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  "I suppose I'd better go, even though I think I'd be better served staying in London." Unfortunately, not served in a sexual way, that part of life was sadly lacking. Perry allowed himself a brief thought about the one special lady he had to deny himself. Without her his desire to couple vanished, and his hand sufficed to give him release whenever necessary.

  "Send a message. I'll be there as soon as I can. At least the weather has not been inclement, and the roads should be passable." He wasn't sure if he tried to reassure himself or Martin. "I'll call in to Nash on the way." Whether his intention was wise, Perry had no idea, but he decided to visit just to reassure himself that his lady stayed safe. Indeed without Nash, Perry might not have the opportunity to discover if he and his lady had a future, and he could only hope he hadn't jeopardized Nash and Felicity's safety. First with Harold and Martin, and now Maggie. Peregrine sighed and wondered if the food at the manor had improved over the months since Harold left. Nash's chef, a volatile Frenchman has an unrequited passion for Harold. Harold chose to ignore it—or more likely didn't even notice—much to Andre's chagrin.

  Life, in all areas is so complicated.

  Peregrine was ever grateful he kept his private life just that—private. It had been an annoyance to have to house the American in his cottage on Hampstead Heath. Up until then Perry rather thought sure the building hadn't been known to his family. Now Harold was privy to its whereabouts, and the type of occupant it housed. Luckily no one who stayed there ever used their own name, but he knew fine well Harry christened the bedrooms Abigail's and Marietta's rooms. Why came up with those names Perry had no idea, but he was happy his brother decided there were two female occupants. Once Perry decreed the cottage no longer available for anything to do with his work, he used it as his bolt hole. Therefore he would do anything to guard the identity of the lady who shared the house with him. How Harry knew one of the occupants was female posed no problem. Lavender or violet lotions and soaps were a sure give away. Sadly, now as Harold was au fait with the usage of the cottage, it seemed a certainty so were the rest of his siblings. Harry wasn't known for his common sense in keeping quiet about things that didn't matter to him personally. Thinking about Harry and Martin led to him pondering about Andre and his culinary delights—or lack of them. Was it worth an upset stomach to go via Rutland as he traveled north? Peregrine dismissed the thought as unworthy. He wanted to see Maggie, who now resided as safe as possible in the guise of housekeeper, as well as his brother and wife. Surely everything had been smoothed over, and the food edible once more? If not he remembered the local inn did a fine line in Sirloins and Pigeon pies.

  Deep in thought, Perry shuddered as he remembered how they almost lost Harry and his lover to the traitor. Martin saw the gesture and raised one sculpted eyebrow.

  "Harry and that traitor Gravesend's cronies," Perry said. "You'd think now they declared him dead, things would settle down. Sadly, no such thing. I still have nightmares about what could have been. By all accounts, according to Harry, a woman helped to ambush him and Martin. One that Harry says with his understanding of dialects, is from Derbyshire."

  "I remember, do you agree?"

  Peregrine laughed. "I know better than to contradict him. He is rarely wrong. Then when Felicity recognized Mortimer Gravesend's widow as the woman, and confirmed Gussie Gravesend indeed hails from Derbyshire I thought things might sort themselves out. However the Widow Gravesend seemed to have gone into hiding, and no one can find a hint to her whereabouts. The late but not lamented Gravesend hailed from Yorkshire, so there is another reason to visit Marsh Hall. I may get some clues to her whichever hole she is occupying." He didn't hold out any hope of finding Gussie, but perhaps someone would know something of her situation. Not only that, Perry had high hopes that he may find out who the man's cronies were.

  "Then I'll make arrangements for you," Martin said and left the room. "By the way, we still have no further notice of who sent the letters that threatened you and your…" He hesitated. "The other person." Why in the confines of the study Martin felt he needed to be so circumspect Peregrine wasn’t sure, but as the saying walls have ears was one oft repeated in the Home Office, Perry couldn't fault the man's care. Nor for the first time he thanked the urge he gave into. To confide in Martin when the worrying epistle arrived. Short and stark it said only five words. 'You, her, the cottage, beware'.

