“What are you doing here?” Owen growled, effectively snapping Scarlett out of her lust-induced trance.
“I…” She cleared her throat. Shook her head. “I came to speak to you.”
“Now is not a good – what happened to you?” Broken glass crunched beneath his boots as he stormed across the tavern and grabbed her arm. She tried to shake him loose, but his grip was unrelenting. “These needs to be cleaned and bandaged.”
“I know. That’s what I was trying to do but this odious man” – she wrinkled her nose at the barkeep – “was of no help.”
The old Scotsman lifted both of his hands. “I tried tae help her,” he said defensively. “I gave her a rag, didn’t I?”
“Yes, and if I wanted to die of an infection I would have used it!”
He blinked at her, then looked at Owen. “Do ye know this lass?”
“Regrettably yes.”
“She’s a bit of mouth on her, doesn’t she?” He rubbed his chin. “Quite bonny, though. The troublesome ones usually are.”
Scarlett’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll show you troublesome you bloody–”
“Easy,” Owen muttered in her ear as his grip on her arm tightened. “Mac doesn’t mean any harm. Come up to my room. You need to have that looked at. I have clean water and towels.”
He wanted her to go up to his room? Startled by the intimate proposition she met his gaze, but if he was planning to do anything other than tend to her wound it didn’t show itself in the cool depths of his cobalt stare.
Unfortunately.
“Fine,” she said.
Keeping a hold of her as if he didn’t trust her not to leap over the bar and give Mac the sound thrashing he deserved, Owen led her up the staircase and down a narrow hallway to the very last door on the right.
Like the rest of the Silver Lion Inn, Owen’s room was small but tidily kept with a bed on one wall and a wash basin on the other. There was a set of drawers in between and a chair that had seen better days in the corner. Nodding at the chair to indicate she should take a seat, Owen dumped the contents of the wash basin out the window before refilling it with clear, clean water from a metal pitcher. Wetting a beige towel he knelt down in front of her.
“Your hand,” he said gruffly, not meeting her gaze.
Wordlessly Scarlett extended her arm and then watched, breath caught in her throat, as Owen cleaned her cut with remarkable gentleness. When all of the blood had been wiped away he bandaged her hand with a strip of cloth so quickly and efficiently that she knew it wasn’t the first time he’d tended to a wound.
“You’ve done this before,” she said softly.
“Yes.” Tying off the bandage with a sturdy knot, he sat back on one knee. “More times than I care to remember.”
Moved by the quiet pain she saw in his eyes when he lifted his head, Scarlett reached out and touched his cheek.
“I am sorry,” she whispered.
“It isn’t your fault.” Except they both knew it was for if she had kept her word and run away with him to Gretna Green as she’d promised, he never would have gone to war.
“Owen, I–”
He stood up so quickly the edges of his shirt billowed out like the sails of a ship. Raking a hand through his hair, he stalked across the room to stare broodingly out the window at the street below. “How does your hand feel?”
Her mouth twisted in muted frustration. If he did not want her apology or her explanation, then what did he wanted? Vengeance? Retribution? Revenge? If he charged her with the murder of her husband he would have all three regardless of whether she was found innocent or guilty.
“Much better. Thank you. Owen, I came here to talk to you about Rodger.”
His shoulders tensed by he did not look away from the window. “What about him?”
“Well, to start with I know you sent a man to search through my things. I am going to want all of the jewelry he stole returned, by the way.”
“I am certain I have no idea what you are talking about.”
Scarlett’s hand that was not bandaged curled in a fist. She’d known he was going to make this as difficult as possible, but she hadn’t anticipated him outright lying. “Be that as it may, surely you must know that if Rodger really was murdered I had absolutely nothing to do with it.”
“I have a sapphire earring that says otherwise.”
“Ah ha!” she said triumphantly. “So you did send someone to steal my jewelry.”
He turned around. “Did you even realize that you’d lost it?”
“Lost what?”
“Your sapphire earring. It must have fallen when you were standing over your dead husband’s body.”
Scarlett gritted her teeth. “No matter what you think you found, I was at home all evening.”
“Were you?” he countered softly. “I know about Sherwood’s mistress, Lady Deveraux. He was with her that night, wasn’t he? And you were finally fed up enough to follow him to her flat. You did not want to murder him by traditional means. That would draw too much attention. So instead, to make it seem like an accident, you sabotaged his horse’s girth–”
“This is absolutely ridiculous.”
“–and you followed him when he left. On his way back the saddle twisted and he fell from his horse, just like you’d planned. But of course you had to make certain he was really dead, so you went and checked his pulse. That’s when you lost your earring.”
“Are you quite done?” Scarlett said acidly.
Owen scratched his chin. “Yes, I think that about sums it up.”
“Then it is your turn to listen to me. I did not have anything to do with Rodger’s death. I did not follow him that night. I did not cut his horse’s girth. Whatever earring you found, it is not mine!” Her hand curled around the edge of her seat. “I know I made a terrible mistake seven years ago and I regret what I did. I’ve regretted it every day since I married Rodger. But I was just a girl, Owen! A young, foolish, naïve girl who did not know any better.
