experience with women, that relationship had proved fiasco enough for the year. Give him a good, honest whore any day of the week.
He had his life sorted out just the way he wanted it now and he wasn’t about to muck it up again. Control, that was the thing. He had worked damned hard to attain that and, by God, he meant to keep it, too. No more women messing about with his finer feelings, what little there was left of them.
This curiosity about Laura Middlebrook was only that, Sean decided firmly. Simple curiosity. The girl would be well over whatever was wrong with her by teatime. He would fortify himself with whatever culinary delights were offered at tea, see that she was fine, and then he would be on his way.
When the time came, tea proved interesting. Not the tea itself, Sean mused, but the serving of it. Miss Middlebrook poured. All over the table, as a matter of fact. He had to shove back sharply to keep from getting a lapful. She reacted strangely, as though the accident rated a distant second to whatever really concerned her. Even her brother’s sharp curse didn’t seem to register.
She summoned a maid and had the mess cleared away. Then she retired to her own chair with a cup and gave rein to her preoccupation. Sean wanted desperately to ask what that was.
Instead, he consumed every morsel set before him, absently answering Middlebrook’s questions between bites of delicious little spiced beef pies and cakes iced with lemon sugar. Very deliberately, he concentrated on the food, ignoring the girl.
“So, your mother lives in Cornwall? Lovely place, I’ve heard. Never been there myself. My betrothed has an aunt and uncle who reside in Trevlynton, though, on the coast,” Middlebrook chattered on. “Just got myself spoken for, y’see. Nineteen’s rather young to get myself yoked, but I was lucky to find a pearl like Jillian. Can’t let her get away. Are you wed, sir?”
“No,” Sean snapped. He had shot the boy a threatening look before he realized the question wasn’t meant as a taunt.
Suddenly Sean could not wait to get away. This empty-headed chatterbox and his gape-mouthed friend annoyed him. As did his own inclination to sort out the little Middlebrook beauty’s dilemma. “I am poor company this afternoon, and I do have things pending in town,” he said curtly. “I will excuse myself now and head back.”
“Of course,” Middlebrook agreed rather heartily. “Good of you to come all this way to deliver the results of your enquiries.”
Sean inclined his head. “Your father compensated me well for it. Part of the job.”
“Laura, fetch Mr. Wilder his hat and cane, would you? There’s a dear,” Middlebrook said. Maclin exhaled with what appeared to be profound relief.
The girl set down her cup with a clatter, rose hurriedly and immediately tripped on the edge of the rug. Sean caught her before she hit the floor. She shuddered in his arms like a wounded bird. He battled the urge to embrace her fully, to calm her trembling, to try to make her smile. A dangerous impulse, and a stronger one than he wanted to admit.
But what had her so flustered she couldn’t even take tea properly? Devil the little chit, she couldn’t even walk straight.
“There now,” he soothed. “Are you steady?” He lowered her to the settee, knelt and took her hands in his. “Did you injure yourself?”
Her head shook frantically. When she finally did speak, the words issued on a gasp. “Fine. I’m fine.” She snatched her hands away from his and buried them in her lap. “I’m all right.”
Middlebrook had gone around the back of the settee to rest his hands on her slender shoulders. There was nothing else Sean could think to do but rise and take his leave. Certainly the wisest course. “If you’re certain?” he said, still unwilling to leave her in such a state. He was definitely not behaving like himself at all. “I’ll see myself out.”
She nodded, seeming only a bit less muddled. Her shoulders squared like a little soldier’s, and a strained smile stretched her lovely bow-shaped lips. “Goodbye, Mr. Wilder.” She drew in an audibly shaky breath. “Do…do come again.”
Come again? Not bloody likely he’d do that. Sean located his hat beside an Oriental urn in the foyer. The cane was missing. His favorite sword cane, too. But after a few moments of looking about for it, he abandoned the search. The loss of it seemed a small price to pay for getting himself out of Midbrook Manor in a hurry. The need to hang about until he had satisfied his concern for Laura Middlebrook bothered him far more than the cost of a new cane.
He had concluded his business here and that was all there was to it. No need to think about Miss Middlebrook any longer. He would put her right out of his mind, where she belonged.
“Don’t you know who he is?” Maclin demanded of Lamb the moment they heard the front door close. “You haven’t any idea, have you?”
Laura leaned against the rolled arm of the settee, unable to shake the weakness in her limbs enough to rise. She only hoped Lambdin and James would leave her in peace and continue their visit elsewhere. With her eyes trained on the two, she tried to will them away. The effort to speak seemed too great.
“You heard him,” Lamb said idly as he nibbled on the last ladyfinger. “Enquiry agent. Dreadful old bore, wasn’t he?”
“Bore, my Aunt Fanny! That man is the talk of the town, he is! You wouldn’t know, stuck out here in the wilds as you are, but they say he’s directly out of the stews. Whitechapel, in fact!” He paused to shudder. “Born a bastard in a whor—uh…house of ill repute.”
Maclin narrowed his eyes and leaned forward to shake a finger under Lambdin’s nose. “And you’ll never in a thousand years guess who they say his father is!”
“Who?” Lamb asked, polishing off the last of the cakes. He licked a sticky finger and smiled at the prospect of James’s tattle.
“The prince. Yes, Old Bertie himself!”
Lamb laughed and waved off the idea as he stood up and stretched. “Nah, Bertie was straight as an arrow! A right prig of a fellow, else the queen would’ve sent him packing.”
“Little you know, you old rustic! They say Wilder’s mother suffered a comedown of one sort or another. Very wellborn, so I heard, but her family booted her right out, just disowned her, and then she…”
“Here now!” Lambdin interrupted, stepping around the end of the settee and