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  With a start, Evan remembered the tale of the chalice. Could Catrin have had something to do with this?

  He snorted. The very idea of meek Catrin presiding over such butchery was ridiculous. Even if she were given to performing rituals, she’d use less violent means . . . and her own livestock.

  “You can’t talk to Mrs. Price until tomorrow,” Parry said. “She’s at the mill in Craig y Nos to see about the wool prices. She left ’bout two hours ago and won’t be back ’til evening.”

  Evan groaned. He should have known she’d do something like that to avoid him. The woman was driving him mad. “Do you know which road Mrs. Price took?” he asked Parry. “I need to speak with her today.”

  “Aye, I can direct you to where she is. With a good horse, you ought to catch up to her.”

  Excellent. She wasn’t escaping him this time.

  Catrin sank down beside her Welsh pony, who munched grass with utter contentment. It wasn’t Little Boy’s fault that he’d developed a saddle sore. It was hers for letting her mind wander while she’d saddled him.

  “A pox on you, Evan Newcome.” Keeping away from him should have ended her imaginings, but it had only made them worse. Last night, she’d awakened to her own hand caressing her breast as she’d pretended it was him fondling her.

  Which was why she’d taken this ride. She’d hoped that another day away from Evan would lessen her wild imaginings. Yet not only had she failed in evicting him from her thoughts, now she was stuck out here. She really had only one choice—to lead Little Boy home.

  Unfortunately, now that Little Boy was lunching on the fine grass by the road, he wasn’t about to move. She drew an apple from her provisions and held it under his nose. “Here’s a treat, my poor dear. I’ll not mount you, but you must come along home with me. I can’t leave you here.”

  The pony nuzzled the apple. Slowly, she backed up, cooing to him. “Come on then, Little Boy. Come with me, and you shall have this apple.”

  She was so intent on enticing him onto the road that she didn’t hear a horse come up behind her until a familiar male voice rumbled, “I wouldn’t listen to her if I were you. She’s notorious for reneging on her promises.”

  “Evan!” She couldn’t hide her relief. “What are you doing here? However did you find me?”

  With a wry frown, he dismounted. “Why? What had you instructed dear old Bos to tell me today? That you’d run off to America? That the Tylwyth Teg had taken you to fairyland?”

  “You . . . you haven’t talked to Bos?”

  He shot her a cold glance. “No. I talked to your grounds­keeper, who was more forthcoming.” He gestured to her pony. “What’s wrong with your mount?”

  “Poor thing has a saddle sore. I was in too much of a hurry to leave. I guess I didn’t tighten the girth properly.”

  He examined the pony. “You can’t ride him, you know.”

  “That’s why I’m trying to lead him home.”

  “We can lead him home together. You can ride with me.”

  The thought of doing that quickened her blood. Unfortunately. “There’s no need. You go on, and I’ll just walk home with Little Boy.”

  “Not bloody likely.” His gaze warmed on her. “Admit it. I’ve caught you now. You can ride with me or walk with me, but there’s no way in hell you’re going to avoid me this time.”

  She sighed. Since walking all the way back to Plas Niwl didn’t appeal to her, it looked as if she’d be riding with him.

  Still, once she was seated across his saddle with her shoulder against his chest and her bottom nestled in his lap, she wasn’t sure how she’d endure the ride. She was all too aware of his corded thighs and his strong arms bracketing her body. Of his face close enough to kiss.

  By heaven, what was wrong with her? He’d made it perfectly clear what sort of “friendship” he wanted, and it wasn’t what she wanted at all.

  “How much longer had you intended to avoid me?” he asked.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve simply been busy with matters of the estate.”

  His voice dropped to a husky rumble. “You mean, busy inventing matters of the estate to keep you from seeing me again.”

  She stared at the mist-shrouded road. Must he always be so forthright? Must he always make her feel guilty?

  “Is that why Morys was so angry with you? Because you gave him just enough of a taste of you to whet his appetite, then withheld the feast?”

  She glared at him. “I never let David touch me like that! I never wanted him to . . .” She trailed off as she realized how much she’d admitted.

