Too Wicked To Kiss Part 17

"You mentioned you hoped Nancy would make a match with Mr. Teasdale," he said. Rose started, as if she'd forgotten he still stood just inside the doorway, and then her head dipped in a quick nod. "Do you have reason to believe him uninterested?"

Nancy blushed and looked away. "He's old."

"And rich," Jane added.

"And displeased," Rose said with a sigh. "I cannot blame him."

Nancy rose to her feet and glared down at her mother. "I'll marry someone else."

Rose stood as well, returning her daughter's gaze. "You'll marry no one else, as we can no longer afford to put in appearances."

Nancy's chin lifted. "Then you should've let me marry him!"

Rose's reply was gentle, but firm. "He didn't offer."

"He would've!"

"Yet he did not."

"He loved me!" Tears filled Nancy's eyes. "He wrote me poetry!"

"You are too young to understand." Rose reached out to touch Nancy's arm.

Nancy jerked away. "I understand Papa ruined it. Papa ruined everything!"

"Papa's dead," Rachel put in.

Rebecca nodded. "Like my dolly."

With a groan, Nancy spun away from them and stormed past Gavin and out the door. Jane hesitated a second before sprinting after her. Rose sank back onto the sofa and refused to meet Gavin's eyes.

Why, he had no idea, since their conversation had only grown more confusing with each hurled phrase. The female mind was unfathomable. Nancy had wanted wanted to marry Teasdale, the deaf old codger? Who had apparently scratched out love letters in his spotted, palsied hand? to marry Teasdale, the deaf old codger? Who had apparently scratched out love letters in his spotted, palsied hand?

After inclining his head to the women, Gavin slipped out of the nursery and back into the corridor. Miss Pemberton still stood about ten meters away, if one could call slumping bonelessly against wainscoting "standing."

When a footman stepped from the guest room across the hall, Gavin motioned him over.

"A favor," he said, careful to keep his voice low. "I'd like the staff to keep an eye on Lady Hetherington, Miss Hetherington, and Miss Pemberton. Discreetly."

The footman nodded and resumed his duties.

Gavin approached Miss Pemberton with soft, slow steps. Although his footfalls were soundless, her eyelashes lifted as if she sensed the minute s.h.i.+ft in the shadows.

She did not smile to see him. The pulse in her throat suggested she was waiting for him to pounce.

He hooked his thumbs in his waistband. "You stayed."

"You told me to."

"So I did."

She rubbed her forehead. "Are the girls all right?"

"I believe so. Their mother seems to be the most affected."

"Such is often the way."

"How did you know?"

She shrugged. "I often sequestered myself as a child."

"No," Gavin said, "I mean, how did you know where to find them?" Although, now he very much wished to know where and why she'd sequestered herself as a child.

"I heard noises in the walls."

"Which you immediately a.s.sumed to be a five-year-old girl?"

"I immediately a.s.sumed rats."

"There are no rats in Blackberry Manor."

"Perhaps not literal ones."

He chose to ignore the barb. "How did you discover the swinging painting? Another lucky guess?"

"Another accident. It was my escape path when I found myself in the walls earlier this morning."

"When you-" Gavin broke off and stared at her, remembering his earlier bafflement at her odd, disheveled appearance. "How does one accidentally find oneself in the walls?"

She arched a slender eyebrow. "By tumbling through one's false bookcase."

"Did you lure the girls in after you?"

Her eyes flashed. "Of course not. I was with you belowstairs, was I not?"

"But you knew precisely where I would find Rebecca. How is that possible unless you were with them when they got lost?"

"Did they say I was with them?"

"No."

"Then blame your own cleverness. If you didn't have an abundance of cunning facades disguising access panels to secret pa.s.sageways, none of your guests would have found themselves caught between the walls. Had something horrible happened to one of those little girls, you would have only yourself to blame."

He stepped forward.

She recoiled. "Please-please don't kiss me again."

Without waiting for a rejoinder from him, she turned and stalked down the corridor and out of sight. Which was for the better.

