Too Wicked To Kiss Part 18

"I apologize," she said, the words coming out soft and urgent. "I-"

"Poignant," Lady Stanton interrupted, "but not the topic of conversation. Did you or did you not ascertain Lioncroft is in fact Hetherington's murderer?"

Evangeline's hands fisted in her lap. "I did not."

Lady Stanton stiffened. "You are fed and clothed on my good graces, young lady. Do not forget that. I demand you do so the next time you meet. I demand-"

"Technically," Susan cut in, "we're all fed on Lioncroft's good graces. And those are my cast-off clothes, not yours."

Evangeline glanced at her, hoping her interjection meant she'd forgiven Evangeline for her a.s.sumptions. Susan's focus, however, was on her mother, not Evangeline.

"In any case," Lady Stanton continued, "the important detail isn't whether he did it, but whether he'll be caught. Are your visions always of done deeds?"

"They can be any time, past or future, but I told you-I didn't see the killer strike."

"You're going to have to do better. How else will we solve the mystery?"

"Perhaps we won't, Mother. Just like his previous mystery."

Lady Stanton sniffed. "That's not a mystery. Everybody knows he did it."

"He didn't hang for it, did he? Lioncroft has a knack for escaping the gallows."

"It could be the case," Evangeline put in hesitantly, "that Mr. Lioncroft is innocent."

"Innocent!" Lady Stanton exclaimed.

Even Susan goggled from behind her spectacles. "What about the blow to the head? Or the handprints about Hetherington's neck? Did he do those himself right before he popped off?"

"Of course not..."

Lady Stanton arched a brow. "Lioncroft specifically said he was angry enough to strangle Hetherington."

"And I've no doubt whoever did so intended for Lord Hetherington to die," Evangeline agreed. "But he did not die by that manner, which would suggest whoever attempted to strangle him was incapable of seeing the job done, and so resorted to the closest weapon at hand, which turned out to be a pillow. And I am certain, had Mr. Lioncroft truly wished to strangle Lord Hetherington to death, he would've had no difficulty achieving that goal."

"Brilliant," Susan breathed, finally meeting Evangeline's eyes again. "You're right-he's easily the strongest man here. There'd be no need to resort to bed pillows. I suppose it's possible he didn't do it after all."

"Humph." Lady Stanton's blue-veined fists settled on her hips. "Of course he did. But he's volatile, not stupid. And he's been down this road before. I should not be surprised to discover Lioncroft planned his actions to engender just such a line of reasoning, in the hopes of deflecting blame from himself."

Susan clapped her hands together. "That would be diabolical, Mother. Imagine. Who would ever guess?"

"We don't need to guess. We have Miss Pemberton, who will discover the future for us so we can determine whether or not to proceed as planned."

"Actually," Evangeline admitted, "I cannot. As it turns out, I-"

"As it turns out," Lady Stanton interrupted, "either you help us as promised, or you will find yourself back in your stepfather's possession. I neither want nor need another dependant underfoot when I am trying to marry off the one I already have."

At that moment, the door to the sitting room swung open, and the footman from last night's visit to the library strode into the room with a folded piece of parchment upon a small silver tray.

"Yes?" Lady Stanton snapped.

He paused. "Message for Miss Pemberton."

"I'll take it." Lady Stanton s.n.a.t.c.hed the paper from the tray, using the folded parchment to make shooing motions toward the footman's nose. "Now, go. Go. We value our privacy."

Evangeline rose from the chaise. "Here. I'll-"

"You'll do nothing unless I allow it to be so. Besides, who would possibly be sending missives to a common fluff like you?" She tore open the parchment and scanned its contents. "Lioncroft! I should've known."

"What's he say, Mother? Er, that is..." Susan colored slightly. "Shouldn't you hand it to Evangeline?"

"He asks her to meet him in his office to discuss a matter of some import. What matter is that, Miss Pemberton?"

"I-I'm sure I don't know."

"Well, you're to find out immediately. And while you're finding out, you're to do whatever it takes to secure a vision that will put to rest any concern over my daughter's marital future once and for all. Is that clear?"