“I thought how I was seen mattered. I thought the way I was dressed mattered. I thought the size of my house mattered. But it doesn’t. It never did. The only thing that mattered – the only thing that matters – is you. I love you Owen and I know you love me as well, you’re just too damned stubborn to admit it.”
He waited until she collapsed into silence to ask, “Is that all?”
Exhausted by the inner strength it had taken to lay her soul bare, Scarlett could only nod.
“Yes,” she whispered. “That is all.”
His cold gaze raked across her body with so much force she felt its frigid bite all the way on the other side of the room. “I do not believe a single bloody word out of your mouth. You’re a consummate actress. You always have been. Something I realized too late, I’m afraid. I know you murdered your husband and no amount of talking or telling me how much I matter is going to change my mind.”
“Oh!” she cried as she leaped out of her chair. “You are so stubborn it’s infuriating. Why can’t you just listen to me? I did not murder Rodger!”
“Listen to you?” he snarled. “I can hardly stand the sight of you.”
Pins flew out of her hair as she gave a defiant toss of her head. “You were singing a different tune this morning, weren’t you? Or was that another man’s tongue down my throat?”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m sure you’ve had so many it is a challenge keeping track.”
“Bastard,” she hissed.
“Does the truth hurt?” The mocking glint in his eyes made her want to scratch them out. Had she really thought she would be able to seduce him into falling in love with her again? Owen may have desired her body, but it was clear to her now that he found every other part of her abhorrent. She’d been a fool to ever think otherwise.
“You wouldn’t know the truth if it hit you upside the head!” Whirling around she snatched up the shawl she’d put on the back of the chair, but when she went to leave the room she found Owen blocking her path.<
br />
“Where do you think you’re going?” he growled, more wild animal than man as he grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around, effectively pinning her between the door and his hard body. His bare chest lifted and fell with the force of his breaths, nostrils flaring as he caged her between his arms.
“As far away from you as I can possibly get.” She slapped a hand against his chest and gave a hard shove, but she might as well have been trying to topple a brick wall. “Let me go, Owen.”
“That’s the problem.” Damp tendrils of hair whipped across his forehead as he gave a frustrated shake of his head. “I can’t.”
He looked so miserable she almost felt sorry for him. Then she remembered why she was here and her pity turned to anger. She may have wronged him, but at least she had not accused him of something he had not done. If she were found guilty of murdering Rodger she could be put to death. Would Owen go so far in his revenge that he would see her hang? This morning she would have said absolutely not, but now… now she wasn’t so certain.
“Well you are going to have to try.” Her eyes were the tempestuous gray of a stormy sky as she glared up at him. “You cannot have it both ways. You cannot hate me and want me.”
“You think I don’t know that?” The door shook on its hinges when he slammed his right hand against the wood. Scarlett flinched, instinctively ducking her head, and Owen, his expression stricken, immediately dropped both of his arms.
“Lettie,” he said hoarsely, reaching out for her. His fingertips grazed the nape of her neck as she spun around. “Lettie, I’m sorry. You know I would never hurt you. Please–”
Ignoring him, she yanked open the door and fled down the hall without looking back.
The creature watched from the shadows as Scarlett burst out of the tavern. It watched as she stopped to compose herself, shaking out her skirts and readjusting her hat. It watched as she dashed at her cheeks. Then it followed, always keeping just out of sight, as she walked hastily down the street.
When, in her flustered state, she turned left instead of right and found herself at the end of an alley the creature tensed, its claws curling around the knife concealed inside of its pocket. The blade was so sharp that it sliced the creature’s thumb, but instead of hissing with pain it purred with pleasure.
It sucked on the tiny cut, enjoying the sweet taste of its own blood while it continued to watch.
Watching… watching… always watching.
Scarlett reached the end of the alleyway and turned around.
Now, a voice urged the creature. Do it now. Slice her open. Watch her bleed.
Now.
Now.
DO IT NOW.
The voice was screaming, but the creature was patient. It knew how to wait… and how to pretend.
“Oh!” Scarlett did a double take when the creature shoved the knife behind its back and stepped out of the shadows. “I did not expect to see you here.”
The creature hid its fangs behind a sympathetic smile. “Are you all right? You look like you’ve been crying.”
“It’s nothing. Just a meeting that did not go as I thought it would.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?
“No, no.” Scarlett shook her head. “But it is very kind of you to offer. I am terribly sorry to rush off, but we’ll see each other soon.”
“Yes.” The creature’s fingers tightened around the knife. “Very soon.”
Chapter Seventeen
Owen spent the rest of the day closeted away in his room staring up at the ceiling. Occasionally he reached over to his bedside table for the bottle of brandy he’d brought with him from London. But no matter how hard or how long he looked, the cracked white plaster did not have the answers he sought.
Nor did the brandy.
I love you Owen and I know you love me as well, you’re just too damned stubborn to admit it.
