A Dangerous Madness by Michelle Diener Page B

the right thing, but he isn’t competent enough, or trustworthy enough, to be granted a major role.”
    He considered that for a long time before he spoke again, and she tried to stop herself cringing inwardly as she wondered how disloyal he thought her. He had wanted the truth, and she was giving it to him.
    “What exactly did Sheldrake tell you?”
    “Nothing.” She realized she had spoken too loudly and lowered her voice. “He never mentioned the prime minister at all. He was giving his excuses for breaking our betrothal. All he told me was he’d gotten involved in something that was going wrong. That if they were discovered, they would get no help, that they would be left to face the consequences alone, and that he’d decided the only way to be safe was to leave the country.”
    He moved closer, now, and really did loom over her. “How did you tie what he said to the death of the prime minister then? Surely not simply the timing?”
    “The puppet.” She rubbed her arms and looked down at her feet.
    “Puppet?” His hand came up, and he cupped the back of her head, tilting it so that her face was illuminated by the moonlight.
    She stared at him, transfixed. Partly with shock at his boldness, but the feel of his hand and arm, the touch of skin on skin where his jacket sleeve rode up and his wrist and inner arm cradled her neck, made her heart beat faster than it had before.
    She swallowed, and forced herself to take a step back. He released her reluctantly and with no apology.
    “Sheldrake said…” She cleared her throat. “He said their puppet had lost his nerve, that it was going to the dogs.” She wouldn’t, couldn’t look at him now, but could not turn her back on him, either. She had the sense she had to know where he was at all times.
    “Bellingham.”
    She shrugged. “The assassin was described to me as a puppet with his strings cut shortly after the prime minister was shot. It worried me.”
    “But surely,” he tapped a long, blunt finger against his lips, “surely that wasn’t enough to have you waiting outside Newgate?”
    She sighed. She hadn’t decided whether she would tell him about the petition for compensation Sheldrake had sent her or not. It was so tangible. A cord that bound Sheldrake to the assassin as tightly as if they had been seen together.
    He waited for her to answer him, and in the long stretch of silence, they both heard the distinctive sound of someone climbing over the wall into the main part of the garden.

Chapter Ten

    J ames lifted a finger to his lips and saw Miss Hillier nod in understanding.
    She had led them deeper into the garden than they had been this afternoon, and by the time he reached the trellis arch a man in dark clothes, similar to his own, was walking quietly across the garden toward the open doors of the library.
    James could see the intruder’s surprise and indecision as he approached the house at seeing it so open.
    A hand brushed his arm, and then Miss Hillier pressed herself against him, crowding next to him in the deep shadows, to see for herself what was happening.
    The man slowed to a stop just beyond the pool of light spilling from the lamps in the room before him. It was quite clear the room was empty, but he only took one more step forward before he must have thought better of taking the chance of someone returning and discovering him.
    He turned, sliding back into the shadows of the garden.
    James watched the way he moved, sleek and competent. He did not head directly back to the wall, but seemed to be searching, perhaps for a hiding place.
    James knew the moment the man spotted the trellis arch and swerved toward it.
    Not good.
    James didn’t mind confronting an intruder, but the warm rub of Miss Hillier against his side was a stark reminder he was not alone.
    Before the man got close enough to see into the shadows that concealed them, he stepped out, two long strides that put him squarely in the man’s path.
    “Perhaps you would like