Mcalistairs Fortune

by Alissa Johnson

  He turned back. “What is it?”

  “Did they ever find the Burnetts?”

  “No. They didn’t.”

  Had she not been so tired, she might have remarked on his hesitation. Instead, she closed her eyes and slept.

  McAlistair stood at the door a few minutes longer, watching the steady rise and fall of Evie’s chest and contemplating the tightness in his own.

  There was no regret in his heart for what they’d done. He refused to allow his own shame to taint the most beautiful gift he’d ever received.

  What troubled him now was how he cared for that gift. He’d lied to Evie. Only minutes after taking her innocence, after sharing a piece of his past only his family knew, he’d stood four feet away and lied to her.

  He’d done it out of instinct—to protect her and himself—but that didn’t alter the fact that it had been a lie, or that one day, one day soon if there was to be any chance of forgiveness, he would have to tell her the truth.

  The men Mr. Carville had sent never found Mr. Burnett.

  But he had.

  Twenty-six

  Evie woke smiling into her pillow. She’d dreamt of McAlistair: of his rare smile and elusive laugh and of the glorious two hours they’d spent together in her bed. She rolled to her back and stretched luxuriously. The aches and soreness of her body were another welcome reminder of how she’d passed the afternoon and how she hoped to pass the night.

  There remained the question, of course, of how she would spend her nights in the days and weeks to come. Eventually, she would have to leave the cottage. And then what? Would that be the end of the affair? It was better than the “only” she’d worried over earlier, but was it what she wanted?

  She sat up and stared thoughtfully at the dim light piercing through the drapes. Did it matter, really, what she wanted? Openly becoming McAlistair’s mistress was out of the question, as was hoping she might hide a long-term liaison from her family. The only avenue left was marriage.

  She was taken aback by the flicker of excitement that thought elicited.

  She’d never cared for the concept of marriage.

  To relinquish control over one’s life to another human being was a terrifying prospect, and a path she believed too many women took out of necessity rather than choice. There was a shameful lack of opportunities for women to earn their way in the world…as few as there were ways for her to be with the man she desired without first promising to love, honor, and obey.

  She grimaced at the mere thought of promising to obey.

  Did she desire him so very much?

  She sighed heavily, and as she sighed, caught sight of herself in the mirror over the vanity. Little could have stunned her more than what she saw reflected back. She looked exactly, exactly—right down to the wistful eyes—as Mrs. Summers had when she’d been contemplating her love for Mr. Fletcher.

  “A coincidence,” she heard herself murmur. “Only a coincidence, or a trick of the light, or…”

  Oh, damn and blast, she was in love with McAlistair.

  How could she hope to deny it? She thought of him constantly, wanted him outrageously. She wished him back the moment he left a room, and wished him closer the moment he came in. She hurt for the frightened boy he’d been, and was endlessly fascinated by the powerful man he’d become.

  She’d gone to bed with him.

  She was considering marriage, for sweet pity’s sake…well, she was considering the possibility of being amenable to the idea of marriage, but still—marriage.

  “Oh, damn.”

  “Evie?”

  The sound of Mrs. Summers’s voice and a rap at the door had Evie jumping up out of bed with a nervous start and carefully erasing all signs of wistfulness from her expression. “Come in.”

  Mrs. Summers appeared, looking slightly refreshed from her nap, but still pinched about the nose and mouth.

  Oh, dear. Evie sent her an overly bright smile.

  Mrs. Summers didn’t return the gesture. “Have you recovered from your scare?”

  Evie wasn’t certain it was possible to ever be fully recovered from such a scare, but she felt the need to reassure her friend. “Quite, thank you. And you? Are you feeling at all better?”

  “In some regards,” Mrs. Summers replied.

  “I…you’re angry with me.”

  “I am, rather,” Mrs. Summers admitted with a short sigh. “And I should like to discuss what happened today.” She folded her hands in front of her primly, sighed again, and said, “It has appeared to me, from the very start, that you have not fully grasped the seriousness of this situation, Evie. I attributed your poise to bravery and a confidence in your family’s ability to see you safe. But after today—”

  “I am confident in my family,” Evie cut in, taken aback.

