He hated the pain in her voice, the anger, the self-loathing. “You didn’t trap her. You didn’t. She married that dilberry maker of her own free will.”
“No.” Her head fell against his shoulder, her forehead against his neck. “She did so because of me. Had she not been with child, she would’ve taken her chances as a beggar on the street rather than be wife to Neal Pemberton. But she wouldn’t have had to. She had education, if not family; beauty, if not money. She had been a lady. She could’ve been a fine governess or companion. She would have been. Had it not been for me.”
He cradled her in his arms. “Had it not been for the visions, you mean.”
“Had it not been for me. Even without visions, what could a woman in her position do, but marry? She was to be a mother. Her child needed a father. She took the first man to offer and regretted it ever since.”
“Marrying a blackguard like Pemberton?”
“Having to.”
He hated the unshed tears choking her voice.
“Nonetheless,” Gavin insisted, “it was hardly your fault. Surely she didn’t blame you for a situation outside anyone’s control.”
“How could she not?” Miss Pemberton lifted her head to fix him with her steady, bloodshot gaze. “Can you say you’ve never resented someone for something outside their control?”
“No,” he admitted. “I cannot make that claim. But I try to focus my energies on that which I can control.”
“I can’t control anything. Not even my own skin. The visions come, regardless. Not even myself. I belong to my stepfather. He will come after me, as well. What did he say? He would drag me home and chain me there.”
“A figure of speech.”
“Hardly.”
His grip on her waist tightened. “He would chain you?”
“He would do anything.” She paused, shivered. “His temper cannot be controlled. When he shoved her down the stairs, he meant to hurt her, not kill her. But it was too late.”
“I won’t let him touch you,” Gavin snarled.
He hoped.
Chapter 33
After claiming her mouth in the briefest of kisses, Mr. Lioncroft gently eased Evangeline from his lap and rose to stand beside her. She would’ve preferred to remain wrapped in his arms all evening.
“We can’t stay hidden any longer,” he explained softly, as if her reluctance to leave him shone on her face. “They’ll be looking for someone to explain why the porch is a shambles of blood and splintered wood.”
“Hmmm,” Evangeline murmured. “I can see how that might catch their attention. As might you, Mr. Lioncroft, dressed as you are in ripped and ruined clothing.”
“Mr. Lioncroft?” he repeated with an arched brow. “What happened to Gavin?”
“My stepfather stuck a knife in his side,” she answered. “For protecting me.”
“I’d do it again.” His eyes flashed down at her. “Let him stick me with a thousand knives.”
“Let us hope not.” She couldn’t suppress a shiver at the thought. The idea was not as far-fetched as Mr. Lioncroft might believe. “What do we do now?”
“Now? I don’t know.” His head cocked to one side as he gazed down at her. “Supper will be ready soon. I’ll change into something a little less bloody and then join you in the dining room. Can you avoid the others until then?”
“I don’t wish to avoid them,” Evangeline said grimly. “I wish to determine which of them is callous enough to let you hang in his place.”
He dipped his head in a quick nod before striding to the opposite side of the room. The tilting of a vase triggered an access panel to the passageway between the walls. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes sober. “If you should save me from the noose, I would be in your debt.”
“Not ‘if,’” she informed him, but he’d already disappeared into the shadows. The panel eased shut behind him. “When I save him,” she announced to the empty room, her words more confident than both her tone and her posture. “I’ll unmask the true villain. Tonight. At supper.”
For the cost of failure was Mr. Lioncroft’s death.
Unacceptable.
Evangeline turned on her heel and headed to her bedchamber to prepare for battle. She emerged bathed and pressed and somewhat coiffed, but did not reach the dining room before engaging in the first skirmish.
Edmund Rutherford and Mr. Teasdale fell into step beside her as she made her way to the dining room. Much as she despised being in Edmund’s company, it would be rude to rush ahead of the elderly Mr. Teasdale. And based on the sluggishness of the latter’s ponderous gait, it would be all but impossible to slow her pace enough to lag behind to study them.
Before the silence stretched on for more than a few seconds, Edmund turned his sly gaze upon her.