"I apologize, Lady Stanton, but I-"

"Today, Miss Pemberton. You resolve this today, or you will be returned to your stepfather. Is that understood?"

Understood? How was she supposed to discover the truth from the one man whose touch brought her fever, but no visions? Fingers clenched, Evangeline swallowed her retort and nodded.

"Good. Susan, you are to accompany her."

"I don't wish to go near him unless I know for certain-"

"You are to wait in the hallway for Miss Pemberton to give you a signal as to which way the wind blows. If he is to be hung, we leave on the morrow. If he is to escape justice yet again, we shall move forward with the compromise. Immediately."

"Mother, I'm not ready ready to be compromised. Can't we wait at least until after Jane's birthday celebration tomorrow?" to be compromised. Can't we wait at least until after Jane's birthday celebration tomorrow?"

"No. If he is innocent, you are to take Miss Pemberton's place in his office, and she will remove herself to the corridor, where she will shout for you as though she has no idea where you have gone. And then I shall come from the opposite corridor and surprise the two of you alone. Jane's birthday tomorrow can double as an engagement ball, as far as I'm concerned."

Susan sighed dramatically and dragged herself up from the sofa. "Very well. Off I go." When she reached the doorway, she paused to glance over her shoulder at Evangeline. "Ready to trap me a rich husband?"

No, Evangeline was not.

She glanced at Lady Stanton, whose brittle smile frosted the air around them.

"If you prefer your stepfather's company to ours," Lady Stanton said, "I can arrange for you to get your wish."

Evangeline's muscles twitched as though preparing to flee for safety. She preferred death over her stepfather. Which meant somehow, some way, she would have to do the impossible.

For the first time since Evangeline's arrival at Blackberry Manor, the worst thing about being alone with Mr. Lioncroft in his office had nothing to do with his propensity for violent outbursts or drugging kisses. No, the worst thing about being alone with Mr. Lioncroft in his office was the knowledge Susan Stanton lurked outside in the corridor, ready to burst in and ensnare him for herself.

Not that Evangeline was jealous, of course. She considered herself a reasonable woman. Reasonable women did not begrudge an accomplished young lady marrying an attractive bachelor. Especially if she had no desire for the altar herself.

However, she wasn't feeling reasonable at the moment.

Not with her spine pressed against the closed oak door, her skin flushed, her palms damp-and him just sitting there behind his desk, calm as you please, scratching a pen across parchment without so much as glancing up to see who had entered his domain.

"Whom are you writing now?" her traitorous voice queried. "Summoning your mistress?"

He glanced up, his eyes dark, intense, heated. "I find myself between mistresses at the moment."

"Don't expect me to fill that role," she blurted out, then blushed. Curse her tongue.

He replaced the pen, leaned back in his chair, smiled. "You are the one who brought up the topic. Did you come here for an a.s.signation?"

Oh, Lord. Had she?

"No," she snapped, arms crossing beneath her bodice. "Why did you call for me?"

"Why did you come?"

She glared at him. "Do not play games with me."

"Ah," he said, still tilting backward in his chair. "Now I know you're not saying what you mean. You've done nothing but play games since you arrived."

"I..." She faltered. What was he talking about? He was the one who skulked through secret pa.s.sageways, who kissed her senseless in dark corners of his mansion and then scowled at her when her limbs refused to-oh. "Surely you don't think I had anything to do with the twins becoming trapped between the walls."

"No," he agreed, "I do not."

Despite his words, the edge of suspicion never faded from his expression. And despite the ignominy of being suspected-of what, precisely, Evangeline could not guess-the greater humiliation came from him remaining seated behind his desk, apparently unaffected by the unwilling attraction that had her clinging to the office door for fear she'd throw herself in his arms and tilt her face up for more kisses.

She was not jealous of Susan. She was not not.

How could she be? Evangeline had known all her life she would never take a husband. Marriage had destroyed her mother twice over, first in spirit, then in body. The affliction-blessing, rather-of her Gift was a dangerous, double-edged thing. If Evangeline wanted to live, to be useful, to be whole, she could become the legal property of no man.

