The earl waited, but Ashmun remained silent.
“I applaud your courage, if not your common sense.” Saybrook eased back a touch. “If your motives are upright, you have nothing to fear from me.”
Ashmun appeared uncertain. However, after a long moment he let out a soft sigh. “I suppose I really have little choice.” His lips pursed into something between a grimace and a smile. “I am Lady Wolcott’s godfather. Or rather, I am Lady Arianna Hadley’s godfather. For she is, I am sure, the daughter of my good friend Richard Hadley, who was forced to flee to the West Indies some time ago.”
Saybrook slowly lowered the knife. “She thought you looked familiar.”
“Did she?” Ashmun looked puzzled. “I wonder how that could be? I was present at her christening, of course, but spent years abroad so did not see her again before her father left the country. And while I visited Jamaica to speak with Richard, I would have sworn that Arianna knew nothing of it. He and I took great pains to make sure that she wasn’t aware of my visit.”
“Lady Arianna has a knack of learning things that others might want to keep a secret.” The earl thought for a moment. “It is odd, though, that she didn’t recognize your name.”
“Not necessarily. I was only the Honorable Mr. Josiah Becton at the time of her birth. I’ve since acceded to the title of Baron Ashmun.”
“I see.”
Ashmun pulled a rueful face. “Her father would have been unhappy to hear that she spotted me. We were trying to protect her.”
“She wouldn’t thank you for it.” Saybrook sheathed his blade. “Protect her from what?”
The baron fixed him with a searching stare. “Before I answer that, what is your interest in the lady?”
“I, too, am anxious to keep her out of harm’s way,” answered Saybrook. “I am not at liberty to say any more than that.”
“But—”
A muffled crunch of leaves underfoot caused him to cut off his words.
Saybrook whipped around, the knife flashing out from inside his coat. The sound came again, from beneath the overhanging ivy, and then Arianna slipped out from the muddled shadows of the recessed gate in the garden wall.
“I thought I heard something,” she murmured, eyeing the earl’s weapon. Sliding a step closer, she saw that his other hand held a man pinned to the garden wall.
“And so you decided to come investigate?” Saybrook did not sound pleased. “Alone and unarmed?”
She revealed the small turn-off pocket pistol hidden beneath the folds of her India shawl. “I’m not quite so careless as you think.” She thumbed the hammer back to the half-cocked position but kept the barrel aimed at the baron’s head. “Once again, it seems you are following me, Lord Ashmun. Would you care to explain why? Or shall I be forced to reconsider using a more persuasive means of making you talk.”
“I have the situation in hand, Lady Wolcott,” said Saybrook. Lowering his voice, he added, “Go back inside. It is likely that someone is watching your house, and it would be prudent to give him nothing to report.”
She took cover within the brick archway and then silently motioned for the men to follow her.
“Damnation,” Arianna heard Saybrook swear softly. “We had better do as she asks, else she is capable of shooting both of us.”
“A wise move, sir,” she said as he and the baron ducked into the garden. “As you know, I’m unpredictable.” A tug on the hasp clicked the lock shut. “Follow me. We’ll be more comfortable inside, away from prying eyes.”
Crossing the terrace, Arianna led the way through a set of glass-paned doors and halfway down the corridor to a small study.
“Help yourself to a drink,” she said, indicating the decanters on the sideboard as she stirred the banked fire to life.
“May I pour you something?” asked the earl, measuring out a generous helping of brandy for both himself and Ashmun.
“Thank you, but no. I’ve imbibed enough for one evening.”
Saybrook lifted a brow. “Dancing does work up a thirst.”
“So, it would seem, does skulking through the dead of night,” she replied. “Which raises the question of why you were lurking outside my town house.”
“You mentioned your concern about Lord Ashmun. So I decided to have a look for myself.”
Arianna had a feeling that there was more to the matter than met the eye, but put off confronting him for the moment. Instead, she turned to Ashmun.
“And what have you to say for yourself, sir? I think it’s time you explained your interest in me.”
The baron hesitated and cast a mute appeal at Saybrook.
“You do not need the earl’s permission,” snapped Arianna. “He is not my guardian.” Her mouth tightened. “Or my protector.”
The older man flushed, and then cleared his throat. “Very well. I’ve been following you because I believe you are the daughter of my very dear friend Richard Hadley.”
She sat down rather heavily.
“Are you Arianna?” he asked. “You look exactly like the miniature he showed me—the one he carried inside his watchcase.”
For once, she couldn’t quite slip out of her real skin. “I knew I had seen you before—somewhere other than here in London.”
“I met with your father in Jamaica the day before his death.” Ashmun pressed a hand to his brow. “I—I tried to find you the next day, after I learned of the attack. But you had already disappeared.”
“I had no money to pay the landlord. And the barter he suggested was not a price I wished to pay for that hovel,” she replied.
“I am so sorry, my dear.”
She managed a careless shrug. “I wasn’t your responsibility, sir.”
“But you were.” He regarded her sorrowfully. “You see, I am your godfather, and should have saved you from having to make such wretched choices.” His hands knotted together in his lap. “Did your father never mention my existence?”
Oh, Papa—how many other secrets did you take to the grave?
Arianna slowly shook her head. “It appears that there was much he did not tell me.”
“You were about to tell me earlier why you undertook a journey all the way from England to speak with Lord Morse,” said Saybrook. “Please do so now, Ashmun. His daughter is anxious to learn everything there is to know about the circumstances surrounding his death.”
“Before we get to that, I would like to be assured that you have a claim to her confidence,” said Ashmun. He slanted a questioning look at Arianna. “Do you trust him?”
“You may speak freely,” she replied, carefully evading a more specific answer.
Her response elicited a harried sigh. “Very well. But to be honest, my dear, I’m not sure that it serves any purpose to dredge up the past.”
“I’m afraid that it does,” answered Arianna. “Indeed, it may prove very important in solving a present problem.”
The baron shifted uneasily in his chair. “Then I assume you wish to hear the truth, and not some rose-tinted version of it.”
Truth. That cursed word again. It seemed to taunt her at every turn.
She signaled with a curt nod for him to go on.
After wetting his lips with a sip of brandy, Ashmun set his glass aside. “I need not tell you, Arianna, what a charming, fun-loving fellow your father was. But for the earl’s sake, I will try to paint a quick sketch.” He closed his eyes, taking a moment to frame his thoughts. “Richard had a magnetism that is hard to describe, an innate ability to convince you that black was white, even if the evidence to the contrary was right in front of your nose.”
Saybrook stretched his legs out toward the hearth.
A wry smile tugged at Ashmun’s mouth. “Now don’t get me wrong—there was not a more loyal or generous friend in a pinch. But he also had a harder, sharper facet to his character.”
Arianna stared at the freshly stirred coals, hot and cold points of ash and fire.