Miss Charity's Case by Jo Ann Ferguson Page B

was leaving London. He had thought he had the situation well in hand, but her sojourn to grassville was complicating things.
    The red-haired woman had afflicted his thoughts with her scintillating smile and crackling wit. As he had surmised at The King’s Heart Inn, she was intelligent. At the same time, she possessed an innocence that was charming and might prove to be dangerous now.
    His lips tightened as he stared at the country house. Rumors—as dark and wicked as any spoken about him—were spreading out like waves from the wake of a ship. He had heard whispers Reverend Clarence Stuart’s death might not be the tragic accident it appeared. Such rumblings could prove perilous to Miss Charity Stuart and her sister.
    None of this should be happening. He should have been able to complete his work. Instead, a vital piece of information had vanished. He toyed with the reins as he considered how Charity would react if he approached her with the truth. If he spoke of a missing communiqué and his need to find it, her questions might bring disastrous attention. He could not give her answers, for he was sworn to suppress the truth.
    Mayhap if he had known of Stuart’s death when he chanced upon the minister’s daughters in the inn, things might be different. He had not heard of that horror until long after he had left The King’s Heart Inn.
    Field’s appearance there had been no coincidence. The insufferable bangster had made no effort to hide his interest in the Stuart sisters that night. Although Field’s comments had been only of their loveliness, Oliver needed to discover if Field had known of Stuart’s demise even as he dined with Oliver.
    His first mate, Howell, had brought Oliver the bad news. Along the docks, it was whispered Field was making inquiries about Charity and her sister. Why? There could be but one reason. Field had learned they were the daughters of the Reverend Mr. Stuart. It would not take long for the bastard who had been born on Newgate’s step to make the next obvious connection.
    Damme, this was growing worse by the moment.
    A smile twisted his lips as he rested his gloved hands on the saddle. The worst was he was sitting here like a lad with a sad affliction of calf love.
    â€œWhat a rapper!” Oliver said aloud. “I must have taken a maggot in my head. What place is there in my life for a pretty miss?”
    There was no answer. Not that he needed one. He knew himself well, both for what he was and what he was thought to be. If he had wished to marry—and he had had ample opportunity to do so—he would have by this time. His life was quite comfortable as it was and provided him with what diversions he wished.
    â€œThen why you are riding toward the Manor?”
    This time, he received an answer to his question. A gig appeared over the crest of the hill. Oliver’s eyes widened. Here was the quarry he wished to hunt today. Maybe things were about to take a turn for the better.
    He hoped so.
    Charity slapped the reins on the horse. Where could Joyce have gone today? No one had seen her about the house, and the gardens were wet from last night’s rain. Charity had not dared to ask many questions. If Lady Eloise discovered Joyce had disappeared again, the old woman would fly off the hooks.
    For the past week, Charity had been caught up in closing the Manor. Lady Eloise insisted Charity and Joyce take part in every facet of the arrangements, but allowed them no authority. When she saw her sister chafing under the restrictions, Charity had kept a close eye on Joyce.
    Still Joyce had slipped away. This time, when Charity found her sister, she was going to give her another tongue-lashing.
    Joyce must not be so intractable she lost Lady Eloise’s favor. They had no other home.
    A shout made her draw back on the reins. Horror swallowed her when she recognized the man who sat so straight on the black horse galloping toward her. She could not