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  She came up with the only excuse she could think of. “But I’ve done a terrible job so far. Tonight I was supposed to make sure you learned things at the wedding, and instead I got you embroiled in two fights.”

  “I didn’t mind what happened tonight.” The low thrum of his voice made it quite clear what parts of the night he didn’t mind.

  She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t very well back out if he truly wanted her help.

  When she stood there in confusion, he said, “I’ll be here tomorrow morning at nine. I’m told there’s a man living near the top of Black Mountain who claims to be descended from the Lady of Llyn y Fan Fach. Since I intend to make the trek up there, we must get an early start.”

  She couldn’t believe he simply assumed she’d do as he asked.

  “Make sure you wear something for walking,” he added with a faint smile.

  That snapped her out of her astonishment. “Why do you need me if you already know what you’re going for?”

  He held her gaze. “I need you to get me there, of course. Mrs. Llewellyn says you know Black Mountain like the back of your hand. And I’d enjoy having your company. Climbing mountains is lonely work.”

  Frantically she searched for a good reason to refuse. “What if I have matters of the estate to take care of tomorrow?”

  “Then I’ll postpone my trip until you can accompany me.” He leaned forward, resting his fists on the table. “But be assured of this. I’ll return every day until I get what you offered me.” His gaze drifted to her mouth and then farther, to her throat and her breasts. “Everything you offered, but are too afraid to admit.”

  While she was still reeling from that bold statement, he murmured, “Don’t forget. Tomorrow at nine.” Then he left the kitchen.

  Catrin sank into a chair, her pulse a maddening thud in her ears. What on earth was she to do? He’d implied that she’d offered him her body, but that wasn’t true! Just because she’d let him kiss her . . . and fondle her breasts . . . and . . .

  A blush stole over her. She couldn’t blame him for misunderstanding her. If not for his cold words about matrimony, she’d probably have let him lay her out across the table and take her right there like the scandalous creature everyone believed her to be.

  Worst of it was, she still wanted him to. No matter how much she told herself it was wrong, she couldn’t banish the swirling images of Evan sucking her breast . . . touching her thighs . . . bending her back over his arm so he could—

  She shook her head to clear it. She mustn’t allow these fantastic imaginings to consume her. It was fruitless to think of Evan that way when he wanted only one thing, the very thing she should reserve for her husband.

  Bos entered the kitchen, cooling all her heated thoughts. “Mr. Newcome asked to borrow a horse. In light of his injuries, I offered to have the carriage return him to his lodgings, but he insisted upon riding. He said he would give back the mount in the morning, so I allowed it. That is what you wish, is it not?”

  She frowned. Evan was making sure he had a reason to return. “That’s fine.”

  Bos stared at her. “Are you well, madam?”

  She rose to pace the kitchen. “No, I am not.”

  “Mr. Newcome did not harm you, did he?” Bos said in alarm.

  “Not exactly.” She sighed. “Oh, Bos, I don’t know what to do with the man.”

  “Must you do anything at all with him?”

  “Yes. I owe him, I’m afraid. For lying to him and then landing him in not one, but two fights on my behalf tonight.”

  “On your behalf?” Bos regarded her with narrowed eyes. “Do you mean to say that the gentleman’s wounds were received while coming to your rescue?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  For the briefest moment, he looked taken aback. Then he smoothed his features into his typically haughty ones. “That does alter matters. It almost makes me regret giving Medea to the gentleman for a mount.”

  “You didn’t!” Her heart leapt into her throat. “Why, Medea is liable to run him right off the edge of a cliff! You know she’s impossible to manage! Why did you do that?”

  For once, Bos appeared distressed by her criticism. “You came home with a gentleman who had obviously been in a fight. He then tried to pay me to betray your confidences. Surely you can understand why I thought it prudent to discourage future visits.”

  She sank into a chair. “Sometimes I don’t know whether to kiss you or throttle you.”