  His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Never wanted him to what? Make love to you?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you were thinking it. Admit it, Morys was angry because you let me take liberties that you’d never allowed him. Because he knew you wanted me . . . and that infuriated him.”

  “I don’t want you.”

  “Oh?” Nuzzling her hair, he kissed the tip of her ear. His breath tickled her skin, then warmed it until the heat spread clear to her toes.

  “I don’t,” she repeated, trying to convince herself.

  “Shall I prove that you do?” He nipped her earlobe, scattering pleasure through her.

  “Certainly not.”

  But Evan was already halting the horses. Before she could make another protest, he’d tucked the reins under her thigh, freeing his hands so he could turn her face up to his. He trailed one hand down her jaw to her neck, and she could feel the imprint of every finger splayed over her throat.

  Then she was drowning in the soft kiss he pressed to her mouth. On a sigh, she parted her lips and he drove his tongue in deep, claiming her the same way he’d claimed her dreams, without apology or remorse.

  He shifted her so that she lay tucked in his arm, half-­reclining across the horse. The position forced her to cling to his neck, which meant she couldn’t easily push him away.

  Not that she wanted to. She’d lain alone three long nights anticipating this kiss, and her good sense wouldn’t deprive her of what her body wanted. Thus when he slid his hand inside her bodice to cup her breast, she made no murmur of protest, but arched up against the hand that caressed and teased the soft flesh exactly as she’d imagined in her dreams.

  Only when she moaned low in her throat did he draw his mouth from hers, his eyes glittering with triumph. “Tell me you want me, sweet girl. Tell me you’re not afraid of me.”

  When she stared up at him, wide-eyed and dazed, he thumbed her nipple and added, “There’s nothing wrong with wanting me, Catrin.”

  Suddenly she realized where they were. Good heavens, anyone could come along and see them!

  With a cry, she wriggled free and slid off the horse, then snatched up Little Boy’s fallen lead rope and hastened down the road.

  Evan prodded his horse into walking beside her. “Catrin,” he said in his low, commanding voice.

  “Just leave me alone.”

  “You don’t want that.”

  “I do!” But it was a lie. What she wanted was for him to court her, and he’d already made clear he didn’t intend to do that.

  “You’re merely afraid to let your perfectly normal urges overwhelm you. It’s fear that makes you avoid me, that keeps you from taking a lover or marrying again after all this time.”

  “I can’t marry because of the curse.”

  “You know in your heart that the curse is a lot of nonsense. But you’ve convinced yourself it’s true because you’re afraid.”

  She shook her head. She believed in the curse because it was real. Of course, she had the chalice now, so it didn’t matter, but he couldn’t know that.

  “You’re afraid to let a man close for fear he’ll uncover the wanton side of you that you’re so ashamed of.”

  “I’m not a wanton!”

  “I didn’t say you were.” His voice thrummed with emotion. “But neither are you the passionless drone you think you are,
or the quiet, cowardly creature you show to the world.”

  “You don’t know what I am.”

  “I do. Despite how you try to hide from everyone who might see your supposed character flaws, I know you’re stronger than you think.”

  There was too much truth in his words, curse him. She increased her pace.

  So did he. “It’s not cowardice that keeps you from hurting people, but compassion. You’re bright and beautiful and remarkable. You have nothing to fear. Any man would be delighted to have you as a companion.”

  “I don’t want to be a man’s companion. I only want to live my life in peace.” With a husband who loved her.

  Why couldn’t he see her as a wife? If she was as “remarkable” as he claimed, why didn’t anyone want to marry her? David wanted to, but only because of her property. He’d made it quite clear that he thought little of her intelligence.

  Sometimes she suspected even Willie had married her only to strike back at his overbearing father. He’d liked her well enough, to be sure, but he hadn’t been in love with her.

  And Evan? He claimed to see her finer qualities, yet he had no desire to marry her. Even her property didn’t tempt him. Then again, he was probably from some fine family and needn’t ever worry about such things. He was only interested in her body, and while that was flattering, it wasn’t enough to tempt her into throwing her future away.

