Windswept Page 13

  Bos followed her as she hurried down the hall. “Surely you do not intend to let him enter the house.”

  “I shan’t leave him out in the rain to catch his death of an ague.” She hastened down the stairs. “I could never forgive myself.”

  Bos struggled to keep up with her. “Then let me fetch him in and see that he is cared for. You need not deal with him. He can stay here until the storm ceases, and then I shall send him on his way.”

  “Yes, on crazy Medea, no doubt.” She stopped short to look back at Bos. “I appreciate your concern, but if I let you take care of him he’ll probably find himself boiled in oil.”

  Bos shrugged. “If you care for him, madam, you may find yourself in the gaol. After all, he came to Llanddeusant to discover how to have you arrested.”

  “Don’t you think I’ve told myself that? But I can’t let him perish in the storm, either. It would make me no better than him.”

  Bos sighed. “You are too kindhearted. It will be your downfall.”

  “No doubt.” When Bos looked forlorn, she added, “Don’t worry, I won’t let him hurt me again. This time I know what he really is. I’ll make sure he’s taken care of, then leave him in the servants’ capable hands. All right?”

  “Whatever you wish.”

  She ignored his skepticism. As she headed for the door, she called out to the footman to fetch the maids and tell Mrs. Griffiths to start boiling water for a bath and stoke up the fire in the Red Room. Then, pausing only long enough to let Bos help her into her hooded coat of oiled twill, she rushed outside.

  It took her a few moments to find Evan, since the rain blinded her. Then she spotted him seated at one end of the steps, with his back against the marble in a futile attempt to protect himself from the driving rain. She hastened to his side.

  He’d drawn his knees up to his chest and was curled into a ball against the rain that beat relentlessly against him. When a pang of guilt hit her, she cursed it. The man deserved such treatment. It wasn’t as if she’d asked him to sit out in the rain like a fool.

  Nonetheless, as she went to tug at his arm, untold relief washed over her when he lifted his head and murmured, “Catrin? Is that you? Have you taken pity on me at last?”

  “Come inside,” she urged. “You mustn’t sit here.”

  He glanced up at her window. “I thought you’d left the window because you’d grown bored with witnessing my suffering.”

  “Don’t be absurd.” She pulled on his arm again. “I didn’t realize you were out here, or I’d have told Bos to let you in at once.”

  This time he stood, a hulking form against the lightning. “All this time, I’d supposed you were punishing me. Since I deserved it, I had no quarrel with it.”

  His self-deprecating words struck her hard. “Come inside where it’s warm. You must be freezing.”

  Through chattering teeth, he managed to say, “It’s not so bad. I’ve been through worse.”

  “They’re preparing a warm bath inside.” She led him up the steps. “My servants will get you into the bath before you take your death of a chill.”

  “Your servants? You will have no part in it?” He halted at the top. “If you mean to send me inside and disappear, I’d rather stay out in the rain. At least here I can watch you in the window.”

  “Oh, you . . . you fool!” She yanked at his arm, but he didn’t move. How could he be so stubborn even when soaked to the skin? “You can’t stay out here in this weather!”

  “I must talk to you, Catrin. And until you’re willing to let me, I’ll stay anywhere I bloody well please.”

  She considered leaving him, but she couldn’t. “Fine. You may talk to me, but it won’t make a difference.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Now will you come inside?”

  “I am at your command. As always.”

  By the time she’d gotten him into the house, her cloak was soaked through. Ignoring Bos’s scowl, she told a footman to take Evan to the Red Room and get his clothes off him.

  “I shall attend to it,” Bos said, placing a hand on the footman’s shoulder.

  “Bos—” she began in a warning tone, but he murmured, for her ears only, “I promise not to boil him in oil. I think, however, that someone with a firm hand should make sure this is managed properly.”

  But Catrin knew that what Bos really meant was “make sure Mr. Newcome doesn’t run loose through the house.”

  “Catrin?” Evan said as Bos took his arm and gestured to a footman to take the other. “You said I could talk to you.”