  “I take it that you did not wish me to discourage him?”

  “No . . . Yes . . . By heaven, I don’t know.”

  Bos stiffened. “It seems to me that if the gentleman has upset you to such an extent that you no longer know your own mind, perhaps you should not see him again.” Then, as if realizing that he had offered unsolicited advice, he added, “Of course, the entire affair is none of my concern.”

  She raised her eyebrow. “Which is why you gave Medea to Mr. Newcome as his mount.”

  “A lapse in good judgment, I now realize.”

  “No. You were only protecting me from a man who appeared to be dangerous.” Who is dangerous, she amended. “The trouble is, I don’t know if I want to be protected from him.”

  An awkward silence followed. She glanced at Bos, who looked as if he’d rather be anywhere but here, listening to her deepest thoughts. Unfortunately, Bos was the only one she could talk to. And tonight, she desperately needed someone to give her perspective on this situation.

  “I . . . I like him,” she said. “I like him a great deal.”

  Though Bos’s expression remained bland, the tips of his ears reddened. “And does the gentleman share your . . . er . . . feelings?”

  “I don’t know.” It was true. She couldn’t fathom what Evan felt. One moment he claimed he had a more than cursory interest in her, and in the next, he insisted he would never marry.

  But would he say differently if she’d told him that the curse was no longer in effect? Or was that wishful thinking on her part?

  Now that she’d lied about the chalice, she didn’t know what to do. If Evan truly had no desire to marry, then there was no point in revealing that she was indeed free. There was no point in continuing in any “friendship” with him.

  On the other hand, if he knew about the chalice . . .

  “Bos?” she asked.

  The servant stood rigidly at attention. “Yes, madam?”

  “Please sit down. You make me nervous standing there like a statue.”

  “Then I shall leave you to your ruminations.”

  “Don’t go. I need your advice about . . . about something personal. I don’t know where else to turn.”

  It was comical to witness the two sides of Bos warring with each other—the butler side protesting that it was inappropriate for a servant to listen to the personal woes of an employer, while the human side argued for compassion.

  She could tell when the human side won, for Bos lowered himself into a chair. “I will endeavor to advise you as best I can, madam. Please proceed.”

  Without looking at him, Catrin recounted the entire tale of the chalice . . . how she’d discovered its significance and whereabouts, how she’d gone to London to acquire it, how Lord Mansfield had been murdered shortly after selling it to her, and how her lies about it had affected both David and Evan.

  Bos merely uttered a “Hmm” or an “I see” here and there. When she finished, she looked at him, wondering if she’d find condemnation in his eyes. Instead she found compassion.

  “I wish that you had confided in me sooner.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I would never have allowed you to go to London. I would have insisted that you let me go in your stead.” His lips tightened. “To think that you might have been murdered . . . or worse . . . by those ruffians. Only good fortune—and good instincts—saved you from that. You shouldn’t have gone alone, madam. You must never do such a thing again.”

  His concern so overwhelme
d her that she had to fight back tears. “You don’t think I’m mad for wanting to acquire the chalice? Or believing in the curse?”

  “I have no opinion about the curse. You believe in it. That is all that matters.”

  She swallowed hard. “You don’t think I was wrong to lure Lord Mansfield to that inn under a false name and try to circumvent his mother?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You don’t think it’s my fault the poor man was murdered?”

  “Indeed not!” Bos’s look of outrage warmed her. “I would say you acted admirably to solve a knotty problem. You are certainly not to blame for the deplorable criminal element in London.”

  “But I should have told the authorities I was there. If they ever find out Lord Mansfield went to meet the Lady of the Mists, they may send someone after me.”

  Bos stared at her. “I begin to comprehend your recent ­actions. Was your fear of having the authorities come in search of you what prompted you to shy away from Mr. Newcome when you first encountered him? Did you suspect that he might have come from London for such a purpose?”

