Too Wicked To Kiss Part 32

Evangeline turned toward his sister, who immediately closed her eyes.

"Please don't say it." Lady Hetherington's voice was harsh, scratchy. "I-I know. I do know. I'm no better than he. I don't think I'm hungry, either. I seem to have lost my appet.i.te." Her eyes flew open. "I'm sorry, Miss Pemberton. Forgive me."

And she struggled to her feet, crossed the floor, and slipped from the room.

Chapter Twenty-Two.

Mr. Teasdale barely made it through the first course before nodding off in his chair. How he could sleep through Benedict Rutherford's hacking cough and Edmund Rutherford's drunken ranting, Evangeline couldn't imagine. Both she and Francine Rutherford kept their eyes focused on their plates, so as to dissuade Edmund from inquiring their opinion as to which of the west wing parlor maids was the fairest.

Unlike Francine, Evangeline made sure to eat everything placed before her. Not only was the fare at Blackberry Manor far superior to any she'd had while living with her stepfather, but also, the future loomed uncertain before her. If she accepted Mr. Lioncroft's offer of a carriage tomorrow-and of course she would, for what else could she do?-she still had no idea where she'd take shelter, much less where she'd get her meals.

On the other hand, she was beginning to think going without would be preferable to spending an hour trapped in a dining room with Edmund Rutherford.

"But the ginger-hackled servant heading toward the guest quarters when the dancing ended the other night," he was saying now, fixing his bloodshot gaze on Benedict. "She may be a maid, but she's not a maiden, am I right? Her skirts are as likely to be up as down."

"I don't know," Benedict muttered. "Perhaps we could discuss something else?"

"Those freckles," he continued as if Benedict hadn't spoken. "I'd say...comely all right. And when I say 'comely,' I mean in five minutes time, we'd both be-" all right. And when I say 'comely,' I mean in five minutes time, we'd both be-"

Francine's fork clattered to her untouched plate. "Honestly, Edmund. There are ladies in the room."

"Pah." He grinned at her unrepentantly. "Ladies are so missish. That's why I focus my attention on maids."

"I didn't notice any maids," Benedict said in a calming voice, as though hoping to quit the topic before his wife stabbed his cousin with a fork. "I didn't wander the halls after dancing."

Evangeline set her utensils atop her plate. "But you did," she said slowly, thinking back to that night. Not long after Mr. Teasdale's cane had come clomping by, she'd heard..."Your cough. I heard you coughing from down the corridor."

"Of course you did," Edmund slurred. "The way he coughs, I'm surprised he doesn't rattle the paintings right off the walls. If he was wandering the halls, I'm surprised he didn't run across that maid with the plump set of-"

"If I did," Benedict cut in, "I failed to notice. Why would I? I'm married."

Edmund shrugged. "I don't see what one thing has to do with the other. Do you, Francine? If I were married, I'd still be sure to hire maids I'd like to-"

"What did did you notice?" Evangeline interrupted, leveling her gaze at Benedict. you notice?" Evangeline interrupted, leveling her gaze at Benedict.

"What?"

"You said you didn't notice any maids, so you must've been looking for something else. Something you didn't want us to know about, or you wouldn't have lied about where you were. Something secret."

Francine pushed her plate away. "Have you been keeping secrets from me, darling?"

"I-" Benedict paused, s.h.i.+fted, coughed discreetly into a handkerchief. "Perhaps I simply had no wish to hear conjecture about my presence and Hetherington's death."

"Why would anyone speculate on a correlation if you weren't anywhere near him?" Francine asked reasonably.

Benedict didn't answer.

"You argued with him after dancing," Evangeline guessed. Perhaps she'd unmask the murderer before she left Blackberry Manor, after all! "You went to his room, you argued with him, and you killed him. Then you blamed the crime on Mr. Lioncroft."

"I did nothing of the sort," Benedict snapped. "He was dead when I got there. He-" Benedict paled, as if shocked by his own words.

"He was dead when you got there?" Evangeline repeated, her voice climbing. "He was dead when you got there, and you didn't raise the hue and cry?"

"And be thought a murderer?"

Francine recoiled from her husband. "What were you doing in his bedchamber?"

"I went to confront him," Benedict admitted after a moment. "But like I said, I didn't get the chance."

Edmund swirled his wine. "Confront him about what?"

Benedict hesitated, then turned to his wife. "I didn't want you to know," he said, "but we're in a bit of a financial state."

She blinked garishly painted eyelids. "We are?"

