Cato would be interested to know of his stepson’s nasty little plan. And it would give her every excuse for surprising him.

Phoebe crushed the ball of wax in her hand, kneading it once more into an amorphous shape. She dropped it into the saucer and climbed back into bed.

Brian strode into the house the next morning and found it abuzz. “Lord Granville is going away, sir,” Bisset informed him. “For quite some time, as I understand it.”

“Where to?”

“I couldn’t say, sir.” Bisset moved off with an air of importance.

Brian stood frowning. How was this going to affect his own plans? And why hadn’t Cato told him himself?

“Is Lady Granville in?”

“She went to the stables, I believe, sir.”

Brian headed back to the stables. Phoebe, with an expression of grim determination, was stroking the nose of a rather pretty mare.

“Ah, there you are. I was looking for you,” Brian said, dropping his voice as he came up to her. “Bisset says your husband’s going away.”

“Yes.” Phoebe nodded.

“Where to?”

“You had better ask Cato,” she replied, her tone cool as she forced herself to stroke the length of the mare’s neck. Cato hadn’t said his destination was a secret, but she had no intention of ever again confiding anything to Mr. Morse.

Brian frowned. Something was amiss. “I have the document to show you,” he said, keeping his voice low. “When does Cato leave?”

“He said in two days.” Experimentally Phoebe moved her hand up onto the horse’s withers. Sorrel turned and nuzzled her neck.

Phoebe controlled the urge to jump back and stood very still. “I wish they didn’t have such big yellow teeth,” she muttered.

Brian was growing impatient, but he continued to keep his voice at a low pitch although with an edge of urgency. “You’ll have to get the keys before he leaves. I imagine, if they’re sending him off on some mission, they’re trying to get rid of him. If they distrust him, they won’t want him around during their debates over the king’s future.”

He paused for a minute, then added softly, “They might even intend that he not return from this mission. Of course, Cato’s so stubborn he wouldn’t consider such a possibility.”

This had not occurred to Phoebe. Her hand stilled on the mare’s neck. Could Parliament be deliberately putting Cato in danger?

“It’s even more important now that you get the keys without delay.” Brian’s low insidious voice flowed over her. “We must convince Cromwell and his peers of Cato’s loyalty before it’s too late.”

What he said made sense, but Phoebe was beyond Brian’s seduction now. Somehow she would persuade Cato to listen to reason, persuade him to defend himself against these charges. Somehow she would manage to convince him that she knew what she was talking about.

“No, I’m not going to get the keys,” she said, from the other side of the mare where she was continuing her getting-to-know-you journey.

Brian was suddenly very still. He couldn’t have lost her. Yesterday he would have sworn he had her in the palm of his hand. “What do you mean?”

Phoebe reappeared, ducking beneath Sorrel’s neck, impressed with the confidence with which she accomplished the maneuver. “It’s too dishonest,” she stated with devastating candor. “It’s a nasty, devious trick. I can’t think why I ever thought I could do it. It may be something that you could do without conscience, but I can’t. I’m not in the habit of it.”

Brian could not believe his ears. He had lost her. Without her cooperation his carefully constructed plans were in ruins. How had it happened? What had he missed? What possible mistake could he have made?

“Why, you stupid little ninny!” he exploded in an undertone, unable to take in the depths of his disappointment. “You think you can prate ethics at me! What do you know of anything? You’re a pathetic, infantile fool!”

Instinctively he found the words that would hurt the most. “Look at you… a walking disaster, a disgrace to your sex. I tried to help you, but it’s hopeless. It would take a miracle to turn you into anything remotely approaching a woman! And you, you pitiable scrap of flotsam! You dare to preach to me! Who the hell do you think you are?”

Phoebe stared at him, shrinking from the ugly, twisted viciousness of his countenance. All civility, all grace, had been stripped away, and she knew she was seeing the real Brian. The Brian Meg had seen beneath the urbane surface. The Brian Olivia knew. And it was a terrifying sight. This was a man who knew no boundaries.

“You would ruin everything with your stupid childishness,” Brian raged softly. “You think for one moment that you know better than I do? Do you?” He pushed his face close to hers, spittle flying with each word.

Phoebe could find nothing to say. She felt sick. She told herself that they were in the middle of the stable yard, surrounded by grooms and troopers. Brian might look as if he would hurt her, but he couldn’t do so, not here, not now.

“I cannot do it,” she repeated, keeping her voice steady even as she took a step back from him. “Deceit is no way to gain someone’s trust. You must surely see that.”

“You ninny! You utter fool!” he said again, but he was regaining control of himself, and biting scorn replaced the savagery of before. “I offered you a golden opportunity… I should have guessed you wouldn’t have the courage or the intelligence to take it.” He spun on his heel and stalked away.

Phoebe was shaking. Maybe she’d been a little tactless but nothing she’d said warranted such a violent response.

She found she was stroking Sorrel’s neck and discovered that she was gaining some steadying comfort from the animal’s placid nuzzling. Brian Morse had had a lot more invested in his nasty little plan than he’d let on; that much was clear. So just what was it that he’d hoped to achieve with her cooperation? Cato would definitely be interested.

“Have I kept you waiting, Phoebe?” Olivia came hurrying across the cobbles. “I was saying goodbye to Meg. She says she’s going home today.”

“Yes, I know,” Phoebe said, sounding distracted. “I tried to persuade her to stay longer, but she wouldn’t.”

“So, why are we going into Witney?” Olivia turned to mount her own pony, held by a groom.

Phoebe didn’t reply immediately as she concentrated on mounting Sorrel with at least an air of confidence. She took up the reins, trying to remember Cato’s instructions.

“I need to pawn my rings again,” she said when the groom had moved away.

“Are you going to buy more c-clothes?”

“No, I need money for a journey.”

Olivia’s eyes widened. “Where are you going?”

Phoebe put a finger to her lips as their escort trotted across the yard towards them.

“Are you ready, Lady Granville?”

“Yes, indeed. Ride ahead of us if you please.”

“Two in front and two behind, m’lady,” the sergeant said. “Those are our orders. There’s no knowing what we might meet on the roads.”

Phoebe remembered the ambush on the Eynsham road and made no demur. The troopers fell into place and she urged Sorrel into a walk.

Olivia brought her pony alongside. “So, where are you going?” she prompted quietly.

“To Harwich, with Cato.”

“But why do you need money?”

“Because he doesn’t know I’m going to go with him,” Phoebe returned, a sparkle in her eyes. “And I wish to be independent for once.”

Olivia could understand this but she looked dubious nevertheless. “You’re going to surprise him again?”

“Yes,” Phoebe said firmly. “I’m going to give him the surprise of his life.”

Cato looked up at the sound of a soft tap on the open door of his study. “Good day, Mistress Meg.” He half rose from his chair, gesturing that she should come in.

“I’ll not keep you above a minute, Lord Granville.” Meg came towards him with brisk step. “I wish to thank you for your hospitality. I’m sure it’s not what you would have chosen to offer.” Her eyes had a twinkle that took any potential sting out of the words. “Phoebe has some of the characteristics of an avalanche on occasion.”