“Miss Pemberton,” he said, his words spraying forth on a gust of fermented breath. “I had no idea you were a trainer of pets.”
“A what?” She cast him a suspicious glance. “I’ve never had a pet.”
He laughed delightedly. “Come now. We all saw Lioncroft trailing after you like a gelded lapdog. Mooning after you from his tragically distant picnic blanket, trying to please you with his enormous skill at kite-flying, paying more attention to your bodice than his ball when the rest of us were playing pall-mall…Don’t be coy, Miss Pemberton. It appears you’ve managed to break the untamable beast.”
Evangeline’s fingers clenched. “I’ve done nothing of the sort.”
“I agree,” came Mr. Teasdale’s quavering voice.
She gave him a grateful look. An ally. At last.
“He’s neither tamed nor trained,” Mr. Teasdale continued, “but he’s certainly following your scent around with the single-minded intensity of a panther after its prey. He’s too busy stalking one step behind you to mind propriety. Shameful behavior. Both of you.”
Evangeline tripped mid-step. “What?”
“I don’t mind a spot of shameful behavior every now and again.” Edmund fumbled in his coat pocket. “I’d love to see the lovelorn devil and his darling angel perform a public mating ritual for the amusement of the house party guests.”
“How unfortunate,” came a low voice from around the corner. Mr. Lioncroft strode from a connected hallway, a warning glint in his eyes. “I do my mating in private. That is, unless you meant some other devil?”
“No. I meant you.” Edmund took a quick swallow from his flask and edged backward. “Are you planning to keep her?”
Although he made no verbal response, Mr. Lioncroft’s fixed gaze never broke eye contact with Edmund’s.
“Because if you’re not making a mistress of her until you hang,” Edmund continued, “let me know when you’re through. I wouldn’t mind a tup or two before handing her off to the next gent.”
Mr. Lioncroft was across the narrow hall so fast Edmund barely had time to gasp before his shoulders flattened against the wall. His flask fell from his fingers. His feet dangled inches from the floor. His face paled, then purpled, held aloft by Mr. Lioncroft’s arm anchoring him across the throat.
“Touch her,” Mr. Lioncroft growled, “and die.”
“Gavin?” Lady Heatherbrook emerged from the next intersection and gasped when she saw the milieu. “Gavin. Unhand Edmund at once!”
“Precisely what I’m talking about,” Mr. Teasdale agreed as he gestured toward Mr. Lioncroft with his cane. “Yet another perfect example of impropriety.”
A beat of silence passed before Mr. Lioncroft stepped backward.
Edmund fell to the floor clutching his neck. No sooner did he land than he sprang back up, swiping at his backside. “My whisky! You spilled my whisky!”
Mr. Lioncroft shrugged. “It’s no doubt my whisky.”
“But over a chit? You would spill good whisky over a chit?”
“I would spill your blood if it wouldn’t stain my carpets.”
“Gavin,” came Lady Heatherbrook’s strangled voice. “Please don’t speak like that. What happened?”
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“Nothing. Except this pup was about to give Miss Pemberton an apology.”
“For what?” Edmund burst out. “Admitting I find her attractive? You’re the one about to ruin her by dangling after her every chance you get.”
Mr. Lioncroft’s arms crossed. “I won’t ruin her.”
Edmund snorted and bent to retrieve his empty flask. “Whether you touch her or not, she’s already marked. No female reputation can withstand being linked to yours. The maiden and the murderer? If we were in London, the scandal sheets would have a field day.”
Mr. Lioncroft’s eyebrows lifted. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not in London.”
“Nonetheless,” Mr. Teasdale put in, “I for one offer to withhold any whisper of untoward familiarity between Miss Pemberton and Lioncroft.” He turned his wrinkled face toward Evangeline. “I’ll not discuss his reprehensible behavior toward you, my dear, if you discontinue making a spectacle of yourself by encouraging a killer’s affections.”
Evangeline’s shoulders straightened. “He’s not a killer.”