  “And you are a very brave young woman,” Mrs. Summers agreed. “But the extent of your assuredness leaves me troubled, and this carelessness strikes me as most unusual. I should like an explanation.”

  Evie shifted her feet and repressed the urge to wince. An explanation to Mrs. Summers would no doubt result in a lecture from Mrs. Summers. An unpleasant prospect, to be sure, but there was no avoiding it.

  Evie cleared her throat. “Perhaps we should sit.”

  “Very well.” Mrs. Summers moved to the nearest chair and lowered herself to perch on the very edge of the seat, her back ramrod straight and her narrow shoulders tense.

  The stiff—well, stiffer than usual—posture made Evie nervous. But it was the look that worried her most. The raised brows, the tight lips, and the sad eyes all added to the impression of a woman bearing up under the strain of receiving a confession that would most assuredly break her heart.

  Evie took a seat across from her. “I…” She bounded up again. “Should I fetch us some tea? It would only take a minute.”

  “Thank you, no.”

  She regained her seat slowly. “Are you comfortable?” She certainly didn’t look it. “Perhaps we should move—”

  “I am quite content with this room and this chair.”

  “Oh. Right. Good…But perhaps—”

  “Get on with it, Evie.”

  “Right. Well.” Because she needed to do something, Evie straightened her own shoulders and blew out a long breath. “A fortnight ago, or thereabout, I…I overheard a conversation in the library between you, Lady Thurston, and Mr. Fletcher.”

  Mrs. Summers raised one brow even higher. “Overheard? How?”

  “Oh, just…” She waved her hand about. “By chance. That’s not really relevant at present.” Not if she could help it. “What is relevant is the topic of that discussion. You were plotting a scenario in which I was to find a husband. Or, to be more accurate, in which you were to find a husband for me. A scenario that very much resembles the one we are in now.” Except for the shooting bit, of course. And the riding through the woods with McAlistair bit. And possibly the fact that she was in a secluded location with three gentlemen who were not, for a variety of reasons, the most likely of matches.

  Bloody hell, she was an idiot.

  She fiddled with the cuff of her sleeve. “I was under the impression the threat, this entire trip, was nothing more than a matchmaking scheme.”

  “A matchmaking—?” Mrs. Summers broke off and closed her eyes. “Oh, good Lord, William’s plan.”

  Evie nodded. “He spoke of sending a threatening letter, and not long after, I received one. I thought I would play along, in the interest of settling this idea of marriage once and for all. I’ll admit I was a bit confused when it was decided I should leave Haldon, and I was a little put out when the carriage—”

  “The carriage.” Mrs. Summers’ eyes snapped open. “You think so little of me? Of all of us?”

  “Little of you? Of course not—”

  “Yet you would believe us capable of cruelly engineering a carriage accident simply to trick you? After what you had been through as a child?”

  “I—” She hadn’t thought of
that, not once. “It didn’t occur to me. I…I’m not afraid of carriages. I’ve never been afraid of them.”

  “That is not the point.”

  “Well, it was a point,” Evie argued, “and an important one. If I had a fear of being in a carriage accident, then engineering one would have been a cruel trick. One I would have known you are incapable of. As it is—”

  “As it is…you would accuse us of being deceivers and actresses and—”

  “You weren’t involved then, in Sophie and Alex’s meeting? Or the business with Whit and Mirabelle?”

  Mrs. Summers hesitated before answering. “I had nothing to do with Whit and Mirabelle’s matching.”

  “But you had everything to do with Sophie and Alex…”

  “We have gone off topic.”

  “Seems on topic to me.” And she rather liked it. She didn’t much care for being on the defensive end of a disagreement. “And I did hear you conspiring with Lady Thurston and Mr. Fletcher to find me a husband. As well as Mr. Fletcher conspiring to send me a threatening letter. For heaven’s sake, what are the odds of a fabricated threat and a legitimate one being simultaneously considered?”