  Perry nodded his thanks because he knew Martin would check that all was as well organized and as safe as possible. Now, with Harry and Martin in Scotland the immediate threat to them disappeared; nevertheless it wasn't over. Not until they caught the ringleader.

  If a visit to Marsh Hall helps in that quest, it will be a worthy visit, especially if I can combine it with a chance to break my self-inflicted dry spell. Perry vowed he would remain celibate, until he lived with Maggie again. Just the thought of her made his cock perk up and his body tingle. He could only hope he wouldn't go off prematurely when he finally feasted on her body. The thought spurred him on.

  ****

  However even as he set his horse toward the Great North Road, he still discerned a niggle of doubt in his mind. In theory everything appeared well. Harry and Martin had been sent to Scotland for their safety, and Perry himself thought closer the unmasking of the mastermind who sold secrets to the French than ever before. So why did he have an uncomfortable itch between his shoulder blades? In his job he learned never to ignore that itch.

  "Dye?" he turned to the man who rode alongside him. "I have the itch."

  Dye's eyes widened. Perry knew Dye believed in things like 'the itch' could, and had saved many a life. "You want me to scout?"

  "I think we both keep our eyes and ears open. There is no reason to believe anything untoward should happen, but…"

  Dyson Paget nodded. "Aye, but. I'll drop back a while and we'll meet up at The Drovers for food? Then onto The Pike? I have two rooms made ready for us to spend the night there. We'll get to Nash's mid afternoon tomorrow then."

  "Good idea."

  Dye served on the continent before he moved to the secret side of Peregrine's work and became not only his—to all intents and other people's purposes—groom. Perry preferred to call Dye his other set of senses. Dye, younger son of a noble family, hated his father and stepmother, and embraced Peregrine and his ideals as any honorable man would. On more than one occasion he proved invaluable in ensuring Peregrine's safe welfare, and was probably the only person who knew where Perry's affections lay. Perry thought for a moment.

  "I'll go via the heath and check the cottage. It won't add but a mile or two, and I haven't been out for a while." In many ways it was too painful to revisit the place where he had been able to relax, and be with the one person guaranteed to help him do just that. He considered his statement. "The itch doesn't suggest I should not." It was strange how this aberration worked but he and Dye trusted it implicitly.

  Now Dye wheeled his horse away, and went back on the direction from where they started their journey. Perry ran over their journey in his head. Dye could take a different route and not increase the length of his journey by much. With one eye on the road, and the rest of his attention on the surrounding countryside Peregrine cantered on. Any attack wasn't liable to occur here, even though the heath could be dangerous. Peregrine knew too much about the area to be taken in. His own cottage wasn't too far away. The one he realized with a jolt, he had no opportunity to use for many a month. In fact the last people to occupy it were Harold and Martin, before their stupidity made it necessary to remove from the area and make their way northward.

  Even after he'd called in at Victory Cottage, and checked all appeared well, if not a little dusty, the itch remained, annoying him and keeping him on edge, but not showing anything imminent. It reassured him how the intensity changed with the degree of danger. Perry had no idea if this was normal, but was ever thankful for the way it seemed to work.

  For the next few hours until he turned into the yard of a coaching inn in the
pretty market town of St Albans, he kept half an eye on the road and the rest of his mind on how and when he could plunge inside Maggie and stay there.

  There was no sign of Dye and he wondered if maybe it had been foolish to separate? For if an ambush had been forthcoming who knew if they would have been close enough to watch each other's backs? Somehow he thought they would have been, but....

  However Dye wasn't likely to be far away, just unseen. Peregrine decided he'd wait for Dye here, at The Drovers, break his fast, and decide what to do next.

  As the ostlers came out to attend to his horse, they were followed by Bacon, the Innkeeper. Rotund, jolly, and not at all living up to his nickname of Streak, he knew Peregrine from his frequent visits over the years, and his propensity for using his eyes and ears to aid and abet his country.

  "My Lord Corby." He bowed. "It's good to see you. I have a parlor waiting." He stared and Peregrine saw a message in the expression.

