Page 17 of The Cutthroat Countess

They’d already sent a messenger to assure her cousins that she’d been located and wasn’t in any danger. No doubt the older couple would be expecting her to come home soon.

Jo gestured to the house around them. “Can’t we just stay here for the rest of the day—and tonight—and go home in the morning? I know there are bedrooms here because the room I woke up in had a bed.”

Elliot laughed and then saw she was serious. He glanced around at the clean but spartan parlor and then exchanged glances with Sin, who was watching their interaction with a glint of humor in his gaze.

“What is this place?” Sin asked before Elliot could answer. “It doesn’t look like anyone lives here.”

“My guess is it is one of the houses the government keeps to, er, question people sometimes.”

Sin’s lips twisted. “Ah.”

“Gray admitted he’d started off as a torturer,” Jo said, absently scratching Angus beneath his chin.

Elliot winced. “The correct term is interrogator.”

Jo snorted.

Elliot turned to Sin. “If we stayed, would you mind—”

“Making up a believable lie for Jo’s cousins?” Sin guessed.

Elliot’s face heated. “Er, yes, something like that.”

“Of course, I can do that.” He looked at Jo. “I’ll leave Marcus and Neil with you—just in case there are any unexpected . . . visitors.”

“Thank you,” Elliot said, pleased the other man had offered the use of his brawny, armed footmen before he had to ask. Elliot didn’t think that Sir Stanley was acting in concert with anyone else, but it would be better to be prudent than sorry.

“Shall I have fresh clothing brought to you along with your coach tomorrow?” Sin asked, looking at Jo.

“I suppose I can’t wear this home,” Jo said, looking down at her grimy breeches. She cut Sin a faint smile. “Yes, I’d like some fresh clothing, please. It’s just like old times, with you fetching and carrying for me, Your Grace.”

Sin’s pale cheeks flushed at Jo’s teasing. “Yes, well, as my wife likes to say, even a duke should be of some use.”

Elliot laughed. He could just hear Marianne saying that in her tart, deadpan way.

Sin pushed to his feet, hesitated, and then said, “Would it be alright with you if I shared the news with her—that you have proof of your father’s innocence?”

“Yes, please do,” Jo said.

Once Sin had shut the door behind him, the two of them were alone.

“Don’t scold, Elliot,” Jo begged as he opened his mouth. “I already know I should have waited for you to return home before riding off to see Morrison, but all is well that ends well, isn’t it?”

Elliot fixed her with a stern look but couldn’t maintain it for long. “I should scold, but if you promise never to fling yourself into danger again?”

“Done,” she said with far too cavalier an attitude to be serious. “And thank you for finding Angus for me,” she said softly, no longer teasing. “If you hadn’t done so, I hate to think of what might have happened to him.”

“Well, you don’t need to think about that. Did you look at his wing?”

She nodded. “Wilmer shot off his flight feathers, and he’s got some bruising in the empty quill sockets, but I don’t think it’s serious.”

“How long will it take for them to grow back?”

“A while,” she admitted. “He won’t be happy, but he’s been flightless before. One year he molted and lost all his flight feathers. Haven’t you, boy?” she asked the big raven, who inched closer to her neck and tried to look wounded and pitiful. She chuckled. “He’s very good at playing up his injury.” Jo stood and walked across the room to the window. “Down, Angus,” she said, bending low enough for the bird to hop onto the sill. “You’re too heavy today.”

The raven made a pathetic quorking sound, and Jo chuckled and opened the window. “No going out. I’ll take you in a little while.”

Amazingly, the raven seemed content to sit and look out into the fading afternoon.