  “Actually, yes. He did come shortly after I left there, and he asked about the Lady of the Mists.” She smiled. “But later he explained how he’d heard about me from the Vaughans, and it turned out to be nothing more than coincidence.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Truly, Bos, that’s all it was. Why would a scholar of his reputation act like a constable, looking for the woman who’d met Lord Mansfield before his death?”

  Bos scowled. “The more appropriate question is why a scholar of his reputation would travel all the way from Cambridge to meet a woman whose endeavors as a scholar are not . . . shall we say . . . on the level of his own.”

  “I know, I know,” she said without rancor. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried to launch more ambitious endeavors. But the work of a woman without a university degree was largely disregarded.

  Besides, to do any serious research on Welsh folktales would have meant leaving Plas Niwl and seeking out strangers to tell her about particular customs. The very thought of doing such a thing terrified her.

  “All right,” she said. “We’ve established that he can’t be interested in my work. But he didn’t come here to seek me out. The Vaughans implied that I was Grandmother, so he decided to research her for his book. He found me instead.”

  “And is now researching you. Is that it?”

  “I suppose you could put it that way.”

  “Instead of gathering his folktales, he is waiting on your leisure . . . accompanying you to weddings . . . fighting battles for you—”

  “He went to the wedding so he could hear folktales,” Catrin protested.

  “Oh, indeed. And did he hear any?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Madam, I believe you are allowing your interest in this man to overwhelm your good judgment. I find it highly suspicious that only a week after your return, a man should come to ‘research’ you, as it were.”

  Bos had a way of making it sound suspicious. But he was wrong about Evan. “I don’t believe he came here for any other reason, or he would have been put off by what I told him this evening.”

  Bos’s eyes widened. “Surely you did not confess to him the same things you confessed to me.”

  “I told about the curse, but I lied about the chalice. I said I never bought it, that Lord Mansfield never showed up.”

  “I see you have not entirely lost your wits,” Bos remarked.

  “In any case, if Evan were trying to find out something about the murder, he’d have taken what I said tonight to mean I wasn’t involved, and he’d be planning to return to Cambridge. Instead, he’s coming here tomorrow. Why, he practically demanded that I go with him to speak to that descendant of the Lady of Llyn y Fan Fach who lives on Black Mountain. So you see, he really is researching a book, and he truly does want my help.”

  “Perhaps. Nonetheless, I find all of this highly disturbing.” Bos rose. “Here is my advice, madam. You should avoid any future encounters with the gentleman. You were right to refuse to see him the first time, and you should follow that course from now on. Involvement with the investigation of that earl’s murder could do you naught but harm, and you must protect yourself.”

  Catrin agreed with Bos, though for different reasons. She didn’t think Evan had come to spy on her. But it was clear he wanted to take her virtue. And if she continued in his presence much longer, she’d let him. What a mistake that would be. It would involve her in a sordid affair that could only end in scandal. And illegitimate children.

  She groaned. “I want to avoid him. But he’s very persistent. He says he’ll come here every day until I agree to accompany him, and I . . . well, I’m not like Grandmother. I don’t know how to send a man packing.”

  “There is no need for you to send him packing, madam.” Bos straightened his perfectly straight cravat. “I shall make certain Mr. Newcome refrains from bothering you further. You leave him to me.”

  9

  So this is hell, Evan thought as he prodded his horse through the mist up the now familiar path to Plas Niwl. Burning for Catrin with no chance of quenching the flames.

  Both days he’d tried to see her, he’d been rebuffed by that bloody butler. The first day Bos had told him she was closeted with her solicitor. The next day he’d said she was indisposed. When Evan had refused to leave until he saw her, Bos had instructed the footmen to escort him back to Llanddeusant.

  Evan could have fought them, but what would have been the point? Even if he’d seen her, she’d have been surrounded by her watchdogs, and he wouldn’t have been able to talk any sense into her . . . to touch her . . . to kiss her.