He nodded glumly. "Hetherington had been giving me an allowance ever since he a.s.sumed the t.i.tle, and just this month he cut it off. Permanently, he said." Benedict coughed into the crook of his elbow. "Our estate didn't turn a profit this year. We needed that money. He refused. Just that morning, he-he laughed when I asked him again for the money. Shook his head, and laughed. At me. His brother."

Evangeline stared at him across the table. "Then why visit him again at night? What would be any different?"

"I would be different. I-I'm not proud of it, but I planned to force his hand." would be different. I-I'm not proud of it, but I planned to force his hand."

Francine's eyes widened. "How?"

Benedict grimaced. "I took a pistol with me. I wasn't going to kill him! The thing wasn't even loaded. I just wanted to show him I was serious. That now was not the time to be high-handed and miserly. And when I saw him there, I...I didn't know what to do. I froze for a moment, and then I ran. I couldn't call for help while standing there with a pistol in my hand. Who would've believed I hadn't harmed him?"

Edmund swirled his winegla.s.s. "I'm not sure I do now. After all, you inherited."

"I didn't kill him," Benedict insisted. "Would I have just confessed the truth of that night if I'd killed him?"

"We do believe you." Francine placed her hand atop his. "You may have been desperate, but you will always be a man of honor."

"If he was alive when he left Mr. Lioncroft's office and dead in his chamber when you arrived," Evangeline reasoned, "someone else wanted him dead. Someone else visited his chamber and suffocated him with a pillow."

"Perhaps Lioncroft came by to continue their argument," Francine suggested. "He's always had an unpredictable temper."

"No." Evangeline shook her head. "Someone else."

Edmund gulped at his wine. "The French tutor?" he suggested. "Surely that chap was less than happy to have the object of his affection betrothed to another."

Evangeline considered that idea for a moment. "While I agree that prospect-and being sacked-might have given Monsieur Lefebvre a strong motive, he's not even here. He would've had to journey a full day's ride, sneak unnoticed inside Blackberry Manor, determine the precise location of Lord Hetherington's bedchamber...It makes no sense."

"Might he have bribed a servant?" Francine asked. "After all, he was something of a servant himself. He might have befriended someone."

"It's possible." Evangeline didn't find the idea particularly likely, but she was willing to support any theory that saved Mr. Lioncroft from the gallows. If her dinner companions were at last willing to entertain alternate explanations, surely that meant they could be convinced of his innocence.

Francine rose to her feet, one hand on her stomach. "I think I need to lie down."

Benedict stood as well and placed her hand on his arm. "You hardly ate a thing. Are you unwell?"

Evangeline smiled as she watched them leave and wondered for the hundredth time when Francine would share the good news with her husband. No doubt he'd be thrilled to be a father. She kept her thoughts to herself, of course, as the only reason she had any clue of the happy tidings was due to the onslaught of visions she'd suffered during the country dances that first night.

Her smile faded as she caught sight of Edmund leering drunkenly at her over his winegla.s.s. Her stepfather used to leer at her in just such a way when he'd had too much whiskey. Based on the soft snores still emanating from the direction of Mr. Teasdale, she and Edmund were virtually unchaperoned.

She leapt to her feet.

Edmund's blatantly appreciative gaze followed her every move. "Where are you going?"

Evangeline mentioned the first place that sprang to mind. "The nursery."

He gestured to the seat next to him. "Why don't you stay here with me?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Me neither." His lips curved in a smirk.

"I told the girls I'd visit them," Evangeline said quickly, and quit the room before he had a chance to lumber to his feet and follow her.

She had in fact told the girls she'd visit them. She'd said "sometime," and now now seemed a very good time to make good on her promise. seemed a very good time to make good on her promise.

On her way to the nursery, she kept thinking about Francine's idea of Monsieur Lefebvre bribing a servant. Mr. Lioncroft had suggested a servant, as well. He'd wondered if Ginny had acted on her own, out of revenge for herself or her mistress.

Could the two be connected? After all, Monsieur Lefebvre wasn't the only one whose plans had been upset by the loss of both his position and his would-be paramour. Nancy Hetherington had been equally distraught. And had instructed her sisters to claim both she and her mother had been with them in the nursery all night.

Perhaps Lady Hetherington hadn't been protecting herself. Perhaps she'd been protecting her daughter.

By the time Evangeline reached the nursery, she'd all but convinced herself of Nancy Hetherington's guilt and planned to confront her immediately. That was not to be, however, as only the twins were present. After exchanging greetings, she settled on the sofa, content to watch the two little girls play with their dolls.

Not half an hour later, Jane swept into the room flushed and breathless. Ignoring her sisters completely, she clapped her hands together and skipped directly to Evangeline.

