The Sweetest Love (Sons of Worthington Series)

by Higgins, Marie

  Diana wiped her eyes. “There is no love now, Tabitha. Even when the killer is arrested and Tristan sees how wrong he was for blaming you and tries to come back to apologize, I cannot forgive him. He did not trust me and that is something I’ll never forget.” She took a deep breath and released it slowly. “So I will have no more talk of you turning yourself in to the magistrate. Is that clear?”

  Nodding, Tabitha glanced down at her lap, surprised she didn’t see her broken heart lying on her lap. It crushed her—nearly suffocated her, in fact—to hear that Lord Hawthorne had thought she was the killer, when only a few moments ago she’d been wrapped in his arms enjoying his heated kiss. How could a man kiss a woman so passionately if he thought she was a killer? Surely, there must be an ounce of kindness in that man for him to have such emotion. Yet now she knew it was all an act. Just as she’d suspected before, all he wanted was to seduce her and she couldn’t believe she fell for his trickery!

  For a brief moment, she’d actually thought there might be a chance that the illegitimate daughter of a nobleman could fall in love with a lord and have him love her in return. Curse Lord Hawthorne for making her so vulnerable! Curse him for making her remember things like that were just fairytales and would never happen in her life.

  Ever!

  She swallowed the knot in her throat that was due to either anger or sadness, she wasn’t sure which right now, and looked back at Diana. “You have always been so kind to me. You have put your life and reputation on the line for Sally and me, and turning myself in would be a way to repay you for your kindness.”

  Diana shook her head. “Not if you’re innocent. That proves nothing. Besides, I need you now more than ever. Because I will die a lonely old woman, I shall need your companionship.”

  Tabitha tried to smile, but her quivering lips were making it hard. “We shall die together lonely old women because I shall never find happiness, either.”

  “I doubt that, Tabitha. You are a lovely young lady and you shall find a man who will cherish you and treat you like a queen.”

  Tabitha blurted out a laugh. “You are very humorous, my lady. A queen maybe not, but I’ll be happy if a man treated me with respect. That’s all I want.”

  “One day it will happen.” Diana smiled.

  They stared at each other for a few more seconds before a frown claimed Diana’s face once again. She moved off the bed and walked to the window. Rain pelted the glass and still sounded fierce as the wind howled through the trees.

  “As much as I hate doing this, I think I need to stop Tristan and Lord Hawthorne from traveling in this weather. I’d rather not speak with him, but I must let Tristan know that he and Hawthorne can stay here the night and leave as soon as the storm passes.”

  Anger filled Tabitha stronger this time when Lord Hawthorne’s name was mentioned. How she wanted nothing more than to claw his face off…or spit on him, or…cry. Instantly, she shook that last thought from her head. No! She would not cry any longer. She’d known what kind of man he was when she first met him, so it was her own fault for falling for his trickery. Yet now she wanted to get back at him for some reason.

  But how?

  “My lady, let me go do it.” She snapped her mouth close quickly. Why in the devil did she say that?

  Diana turned and looked at her. “Really? You don’t mind?”

  She really did, but it was the least she could do for her mistress. “I’m your maid, so I shall do even the most loathsome task you give me, even if it means telling Lord Tristan and Lord Hawthorne they can stay the night. But keep in mind I might make their stay very uncomfortable because of my hatred for them.”

  Diana smiled again even if tears filled her eyes. “Perhaps you should not, Tabitha. After all, they are convinced you killed those men. Perhaps I should have Sally do it.”

  Tabitha nodded. “I think maybe you are correct. I will go fetch Sally for you.”

  “Thank you, Tabitha.”

  As Tabitha left the room, irritation grew inside her, higher and higher from her gut until it burned her throat. Diana was right. Tabitha shouldn’t go tell the men for fear they’d want to take her to the magistrate themselves. However, if Tabitha didn’t say something to Lord Hawthorne the malice collecting inside her might explode and kill her.

  She couldn’t let that happen.

