Part 7 (1/2)
”You said you were going to sleep, but here you are in my bedchamber, seated before my fire.”
”I never sleep, so if I say so, then of course, I'm lying. Old men sleep all the time. I would've thought I could at least take Teasdale at his word.” She shrugged deeper into the chair. ”Well, there's still Hetherington's worthless cousin, Edmund Rutherford. He's an easy enough sort to read, wastrel that he is. I imagine he's still in the men's after-dinner room, drinking Lioncroft out of port.”
Evangeline shook her head. ”The men's after-dinner room was the library, which was absent of both port and Mr. Rutherford. The footman refilling the decanter said they'd cleared up the gla.s.ses as the men left to rejoin us.”
”I knew it,” Susan cried, jerking upright in the chair as she clapped her hands together. ”Scandal is afoot!”
”It is?” Evangeline fought another blush. It most certainly was, but she had no intention of discussing her her scandalous behavior. She hadn't even meant to come upon the sinfully handsome man, let alone s.h.i.+ver against him as he devoured her with kisses. scandalous behavior. She hadn't even meant to come upon the sinfully handsome man, let alone s.h.i.+ver against him as he devoured her with kisses.
”Yet another liar,” Susan crowed. ”Edmund must have known there was neither port nor gla.s.s to drink it in, and invented his mission back to the library as a cover for some other, more dastardly deed.”
”Maybe he simply tired of dancing,” Evangeline suggested.
”Ha. A reprobate like him? No doubt he was en route to or from an a.s.signation. Besides dancing, a.s.signations are house parties' primary allure.”
”What is?” is?”
”Love-making with other guests,” Susan clarified matter-of-factly. ”Secretly, of course.”
This time Evangeline couldn't staunch the sudden rush of blood to her cheeks and neck. Had she been a baser sort of woman-or Mr. Lioncroft a less considerate sort of man-she herself might've been one of that number earlier tonight.
”Bah, don't be missish,” Susan scoffed, thankfully misinterpreting Evangeline's blush as something other than guilt. ”a.s.signations are a ton ton staple. I only wonder who was lonely enough to rut with a rotter like Edmund. A servant, perhaps? Surely not a guest. Did you see where he got off to?” staple. I only wonder who was lonely enough to rut with a rotter like Edmund. A servant, perhaps? Surely not a guest. Did you see where he got off to?”
”I never saw him at all. I didn't actually see Benedict Rutherford, either, but I heard him coughing down one of the halls.”
”Aargh,” Susan groaned, startling Evangeline from her perch against the useless bookshelf. ”If it's to be my house, too, can't I skulk about like everyone else? The only person I saw up to any mischief was Nancy, trying to sneak into her bedchamber and being laughably noisy about it. Although I suppose stealth hardly matters if she plans to marry a deaf old mummer like Teasdale.” Her shoulders shook in a dramatic shudder. ”Next time you wander the corridors alone, you absolutely must invite me to accompany you. Where was Francine? By her husband's side, as she claimed?”
”No, she was...” Evangeline thought back. ”She was outside Mr. Lioncroft's office, I think. I'm not quite sure.”
”Yet another a.s.signation,” Susan breathed, eyes alight behind her spectacles. ”I suspected as much.”
Evangeline's stomach twisted. ”Another...what?”
”a.s.signation. If you recall, I mentioned the Rutherfords and I have some unfortunate history. Trust me when I say I am not the least bit surprised to discover Francine taking her pleasure with Lioncroft. She can't resist the scent of power, and Lioncroft positively reeks of it.”
Ice slid beneath Evangeline's skin, covering her arms with gooseflesh. Had Mr. Lioncroft left the hallway where they'd kissed, only to make love to an over-rouged Francine Rutherford? Or, worse, had he already done so before she'd unwittingly entered his office in the first place?
Gagging, Evangeline thrust a fist to her lips and shuddered. She was the worst kind of fool. Her initial suspicion that Mr. Lioncroft was no better than her philandering sot of a stepfather was correct after all.
”Oh!” Susan leapt from the chair and rushed to Evangeline's side. ”You look like you're going to be ill. Truly, you must learn not to be so missish about who does what with whom. I'm I'm not upset she's the secret paramour of my fiance-to-be. He can keep her as his mistress even after we marry, as far as I'm concerned. The less he forces his husbandly attention upon me, the better. A woman can only do so much closing of her eyes and thinking of Mother England.” not upset she's the secret paramour of my fiance-to-be. He can keep her as his mistress even after we marry, as far as I'm concerned. The less he forces his husbandly attention upon me, the better. A woman can only do so much closing of her eyes and thinking of Mother England.”