  She was so caught up in her thoughts that she’d gone several feet before she realized Evan was no longer at her side.

  “Stop!” he called after her. “There’s someone on the road ahead!”

  She looked up. Someone was approaching, and with great haste. Evan rode up beside her. “Mount the horse behind me. We must be able to flee if the man proves to be foe rather than friend.”

  But now the man was too close for escape. Besides, he looked more like a solicitor than a highwayman.

  “Good day to you!” he called out, and Evan muttered an oath. The red-faced fellow halted his horse, then fixed her with shrewd gray eyes. “I say, you wouldn’t happen to be Mrs. Catrin Price, would you? I was told you might be on this road.”

  “Who wants to know?” Evan asked.

  The man drew out a handkerchief and mopped his jowly face. “The name’s Archer Quinley. I’ve come from London to ask Mrs. Price a few questions.”

  Catrin’s heart pounded. So they’d found her, had they? In a way, it was a relief. At least now she wouldn’t have to spend her time looking over her shoulder.

  Mr. Quinley drew a folded paper from his coat pocket. “Lady Mansfield hired me to look into her son’s death. Here’s the letter her solicitor sent, setting forth what she wanted done.”

  Evan tried to take the letter, but with a shake of his head, Mr. Quinley looked at Catrin. “You are Mrs. Price, aren’t you?”

  “You don’t have to answer that,” Evan said.

  She ignored him. It was one thing to avoid the authorities, but quite another to openly refuse to cooperate. And why did Evan seem unsurprised to hear that an investigator wanted to ask her questions about a murder? “Yes, I’m Catrin Price.”

  Mr. Quinley handed her the letter. As she scanned it, she noted that Lady Mansfield had immediately assumed a connection between Catrin’s first letter to her about the chalice and her son’s mysterious murder.

  Then a line caught Catrin’s eye. She had to read it twice to be sure she wasn’t mistaken. As pain engulfed her, she read aloud the words, “My son’s friend, a respected scholar by the name of Evan Newcome, has already told the constable that a woman going by the name of the Lady of the Mists met with my son on the night of his murder. I suggest you focus your investigation on this woman, who I’m sure must be Catrin Price. She may have seen something which could lead to the apprehension of my son’s killers.”

  Catrin stared at Evan, her heart plummeting. It had all been lies, every single moment they were together. And his guilty expression confirmed it.

  “You didn’t come here to research a book, did you?” she said in a hollow voice. “You didn’t seek me out because you’d read my essay.”

  He cursed, but didn’t avert his gaze. “No.”

  That’s when her world crumbled.

  10

  Mrs. Price?” Mr. Quinley asked. “Are you all right?”

  Hardly. Here she’d been thinking Evan was interested in her, if only for her body, but he hadn’t been interested in her at all . . . not for her body or property or even help with his book.

  His book. Hah! He’d probably made that up to gain access to her so he could ask his questions. He’d lied and misled her, treated her as if her feelings didn’t matter. How dared he?

  “Catrin—” Evan began.

  “Mr. Quinley, meet Mr. Evan Newcome,” she bit out. “He’s been conducting his own investigation. A pity you came along so soon; he’d almost dragged the entire story from me. But now I’m sure he’s pleased to relinquish his onerous task to you.”

  “Catrin!” Evan said more firmly. “This isn’t what it seems.”

  She continued addressing her remarks to Mr. Quinley. “I’m sorry you had to travel so far, but I’m more than happy to answer your questions. I’d have been more than happy to answer Mr. Newcome’s . . . if he’d ever asked any.”

  It wasn’t entirely true, but it felt good to say it—and to watch a guilty flush rise to stain Evan’s cheeks a dark red.

  Mr. Quinley fidgeted in his saddle. “Are you telling me that this fellow here is Lord Mansfield’s friend, the scholar?”

  She nodded. It suddenly occurred to her why Evan hadn’t been forthcoming. Because he’d actually thought she’d had something to do with his friend’s murder. For the past few days, he’d conversed with her, defended her . . . kissed her, all while believing that she’d taken part in a brutal crime.