Mr. Lioncroft stepped to her side, the back of his hand caressing the back of hers before he crossed his arms over his wide chest and glared at Mr. Teasdale.
Neither action escaped Mr. Teasdale’s notice. “How do you know he’s no killer?”
“How do I know it’s not you?”
“Me?” Mr. Teasdale gaped at her. “Haven’t we already agreed I could not have snuck up and clobbered him on the head?”
Edmund tipped back his flask to swallow the last few drops. “That may be, but despite your advanced age, I’m sure you’re capable of lifting a feather pillow.”
Mr. Teasdale harrumphed. “I thought you didn’t believe she spoke to God.”
“I—” Edmund paused, capped his empty flask, stowed it back in his pocket. “I believe we’ll never know what did or didn’t happen.”
“We might,” Evangeline said. “If everyone is honest.”
Mr. Teasdale leaned forward on his cane. “It’s honesty you want, is it? Very well, then. I’ll clear my name right here and now. And since you asked for honesty, don’t get angry with me for speaking my piece.”
All eyes were on him in less than a second.
“I didn’t go straight to my room that night. I’ll admit it. I wanted to have a word with Heatherbrook about his daughter. I knew she was young, but I hadn’t realized she was practically a child. And not the least bit interested in me, I might add. I thought to discuss my concerns with Heatherbrook before signing any contracts. He said love was of even lesser importance than her age. She fancied herself in love with a French tutor and that the rumors of the two of them being caught kissing were true. He said she needed to marry straightaway, and what more did an old man like me want than a pretty young chit like Nancy Rutherford? Well, I’ll tell you. Not to take a French tutor’s leavings, that’s what. I refused to sign the contract.”
Lady Heatherbrook swayed as if suddenly nauseated. “My daughter is, as you intimated, young and impressionable. She was not happy when we sent Monsieur Lefebvre away. But all that you have proven is that you had more motivation to harm my husband than any of us could have supposed.”
“I haven’t finished.” He tightened his grip on his cane. “As I quit the office where I found your husband, who should I glimpse prowling the halls but Lioncroft? Upset as I was, I didn’t wish to make small talk with anyone, so I stayed in the shadows. He entered the same office I’d just left.”
“Is that true?” Evangeline murmured to Mr. Lioncroft under her breath. A heartbeat passed before he nodded tightly. Evangeline tried not to think what that might mean.
Mr. Teasdale’s shaky voice went on. “I would have continued on to my chamber, had their voices not risen to a crescendo. The subject of their conversation, my lady, was you. Heatherbrook stated, and here I am quoting the precise words used, ‘Whatever you do to me, Lioncroft, I can do to Rose.’”
Mr. Lioncroft’s muscles tensed.
“Re-e-e-ally,” Edmund drawled. “And how did our host respond to that?”
“With his usual charm.” Mr. Teasdale’s gnarled hands pulled his cane against his chest. “Lioncroft said, ‘Not if I kill you first.’ And then I heard a crash.”
“Gavin,” Lady Heatherbrook begged, her expression horrified. “Please tell me you didn’t…”
Evangeline stayed silent, though she felt much the same way.
“Tell you I didn’t what? Didn’t order him never to strike you again? I can’t make that claim. Nor did he agree to follow my command. A man like that doesn’t deserve to live. But I didn’t kill him.”
Edmund snorted. “Teasdale heard you threaten Heatherbrook with just that.”
A muscle twitched near Gavin’s temple. “So I did. But that doesn’t mean I killed him.”
“It sure doesn’t mean you invited him out back for a round or two of pall-mall,” Edmund scoffed. “Sounds like we’ve wrapped up the case to me.”
“I did not kill him,” Gavin repeated.
“That right? I’ll believe that when you prove it.” Edmund turned and tossed a suggestive smirk toward Evangeline. “Maybe your bit of fluff can ask God for help with that trick, too.”
Evangeline managed to grab the back of Mr. Lioncroft’s jacket before he launched himself at Edmund a second time.
“I don’t need to,” she said softly. All four of them turned to stare at her. “Mr. Teasdale said he overheard them arguing in Mr. Lioncroft’s office, that he overheard a crash. An office is not a bedchamber. And pillows do not crash.”