  Why was he behaving like such a fool? A hundred times, he’d considered leaving, especially after he’d discovered she couldn’t have been involved with Justin’s murder. But every time he closed his eyes, he tasted her on his lips and felt the silken texture of her skin. Her soft voice intruded in his waking thoughts, and she tormented him in sleep with hot, wanton dreams.

  And it wasn’t just her body he desired. He liked talking to her. He liked prying opinions out of her, uncovering the complex woman beneath the shy facade. He’d anticipated spending days in her company, sharing ideas . . . and intimacies. Now that he’d been denied the chance, he wanted to take it.

  It was madness. It couldn’t go anywhere. But perhaps if he spent more time with her, he could shake this strange obsession. And she burned as much as he did. It was absurd for them not to enter the flames together.

  Catrin excelled at protecting herself by avoiding what was most frightening, and God knew he understood about escaping into one’s private world. But this time he wouldn’t let her. Which meant he must sneak into Plas Niwl and find Catrin himself.

  A grim smile on his face, he spurred his horse on. The mare he’d borrowed from the Vaughans wasn’t nearly so skittish as that deuced Medea Bos had given him to ride three days ago. Apparently Bos had intended to wreak some petty vengeance on him, but it had been worth his madcap ride down to Llanddeusant to see Bos’s face the next day when Evan brought Medea to a halt outside Plas Niwl.

  Just as he was thinking that a ride through the night with Catrin would be wonderful, he emerged from a thick patch of fog to find two horses tethered to a tree. Perhaps he’d caught Catrin out trying to avoid him again.

  He followed the path that wound through the thick woods. As he topped a hill, he heard a male voice complaining about “imbeciles and fools.” Then he came upon Sir Reynald, with a man he didn’t know. Behind them was a large dolmen, two upright stones supporting a third to form a table.

  Wisps of mist swirled about it, giving it an air of frightening mystery, and at its foot was a dead animal. A bull, he conjectured, though he couldn’t be sure, since the head and genitals had been removed and the hide pierced in several places.

  He let out a shocked gasp, and the two men whirled to face him.

  “Ah, Mr. Newcome,” Sir Reynald sai
d. “I thought you might be one of the scoundrels who did this, returning to the scene of the crime. Do come see. You shall probably find this evidence of insanity in our county quite intriguing.”

  “What in God’s name is it?”

  The man next to Sir Reynald muttered, “It’s those idiots in Llanddeusant who dabble in druidry. They think the dolmen was once an altar, so they come here to perform their sacrifices under cover of darkness. But one day I’ll catch them at it, and I’ll take a pitchfork to the lot of them!”

  Sir Reynald raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Newcome, meet Mr. Parry, Mrs. Price’s groundskeeper. We are standing on Plas Niwl land.”

  “Aye,” said Parry. “They’re trespassing. And butchering fine animals.”

  “This is the second of my cattle they stole and butchered,” Sir Reynald said. “Do you know what price a bull like that fetches at market? And he had several more years of stud service in him. Now this. If I ever catch them, I’ll strangle the lot.”

  “Now you see why I dragged you from your bed to show you this, sir,” Parry said. “We must find a way to put a stop to it.”

  “Does it happen a great deal?” Evan felt as if he’d stepped back a few centuries in time. He couldn’t tear his gaze from the mutilated bull.

  Druids, no less. Iolo Morganwg and the Gwyneddigion Society in London arranged meetings of the Gorsedd and wore white robes to call upon the ancient bards for inspiration, but animal sacrifice? Somehow he couldn’t see Morganwg butchering a bull.

  Yet here in this desolate place, with Black Mountain scowling down on them and the mist floating through the clearing, he could too easily believe that druids in long white robes had come in the night to perform strange rites.

  “It happens every so often,” Parry was saying. “I’ve waited for them many a time, but I can’t seem to predict when the devils will appear.”

  “Mrs. Price and I must lay a trap for them,” Sir Reynald said. “I’ll speak to her at once.”