  Quietly as she could, she crept to the guest bedroom and pressed her ear against the door. The room was too quiet, so she knocked softly. Still quiet.

  Perhaps the men had left after all. Yet, as much as she believed them to be fools, they weren’t stupid enough to travel in this kind of storm.

  On her way down the stairs, she listened for men’s voices, but all she could hear was the raging storm outside. When she reached the lower floor, she grabbed her cloak and shrugged it on, heading for the back door.

  Before stepping outside, she gathered the cloak’s hood tight around her head and then dashed out into the rain. Immediately, the light from the stable caught her attention. Since Diana didn’t have a groom, there could be only one explanation for someone being in with the horses.

  She ran to the stable and peered in the window. Lord Hawthorne and Lord Tristan were arranging the hay to make themselves beds. Both men wore frowns on their gloomy faces, but neither of their expressions was angry. In fact, if she were to put a name to it, she would think they were melancholy. Could she dare hope that they were both re-evaluating their accusations?

  Rolling her eyes, she moved away from the window. Not likely! They were probably just sad because they were kicked out of a house with a warm fire to sleep in a cold stable. Well, it served them right!

  She turned and hurried back to the house. As much as she wanted to lash out verbally at Lord Hawthorne, she didn’t want Lord Tristan to be present. So, she either had to wait until he fell asleep or hold her tongue and never voice her thoughts to that irritating man again.

  Unfortunately, Tabitha was never the kind of person who could hold her tongue for very long…

  * * * *

  Nic leaned against a bale of hay as he stared at the stable wall. How many hours had passed since he and Worthington had entered this foul place, he didn’t know, but with nothing to keep him entertained, the minutes seemed to drag.

  Tristan, however, adjusted to the environment a little better. Of course his friend had slept many nights in a stable since he found himself struggling to find his memory and most of the time drunk… So naturally Tristan would fall asleep easier in a place like this. It helped that they took the bottle of port with them and Tristan drank most of it.

  Nic glanced at his friend who indeed had already fallen asleep. The steady pitter-patter of the rain hitting the roof probably helped lured Worthington to sleep, Nic was certain. But he was yet to feel the same exhaustion. His mind was a constant whirlwind of thoughts that wouldn’t rest. Heaviness had settled in his chest as well, making him completely miserable.

  He blamed Tabitha.

  Why had he allowed that slip of a woman…a maid no less…to control his thoughts at a time like this?

  Guilt washed over him in drowning waves. Never had he regretted kissing a woman in his life, but remorse dug a profound hole in his mind—and heart—now. He shouldn’t have kissed her. He shouldn’t have acted like he enjoyed the moment she was in his arms and her mouth eagerly met his in one of the most passionate kisses he’d ever experienced. Then again, he wasn’t acting. He had enjoyed every second of their heated moment.

  Grumbling softly as not to wake Tristan, Nic rose from his makeshift bed and strolled to his horse. He picked up a brush and began stroking the animal’s mane.

  This night couldn’t end fast enough for him. Not only did he hate being here, but he hated feeling this way and thinking about Tabitha.

  Is she really a killer?

  He hadn’t met many people with hatred in their soul to murder another person, but deep down inside, he didn’t think Tabitha could do it. Could she have really killed Hollings
worth and Elliot or was she merely voicing her thoughts and feelings when he’d overheard her and Sally?

  What if I’m wrong?

  Although he didn’t like admitting when he made a mistake, worry grew inside him like a festering boil. What if, by chance, Tabitha wasn’t the killer? What if she was just an angry and hurt servant like Sally?

  Or…what if Sally was the true killer?

  A noise from the back of the stable jerked him from his thoughts and had him swinging toward the shuffling sound. From the darkness, a shadow emerged and slowly formed into a woman wearing a cloak. The closer she came toward him, the harder his heartbeat slammed against his chest.

  Tabitha drew nearer and lowered her hood. Her eyes blazed a deep hatred as she aimed her glare at him. Nic scanned over her cloak to her hands for fear she would be holding a knife. But as his eyes adjusted, he could see she didn’t have any sort of weapon. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Lord Hawthorne, forgive me for startling you. Lady Hollingsworth wanted me to make sure you and Lord Tristan were warm enough.”