He hadn't been about to kiss her. He'd been about to throttle her. He was friendless, soulless, dangerous.

Even his house was capable of evil.

Chapter Thirteen.

Before Evangeline progressed even half the distance to her bedchamber, Susan Stanton strode forth from a connecting corridor, linked her arm with Evangeline's, and tugged her off in a new direction.

"May I ask," Evangeline ventured, "where we are going in such a hurry?"

"You may ask," Susan returned, "but do not blame me if you succ.u.mb to a fit of vapors upon learning."

"Has something happened?"

"Of course something's happened. You were there when the something that happened was busy happening, while I was stuck scouring the scullery with my mother, who has now decided my sensitive female const.i.tution must be in such a state of excitement over the loss and subsequent discovery of the girls that only one activity remains which might calm my tender nerves." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "Sewing samplers." "Sewing samplers."

"But you know I-"

"No, no. None of that." Her arm trapped Evangeline's closer. "I refuse to sew alone."

And in short order, Evangeline found herself in a large rectangular room decorated with a smattering of sofas and chaises, gold-papered walls, a small crackling fire, and an overstuffed wicker basket teeming with threaded needles and bits of cloth. No windows filtered light into the stuffy interior. Instead, oil-on-canvas landscapes filled the walls, just as they did in almost every other room.

Susan flounced over to the sofa nearest the basket of samplers, yanked a half-finished pattern from the pile, and hurled herself lengthwise across the worn cus.h.i.+ons. She closed her eyes. She placed the wrinkled cloth across her face like a death mask. She moaned as if in bitter agony. And then she bolted upright, not bothering to s.n.a.t.c.h at the small square cloth when it fluttered to the floor.

"Stop toying with me," she huffed. "As you cannot embroider, you must know I've engineered your company so that you may recount all details regarding the missing twins. The countess is only saying that they are returned safely to the nursery. Lionkiller is saying nothing at all. As is his wont. I swear, the moment we wed I shall demand regular sessions of interactive conversation. Nothing less than fifteen minute segments will do."

Evangeline settled at the edge of a chaise near the fire and tried not to imagine Susan in long postmarital conversation with Mr. Lioncroft. "I thought you weren't looking forward to the match."

"I changed my mind."

"What?"

"He may portray himself as a taciturn recluse, but in the few days we've spent in his company, I've now come to realize where he goes, trouble follows."

"And that's a good quality?"

"That's a fascinating quality. Life with Mother is dreadfully dull."

Evangeline wasn't sure which horrified her more: that Susan was utterly convinced Mr. Lioncroft was an unrepentant killer who would strike again at any moment...or that danger to herself and others seemed a diverting source of entertainment. Evangeline had seen Mr. Lioncroft's face when he'd heard the girls were missing, heard his rapid-fire footfalls as he ran from out of doors to the secret pa.s.sageway, felt the burning heat of his disgust and disappointment when the best she could do was hover nearby and offer feeble directions.

Susan did not know him at all. She feared him, judged him, dismissed him. And yet she would marry him. Because she found the idea amusing. Acid coated Evangeline's gut-a strange, horrible, desperate feeling she was determined not to name.

"Well?" Susan demanded. "Where were they? Had he put them in danger?"

"He did not." The words came out short, choppy, the final word enunciated too clearly. "Why would he?"

Susan shrugged. "How should I know how an animal thinks? But if you say they are safe from him, I believe you." She shoved her spectacles up her nose and fixed Evangeline with a sudden stare. "Do you believe I should be safe from him when we marry?"

Although Evangeline's mouth opened, neither words nor breath escaped. Good fortune, that, because she was quite sure she'd regret speaking aloud any of the rejoinders that instantly sprang to mind.

If Mr. Lioncroft had killed Lord Hetherington, he had done so to avenge the violence done to his sister. He held his sister's well-being-and that of her daughters-in clear regard. He had not spent the rest of the evening wandering about his mansion smothering the rest of his guests. He appeared in possession of a quick and violent temper, to be sure, but only when provoked.