  “I grant you, they are slim.”

  “Exactly. What was I—”

  “However,” Mrs. Summers cut in, “the coincidence would not have saved your life, had your assailant been a better shot.”

  Evie winced. “No, it would not have.”

  Mrs. Summers sighed. “I do not condone eavesdropping, Evie. However, if one is going to indulge, one ought to make an effort to do it properly—or at least thoroughly. Clearly, you were not privy to the whole conversation.”

  “Apparently not,” Evie muttered.

  “Lady Thurston and I took immediate opposition to Mr. Fletcher’s tactics. You were to be introduced to the gentleman through one of the members of your group.”

  “How?” Evie asked with a small start. “None of the women know who I am. I certainly don’t know who any of them are.”

  “Lady Thurston and I do.”

  “You…How…Why…”

  “Did you really think your aunt would not only allow, but encourage your participation in an organization with which she was not familiar? Lady Penelope, I was informed, gave a detailed accounting of the group’s members.”

  “Lady Penelope knew who all the members were? And she told?”

  “Yes, on both accounts. She knew because she was responsible for the organization’s conception. Even a secret organization requires a founder and leader, and one cannot lead without being fully aware of who is following.”

  “No,” Evie replied thoughtfully. “I suppose not.”

  “And she told because she trusted your aunt and it was a prerequisite for your participation.”

  “Oh. Well.” That made sense, and using her work as a means to finding her a match was quite clever, actually. She’d have been interested—academically, at least—in any man who actively took up the cause.

  Mrs. Summers tilted her head at her. “Who on earth did you think we’d chosen for you? You’ve nothing in common with any of the gentlemen in residence.”

  “I…”…have more than enough in common with McAlistair, she wanted to say, but now wasn’t the time. She wasn’t sure that time would ever arrive. “That puzzle did give me some trouble, I’ll admit. Who was I to meet?”

  “Sir Reginald Napertin.”

  She went still, blinked, and wracked her brain. All for naught. “Who the devil is Reginald Napertin?”

  Mrs. Summers tutted at Evie’s language. “Sir Reginald Napertin is a very nice gentleman recently returned from the Continent. He was knighted as an officer for his service to the Crown.”

  “A war hero?”

  “He was injured saving his commanding officer and several of his subordinates. He nearly lost his leg.”

  Evie tried to picture herself on the arm of such a man and found she could only envision the three-legged races of which she’d been fond as a girl. “Between the two of us, we’d have managed a whole set of legs.”

  “That is not amusing.”

  It certainly was, particularly when paired with the vision of the two of them riding Rose without her shoe, but Evie had long ago realized that those who loved her were sometimes even more sensitive about her infirmity than she was. “If he’s the sort to take offense at it, then I suspect we wouldn’t have suited.”

  “I never said he would take offense. I said it was not amusing. At any rate, you may discover the sort of man he is when the rest of this dreadful business is dealt with.”

  Evie opened her mouth, then closed it. There was no sense in arguing.

  “Well,” Mrs. Summers said with a bracing breath, “I am most relieved to have that misunderstanding cleared up. No doubt the others will be similarly reassured when you explain—”

  “The others?” Explain? To Christian, and Mr. Hunter? “Couldn’t we just—”

  “No. They have done a great deal on your behalf and are likely wondering not only why their efforts to keep you safe were nearly undone by your own carelessness, but if it is likely to happen again.”

  “But the secrets I’d have to reveal wouldn’t only be my own.” And even if they were, she’d have undergone every torture known to man before she had a conversation with Christian and Mr. Hunter similar to one she was having with Mrs. Summers.

  They were discussing matchmaking, for heaven’s sake.

  “Certainly an apology is in order,” she continued. “And I mean to offer one, but an explanation would—”

  Mrs. Summers waved her hand. “An apology will suffice.” She stood and brushed her skirts. “I believe Christian returned with food from the inn. I shall see the table set.”