"Oh! Miss Pemberton, you can't imagine where I've been. Remember my locket? This one." She gestured at her throat. "Uncle Lioncroft has been painting my portrait. Two, really. A big one, which he says he'd like to keep himself-he wants to do one of each of his nieces, he says, so we can be with him even when we're not-and a miniature, which will go right inside my locket. See? It'll be ever so cunning."

"I see," Evangeline said, not quite sure how else to respond. "I'm sure it'll be lovely."

"Quite lovely. I'm very nearly an adult, you see. Uncle Lioncroft says my come-out will be here before he knows it. He says-"

"Nancy says," interrupted one of the twins, "Uncle Lioncroft killed Papa."

"He did not," said the other, clutching her doll to her chest. "Nancy's mean."

"I thought," Evangeline said slowly, "your mother said your father pa.s.sed peacefully in his sleep?"

"Well..." Jane twisted her locket. "She did say that, yes. But then Nancy said she only said that so we wouldn't be scared of Uncle Lioncroft. But I'm not scared of him. He's painting my miniature. It's only Rebecca that's scared of him now. Nancy should never have said that."

"Nancy's mean," Rachel reiterated, still hugging her doll tightly. "Uncle Lioncroft is nice. He got us dolls."

"He's very nice," Evangeline agreed. "Your uncle is a good man."

"Did he kill Papa?" Rebecca asked.

"No." Evangeline shook her head. "No, of course not."

"See?" Rachel stuck her tongue out at her sister before peering up at Evangeline. "Who did?"

"I...don't know." Evangeline swallowed, then turned to Jane for help fielding questions.

Jane, however, was still twisting her locket and frowning. "Nancy says Uncle Lioncroft will hang either way. She says he can't take portraits of us to prison because in prison, you're not allowed to have anything nice, especially if you're only there until it's your turn at the gallows. Nancy says Uncle Lion croft hurt Papa because Papa hurt Mother. Nancy says it doesn't matter why Uncle Lioncroft did it-murderers hang."

Nancy, Evangeline thought, needed to learn to curb her tongue.

"Is Uncle Lioncroft going to hang for killing Papa?" Rachel asked, clutching her doll even tighter.

Evangeline floundered for a safe response and found none. She was positive Mr. Lioncroft was innocent of murder, but unless the true culprit was found, Nancy was probably right-the moment someone alerted the magistrate, Mr. Lioncroft would hang regardless of his culpability.

"Why did Uncle Lioncroft do it?" Rebecca asked plaintively. "Why would he hurt my Papa?"

Because your papa was a violent brute seemed an inappropriate answer. The handprint still hadn't completely faded from Lady Hetherington's face. As her brother, of course, Mr. Lioncroft would want to protect her. He wouldn't rob his nieces of their father, but he'd certainly do his best to save his sister from future harm. seemed an inappropriate answer. The handprint still hadn't completely faded from Lady Hetherington's face. As her brother, of course, Mr. Lioncroft would want to protect her. He wouldn't rob his nieces of their father, but he'd certainly do his best to save his sister from future harm.

"He..." Evangeline began, and faltered.

The last thing she wanted was for Mr. Lioncroft's nieces to fear him. But he'd already admitted fighting with their father and being angry enough to kill him. What could she say to mitigate a statement like that, especially if Nancy parroted back to the girls everything he said?

"I hate him," Rebecca cried. "I hate him for killing my Papa!"

She threw her doll across the room. When the porcelain face shattered against the corner of a bookshelf, Rebecca burst into tears.

Evangeline ran to her side and gathered the weeping child into her arms. She ground her teeth against the instant headache brought on by a barrage of little girl visions about biscuits and chocolate. She'd caused more harm than good if Rebecca had interpreted her hesitation as a tacit admission of Mr. Lioncroft's guilt.

"Rebecca," she said softly, stroking her blond curls. "Your father-"

"Was a b.l.o.o.d.y saint," came a low growl from the open doorway.

Evangeline jerked her gaze up Mr. Lioncroft's tall, tense form to the anger slas.h.i.+ng across his face.

"I was just-"

"Allowing my nieces to believe I murdered their father. How kind of you." His voice was tight, his eyes cold, hard, furious, as he took in the scene before him. Jane, twisting her locket. The beautiful doll, lying rejected and ruined on the floor. Rebecca, s.h.i.+vering and sobbing in Evangeline's lap. "I was a fool to hope otherwise."

He spun from the doorway and stalked into the shadows.

"Wait," Evangeline called, struggling to her feet as best she could without dropping Rebecca to the floor.

But he was gone.