The Lady By His Side(24)

He nodded. “I can see plenty of justification for Ennis, if he’d heard of something beyond mere protests—for instance, of some plot that bordered on treason—feeling compelled to contact Drake. As for whom among the guests he fears…I can’t see why it would be Parrish or McGibbin. Although both live in Ireland and, therefore, presumably have closer ties to those there, I get the sense they’re exactly as they appear—gentlemen devoted to the managing of their estates and businesses and having no special interest in any political intrigue.”

“I got the same impression from Miss Bilhurst—although she’s English, I gather she’s been close to her aunt and uncle for most of her life and has visited them frequently—and also from Melinda Boyne, who has known the Parrishes and McGibbins for years. Later, I overheard Cecilia talking to Mrs. Parrish and Mrs. McGibbin about their homes and children—again, there was no whiff of anything that might remotely suggest any political interest at all, not on the ladies’ or even on their husbands’ parts.” Antonia let her coiled hair fall. The mass unfurled in a waterfall of wavy black tresses that spilled over her back, almost to her waist.

Sebastian clenched both hands on the edge of the window seat, gripping against the impulse to rise and stroll to stand behind her—to where he could reach out and run his fingers through the silken fall of her hair; if fingers could slaver, at that moment, his did—hungry for the feel of black silk sliding across his palms and over and around his fingers. Antonia sighed as if in physical relief, then raked her fingers under and back through her hair, lifting the long tresses, then letting them slither free. He tried to block the sight from his mind and forced himself to speak, although to his ears at least, his tone was flat, devoid of enthusiasm. “Assuming that Ennis is, indeed, fearful of someone present at the house party and not someone outside the company, then it seems we’re looking at the younger men.”

Antonia picked up her hairbrush. “Through my discussions with Worthington and Filbury at the luncheon table, and what Melinda Boyne—who’s sweet on Filbury—let fall later, I gather both Worthington and Filbury are sympathetic to the cause, but neither go beyond good wishes. I seriously doubt either of them would be actively involved in any plot, but they might be informants to those who are.”

She set the brush to her hair and started plying it—running down each long strand from her scalp to the wavy ends. “From what Cecilia let fall, she doesn’t approve of any of the four. She tolerates Connell because he’s Ennis’s brother, and it’s a family tradition that this house party is held to coincide with his annual visit to report to Ennis about the Irish harvest. Because Cecilia wanted to invite us—me, Melissa, and Claire, as well as Georgia and Hadley—she needed to make up the numbers, so to keep peace with Ennis, she invited Filbury, Wilson, and Worthington.” She paused, busily brushing, then went on, “That said, Cecilia’s attitude to the four younger men is dismissive rather than condemnatory—more because she doesn’t consider them up to snuff socially than because she imagines they’re up to no good.”

The sight of her steadily, rhythmically running the brush through her hair was literally mesmerizing.

After several seconds, Sebastian blinked, then dragged his eyes from the sight. He focused on the floor. After a moment, he frowned. “Ennis is anxious, even fearful, of someone, but it’s possible the reason for that has nothing to do with his message for Drake.”

“Another coincidence?”

He looked up and, in the mirror, met her eyes, took in her cynically disbelieving expression. He felt his jaw set. “Quite.” He hesitated, then took the bit between his teeth and did what he’d come there to do. “Tonight, after dinner, don’t go anywhere near Ennis—especially don’t go near his study.”

In the glass, she held his gaze, then she arched a coolly imperious brow.

“I promise I’ll come and tell you what he says afterward.” He’d told her of the meeting and would tell her of its outcome for one simple reason; it was senseless to keep such information a complete secret, to have no one but himself knowing, not when she was there, knew Drake, and understood the mission, and he knew he could trust her.

She studied him—searched his face—for several seconds, then she nodded. “Very well. Just as long as you tell me later.”

That had gone better than he’d hoped. He hadn’t been sure how she would react to what she might well have interpreted as an attempt to rein her in.