Scarlett was a good actress, but she wasn’t that good. Her words had rung with truth and he was no longer convinced of her guilt, earring or no earring. If he was completely honest with himself, he never had been.
Someone had murdered Lord Sherwood. Of that he remained certain.
But it hadn’t been Scarlett.
He’d come to Surrey seeking vengeance, not justice. By allowing bitterness and old hurts to drive his quest for the truth he had turned into a man he didn’t recognize. A man who was cruel. A man who was violent. A man who acted out of spite, not reason. The expression on Scarlett’s face when he’d slammed his fist against the door… The sudden paleness of her cheeks… The fear in her eyes… It was not something he would soon be able to forget.
Nor should you, he told himself grimly.
After what he had said and done he deserved to feel terrible. He had intentionally and maliciously hurt the only woman he had ever loved… and to what end? To right old wrongs? To make himself feel better? Because as it stood he’d never felt worse.
After a restless night spent tossing and turning Owen rose out of bed, splashed cold water on his face, and pulled on the same brown trousers and white linen shirt he’d worn the day before. Forgoing a waistcoat and cravat he slipped into a loose fitting overcoat that concealed the pistol he carried on his hip. A black topper to cover his tousled hair and he was ready to depart.
Felix was waiting for him downstairs, already tucking into a hearty breakfast of sausage and eggs.
“Ye look like shit,” he commented around a mouthful of pork.
Ignoring him, Owen walked straight out of the tavern and turned left towards the stables. His gelding was already saddled and waiting for him, but it wasn’t a single horse he needed.
“Be a good lad and ready my carriage,” he told the livery boy. “There’s an extra shilling in it for you if you’re quick about it.”
It was an older carriage, the dark blue upholstery worn a bit threadbare in places, but it was a far cry above anything Owen could have afforded when Scarlett had spurned him in favor of a wealthy viscount.
The truth was his fortune had more than quadrupled over the past year after a few risky investments had paid out. No one – not Felix, not Grant, and certainly not Scarlett – knew how rich he really was. The one person who had an inkling was his sister Lydia and that was only because he’d just finished buying her a cozy cottage not too far from here. A cottage with six bedrooms, fifty acres of land, and an entire staff to wait on her hand and foot. After everything she had been through in her young life she deserved no less and it pleased him to be able to give her and his nephew whatever they desired.
“Yes sir!” The livery boy snapped to attention. “Right away, sir!”
Owen kept out of the way while a large bay mare was brought out and fitted with a harness. When the harness was attached to the carriage he gave the livery boy two shillings, for he remembered too well what it felt like to wear clothes that were too small and have an appetite that was too big.
His eyes as wide as the coins he’d just been given, the boy scampered away to show the other stable hands his good fortune while Owen climbed up into the carriage and snapped the reins. With single-minded determination he made his way towards Sherwood Manor.
Scarlett poked at her buttered toast with her fork, but she did not have much an appetite. At the other end of the table where she was doing her best to keep her children from swinging on the chandelier like the little monkeys they were pretending to be, Felicity sighed.
“You have to eat something,” she said. “It will make you feel better.”
Scarlett lifted a wry brow. “I doubt food is going to help. Wine, on the other hand…”
“It is only ten o’clock in the morning, darling. Surely you can manage to wait until eleven.” Lady Edgecombe sailed into the breakfast room already dressed for the day in an elaborate black beaded gown with a matching bonnet and – much to Scarlett’s amusement – a short lace veil. If there was one thing her mother took seriously, it was her fashion. She would never dream of letting a little thing like
a death in the family stop her from looking her best.
“Maria and Henry, come along please,” Felicity said after a quick glance at Lady Edgecombe. “Let’s go outside and visit the horses.”
“But I don’t want to go outside,” Henry said plaintively.
“I don’t want to go outside either,” Maria echoed even as she dashed into the foyer as fast as her chubby little legs could carry her, leaving Felicity with the arduous task of getting Henry to do something he did not want to do.
“You know in my day children were never allowed to disobey their elders.” As she watched Felicity try to peel Henry’s little hands off the windowsill he was clinging to with the strength of ten grown men, Lady Edgecombe gave a disapproving sniff. “A bit more discipline and a little less coddling, I should think.”
“Mother,” Scarlett said warningly.
“What? I am merely trying to be helpful.”
“Felicity does not need your help. And she doesn’t need to leave. You do not need to leave,” she repeated loudly. Felicity gave her an appreciative smile over her shoulder, but continued trying to wrestle a very determined Henry away from the window.
“I think… it will… be better for… all involved if I take the children… elsewhere,” she gasped, red-faced and out of breath. When she finally managed to pry Henry off the sill she wasted no time in picking him up and hurrying out of the room, leaving Scarlett and her mother alone.
“What?” Lady Edgecombe said defensively when Scarlett glared at her. “I did not tell her she had to go.”
“No, but you might as well have. You’ve been making remarks since you arrived.”
“You know I do not care for children.”
A Dangerous Seduction Page 16