  “Yes, of course,” she told him as the two men dragged him away. “As soon as you’re more . . . er . . . comfortable, I’ll be there.”

  Surely the man didn’t think she would watch him be undressed and take a bath, did he? That was carrying things a bit far, even for him.

  After arranging for a footman to lend Evan some clothes, she found Mrs. Griffiths, who assured her that the bath would be brought up to the Red Room momentarily.

  As her servants scurried off to follow her commands, Catrin paced the hall. What was she to do? She’d have to let Evan speak his piece. Yet how could she listen to him when she wasn’t sure if it was lies or truth? He’d lied to her from the beginning, the wretch!

  Though she’d lied, too. Was still lying. But it wasn’t the same. She’d lied to ensure a future for herself and her tenants and servants. He’d only lied to . . . to . . .

  To discover who’d murdered his friend. She thought of Lady Mansfield’s letter. Evan had been Lord Mansfield’s closest friend. When she thought of the horrible manner of the man’s death, she could understand why Evan had gone to such extremes to unmask the killer.

  Almost. His urgent need to find a murderer didn’t excuse his methods. If he’d been suspicious of her, why not say so? Why not come right out and ask her questions, instead of playing his terrible games . . . making her think he had an interest in her, making her like him?

  Nothing he could say excused that. Besides, he knew everything now. Why hadn’t he returned to London with his newfound knowledge and left her alone?

  By the time Bos came to inform her that Evan had completed his bath and wished to speak to her, she’d made up her mind—she would give him the audience he’d requested, but he’d have to have Bos present.

  As she’d expected, Bos was more than happy to oblige. He was obviously as uneasy as she about her speaking to Evan at all. Nor did her uneasiness improve when she and Bos entered to find Evan wearing only a shirt and a snug-fitting pair of breeches.

  A blush stained her cheeks. “I thought a footman loaned you clothing.”

  Evan shrugged. “This is the best he could do. Your housekeeper says it will take a few hours to dry my clothes, so you’re stuck with me until then, I’m afraid.”

  “I see.” By heaven, this would be harder than she’d thought. He looked so different without his fine clothes, more like an adventurer. His wet hair slicked back from his face and his grim expression lent him a dangerous air that made him at once more frightening and more tempting.

  This wasn’t the Evan Newcome who’d spoken cordially to her of Celtic languages and Greek poetry. This was the Evan who’d beaten David Morys to the ground . . . and who’d kissed her with wild passion in the kitchen.

  She clenched her fists. She mustn’t think of that!

  Somehow she managed to make her voice coldly formal. “You said you wanted to talk to me.”

  Evan winced. Then his gaze flicked to Bos, who stood rigidly beside her. “Not with your watchdog here. I want to talk to you alone.”

  She tossed back her head in a gesture that she hoped looked confident. “Whatever you have to say can be said in front of Bos.”

  “You promised to hear me out,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “I didn’t promise that our discussion would be private.”

  Evan’s eyes narrowed. “If you don’t send him away, I’ll be forced to remove him myself.”

  When she gasped, Bos
said coldly, “I should like to see you try, sir.”

  “Stop this!” she protested. “Mr. Newcome, you wouldn’t dare pick on an old man—”

  “I am not an old man, madam,” Bos said in outrage. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself in matters involving fisticuffs.”

  “You see, Catrin?” Evan cast her a dark, mocking smile. “Bos and I can settle the matter easily. And I shall try not to hurt him too badly.”

  “A pox on you both!” she cried. “All right, Mr. Newcome. You shall have five minutes. But Bos will be right outside the door, do you hear?”

  Evan shrugged. “If that’s what you want.”

  Bos wasn’t so amenable. “Really, madam, I cannot believe you would allow this scoundrel to intimidate you. We should both leave.”

  “I can’t. I promised to let him speak to me, and I must keep my promise.”

  “But madam—”

  “Please go, Bos,” she said. “I just want this over with.”

