Free Rogue's Reward by Jean R. Ewing

make herself known. But for heaven’s sake! Major Crabtree was calling her mother “sweetheart”?
    “No, you did right, of course,” Lady Acton said. “I had to know immediately and it was private there. No doubt I shall get my own request soon enough. You have given me some warning and for that I am grateful. Better to feel faint in Little Tanning than pass out beneath the breakfast table at Hawksley.”
    “But such news! It tears out my heart to see you so distressed.”
    Lady Acton gave a bitter little laugh. “How could you keep my letters after I instructed you to burn them, as I did yours?”
    The major’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I couldn’t bring myself to do it, even though I know every sentence by heart. Your sweet words are all I really have of you, my dear.”
    “Then I wish you could have relied on your memory, since it’s so perfect. Now this unknown person has them. Stolen, you say, from Deerfield?”
    “I am more than mortified, Felicity. If I could get the letters back by cutting off my right hand, I would do so.”
    “I imagine that our gold will be more to our tormentor’s taste than your flesh, Sir Robert, however nobly given. How much is he asking?”
    The answer seemed wrung from him. “More than I have.”
    “But not, probably, more than I have. Very well! I am prepared to be bled dry. I have my own fortune. The earl shall never know. Indeed, he must never know or I shall be ruined.”
    “I am so angry and humiliated,” the major said. “Yet I cannot find it in my heart to regret our love, Felicity. You are more to me than the earth.”
    “Oh, spare me, sir! We are adults. We know quite well what we have meant to each other. Pray, don’t make it more than it is. You may regret nothing, but I regret everything very bitterly. Had you done as I asked and burned my letters, we wouldn’t now be considering the pleasures of being blackmailed.”
    “Forgive me, my dear. I’ll move heaven and earth to find the villain who stole the letters, believe me.”
    “He’s picked a good target, hasn’t he? The Countess of Acton! This rogue is going to become a very rich man. Now, leave me, sir. Tomorrow will be soon enough for me to begin to decide which jewels I shall sell.”
    The door opened and closed again. The major had left.
    Eleanor sat where she was and listened for her mother to also leave the room. She now understood exactly why the countess had looked so ill when she came out of the church. She felt a little pale and clammy herself. It might be a shock for Lady Acton to learn that her indiscreet letters had been stolen and were in the hands of a blackmailer, but it was perhaps more of a shock for her eighteen-year-old daughter to learn that her mother had been having an affair.
    Yet could she blame her? The handsome major was witty enough company. Compared to her father, who often behaved something like Henry VIII with the headache, he must have seemed charming indeed. It was only natural that the countess had looked outside of her barren marriage for a little solace.
    But this business of the letters was a disaster. If it ever came out, the earl could demand a divorce. Lady Acton, who lived only for society, would find herself an outcast. No wonder she was prepared to sell her jewelry!
    Eleanor almost felt like weeping, as much in rage as in grief. What crime was more despicable than blackmail? Her mother had never harmed a soul. Did a moment of human weakness deserve a lifetime of punishment? Who could possibly have stolen the letters?
    And then unbidden it came to her: “First you must tell me what you know about blackmail, brown hen.”
    Leander Campbell! When they had first met at the Three Feathers, he had said that. She had thought he was threatening to blackmail her over their compromising encounter, but he stayed often at Deerfield and he gambled for a living. He must be in constant need of money. Opportunity and motive, both were there.
    She had thought him