Free My Lady Rogue (A Nelson's Tea Novella Book 2) by Katherine Bone Page B

tight and narrowed her eyes. A woman indeed!
    Henry stepped closer to Gillian. The heavy weight of his hand stopped her from launching a physical attack at the troubled parson. Holt was going to get himself killed if he didn’t back down. “You, of all people, know better than to underestimate a woman, vicar. Or haven’t you learned anything from Fordyce’s Sermons ?”
    “The baroness has earned our trust a thousand times over,” Percy broke in, lifting a hand toward her then lowering it to his side. “No one need ever question her loyalties.”
    Holt laughed again. “I find it odd that you speak of trust, your grace.”
    Gillian inhaled deeply. She’d tried to take the higher road, to ease the tension building in the room. Percy had attempted to assist her. But by confronting Percy instead of backing down, Holt had fanned the flames igniting around them.
    “We all have secrets we don’t want publicly revealed,” she said, a brittle bite lancing her words. “You are not alone, Holt. Not by any stretch of the imagination.”
    Holt fidgeted with his cuffs, his gaze darting past her. His easy dismissal pushed her over the threshold of her endurance. What was wrong with him? “We must move forward and finish what Lord Nelson started,” she snapped. “Don’t you agree?”
    Holt didn’t respond. A strange lethal fury glimmered in his eyes, completely out of character.
    Warning bells flared inside her. Blood raced through her veins, creating a telltale throb at the base of her neck. Gooseflesh pricked her forearms. For Simon’s sake, for all of their sakes, she had to get at the root of Holt’s lack of control.
    A slight shiver inched down Gillian’s spine. She forced herself to relax and pressed on. “No matter what happens, the job we set out to do isn’t done.” As a reverend of over eight hundred souls and an overseer of the poor, surely Holt understood. “Napoleon has crowned himself emperor. He will not stop until he has invaded our shores. We must carry out Nelson’s plans. Combine our efforts and talents. You can make a difference in protecting your parish, Holt, your country.” She looked around the room at the expectant faces of the men, several of which moved stealthily closer . “ We can all make a difference by trusting Simon. I do.”
    Holt avoided eye contact. He clasped his elbows tightly against his side. “ You are not me ,” he said quietly.
    “No,” she said. “I am not.”
    What explained Holt’s short-temperedness, irritability, his downward gaze, and the slight tremble in his right hand? Desperation? Dread? Or something more sinister? Gillian bit her lower lip and watched as Holt flexed his jaw. Corded muscles constricted above his collar. Other telltale signs he couldn’t be trusted were revealed in the way his fists loosened and tightened. Hers followed suit. She wanted to slap sense into the unruly man. Something was terribly wrong, and Simon needed to be warned.
    Before she could act on her instincts, Holt gave her a polite bow. “My apologies. It grieves me to know that you have suffered most cruelly, baroness,” he said, drawing out the s. “I am, due to ordainment, obligated by God to speak the truth — to act as an agent of righteousness.”
    “Truth? Righteousness?” Milford’s brows furrowed as he lifted his cigar and gave Gillian a questioning glance. She nodded, giving him permission to continue. Milford leaned toward a candle and lit the tobacco’s end, slowly puffing out one then two plumes of smoke in Holt’s direction. “I never once suggested—”
    “No one has,” Chapman said, rising from his chair to snatch Milford’s cigar. He stubbed the tobacco out in a saucer. “Not here, Milford.”
    Russell pushed back his chair, the splintering sound echoed loudly in the resulting silence. He walked toward the bow window and closed the damask curtains, effectively snuffing out the one bit of sunlight streaming into the room. “What good is any of this