  Evie turned to frown at the drapes drawn over the windows. “Dinner. I hadn’t realized it was so late.”

  “You needed the sleep,” Mrs. Summers said. “We both did.” She leaned down to bestow a gentle pat on Evie’s shoulder. “I am glad you were not harmed today.”

  Evie took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you…Oh, wait—” She held fast to Mrs. Summers’s hand when the older woman would have pulled away. “What in the world had you planned on doing with that club?”

  “Club?”

  “Downstairs, in the kitchen, you were carrying—”

  “Ah, the broken broom handle.” Mrs. Summers frowned thoughtfully. “I am sure I have no idea.” She waved the idea away with a hand. “Come eat and make your apologies. You will feel better for both.”

  “I will,” Evie replied, laughing softly. “I’ll be down shortly.”

  In Evie’s opinion, “shortly” was rather like the word “mild.” It could mean anything, really.

  For her, it meant a half hour of dressing, pinning her hair, pacing, and otherwise building up her nerve for the apology that was to come. When she thought she might have managed enough of the last, she made her way downstairs to find the others just starting their meal.

  She demurred when the gentlemen would have risen, and took her seat with a mumbled greeting. For some reason, she found it impossible to meet McAlistair’s eyes. Part of that was a fear of somehow giving away their shared secret, but most of it, she conceded, was a fear of McAlistair somehow discovering her own private thoughts.

  She’d only just realized that she loved him. She needed to sort out how she felt about that before facing how he felt about that.

  Evie picked up her fork and concentrated so very hard on her plate that she likely wouldn’t have noticed Mrs. Summers’s pointed look if it hadn’t been preceded by a loud clearing of the lady’s throat.

  She set her fork down, berating herself for a coward. Swallowing past a lump of guilt and embarrassment, she addressed Mr. Hunter and Christian.

  “I owe you, all of you, an apology. I should n-not have gone out alone. My decision to do so was based on…on…well, it hardly matters,” she mumbled, unable to think of a way to defend herself without explaining all. “It w-was c
areless of me, and I apologize.”

  To her amazement, Mr. Hunter accepted her apology with a quick, almost disinterested nod while Christian merely shrugged.

  “Don’t fret on it, lass,” he replied in an offhand manner.

  Knowing it was expected of her, she looked to McAlistair.

  “Nothing to forgive,” he said softly.

  “You should know,” Christian added before she’d had a chance to respond, “a letter to Haldon’s been sent, and we’ve checked the grounds. He’s not on them.”

  “Oh. Good.”

  “Well, what is to be done now?” Mrs. Summers inquired. “Are we to stay? The point, I thought, was to remove Evie from danger.”

  And that, it seemed, was that. No need for a drawn-out and mortifying confession, Evie realized. She sat back in her chair, equal parts relieved and guilty for having gotten off so easily.

  “Not entirely,” Mr. Hunter replied by way of answering Mrs. Summers. “The point was also to take her someplace easier to guard.”

  “And to keep others safe,” Evie pointed out. She hadn’t been serious the first time she’d made that argument—hadn’t seen any reason to be—but she was bloody well serious now.

  “There’s no reason for Evie to leave now,” McAlistair said.

  If she hadn’t instinctively turned at the sound of his gravelly voice, Evie would have missed the quiet look of understanding he shared with Christian and Mr. Hunter.

  “What do you mean by ‘now’?” she asked.

  “Just that, lass,” Christian offered. “There’s no point in leaving just now. We can keep you safe—”

  “I’m not an idiot, Christian. That wasn’t the sort of now McAlistair meant.”

  “It’s not a word with multiple definitions, dear,” Mrs. Summers said.

  She looked to McAlistair. “The attacker’s appearance here changed something else. What is it?”

  He hesitated before answering. “We know where to look now. We can find him.”

  Evie’s throat went dry. She’d become bait after all. “In town, you mean?”

  “And the surrounding area.”

  “There must be hundreds of people. How can you possibly hope to find him?”