Too Wicked To Kiss Part 39

"I see." Susan shoved her spectacles up the bridge of her nose with the back of a hand. "Ill-advised attempts at gift giving aside, what's to stop you from staying? Is it that a lack of a proposal rather implies he's hoping you'll stay on as his mistress?"

"No," Evangeline answered slowly. "It's not that. In fact, he somewhat...he almost proposed."

"Almost?"

"He implied if he were a.s.sured of not hanging, he would would ask for my hand." ask for my hand."

"Oh, Evangeline!" Susan clapped her hands together excitedly. "That's wonderful! Isn't it? Why don't you look happy? Is it the pot of dirt? Men are imbeciles. You must be very specific about what const.i.tutes a proper gift. Tell him no more dirt. Tell him you require jewelry for an engagement gift. Tell him pearls, or perhaps-"

"I don't know if I want to marry him," Evangeline confessed.

Susan gaped at her. "Why on earth not? You've been taken with him from the first. And even Edmund harped on Lioncroft's constant mooncalfing, remember? You yourself said Lioncroft would only marry if he wished to. He must love you. Wasn't that what you wanted? A love match?"

Evangeline frowned. Wasn't Wasn't that what she wanted? What was her problem? that what she wanted? What was her problem?

"And he didn't even kill Hetherington," Susan continued blithely. "So you needn't worry he's resumed any violent tendencies. Well, he did bruise Hetherington up a bit, and he thrashed Edmund once or twice, and he planted on your stepfather a few well-deserved facers...but absolutely no killing. That's good, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't say no no killing. It turns out," Evangeline confessed softly, "he's responsible for his parents' deaths after all." killing. It turns out," Evangeline confessed softly, "he's responsible for his parents' deaths after all."

Susan's brows lifted uncertainly. "Er...That's exceptionally old news, Evangeline. He killed them over something trivial, if I recall correctly. I don't remember what...Pugilism, maybe? Or his marks at university?"

"Carriage racing," Evangeline stammered. "And he didn't do it on purpose. It was a horrible accident. Well, not an accident-accident, which I think is why my stomach won't lie still, but he didn't mean to hurt anyone."

Susan blinked. "I'll be honest. I heard what you just said, yet I have no idea if you're defending him or denouncing him. Which is it?"

"I don't know," Evangeline groaned. "What would you do?"

"Clearly, I'd meant to marry him regardless. I would've felt my decision even more validated had I known the tragedy was an accident. While I understand it's easier to believe in a past you know than a future you don't, the trouble with the past is it's unchangeable. Much as he might like to, Lioncroft can no more reverse his parents' deaths than I can go back in time to prevent myself from spreading malicious gossip. It happened. Either you love someone enough to forgive them their past mistakes, or you don't."

Evangeline dropped her head in her hands. Heaven help her. Weren't those the exact words she'd used to coax Gavin into forgiving himself for the careless things he'd done as a young man?

"You're right." She glanced up at Susan. "I'm a ninny-hammer."

"Well, yes. It's part of your charm. I can come to the wedding, though, right? Oh, let me help plan it! Lioncroft has enough money to make it the Society event of the Season. Oh, and since you haven't a mother to do so, I can be the one to tell you all about the wedding act."

"The wedding act?"

"You know. Lovemaking. I'll tell you now if you want. Mother says it's not so bad because it's always dark so you can't see what he's doing anyway, and if you lay still enough, it'll be over quick as can be and you can get on with whatever you were doing, and if he doesn't jostle you about too much, you might even be able to compose shopping lists in your head while he-"

"Susan."

"Yes?"

"Promise me something."

"What?"

"If you think you might have the slightest chance of entering into a physical relations.h.i.+p with a man, for marriage or otherwise-"

"Why would I do it otherwise?"

"Listen to me. If you even have a dream dream about kissing, promise me you will write immediately for my advice." about kissing, promise me you will write immediately for my advice."

"You have advice?"

"More like a counterargument, yes." Evangeline lifted the pot of dirt and rose to her feet. "But right now, I have to find Gavin before he leaves. I owe him an apology...and to let him know he owns my heart."

Before the opportunity to set things right was lost.

The brisk October wind rifled Gavin's hair, chapped his dry cheeks, destroyed his cravat. He didn't care. He felt suddenly free. Freer than he'd ever been. He had his family again. As long as he didn't swing for Francine's crimes.

He caught sight of the Rutherfords up ahead and overtook their carriage within moments. When their wheels slowed to a stop, Gavin leapt from his horse, strode over, and yanked open the door.