  Nic arched a quizzical eyebrow. “Your ladyship actually wanted you to see to our welfare?”

  “Actually no, she wanted Sally, but Sally was asleep. Lady Hollingsworth is aware that she instructed Lord Tristan to leave, but after she thought about it and realized the storm was too strong, she had wanted to let you know that you could stay the night as long as you left first thing in the morning.” She glanced at their beds in the hay. “Although, I see you have already settled here just fine.”

  “Tell Lady Hollingsworth we appreciate her kindness, and we plan on leaving first thing.”

  “Yes, my lady is very kind…much more generous than I would have been, I’m sure.”

  Tabitha’s tone was very harsh, yet softly spoken as if she tried to keep the conversation between them and not awaken Tristan. Nic glanced at his friend to make sure he was still sleeping before looking back at Tabitha. Her heated glare could cut through glass, Nic was certain. It tugged at his heartstrings to think he contributed to her extremely unpleasant disposition.

  “Tabitha, I realize what you must be thinking—”

  In three long strides, she stood directly in front of him. Tears glistened in her angry eyes, but she appeared too upset to cry.

  “You have no idea what I’m thinking!” She took a deep breath. “How dare you accuse me of something you know nothing about?”

  His fingers itched to reach up to her face and smooth out the wrinkles around her luscious mouth, amazing eyes, and tight forehead…to bring back her natural beauty once again. He gulped down the guilt sneaking back into his heart.

  “How dare I?” he asked. “I think considering the conversation I had overheard between you and Sally, that I have every right to dare accuse you. Tell me, Tabitha. If you were the bystander listening in on that particular conversation, what would you have gathered from it?”

  “You see, my lord, this is one of the differences between men and women. Men jump to conclusions whereas women will seek to find the truth.”

  “Indeed? Are you certain about that? I know women are meddlesome, but I highly doubt they are seeking to find any truth. They’d rather gossip and spread false rumors.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Spoken by a true gentleman, I see.” She folded her arms. “But I can assure you, if you and Lord Tristan continue your pursuit to have me arrested for those murders, you both will be convicting an innocent woman.”

  “I think I shall let the magistrate come to that decision.” He lifted his chin to show her his stubbornness.

  “Just know this,” she snipped, “because I am indeed innocent, if I should die, my wrongful death will be on yours and Lord Tristan’s head.”

  She spun around and marched toward the back door of the stable, toward the shadows. He hurried after her, grasped her arm and turned her around to face him. A few tears had slid from her eyes making her cheeks gleam with wetness. Once again, his chest clenched with indecision for his actions.

  “If you are innocent as you proclaim, prove it,” he said softly, hoping not to disturb Tristan’s slumber.

  She gasped. “Prove it? Why should I prove my innocence? You should be the one trying to prove my guilt.”

  “Then prove to me that what I overheard was wrong.” He pulled her body closer to his. “I truly want to believe you are not a killer, Tabitha. I may not know you well, but what little I do know about you, I cannot believe you would purposely stab two men to death while in a highly intoxicated and undressed state.”

  She placed her palms on his chest and pushed to move him away, but he wouldn’t budge. Heaven help him, but he enjoyed this closeness entirely too much.

  “Were you aware that Lord Hollingsworth beat his wife?” she asked. “Diana was as much a victim in her home as Sally and I were victims in Lord Elliot’s home. If I—or her ladyship or Sally—would have stabbed those men, it would have been to break free of our cage…our hellish prison. So tell me, Lord Hawthorne, if you were in my shoes, would you want to kill someone who repeatedly did that to you? And when the person responsible was finally dead, wouldn’t you be relieved to know they would never be allowed to bring harm on another person again?”