  His gaze shifted to Evan, and she feared this might end violently. Then he sighed. “As you wish. But I shall be close by if you need me.”

  “Thank you.” As soon as he’d passed through the doorway, she shut the door and whirled on Evan. “You are a bully!”

  Her words seemed to strike a chord, for anger flared in his eyes. “So I’ve been told. Still, it seemed the only way to get you alone.”

  “And why was that so important? This afternoon, you succeeded in finding out everything you sought to learn. What more can you want from me?”

  “I want you to understand why I behaved so abominably. And I want to apologize.”

  “There’s no need.” She turned away. She was so very cold. Shivering, she moved to the fireplace to hold her icy hands to the flames. “I understand what you did. You wanted to find out who murdered your friend, and you assumed that I did it, so you came here to spy on me. It’s perfectly clear.”

  She felt him come up behind her, and she groaned. By heaven, if he so much as touched her, she’d crumble.

  But he didn’t. Instead, he began to speak in a low tone. “There’s more to it than that. It doesn’t excuse my actions, but I want you to know why I stooped so low.” He drew a ragged breath. “Justin—Lord Mansfield—and I have known each other since I was twelve, so his death hit me very hard.”

  She clamped her eyes shut, wishing she could do the same with her ears. Hearing the pain in his voice couldn’t fail to touch her sympathies.

  “The constable treated it as a simple case of thievery,” Evan went on, “but I knew more than he did. Justin had shown me your letter—and the chalice—before he left to meet you, and I’d found it curious even then that you hadn’t signed your real name. Justin treated it as a lark, so I didn’t think any more about it. He invited me to go with him, but I had another engagement. When my companion didn’t show up, I walked to the Green Goat on the chance I might still find Justin there.”

  Catrin faced him with dread over what he would say next. He was so close she could see the lines about his mouth and the growing horror in his eyes.

  He sucked in a breath. “The moon was bright that night, you may recall. When I passed the alley near the inn, I saw what looked like a body and went to investigate.”

  Her heart sank. “Oh, Evan, it was you who found him?”

  He went on, his face grim. “There was a . . . great deal of blood, of course. Seven stab wounds will do that.”

  His breath came quickly. She couldn’t help laying her hand on his arm.

  But he didn’t seem to notice. “I called for the watch. I told them what I knew of why he was there, and they searched the body, but didn’t find any money or the chalice, so they assumed he’d been murdered in the course of a robbery. But I found the whole thing very strange.”

  He swallowed. “He’d gone to meet a mysterious lady who wouldn’t sign her real name. And the letter she’d sent, which he’d carried on his person, was gone. Though I tried to believe the constable when he said the Lady of the Mists couldn’t have had anything to do with it, the thought that I knew something that might lead to justice for my friend plagued me, until at last I decided to come here. I didn’t even tell his mother. I didn’t want to upset her. That’s why I didn’t know who you were when I came. Everything she told Quinley about you after hearing of my suspicions from the constable . . . I didn’t know any of that.”

  “All you knew was that I was a murderess,” she whispered, her throat tight.

  He shifted his gaze to her. “Nay, I wasn’t such a fool as to leap to that conclusion. But I did have some vague idea that you might have . . . I don’t know . . . had the chalice taken from him so you wouldn’t have to pay for it.”

  She gaped at him. “You thought I hired men to rob and kill him?”

  “Yes.” When she gasped, he added, “I know it sounds far-fetched, but it’s not as strange as it seems. Quinley still considers it a possibility.”

  The blood drained from her face. “What do you mean?”

  His eyes were steady on her. “After you left this afternoon, Quinley informed me that he found your story . . . suspicious. He thinks you might have had the chalice stolen . . . perhaps because you couldn’t offer Justin as much money as you’d said and Justin had refused to take a lesser offer.”

  “But I ga—” She stopped short, her heart pounding. “I had the two hundred pounds. Why would Mr. Quinley think otherwise?” By heaven, she’d nearly revealed that she’d given the money to Lord Mansfield. She must be more careful.