  Perry held his hand out to shake that of the Innkeeper and palmed the paper passed to him. "Good to see you as well, Bacon. I'm famished. I hope Mrs. Bacon has some of her turkey and ham pie." He walked inside the long whitewashed building and let the Innkeeper follow him toward the parlor he usually bespoke. "Mr. Paget isn't far behind me."

  "Mr. Paget is here," a weak voice said from within the parlor. "Bowed, bloodied but not beaten. Well, not in the battle sense of the word."

  Chapter Two

  Margaret Whittering hummed under her breath as she finished checking off the linens. Nash Gretton was an easy master to work for; indeed he, along with his wife, were perhaps the only two people, apart from his eldest brother, who knew why she worked as a housekeeper in the rural domesticity of Rutland. It took all her powers of persuasion to get Perry to agree to let Nash and Felicity know the whole story of why she was there. Felicity was her cousin, and Nash Perry's brother, so as far as Maggie was concerned if they weren't to be trusted who could she have faith in? Eventually, Perry acquiesced. Even so, the vicar wasn't privy to the necessary information to enable him to understand why Maggie begged for his help to procure her the position. If you asked him, he would say he got Maggie the job as she'd fallen on hard times. She spared a moment's thought for Frederick Lennon, her distant cousin, and vicar to the parish. No relation to Felicity, thankfully, the poor man still had no idea just how they duped him into helping Maggie. It had been imperative to move her from their home before she could be used as a lever against her lover, and to be Nash's housekeeper seemed the perfect disguise. If Frederick had not been complaisant who knows what Peregrine would have done. Replaced him with one of his men? Maggie was glad it hadn't been necessary.

  "Hidden in plain sight," Perry said. "Even if someone thought they recognized you they would think you merely similar to Margaret Lowther. It is the perfect hideaway."

  As everyone now knew her as Whittering, Maggie hoped he was correct.

  Maggie chuckled as she looked at the piles of clean and fresh smelling linens, locked the cupboard, and made her way to the room set aside for the housekeeper. Whoever would have thought the sight of shelf upon shelf of sheets, tablecloths and serviettes, all with the scent of lavender upon them could be so satisfying. Perhaps she desired to be a homemaker at heart.

  When she entered her own domain, Maggie looked around her with a happy sigh. If she couldn't be with Perry in their own home, this surely became the next best thing? Nash gave her a spacious and pleasant room, with elegant furnishings, and an adjacent bathing chamber. What made her even happier was that Mrs. Dagwood, his previous housekeeper, lived in the lodge with her husband, the head groundsman, and therefore there hadn't been a precedent for where the housekeeper should be housed. Once she was ensconced, no member of Nash's household felt the need to comment. He was after all a generous employer, and none occupied tiny or uncomfortable lodgings.

  Her room looked out onto a tiny walled garden, where she had been pleased to see autumn roses and herbs mingling with cabbages and a few straggly runner beans. That was many months ago. None of them thought her sojourn would have been half as long. Sadly, as Nash recounted to her the previous week, Peregrine was no nearer to finding out who orchestrated the passing of secrets, than when Mortimer Gravesend had been killed months before.

  Maggie glanced out of her window at the damp muddy early spring garden. It looked sad and neglected as only a garden could, after a long miserable winter. Joe the gardener said only the day before, he expected a fair few more frosts before any veg could be planted. Maggie wondered if she'd see Peregrine before that date. Her toys, lovingly given to her by him, were in danger of wearing out due to over use.

  A tap on her door broke her reverie, and she turned her back on the sad looking garden to answer it.

  "Hello?"

  "Maggie, it's Nash. May I come in?" Nash was the last person she expected to hear. In answer she opened the door to see her temporary employer leaning on the door jamb. His face was somber. The look made her heart stop, and her throat closed up in a convulsive movement that made her feel sick.

  "What? Oh no not Perry, has something happened to him?" In her agitation, Maggie grasped Nash's shoulder and shook him. She didn't even notice, but stared at his face. Her heart began to beat again, albeit erratically, and a sharp stab of fear raced up her spine.

  "No, no, nothing like that, Maggie. Lord, I'm sorry. Felicity warned me you'd think that." His face creased with concern as he made haste to reassure her.