Mr. Teasdale gaped at her. “You’re defending the honor of a violent man who fully admits to having threatened the life of a man who subsequently turned up dead?”
Evangeline nodded. “I am. There were no pillows in that office for Mr. Lioncroft to smother Lord Heatherbrook with. And even if there were, he would’ve had to carry his body down one wing, up the stairs, through the guest quarters, all the way to the Heatherbrook bedchamber without being seen by anyone. Pardon me if I find that scenario unlikely.”
“Unlikely,” Edmund scoffed, “but not impossible. How do you know whether or not there were pillows in Lioncroft’s office that night?”
“I—”
“Miss Pemberton,” Mr. Lioncroft interrupted, latching his long fingers around her elbow. “May I speak to you alone for a moment?”
“No.” Mr. Teasdale shook his cane at them. “Of course you may not. This is exactly the sort of inappropriate behavior I mentioned earlier. You expect us to just continue walking to supper while you slip into an unchaperoned room with Miss Pemberton to have a little ‘discussion’?”
Mr. Lioncroft kept his hand tight around Evangeline’s arm. “Yes.”
“I am going to have to put my foot down at that nonsense.” Mr. Teasdale slammed his cane against the floor. “I am going to have to—”
“Go,” Lady Heatherbrook interrupted softly. “You and Edmund go on to dinner. I’ll stay with them. Nothing untoward shall occur if I am at my brother’s side, do you agree?”
Although Mr. Teasdale’s expression indicated he felt equally as reluctant to leave Mr. Lioncroft alone with two women as with one, he had no choice but to continue walking to the dining room with Edmund.
Mr. Lioncroft led Evangeline and his sister into the closest room with lit candles, which turned out to be the library. He motioned them into seats while he closed the door behind him.
Lady Heatherbrook perched hesitantly on the edge of a wingback chair. Evangeline settled on one side of a sofa. Mr. Lioncroft joined her. Not on the opposite side, as would’ve been proper, but right next to her, so his hip pressed against her hip, his thigh warmed her thigh, his knee brushed her knee.
“Gavin,” Lady Heatherbrook managed. “Honestly.”
He ignored her.
“What were you going to do?” he murmured urgently to Evangeline. “Confess you spent a portion of the evening alone with me in my office?”
“I did, didn’t I?” she murmured back.
“Much as I hate to admit it, Edmund’s right. Attention from me hasn’t done your reputation any favors. If you go home ruined because I spent extra time with you in public, how much worse would it be if people knew I spent extra time with you in private?”
“I’m not going home, remember? I’m leaving. I’ll never see any of them again, so what does it matter? Besides, I was never part of Society anyway. What do I care about their views of my so-called reputation?”
“I care about your reputation. I want to help you, not ruin your life. I want—”
“That’s enough whispering,” Lady Heatherbrook called out nervously. “Scoot to your side of the sofa, Gavin.”
He hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking her advice. He lounged against the opposite corner, one arm on the armrest and the other along the back, legs relaxed, knees spread wide.
“I was just informing Miss Pemberton,” he said at a normal volume, “that I’d prefer not to ruin her life.”
“Oh.” Lady Heatherbrook paused. “That seems a worthy goal.”
Evangeline glared at him. “You’re not going to ruin my life.”
He raised a brow. “Trust me, I’ve had plenty of practice at ruining lives. Ask my sister.”
Evangeline cut her glance to Lady Heatherbrook, who blanched.
“You didn’t ruin my life,” she protested weakly. “I thought Papa did at first when he forced me to the altar at seventeen, but I’ve been blessed with four beautiful children I wouldn’t trade for the world.”
“Score one for Father, then.” Mr. Lioncroft paused, as if waiting for his sister to continue speaking. When she did not, his tone turned sardonic. “Are you saying I’ve never ruined lives?”
Lady Heatherbrook exhaled a long, slow sigh. “No,” she admitted. “You have.”
Too Wicked to Kiss: Gothic Love Stories #1 Page 27