  “Quinley’s been talking to people in town. He knows you sold a painting to raise a hundred pounds to buy the chalice, and he wonders where the other hundred came from.”

  She stiffened. “He should have asked me. I would have told him it came from the hard-earned rents of my tenants.” Terror filled her. “The same tenants whose livelihoods he’ll jeopardize if he arrests me.”

  “He won’t.” There was assurance in his voice . . . and determination. “I made sure he knew you didn’t have the chalice. I pointed out that you’d told me everything when you didn’t even know who I was. I think I convinced him it was a sign of your innocence.”

  Catrin turned away, sure that her guilt must be blazing in her face. If Evan ever learned that she did have the chalice . . .

  Then the enormity of what Evan had done for her struck her. “Why did you try to convince him I was innocent? You didn’t have to.”

  “Of course I did.” There was distress in his voice. “I’ll admit that when I first came here, I believed you’d played some part in the murder. And when you were so evasive at the lake, I was even more convinced. I was afraid to confront you with my questions, because I thought you might flee. That’s why I pretended to need your help with a book . . . so I could be around you.”

  Her gaze shot to his. “So you could spy on me.”

  “Yes. I can’t deny that.”

  With a sob, she tried to move past him, but he clasped her shoulders. He went on relentlessly, his lips so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. “Then things changed.” His voice dropped. “The more time I spent with you, the more I wanted to be with you. And I could no longer ­believe you’d had any part in Justin’s murder.”

  She glanced up at him. “Then why did you go on lying?” She didn’t attempt to hide her tears. “For pity’s sake, you let me think I was worthy of your attention, when all the time you were merely trying to find out what I knew.”

  He dug his fingers into her shoulders. “Deuce take it, Catrin, you are worthy of my attention.”

  “You didn’t intend to write a book about folk legends, did you? That was only one more way to soften me so I’d tell you what you wanted to know. You probably never even read my essay.” All her insecurities rushed in. “You must have thought me such a fool to actually believe you’d go one foot out of your way to visit me . . . to care about my opinions . . . to—”

  “I did care.” He looked stricken. “I do care. Don’t
you see? That’s why I couldn’t tell you the truth, once I realized you were innocent. I knew it would hurt you. And that was the last thing I wanted.”

  Unable to bear his pity, she averted her face. “I-I’m not a complete coward, you know. I could have borne the truth.”

  “I didn’t say you’re a coward.” There was no contempt or condescension in his voice. “If I’ve learned anything about you, it’s that you’re brave about things that matter. You do what must be done. But even brave women have feelings, and I couldn’t bear to wound yours. If anything, I am the coward. I knew if I told you the truth, you’d hate me, and I couldn’t bear having you hate me. As you do now.”

  “I don’t hate you. But . . . but you didn’t have to take your game so far. You didn’t have to pretend to desire me or—”

  “Good God, you’re mad if you think I’m that good at pretending.” He turned her face to his, his eyes glittering as he moved his gaze slowly over her. “Surely you could tell I wanted you, that every time I kissed you, I could hardly keep from tearing your clothes off.”

  His words shocked her. Since this afternoon, it hadn’t occurred to her that his sensual overtures had been anything but part of his “mission” to find the truth. Could he mean what he said? Or was it one more way to spare her feelings?

  Steeling herself against the desire she surely imagined in his face, she tried to pull away, but he slid his arm around her waist to draw her close.

  “Does it frighten you to hear that?” he said hoarsely. “Because it bloody well frightens me that I desire you more than I’ve ever desired any other woman.”

  Oh, how she wanted to believe him.

  “Why do you think I came here tonight?” he persisted. “I didn’t have to wait in the rain and pray you’d give me the chance to explain.” He fixed her with eyes as tempestuous as the storm he’d left. “But I couldn’t bear not seeing you again.” He rubbed his thumb over her lower lip, sending a traitorous tingling through her. “I couldn’t stand the thought of never touching you or holding you or kissing you . . .”