  "And he, in his all male I know best posture ignored me." Felicity, Nash's wife, and Maggie's cousin walked swiftly into the room. "Heavens, Nash," she said fond exasperation evident in her voice, "did I not ask you to wait for me? I was detained but one second by your blighted puppies standing on my gown, and in that short time you managed to alarm her." One of the puppies slid across the wooden floor outside the open door and rolled over to land at Maggie's feet. She picked him up, and held him close to get comfort from his warm wriggling body, and rough tongue as it licked her cheek.

  "Stop that Agar," Felicity held her arms out for him, but Maggie shook her head. "He's fine, is Perry?"

  Felicity rolled her eyes. "That pup is spoiled." She hugged Maggie as best she could, with the excited puppy between them. "Be calm, Perry is fine. But we do have news and alarming as some of it may be, I rather think the solution we have come up with for one of our problems will appeal to you."

  If anything Maggie felt more confused than ever. The shiver that hit her wasn't exactly one of fear, but neither was it one of excitement. Felicity raised an eyebrow at the movement.

  "A goose walked over my grave. Not very pleasant, but nothing too alarming." Maggie explained.

  Felicity nodded. "Horrid though."

  "Ring for tea in the upper study, and we'll explain." Nash suggested. "Ladies, if you spoil that pup any more it won't be any use for anything. In fact it probably isn't now. Do you not think I haven't noticed how he sneaks in here at every opportunity?"

  Maggie laughed and nuzzled the dog. "He helps me stay sane." She ignored the sympathetic look that passed between husband and wife.

  "Then he's yours. He's been inside so much because he's no interest or inclination to follow the scent. Now shall we adjourn?" Nash said, as he ignored her gasp of thanks. "It will be comfortable, and conventional. There may be a lot of leeway in this house, but perhaps not to the extent of the three of us sitting in your bedchamber taking tea, Agar as a chaperone or not. And, pretty though your sitting room is, I'd feel happier in the study."

  Maggie nodded. "You two go up, I'll bring the tea." The servants all seemed to accept she was slightly different, but Maggie decided she preferred not to look, or act above such things. Nash opened his mouth as if he was about to protest, but Felicity elbowed him, nodded and drew her husband through the door.

  "Five minutes." Nash warned, with a narrow eyed look.

  "Ten," Felicity said with a smile. "Let Maggie settle Agar, and give the tea time to steep, and find some of the parki
n you so like." She winked at Maggie as she led Nash away.

  Maggie smiled at their retreating backs. They truly kept her from screaming on many an occasion. The Manor household was a friendly happy place. The love between Nash and Felicity was evident for all to see, and the lack of formality around them made each and every servant glad to be in their employ. Even, Maggie thought with a grin, Andre the very temperamental chef. He finally seemed to accept he was not going to be lucky in love with Harold, Nash's brother, and returned to cooking superb food. Whilst in the throes of his unrequited love, the inedible meals he produced caused Nash to eventually make an arrangement with the local Inn. To supply three meals a day to the manor.

  The kitchen was empty, but the kettle sung gently on the back of the hob. The aroma of a rich game stew filled the air, and Maggie sniffed with appreciation. Andre's way with game was renowned throughout the hunting fraternity and as Nash believed firmly that everyone in the manor ate alike, Maggie knew they were in for a treat.

  She unlocked the tea chest, and began her preparations. It took scant minutes to assemble a tea tray and find the sticky parkin, a type of gingerbread made with oats and treacle that Nash was partial to. It took somewhat longer before Agar accepted he wasn't going to accompany her upstairs, and agreed to settle down on one of her shawls in front of the fire. The reproachful look he sent her in her direction ought to be enough to melt even the hardest heart, and Maggie gave him a scratch behind the ears. "Not now, but later we'll go for a walk eh? And I will ask the carpenter to build you a run in the garden." He gave what could only be called a dog-sigh and rested his head on his paws. Maggie grinned as she shut her bedchamber door. She'd missed not having a dog of her own. It seemed it hadn't gone noticed that Agar tended to find her whenever he could, and shunned his brothers and sisters, and he now had his reward.