Evangeline bit at the knuckle of her first finger until she drew blood, certain now she would regurgitate her meal all over those ugly wooden trolls. How could she have been so stupid?
She'd liked his attention. Encouraged him. Partic.i.p.ated wantonly and willfully.
Hadn't she learned from her mother's example that just because a woman was unable to experience visions of a man's misdeeds in no way implied the man in question was absent of them?
Neal Pemberton was a vicious brute, sotted or sober, who cared little for his servants and even less for his womenfolk. Heaven knew the mercurial Mr. Lioncroft was no doubt even worse a profligate, and capable of equally unspeakable cruelty.
She would never again be so foolish as to find herself alone with an animal like him.
”Truly...” Susan patted Evangeline's shoulder, her voice uncharacteristically concerned. ”Are you quite all right? Mother says I never know when to curb my tongue. I should like to be friends with you, not send you into a fit of the vapors after only a minute or two of my conversation.”
Evangeline dropped her fists to her sides and forced a wan smile. She opened her mouth to a.s.sure Susan of their continued friends.h.i.+p when a series of loud staccato screams ripped across the silent mansion and echoed through the chambers.
”Aaahh!” Susan bounced on her heels like a pony itching to race across a field. ”Something's happening! Come, come, I shan't miss it!”
”Go without me.” Evangeline backed up until the bookcase dug into her spine. Screams were never good. They brought back too many memories better left buried.
Susan goggled at her, as if staying put was hardly an option. ”What did I just say? If we skulk, we skulk together. Whyever would I leave without you?”
”Because I don't want to go. Besides, I'm in my nightclothes.”
”We're all in our nightclothes, goose. It's well after midnight.” Susan heaved on Evangeline's linen-swathed arm, hauling her toward the door with the exaggerated force of a circus strongman. ”What if someone needs our help? What if-what if-” She gasped, managing to look simultaneously thrilled and horrified. ”What if Lioncroft has killed again? again?”
Chapter Eight.
Icy sweat froze the tiny hairs on the back of Gavin's neck as he raced through the hidden pa.s.sageways to the bedchamber his sister shared with her husband.
”Rose?” he shouted as he burst from behind a concealed access panel and into the deserted corridor. ”Rose?”
He slammed into the closed chamber door and fumbled with the handle. The door swung open from within. Rose stood silent, wooden, bloodless. She didn't move. She didn't speak.
”What happened? Are you all right?” With trepidation doubling the rhythm of his already-pounding heart, Gavin fought the urge to reach out for her, to touch her. If she'd had a bad dream or saw a spider, he was not one she'd turn to for comfort. Over a decade had pa.s.sed since the last time he and his sister had embraced, and he was not yet ready to accept more rejection.
His sister's dull, sightless eyes stared right through him.
”Hetherington.” The hollowness in Rose's voice sent chills rippling along the muscles of Gavin's back. ”He's dead.”
Gavin staggered against the doorframe. ”He's what?”
”Dead.” She stepped backward, away from the hallway, away from him, granting him access to the chamber's shadowy interior. ”See for yourself.”
Not entirely certain he wanted to see for himself, Gavin inched further into the darkness until he could make out a motionless lump beneath a pile of blankets.
Hetherington, all right. Not that he'd expected to encounter anyone else in his sister's bed. Gavin edged closer. No sound. No movement. Not a good sign. He leaned over the p.r.o.ne body until his ear brushed against the earl's cold, parted lips.
One second pa.s.sed in silence. Two seconds. Three. After a long moment, Gavin stopped waiting. He straightened, ripped his gaze from Hetherington's waxy face, and turned to his sister.
”I'm sorry, Rose. He-he's not breathing.”
She nodded, her head jerking like a marionette on a string. ”He's dead.”
”I'm sorry,” he said again, involuntarily transported back in time to another dark autumn night, another pale motionless figure, another face forever frozen in death. An irreversible horror for which he could never be forgiven. He took a halting step toward his sister. Had he ever apologized for what he'd done to their parents? He hadn't seen her, hadn't spoken to her...until now. ”Forgive me, Rose. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for-”
A chorus of gasps crackled from the corridor.