Francine stared at him with barely-concealed horror.

"Lioncroft," she managed, her hands twisting nervously in her skirt. "What a surprise."

He inclined his head coldly. "Isn't it?"

Benedict regarded him with a furrowed brow. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"I came to congratulate you," Gavin said, "For your future heir."

Benedict frowned. "I'm not the future heir anymore, Lioncroft. Now I'm the earl. Horrifying as it is, Edmund Edmund is the future heir." is the future heir."

"Actually, that's not the case at all," Gavin bit out. "Is it, Francine?"

She paled.

"Uh-oh." Gavin flashed a ferocious smile. "You haven't told him? He's going to notice, sooner or later."

Benedict coughed into his napkin. "What the h.e.l.l are you talking about, Lioncroft?"

Gavin swung inside the carriage and arranged himself atop the rear-facing seat. He lounged back against the squab, knees spread, arms crossed. "Your wife killed Hetherington because she's pregnant with his child."

Benedict froze.

"He's a liar!" Francine clutched her husband's sleeve, hands shaking.

"She's been lifting her skirts to him for years, it seems, and it's finally paid off," Gavin continued relentlessly. "She might very well have the next little Lord Hetherington in her belly."

Francine closed her eyes and dropped her hands from her husband's sleeve.

Benedict stared at his wife, face ashen. "You promised me it was over. When that scandal sheet came out, you promised me it was an exaggeration, a one-time relapse blown out of proportion."

Francine glanced away, lips tight.

"The scandal sheet said more than that," Gavin reminded him helpfully. He produced the very article from his front pocket and unfolded the clipping on his lap. "It claims Francine had to look elsewhere if she wanted heirs. If that's true, she won't be able to deny her condition for more than another month or two before it's obvious to anyone with eyes."

Benedict swallowed, his gaze and tone dull. "Francine...?"

"We both wanted a baby. We talked about it all the time. It's not my fault you couldn't father one. So I found someone who could. I didn't love him, Benedict. I just wanted a baby. For us. Like we dreamed about."

He recoiled and stared at her. "I wanted a child of my own of my own."

"It's your baby," she gritted out, "if you say it is. Just think, darling-we'll be raising the new earl!"

"Because you killed the old one?" Benedict slammed his fist against the carriage wall. "My brother, Francine. My brother brother."

Her voice wobbled. "You hated him, too. How many times did you wish for his untimely death?"

"Because he slept slept with my with my wife, wife," he roared. "I wanted to kill him for that."

"I did it for you." She placed a trembling hand on his knee. "I did it for us."

"And now we're all going to the magistrate. I'll follow on my horse." Gavin rapped at the panel to summon the coachman. "Don't kill each other before we get there."

Rather than drive herself mad waiting for news of Gavin, after she had missed seeing him before he had left to catch Francine, Evangeline decided to while away the hours watching the children play in the nursery. However, the girls were nowhere to be found. Even stranger, she couldn't even find a servant to ask where they might be. Or, in fact, any any houseguest. Might everyone have gone outside for kite-flying or pall-mall? houseguest. Might everyone have gone outside for kite-flying or pall-mall?

Pot of dirt still tucked under her arm, she made her way to the servants' quarters rather than the front porch, as the side door spilled directly into the lawn where the wickets had been set up for Jane's birthday. No wickets. No kites. Dozens of scurrying servants.

Dread began to coil in Evangeline's belly. She had the horrible suspicion the staff of Blackberry Manor was not engaged in a casual game of hide-and-seek.

Jane flew out from between two tall rows of blackberry bushes, caught sight of Evangeline, and burst into tears.

Evangeline ran up to her, stroked her hair with her free hand. "What happened?"

"It's my fault," Jane sobbed. "The twins have been asking to play out-of-doors all morning, and I said I would but I didn't because I wanted to sneak into Uncle Lioncroft's studio to look at the miniature he's painting of me. When I came back they were gone. I was so angry at them for running off again that I told Nancy and Mother they should be spanked, and we all came outside to fetch them. But we couldn't find them, and then we found Rachel, and Rachel was crying, and she said Rebecca was hurt somewhere between the bushes and we can't find her anywhere."

"Oh, no," Evangeline breathed. "Poor thing. Does Rachel know where she is?"

"She's crying too hard to speak. We can't get any helpful information from her."

Evangeline straightened. "I can. Take me to her. Hurry!" can. Take me to her. Hurry!"

Jane took off running with Evangeline right on her heels.

