Code of Honor (9 page)

Alex looked as if to say something, then moved to the table. She cleared a book off of a leather portfolio and untied the silk ribbons. "Some of these are not yet finished either," she began.

He took the portfolio from her hands and carefully opened it. One by one he studied the delicate watercolors, spending what seemed to her an inordinate amount of time on each one.

"You are prodigiously talented, Miss Chilton."

Alex felt herself blushing like a schoolgirl.

He retied the ribbons and handed the portfolio back to her. The usual inscrutable look was back on his features.

He cleared his throat. "You have the piece of paper here?"

"Yes." She went around to the other side of the table and began fumbling through a pile of books. "I made a copy of it, in case you would like to take it with you."

"I should like to see the original too, of course."

"Of course."

She finally found what she was looking for and handed him a single sheet of foolscap, dog-eared and heavily creased. He unfolded it and stood, head bent, studying its contents.

"Hmmmph."

"Yes?" she asked expectantly.

He was silent for a few more minutes. There was another "Hmmmph" and then he looked up.

"Well?"

"It follows none of the more basic patterns that come readily to mind. I shall need to spend more time with it."

She hid her disappointment. "It's probably of no matter anyway," she sighed. "As Justin keeps saying, it's most likely just a list of new plants and where he found them — he could be extremely secretive at times, and the use of code was perhaps just another manifestation of that. There is really no urgency to it, sir."

Branford didn't answer but compared her copy to the original. Satisfied, he tucked her version into his pocket. "Your brother, I take it, is suffering no ill effects from his accident?"

A troubled look came to her face at the mention of the last word. "No, he is quite fine, thank you."

Still, the look of worry remained.

"Is something troubling you, Miss Chilton?"

She regarded him with a slightly defiant air. "You will no doubt think me a foolish female — Justin does."

"I shall think you foolish only if your pride prevents you from speaking out on something that is obviously causing you concern. It is not a weakness to seek advice, you know."

Alex hesitated, then let out a little sigh. "Very well. I am disturbed by the number of accidents that have befallen my brother in the last three months."

Branford's eyebrow shot up. "This was not the first?"

She shook her head. "A small bridge collapsed at Aunt Aurelia's estate early one morning when Justin was out riding. Once again, it was only by the purest of luck that he was not seriously injured — or worse." She shuddered slightly at the memory.

"Was he the only one who rode regularly at that hour?"

Unconsciously, Alex knitted her hands together. "Yes. And then, just a short time later while on his way to Oxford with his good friend Charles Hartley, the wheel came off Mr. Hartley's carriage. The coachman broke his leg in the mishap."

"There is a plausible explanation for all these things. Accidents do occur, Miss Chilton."

"Yes, I know. But the coincidence is troubling, to say the least." Again she paused. "I looked at Justin's saddle. You may think me melodramatic, my lord, but the girth looked tampered with. The break was too clean, as if it were... cut."

So she had noticed. Her eye for detail certainly saw well beyond her palette.

His face became very serious. One hand came up to rub along his jaw. "Why do you think anyone would wish to harm your brother?"

Her hand flew up in exasperation. "That is what makes no sense. I can think of no earthly reason! It certainly isn't for money or title — oh!" She broke off, her face tight with embarrassment.

Branford gave a little smile. "Do go on, Miss Chilton."

"He has no enemies, does not run with a fast crowd, gamble or... "

"Bed other men's wives?" suggested the earl.

"I should think it highly unlikely," she answered, coloring slightly at the earl's subtle self-mockery. "He is quite attached to a Miss Anne Lockwood, a childhood friend, and hopes to pay his addresses to her. So, apparently, does a baronet from Sussex. But she is a sweet, biddable girl fresh from the schoolroom. Her father is quite well off, but no Croesus. His title is minor — she is hardly one to inspire murder."

Branford could not suppress another smile. "Hardly," he agreed.

"So you think me an hysterical female?" There was a note of challenge in her voice.

"I think you are quite observant. And I tend to agree with you that the coincidences seem rather forced."

A look of relief flooded her face. "At least you don't think me mad. Well, I intend to get to the bottom of it."

Branford's smile disappeared. "Just what do you mean?"

"Naturally I intend to find out who is responsible, and why."

"And just how do you intend to do that"

Her chin shot up. "I plan to investigate the matter thoroughly I don't intend to stand aside and let someone kill my brother, sir!"

"I suggest you stick with your painting, Miss Chilton. Let your brother deal with the matter."