Susan, Evangeline couldn't help but decide, was quite provoking. If Mr. Lioncroft smothered her with that stupid sampler, any mutual acquaintance would deem such an act justifiable. The very fact that she would question her safety with a man she intended to marry...

If Evangeline said, "Yes, I'm quite sure he'd murder you within moments of exchanging vows," perhaps she could sway Susan from the bridal path. The thought of preventing such an undesirable marriage eased the clenching of Evangeline's gut.

However, two problems presented themselves with this line of thought.

First, while she often had to keep the truth about certain things to herself, Evangeline tried very hard not to out-and-out lie. To frighten Susan away from Mr. Lioncroft by confirming the volatility of his nature, Evangeline would be perpetuating rumors she already knew to be exaggerated.

Second, to what purpose would such deception serve? Mr. Lioncroft was hardly likely to offer for her, her, and even if the stars aligned in just such a way to provoke such a turn of events, she would not be able to accept without her stepfather's permission. Which he would never grant. and even if the stars aligned in just such a way to provoke such a turn of events, she would not be able to accept without her stepfather's permission. Which he would never grant.

So she mumbled, "Of course you'll be safe with him, goose," and turned to face the fire. The roiling in her gut increased exponentially.

"Excellent." Susan jabbed her needle through the tattered cloth. "And I shall be good for his circ.u.mstances, as well. Father doubled my dowry after last Season's scandal. If it weren't for these infernal spectacles, Mother is convinced I would've been an Incomparable from my very first ball. Our family has connections from London to the Continent, and bloodlines that intertwine with royalty. I'm accomplished in every way that a proper young lady ought to be. I am quite gifted when it comes to-"

Evangeline allowed her ears to go deaf.

Yes, yes, Susan was perfect ton ton. She had two living parents, enviable blood, and more money than Midas. Splendid. If her point was that any machinations to finagle the initial compromise would more than pay out to Mr. Lioncroft's advantage in the end, then huzzah for her. Evangeline paid lip service to her role in the stratagem simply to keep in Lady Stanton's good graces, and held no interest in playing make-believe about what a wonderful life Susan and Mr. Lioncroft might have together.

The door swung open and the one person Evangeline held even less interest in conversing with glided into the room.

Lady Stanton harrumphed. "I'm glad to see Susan minded my instruction for once. I hope you did the same, Miss Pemberton."

"I-" Evangeline's gloved hands twitched in her lap, quite devoid of samples to embroider. "You wished for me to sew?"

"I wished," Lady Stanton bit out, "for you to take advantage of opportunity when we left you in the Green Salon to secure a vision about the murder from Mr. Lioncroft. Pray tell me you did so."

Evangeline jerked her gaze from Lady Stanton to Susan and back again. She had confided in Susan about her visions only that morning, and already Lady Stanton was discussing them freely before her.

She turned to face her. "You told your mother I confided in you?"

Susan frowned, c.o.c.ked her head to one side, and frowned some more. She stabbed her needle into the center of her sampler, threw it atop the basket, and glared at Evangeline through narrowed eyes.

Blinking, Evangeline recoiled.

"Are you talking about your silly visions?" came Lady Stanton's sharp, cutting voice. "Susan knew about those before we left the house. How else could I get her to cooperate with my stratagem to ensnare Lioncroft? Which is only to her benefit, the ungrateful chit."

Evangeline's jaw fell open. "You...didn't tell me," she said to Susan.

Susan jerked one shoulder up, then back down. "And you didn't tell me about your visions until today. I wanted us to be friends. And I figured you'd confide on your own when you felt you could trust me."

Evangeline closed her jaw with a snap. Of course, Susan would already know about the visions. Why would Lady Stanton, of all people, keep Evangeline's secret? Whatever friends.h.i.+p Mama thought she'd shared with that woman had clearly been one-sided. And whatever friends.h.i.+p Evangeline had almost begun with Susan, she'd managed to ruin herself.