“Pray be seated, mistress.” Cato indicated the chair. “You’re quite recovered?”

“Oh, yes, quite, I thank you.”

Cato leaned back in his chair, turning his quill in his hand, regarding the woman keenly. “How do you think you’ll be received in the village?”

“There’ll be fences to mend,” Meg replied. “But as I told Phoebe, you don’t fight superstition by running from it. They’re ignorant folk but perhaps I can teach them something.”

“You’re a brave woman.”

Meg smiled at that. “Hardly, when I have the might of Lord Granville behind me as a protection. They’ll not touch me again.”

Cato could detect irony in both smile and tone, but he wasn’t sure how to answer it. “Then should I say you’re a forgiving woman?”

Meg inclined her head. “Maybe.” She rose from her chair. “I’ll be leaving now, my lord.”

“Just one minute.” Cato rose too. He pulled at his chin for a minute while Meg, politely patient, waited for him to gather his thoughts.

Finally he said, “I have to go on a journey. Probably of some months. Would you keep an eye on Phoebe while I’m gone? She trusts and respects you. I can think of no one else who might be able to steer her clear of pitfalls.”

Meg regarded him steadily. “Phoebe is her own woman, Lord Granville. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll give her more credit than you do. She doesn’t lack for sense.”

“I worry about her,” Cato said with a hint of desperation.

Meg paused. “I will have a care for my friend, you may rest assured.”

“I thank you,” Cato said to her retreating back. Strangely, he felt comforted. The woman had a power about her.

He pulled the bellrope and sat down again, reaching for the small knife he used to sharpen his pens.

“My lord?” Bisset bowed in the doorway.

“Ask Mr. Morse to come to me, if he’s in the house.” Cato didn’t look up from his task.

“I believe he’s abovestairs, my lord.” Bisset left with stately tread to deliver the summons.

Brian was pacing his bedchamber, trying to calm himself after that explosion of rage. It had been a grave error, had revealed far too much to Phoebe, and somehow he had to control the damage. His plans were in ruins, and with Cato going away, time was desperately short to come up with an alternative.

Bisset’s summons was too soon. The blood was still pounding in his head and he wasn’t sure he could show a calm exterior to Cato, but he had no choice but to obey the call. He walked casually downstairs, breathing slowly and deeply, and outside the closed study door he paused, took one more steadying breath, and knocked and opened the door.

“You wished to see me, Lord Granville?”

“Yes, come in, Brian.” Cato laid down both quill and knife. Brian looked rather pale, he thought.

“There’ve been some new developments and I’m going away for several months.”

“So I heard, my lord. May I ask where you’re going?” Brian gave a slightly self-deprecating smile. “Or is it a state secret?”

“No. I’m going to Italy.”

“On a mission for Parliament, I presume.”

“You presume correctly.” Cato gave him an agreeable nod. There was no reason for Brian to disbelieve this destination. Parliament’s agents were spread all over the continent.

“If you’ve a mind to,” Cato continued gravely, “I have a mission for you too.”

“Anything I can do to prove myself,” Brian said with eager boyish enthusiasm.

“We need someone to go to London, to spend time in the taverns and clubs. We need to gather the temper of the people. With the king on his way to Scotland, it’s imperative that we discover what attitude London will take towards a Presbyterian covenant. We need someone who can assess and judge what he hears. I believe you could do that better than anyone.”

Brian bowed low. “I’m honored by your trust, sir. I’ll go and pack up my traps. I’ll be on my way within the hour.”

He hastened from the room, his expression now hard, his eyes calculating. He was not going to London. Wherever Cato was going, Brian was going too. One plan was in ruins, but he was adaptable. Another opportunity would turn up if he was ready for it.

Chapter 19

“I think someone’s followin‘ us, m’lord.” Giles eased his mount closer to Cato’s on the lane. Frowning, he glanced over his shoulder.

“I’ve ‘ad the feelin’ like fer the last five miles. A pricklin‘ up me back.”

“You haven’t seen anything?”

“Nah.” Giles shook his head. “It’s jest a feelin‘ like.”

Cato nodded. “Let’s get around that corner and wait for them, shall we?”

“Aye.” Giles looked happier, his frown lifting. “Mebbe nothin, but we might as well ‘ave a look-see.” He dropped back to give instructions to the six troopers accompanying them.

So, why would someone be following them? Cato wondered. If it was someone interested in his movements, they would surely be a little more secretive.

The eight men rounded the corner and Cato drew rein, turning his horse in the middle of the lane. Behind him Giles and the six troopers formed a crescent.

“Hands on your weapons, but no need to draw them,” Cato instructed quietly. “We don’t want to frighten an innocent party.”

He sat his horse, the picture of relaxation, one hand holding the reins resting lightly on the pommel, the other, his whip hand, resting on his thigh. Curiously he waited to see what would appear around the bend.

Phoebe and Sorrel trotted into view. Sorrel whickered nervously at the blockade in front of her and began to dance backwards. Phoebe clung on, pressing her knees into the saddle and praying she wouldn’t rumble ignominiously into the mud in front of this astounded audience.

Somehow she managed to bring Sorrel to a halt; either that or Sorrel of her own accord decided to stop. Phoebe was not sure which. But to her unspeakable relief, they were finally still on the lane.

“You stopped,” Phoebe said with a touch of indignation. “I didn’t expect you to stop until dinnertime.”

Cato found his tongue. “What are you doing? Or is that a stupid question?”

“There was something I had to discuss with you,” Phoebe said. “So I thought I’d ride after you. I stayed quite close, only just out of sight, in case of trouble,” she added, as if this would ease any fear he might have had for her safety.

“How reassuring,” Cato murmured. “But what were you intending to do if the mare bolted with you? As I recall, it’s a habit horses have had in the past.”

“There was no question of that,” Phoebe said righteously. “I said I would be able to ride properly in two days, my lord, and I can.”

Cato shook his head. “No,” he said consideringly. “I wouldn’t dignify your seat on the back of that mare with such a description. You look like a particularly uncomfortable sack of potatoes.”

“That’s unjust!” Phoebe fired back. “Two days ago I could never have stayed on for all these miles. And she would have run away with me. But she hasn’t shown the slightest inclination to do so.”

“She has a particularly amiable disposition,” Cato returned. “That was why I bought her.”

“Well, it must have had something to do with me,” Phoebe said, aggrieved. “I’ve been thrown off horses with backs like tables and the placidity of a half-dead cow before now.”

Giles Crampton coughed. Cato glanced over his shoulder and met the open grins of the men behind him.

“Anyway,” Phoebe continued, “since I’ve come this far, I thought perhaps I would come the rest of the way. There’s something most particular I have to discuss with you, sir.”

Cato understood that he had been finessed. He could send her back with one of his men, but he realized that he had not the slightest desire to do so. Head on one side, she was regarding him with an appealing air that he could only describe as coquettish. It was a new side of Phoebe, and it entranced him. It was impossible to believe that he’d ever considered her a dull nonentity.