“I heard noises in the walls.”
“Which you immediately assumed to be a five-year-old girl?”
“I immediately assumed 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 façades disguising access panels to secret passageways, 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.”
Without waiting for a rejoinder from him, she turned and stalked down the corridor and out of sight. Not that there was any escape from danger.
Even his house was capable of evil.
Chapter 19
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 succumb 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 constitution 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.”
“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 cushions. 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 snatch 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 passageway, 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, and 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. 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.
And to what purpose would such deception serve? Mr. Lioncroft was hardly likely to offer for her, and even if the stars aligned in just such a way to provoke such a turn of events, her stepfather would never grant permission. Not when his goal was to harness her “witchy” powers for himself.
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 circumstances, as well. Father doubled my dowry after last Season failed to result in matrimony. 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—”
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, cocked 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 friendship Evangeline had almost begun with Susan, she’d managed to ruin herself.
“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 Heatherbrook’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 assumptions. 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 Heatherbrook’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 Heatherbrook.”
“And I’ve no doubt whoever did so intended for Lord Heatherbrook 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 Heatherbrook 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 snatched 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 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.
Chapter 20
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 assignation?”
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 passageways, 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, 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.
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.
Too Wicked to Kiss: Gothic Love Stories #1 Page 16