  Nic’s chest clenched. She’d been beaten… He couldn’t imagine that, and out of nowhere, anger filled him for Lord Elliot. “I am very sorry to hear that you were treated poorly, and if I were in your situation, I would probably feel the same. But you are forgetting one thing. It’s not up to us to bring punishment to those disgusting people. It’s up to the courts…and God.”

  “Then I suppose my only crime is that I’m satisfied knowing that someone helped God and the courts by hurrying the process.”

  Shaking his head, he loosened his hold, but instead of removing his touch from her, he stroked her arms lightly. “Please, Tabitha. I wish to believe in your innocence. Help me.”

  “I don’t know how I can except by telling you I did not do it.”

  “That’s hard for me to believe since I overheard you saying that you would do it.”

  She shrugged. “Then that’s your problem, not mine. At lease I’m being truthful, whereas you don’t know how to be.”

  He scowled. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Think really hard, Lord Hawthorne. Think what we were talking about…and doing in the sitting room while Lady Hollingsworth and Lord Tristan were away from us.”

  Embarrassment crept over him—along with shame. He scolded his feelings. He should not be ashamed for kissing Tabitha and enjoying it. So then why did he feel this way? “Why don’t you believe I was truthful?”

  “Are you jesting?” She snorted what sounded like a laugh. “There you were trying your hardest to seduce me, all the while suspecting me of murder. For a brief moment, your actions earlier showed me what a kind, gentle, and understanding man you were. For a brief moment I actually thought you were attracted to me…impossible as it may seem. Yet that was all a lie. I had known what kind of man you were, but you tried to convince me otherwise. Now I know I had been right about you all along.”

  “How do you know I was lying?”

  “Ha!” She shook her head. “You honestly think I’m that foolish?”

  “What if I tell you that for a moment I had been attracted to you, and I had enjoyed our kiss?”

  She snickered. “Then I would say you were a great performer, because why would you enjoy a mere maid’s kisses when you have seduced many women over the years?”

  Nic bit his tongue to keep from saying anymore. He shouldn’t have said what he had to begin with. He didn’t want to admit—especially to her—how much their kiss had meant to him. “Then it appears we are both talented performers. Does it not?”

  “I, my lord, am not a performer.”

  “Then neither am I.” He pulled her closer as he lowered his head. His attention dropped to her lips—lips that tempted him to sample them again.

  She sucked in a quick breath and her mouth
parted in invitation. Good heavens! What was he thinking? He couldn’t possibly kiss her even as much as the idea lured him.

  “Lord Hawthorne,” she whispered, “I beg you not to do that.”

  “Do what?” he asked quietly.

  “You know exactly what I’m referring to. Kissing me will not solve a thing. You still believe I’m a killer, and I still think of you as one of the most despicable rogues in England.”

  He swallowed hard to moisten the cotton that had formed in his throat. She was correct again…blast it! He could not kiss her. He could also not understand why her statement hurt so badly—like a knife through his chest.

  “Indeed, it won’t solve a thing.” Reluctantly, he released her and stepped back.

  She gathered the cloak tighter around her neck before pulling on her hood. She turned to leave, but hesitated. For some foolish reason, anticipation shot through him, quickening his heartbeat.

  “Lord Hawthorne,” she whispered and looked at him over her shoulder. “If you really cared about your friend, you would try your hardest to find the true killer so that Lord Tristan and Lady Hollingsworth can be together. They have waited too long to share their love, and until the real murderer is caught, they will never be fully happy. I’m just a mere maid so there isn’t much I can do to help my lady in this dire situation, but you can. Lord Hawthorne, if you put your mind to it, you can help your friend finally obtain happiness.”

  She didn’t wait for his answer before hurrying outside. Nic stared at the closed door for the longest time as her words ran through his mind. The more and more he thought about what she said, the more doubt filled him.

  Would a killer be so selfless and think about her friend’s happiness more than her own?

  Deep in his heart, he knew the answer.

  “Who was that?” Tristan’s voice came from behind him.

  Nic jumped and spun around. Tristan was still on his bedroll, but sitting up looking Nic’s way. “That was Tabitha.” He walked closer to his friend.