They sped through the rows of towering blackberry bushes, mindless of the occasional brambles tugging at their hair and ripping at their skirts. Just when Evangeline was beginning to think the fields stretched on forever, a smart white gazebo appeared in the center of a small clearing.

Jane stumbled to a stop. "Rachel? Rachel?" She turned to face Evangeline, panic in her eyes. "I don't understand. She was right here. Now I've lost her, too!"

"No," Evangeline choked, catching sight of a too-familiar form stepping out from behind a tall bush. "She's still here."

"Mornin', darling." Neal Pemberton tightened his hold on Rachel's limp body, one large hand clapped over the child's mouth, the other holding a knife to her ribs. "Miss me?"

Oh, G.o.d. The blackberry fields. Of course.

"Let her go," Evangeline demanded, wincing at the tremor in her words.

"Now, why would I want to do that?" he drawled, casting a slow, lascivious smile at the top of Rachel's blond head. "She's right pretty. You know how I like pretty girls."

"Let her go, go," Evangeline repeated, her voice high-pitched and cracking. Yes, she did know. Far, far too well. "Jane, I need you to run. Find your mother, find a servant, find anyone. Tell them Neal Pemberton is here and he's got Rachel." She took a deep breath and tried to look confident. "For now."

"For as long as I want," he corrected softly. "Look at those plump little cheeks and long curling lashes. And just think-there's two two of these darling creatures. What I wouldn't give to have both..." of these darling creatures. What I wouldn't give to have both..."

Jane turned and gagged into her fist before glancing back at Evangeline. "Tell them Neal Pam-pem-what?"

"Pemberton. My stepfather." Evangeline hugged the clay pot to her chest. "Your uncle will know what to do. Go Go."

"No, no, honey," Neal crooned, grabbing for Jane with one hand. "Stay."

With a gasp, Jane twisted away and took off running.

A chilling smile played at Neal's lips. "I sure hope she comes back with her sister." He sliced off one of Rachel's b.u.t.tons with his knife. Tears rolled down the child's dirt-stained cheeks. "Two pretty girls are better than one, I always say. And identical ones...even better."

"She's five years old," Evangeline burst out. Gooseflesh mixed with sweat as she recalled the predatory looks he'd given her at that age. "Please let Rachel go. We-we both know you're here for me."

"I own you," he reminded her, eyes hard. "Come closer, stepdaughter. I won't let go of this juicy chit until I've got you nice and secure. I know how tricky you are when it comes to escaping. You'll never see the attic again, little witch. From here on out, it's the pantry for you."

Evangeline's vision briefly faded at just the mention of that horrible dark s.p.a.ce. G.o.d, how she hated that wretched pantry. But she hated the terror in Rachel's eyes even worse.

She inched forward warily, knowing every step toward her stepfather was another step toward her own slow death, even if she managed to gain Rachel's freedom. She was fairly certain she wouldn't survive another night incarcerated in the suffocating blackness of the pantry. And she didn't wish wish to survive a night engaged in the nauseating activities her lecherous stepfather had in mind. to survive a night engaged in the nauseating activities her lecherous stepfather had in mind.

The moment Evangeline was within arm's reach, he s.n.a.t.c.hed the pot from her with the hand he'd previously been using to m.u.f.fle Rachel's screams.

"What the h.e.l.l is this?" he demanded.

"D-dirt." Evangeline reached for the little girl. "Can you please let Rachel go now?"

Neal spat at her shoes, reared back, and hurled the pot at the gazebo. The clay vessel shattered on impact, showering damp soil against the side.

A tiny bit of green fluttered to the ground.

Evangeline bit back a hysterical laugh. A seedling. Gavin had given her a seedling seedling. Wherever she'd gone, she could've planted her own blackberry bush, and thought of him every time the flowers bloomed and the berries budded. He'd given her a living thing, something that grew, that blossomed, that thrived. Or would've thrived, had her stepfather not thrown it against a wall.

Neal shoved Rachel forward. The little girl sc.r.a.ped her knees on the rough dirt, but didn't cry out. She scrambled to her feet and stared wide-eyed at Evangeline, who now had Neal's hand across her mouth and his knife digging into her side. He didn't cut off a b.u.t.ton, however. He sliced through her gown and into her skin. Not enough to kill her-just enough to hurt, to bleed, to terrify. She couldn't go back with him again. She couldn't.

Evangeline lifted one leg and kicked him in the knee.

He cursed and flipped her up into his arms, slicing her anew in the process.