Part 19 (1/2)

He shrugged. ”At Meadowbrook, where my brother lives.”

His brother, the gangly teenage boy with the fis.h.i.+ng pole. How lovely those days must've been. Evangeline had always wanted siblings. ”Do you visit?”

”Never.”

”Has he visited you?”

”He would rather die.”

”Does-oh.”

Evangeline turned from the painting of a small laughing child to consider the large serious man he'd become.

Mr. Lioncroft's gaze was dark, inscrutable. Although he remained in his usual pose, his muscles seemed tense, his posture less casual, as if answering her questions about his family was the last thing in h.e.l.l he preferred to be doing.

”Rose,” he said at last, ”may not visit again, either. My proximity has a distinctly abortive affect on the longevity of her family members. I shouldn't be surprised if this is the last time I see my sister or my nieces.”

His jaw locked and he swiveled his gaze back to the painting, as if he regretted being so candid.

Mr. Lioncroft, Evangeline was beginning to realize, had a lot of regrets. He was not the cold-blooded, black-hearted beast rumor made him out to be.

”To be fair,” she ventured, ”it is not as if you forced the girls into the pa.s.sageway. Perhaps you ought to have locked the access doors a bit more securely”-his eyes flashed at this admonition, but he said nothing to defend himself-”but I, too, remember what it was like to be a child. Children get into mischief.”

”And her husband?”

”What of him?”

”He didn't get into mischief on his own.” He stepped closer, blocking the meager sconce light. ”Everyone believes I killed him.”

She shook her head. ”Not everyone.”

The words were scarcely out of her mouth before his lips crushed hers. His fingers gripped the sides of her face, bruising her with pa.s.sion. The stubble of his jaw chafed deliciously against her skin, just as she'd imagined.

Evangeline's hands barely had the chance to grip the hard muscle of his upper arms before he pushed her from him, as though he had not meant to kiss her, and sorely regretted the impulse.

She stood, wanting, trembling. Waiting for some explanation-why he'd kissed her, why he'd stopped, why he'd thrust her from him.

He said nothing. Tensed. Turned away.

”I'm not convinced Rose believes you a murderer,” she said at last.

He smiled, a horrible, humorless mockery of a smile. ”Yes, she does.”

”I mean,” Evangeline corrected herself, ”of this this crime.” crime.”

”And why wouldn't she?”

”Because anybody could've done it. Including her. Perhaps her suspicion is mere affectation. An attempt to lessen her own guilt and deflect blame onto you.”

”If that is what you suspect,” he said, his voice low and cruel and terrible, ”why don't you find out?”

She blinked. ”Why don't I...what? I can't just ask ask her.” her.”

”No, you can't, can you. Not if you want the truth. But you can find out a different way, isn't that right?”

”I-” Evangeline faltered. She'd meant her speech to be rea.s.suring, but the earlier mistrust was back in his eyes with a vengeance. ”What do you mean?”

”What do you think I mean? I am many things, Miss Pemberton, but I like to think stupid is not one of them. As I told you before, I don't believe for a moment you have little chats with G.o.d.”

”You think I was lying about Lord Hetherington being-”

”No, Miss Pemberton. That's just it. I don't. I'm sure he did suffocate, exactly as you claimed. In fact, I believe,” he said, snapping out each carefully enunciated word like thrusts from a dagger, ”you get your information not from the Lord, but from everyone around you. Dishonestly. Surrept.i.tiously. Secretly.”

”I-I don't know what you're talking about,” she said, but the denial sounded weak even to her own ears.

”I don't think you do any 'talking' at all,” he continued relentlessly. ”I think you reach over and take take the information you want. It's why you laid your bare hands on Hetherington's cheeks, is it not? It's why you wanted to hold Rachel, upstairs in the hallway when Rebecca was still lost. It's why you use your kisses and your body against the information you want. It's why you laid your bare hands on Hetherington's cheeks, is it not? It's why you wanted to hold Rachel, upstairs in the hallway when Rebecca was still lost. It's why you use your kisses and your body against me me. A soulless murderer like myself must have countless lurid memories for you to steal. Tell me: just now, what did you see?”

”No,” Evangeline said, shaking her head violently. ”Nothing. You've got it wrong. I swear to you, I-”

”I don't believe you.” He strode past her, brus.h.i.+ng her aside as if she were less than nothing. He threw open the office door. ”I need a maid,” he called. ”A footman. A-Miss Stanton? What the devil are you-oh, it doesn't matter. You'll do. Come.”

He tugged a wary-looking Susan in by the wrist and thrust her before Evangeline.

”Now,” he said. ”Do you mean to tell me you don't 'see things' from others' touch? Take off your gloves, Miss Stanton. Put the backs of your fingers against Miss Pemberton's arm.”

”Er...” Susan stammered, clearly at a loss as to how to react to a conversation that had obviously taken a less than desired turn.

”No,” Evangeline said. ”Please don't.”

Even without Susan's touch, a warning headache brewed at the back of Evangeline's skull. She had no wish to see another vision, to have her head split open by the ever-worsening aftershocks, to faint from pain in the middle of Mr. Lioncroft's office floor.

”You confess it to be true?” he demanded, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.

She took a deep breath, nodded. Heaven help her.

”Go,” he said to Susan. ”You do not wish to be present while I tell this liar liar exactly what I think about her deception.” exactly what I think about her deception.”

Susan's eyes widened, but she remained otherwise both motionless and speechless. Her gaze flicked from Mr. Lioncroft to Evangeline, back to Mr. Lioncroft, back to Evangeline, as though she couldn't decide which desire was greater: to flee from Mr. Lioncroft's obvious rage, or to not abandon Evangeline to suffer his wrath alone.

At that moment, the footman who had earlier delivered Evangeline's summons strode through the door.

”You called for a servant, my lord?”

Mr. Lioncroft's forehead furrowed, then cleared. ”I'm sorry, Milton. I no longer need your a.s.sistance. Miss Stanton helped me confirm what I needed to know about Miss Pemberton.”

The footman glanced at Evangeline, then back to his master. ”You...know?”