  The thought made her stomach roil. She swayed, and Evan was off his mount and at her side in an instant.

  “I’m so sorry—” he began as he took her arm to support her.

  She snatched her arm away. “Don’t you dare touch me! After everything you said and did, you have no right.”

  Mr. Quinley was off his horse now, too. “Perhaps we should pull the horses off the road and stop for a bit.” He cast Evan a suspicious glance. “Mrs. Price looks as if she’s had a shock.”

  She shook her head, though she fought to keep from collapsing. This was no time to be weak. Neither of these men were friends. She must keep her wits about her, or she’d find herself carted off for a crime she hadn’t committed.

  “I’m fine, Mr. Quinley.” Straightening her shoulders, she forced a smile. “But we should probably pull off.”

  Mr. Quinley nodded. “There are some trees over there. Why don’t we sit, and you can tell me what you know of what happened the night of Lord Mansfield’s death?”

  “Certainly.” She turned for the trees.

  Evan did, too, but Mr. Quinley stopped him. “Sorry, sir. This would be better done without you, since you seem to upset the young lady.”

  “No need,” Catrin said. “I’ve nothing to hide from Mr. Newcome.”

  With a shrug, Mr. Quinley led his horse off the road and tethered it. As she started to do the same, Evan caught her arm, speaking in Welsh so the investigator couldn’t understand. “I know you’re angry, and I don’t blame you, but—”

  “I told you not to touch me.” She met his gaze coolly. “Bad enough that you pretended to care about me when you were only spying on me. Don’t make it worse by continuing the pretense.”

  With a stricken expression, he tightened his hold. “Oh, my darling, it wasn’t a pretense—”

  “Stop it!” How stupid did he think she was? And what did he mean to gain by going on like this? “If you don’t, I swear I’ll—”

  “Is everything all right here?” Mr. Quinley asked, with a glance at Evan’s hand on her arm.

  “Everything’s fine.” She tugged her arm free of Evan’s grip. “It will be even better once we get this
over with.”

  As she and Evan tethered their horses, she fretted over what to say. She couldn’t tell the truth; everything she’d done in London would seem questionable. She was the last person to have seen Lord Mansfield, and she’d been mysterious in setting up their meeting. Even if she explained why, she couldn’t explain the instinct that had made her flee the inn.

  Besides, she’d told Evan that she’d never met with Lord Mansfield. If she said otherwise now, Evan would reveal it to Quinley, and both men would find her conflicting stories suspicious.

  So she must give Mr. Quinley the same story she’d given Evan, and continue in her lie that she’d never met Lord Mansfield. Otherwise, they’d not believe anything else she said.

  Besides, if she told the truth about the chalice, Mr. Quinley would tell Lady Mansfield, who would no doubt demand its return. Then Catrin would be back where she’d started—without a husband or hope of a future.

  When she faced the two men, her mind was set. Now if only she could sound convincing, when all she wanted was to crawl into a hole and never come out.

  What would Grandmother do? Brazen it out.

  Usually thoughts of her grandmother’s capabilities made Catrin aware of her inadequacies, but today, they helped. She imagined Grandmother fixing her steely-eyed gaze on Mr. Quinley. He was just a man, after all. And Catrin had a good reason to lie—not only to save herself from jail, but to save her lands from confiscation and the people she depended on from losing their positions.

  But what about Evan? Could she lie to him?

  She squared her shoulders. He’d lied to her without a thought. From the moment he’d spun his tale about wanting her help with a book, he’d given up his right to the truth. He deserved to be lied to.

  And she’d have no trouble giving him his just deserts.

  Evan’s stomach knotted as Catrin sat down on the hard ground, ignoring the coat he’d spread out for her.

  She was enraged. He’d never seen her like that before, and it tore at him to know he’d provoked it.

  But what made it worse was the pain he glimpsed behind the anger. She was sure of his perfidy. And with Quinley here, he couldn’t explain that once he’d come to know her, he couldn’t believe anything bad of her. He must find a way to make her listen. But how?