Especially not one like Mr. Lioncroft. Despite the Stantons' machinations, Evangeline strongly suspected he of all men was not the marrying sort. Even now, in the middle of an argument, he'd returned all four legs of his chair to the floor and resumed his efforts with pen and paper rather than bother to continue discourse with her.

After a moment, her arms fell back to her sides. "To whom are you writing?"

In the twenty years of Evangeline's life, she had never before encountered a man who failed to take advantage of an opportunity to prove his mastery, his superior strength, his ability to be "right" whether or not it was so. She knew she was acting out-of-sorts, obstinate, contradictory. And Mr. Lioncroft merely nodded, allowed her to do so at her leisure, and returned to his correspondence. Maddening, unpredictable man. She had no idea what to make of him.

"A toymaker." He re-inked his pen. "I shall commission the finest dolls from London for the girls. They should arrive quickly."

She blinked at him for a moment, then stepped away from the comfort of the door and closer to the front of his desk. "Dolls?"

"I'm afraid my boot shattered the original's porcelain face. The least I can do is replace it."

"With two?"

"The twins are two, are they not? And they should have two dolls. I am ordering an identical pair, each with a different colored bow, so there will be no cause for future rows on that score. The girls would not have gotten lost today had each possessed a plaything of her own." He franked the parchment, placed it in the corner of his desk, returned his writing implements to their proper locations. "How lucky you were able to help me find them."

There it was again-an edge of suspicion. Evangeline could barely concentrate on the undercurrent in Mr. Lioncroft's voice, however, because he was rising to his feet.

What was he going to do? Why had he called her here if not to punish her for her inability to reenter that horrible dark pa.s.sageway, even to rescue a small girl?

She took a step backward, grateful to have the width of the desk between them.

Rather than come around the wide teak surface toward her, he leaned his broad shoulders against the rear wall and hooked his thumbs casually in the waistband of his fawn-colored breeches in what Evangeline had come to suspect was his favorite pose, whether he realized it or not. He crossed one black leather boot atop the other and smiled. He looked powerful. Rakish. Devastating.

As usual. d.a.m.n him.

Dark hair fell forward across one of his eyes. He made no move to shove it from his face. Although his cream-colored waistcoat was crisply pressed and the creases of his cravat white and perfect, the faint stubble along his jaw had grown longer, thicker. If he kissed her again, she would feel it scratch against her skin.

Evangeline swallowed, s.h.i.+vered, sought for a safer topic than the rough texture of his cheek against hers.

To her right was the crackling fireplace. Being more than hot enough already, the last thing she needed was to get closer to its flames. Behind her was the door, but she could not quit Mr. Lioncroft's company just yet. To her left was an oil painting in a large gilded frame, tilted slightly to one side as if recently jostled. Something was different about this painting than the other oils on canvas adorning the rest of the walls throughout his home. Something missing from the rest of the mansion...

"People," she breathed.

Mr. Lioncroft stood. "What?"

"The rest of your artwork is landscapes. This is the first portrait I've seen."

She gestured at the painting, strode forward, inspected it.

Three laughing children posed before a river. A slender blonde perched atop a large gray rock, a basket of flowers in her lap. A tall skinny boy with a fis.h.i.+ng pole in one hand and a bucket in the other stood to one side behind her. A dark-haired little boy crouched in front, paying more attention to ruffling the golden fur of a panting dog than to his siblings or the painter.

"My family," Mr. Lioncroft said gruffly. "Rose in the middle, David behind her, me with Wilson."

"Wilson?"

"My dog. Named after the Welsh landscape painter, Richard Wilson."

"Your favorite artist?"

"My father's favorite artist."

"Did he paint the landscapes hanging throughout Blackberry Manor? They all seem to be of a similar style."

"No." He leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

Well. Clearly he didn't wish to discuss landscape artists. Evangeline turned back to the painting. "You look happy."

"I was."

"How old were you?"

"Ten."

"Do you have other family portraits?"