A spark of anger flashed through her. "And stick with embroidery and tatting and the pianoforte as well, no doubt. Of course a female couldn't possibly set her mind to something serious."

"Don't be bacon brained. That is not what I meant...."

"Ah, thank you, Lord Branford! At least you acknowledge that I have a brain," she said acidly.

"What I meant," continued Branford in exasperation, "was it is a dangerous course you are setting..."

"Thank you for your advice, my lord, but there is no need to concern yourself in my affairs. It is a family matter. And I believe we have finished our other topic of business, so good day to you."

The earl could hardly believe his ears. The chit was dismissing him! His eyes narrowed. "I think not, Miss Chilton. Finished our business, that is. For if it is business, then surely you are aware that payment must be made for services rendered."

Alex looked startled, then quickly recovered herself. "You must name your price now, sir, so that I know whether I can afford it."

His eyes glanced towards the window. "The hibiscus."

"My painting!" she cried. "My paintings are not for sale."

He removed the folded paper from his pocket. "No doubt you are already regretting having admitted that you cannot solve every conundrum in the universe." He dangled it in front of her nose. "I'm sure you will eventually figure it out."

Alex flushed, whether in anger or dismay was impossible to tell.

"Alright," she said in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

"What was that?"

"I agree to your terms, my lord," she replied. "You may have the painting when you have deciphered the letter."

The slight smile returned to his lips. "You drive a hard bargain, Miss Chilton, but we have a deal. Good day."

"Wretch!" she muttered as his tall, elegant figure sauntered out through the door.

Lord Ashton ran his hand down the hock of the big grey, then turned to observe the perfectly matched horse tied alongside. "What think you, Sebastian?"

Branford ran his critical eye over both animals. "A little narrow in the chest, but not a bad pair for the price."

At this, the dealer let out his breath. "A very fair price, if I say so myself, Your Lordship. But of course, for any friend of yours...."

A quelling look from the earl silenced the man.

Ashton straightened. "Appreciate the help. Lord knows, you have the best eye for horseflesh of anyone."

"Happy to be of assistance, Henry. Are these all you wish to purchase today?

His friend nodded. "Doing any business yourself?"

"No, but if you are finished, I shall have a look around. Thought I'd take a look at the chestnut hunter Bagley was raving about. Here he's up for sale today.

Ashton waved him on. "Go ahead. I'll settle up here. And don't forget Cecelia expects you to call on her this afternoon."

"I will do so without fail."

Branford strolled off. Sale day at Tattersall's was always interesting. He watched an acquaintance from White's, a foppishly dressed, haughty second son of a duke, haggling over a colt and suppressed a grin. The animal was showy, but spindleshanked and would no doubt turn out to be a weak mount with a miserable gait. And the price was nothing short of a fleecing.

He turned away, but had only gone a short distance before he noticed another deal being discussed. Despite himself, he paused.

Justin Chilton was examining the teeth of a bay stallion with obvious inexperience.

"Not more than five years old, sir. A solid horse, and runs like the wind."

More like twelve and a plodder, thought Branford, who couldn't help but overhear the conversation.

"I don't know," said Justin uncertainly. "He seems a little skittish to me, and the price... "

"It's a very good price, sir. You'll do no better, I assure you."

What concern was it of his, the earl told himself. The pup had no business coming to a place like Tattersall's without someone to show him the ropes. He'd learn a good lesson by being fleeced. Still, something kept him from walking away and leaving the young man on his own. Damnation, from the back, he looked just like his cousin, even had the same way of holding his head when deep in thought....

Justin reached out to stroke the bay's head, but the animal shied away with a snort.

"Spirited stallion, he is," began the dealer.

"Unstable is more the word."

Branford's low voice interrupted the man, who whirled around, an angry retort on his lips until he saw who had spoken.

"Lord Branford!" The man rubbed his hands together nervously. "The young gentleman didn't tell me his was a friend of yours. Of course there are other mounts I could show him."

Justin bowed a civil greeting to Branford. Yet despite a resolve to maintain his disapproval of the earl, he was not unaware of the man's reputation as a supreme connoisseur of horseflesh. He found himself blurting out, "So you would not recommend the animal, sir?"

"Indeed, I would not. A waste of your blunt."

Justin stared wistfully at some of the other fine stallions. "I'm afraid he's really the only one I can afford — and even then, it's more than I should spend. I was hoping to have something left over for a new gown for my sis..." He stopped abruptly, acutely embarrassed for having spoken so familiarly about personal matters, especially to someone he had determined to treat with coolness.