Windswept Page 16

  Remembering how betrayed she’d felt yesterday when she’d discovered his deception, she could understand his anger, but it didn’t alleviate the knot of hurt festering in her belly. After everything they’d done . . . after all the sweet things he’d murmured last night, how could he think so ill of her?

  “The innocent can still be afraid,” she whispered. “People are sent to prison on little more than supposition sometimes. Don’t you think I realized how my presence at that inn looked in light of Lord Mansfield’s murder? Don’t you understand why I had to protect myself?”

  He scooped up the chalice. “I don’t even understand why this bloody thing is so important to you.” As he held the drinking vessel up, sunlight glittered off the bronze. “For God’s sake, it’s not even worth the money you paid!”

  “It’s worth more than that to me. Without it, I can’t marry and have children—not if I want their father to see them grow up. I can’t ensure the future of my tenants and servants. Women of property may be rare, but they have the same responsibilities as men of property. They must have heirs to maintain the property when they’re gone.”

  He cast her a hard look. “So you made sure you gained it at any cost.”

  “Not at the cost of seeing anyone hurt!” Frustration gripped her. “Did last night mean nothing to you? After that, how can you think me capable of murder?”

  His eyes met hers, and she glimpsed his turmoil. Then he wrenched his gaze away. “Last night you shared every intimacy a woman can with a man, knowing that you’d lied to me. Last night you made me beg forgiveness for my lies when yours were far worse.” He sucked in a ragged breath. “You aren’t the woman I thought. I no longer know what you’re capable of.”

  She went to his side. “That’s not true. Deep in your heart, you know my true character. I’m sure of it!”

  He fixed her with a glittering gaze. “You think because I desire . . . desired you, you can make me dance to your tune, that my cursed attraction to you will blot out everything. But it won’t.”

  She laid her hand on his chest. “Please, Evan, you must—”

  “I won’t listen to more of this, do you hear?” He grabbed her hand and jerked her up close to him. “You can touch me, you can murmur your soft, false words, but it won’t work. I won’t be made a fool of anymore!”

  In his eyes shimmered a vast darkness, like in bottomless lakes rumored to hold demons in their depths. She’d glimpsed that darkness a few times and known there was an edge to his seemingly easy accord with life, but she’d never had to look into it so deeply. Clearly there was more to his distrust than anger over her lies, or determination to avenge his friend’s death.

  If she could only pull him out of that all-encompassing darkness. “I’m sorry for not telling you before, but you know what a coward I am.”

  “A coward.” The cool distance in his tone struck fear in her. “Who marched off to London all alone to gain her property, who did whatever it took to make sure she could marry again.”

  He let the chalice fall with a thud at her feet. With indrawn breath, he lifted his hand to stroke the side of her face. But though his touch was almost a caress, his expression was hard.

  “I should have listened to Quinley,” he murmured. “I should have listened to all those who termed you pretty and deadly. But I’ve always been taught to revere and protect women like you.” His tone grew brittle. “I’ve spent a lifetime apologizing for what I am to your kind, but I can see it’s a habit I must break.”

  “What do you mean, ‘your kind’? How am I any different from you?”

  His face grew even fiercer. “I’m a farmer’s son, unfit to kiss your boots and certainly to bed you.” He dragged her against him until she could feel every muscle in his unyielding body. “But that doesn’t mean I’m blind. Even I can see the corruption lying at the core of your beauty and gentility.”

  His words took her aback. His being a farmer’s son was of no consequence to her, but it was obviously of great consequence to him.

  She struggled to find words that might reach him through his darkness. “It’s true I’m not the kind of woman to revere. But I know none who is, no matter what her class. Like you, I’m simply trying to muddle through life as best I can, and I make mistakes. I made several in the past two weeks, but none so heinous as you seem to think.”

  When he shut his eyes as if to close her off, she lifted her hand to stroke his hair. “Must I be either angel or devil? Can’t you see I’m just a woman, as fallible as everyone else?”

  He groaned. His head moved infinitesimally against her hand as if to meet her caress. Then, with a low curse, he thrust her away. “You are not ‘just a woman.’ ” His eyes snapped open. With a frankness bordering on insolence, he let his gaze trail down her thinly clad body, and despite her fear, desire rose again in her belly. How could he still affect her, even after the terrible things he’d said?

  When he spoke again, his voice shook, but whether with anger or desire, she couldn’t tell. “I don’t know what you are yet, but you could never be ‘just a woman.’ ”

  They stood frozen. She could hear his tortured breathing, and the wild light in his eyes made a shiver ripple over her. “So what happens now?” she asked.

  “Quinley is staying at the Red Dragon. We’ll take the chalice and you’ll tell him your new version of what happened. Then he’ll have to decide what to do with you.”

  Terror gripped her. When he bent to pick up the chalice, she grabbed it at the same time he did. “You can’t do this to me! I’m innocent!”

  He lifted one eyebrow, his gaze so cold it froze her heart. “Then you’ll have no trouble convincing Quinley of that, will you?”

  She couldn’t believe he would drag her before Quinley on the basis of nothing but his wild suspicions.

  Tugging the chalice free of her numb fingers, he went to look out the window. “You have two choices. Call for your servants and have them throw me out, in which case I’ll tell Quinley everything, and leave it to him to have you dragged from your home. Or go with me to Llanddeusant of your own free will and tell him what you’ve told me.”

  He glanced at her. “No matter what you choose, I will make sure Quinley hears the story.”

  “You mean, your distorted version of the story!” She approached him, heedless of how her wrapper had fallen open to expose her shift. “After last night, how could you do this?”

  Paling, he stared at her. Then his gaze moved down her throat to the swells of her breasts that showed above the edge of her shift. He swallowed convulsively, one of his hands tightening on the chalice as his hungry gaze moved lower.

  Then, with an oath, he stalked past her to the door. He unlocked it. “For God’s sake, go put some clothes on. I’ll give you ten minutes to dress while I see to the horses. If you’re not down here when I’m ready to leave, I’ll leave without you.” He paused. “But I’ll be back. And I’ll have Quinley with me.” Yanking the door open, he strode from the room.

  Catrin drew her wrapper closed with shaky fingers. He’d left her no choice. She couldn’t let him go to Quinley alone with his mad suspicions. Nor could she risk having Quinley come here, forcing her servants to either defend or hide her. She had to go with Evan.

  She wanted to cry, to rage against his unfairness. She wanted to nurse the devastating wound Evan’s accusations had inflicted on her pride . . . her heart . . . her soul.

  But she had no time for that. So she pulled her wrapper tight and squared her shoulders, tamping down the pain.

  He was in for a surprise if he thought he could bully her into a jail cell and destroy everything she held dear. She couldn’t afford to be a coward anymore.

  She was the Lady of the Mists and the descendant of a druidess. She would not go without a fight.

  14

  Evan rode toward Llanddeusant with grim purpose. He didn’t need to look over to know that Catrin was keeping up with him. After all, he’d won the first half of the battle by get
ting her to come with him.

  How she’d convinced the servants that nothing was amiss he didn’t know, but he didn’t really care. She excelled at lying.

  He stole a glance at her, then regretted it. Good God, how did she manage to look so angelic on another of her gentle ponies? It wasn’t just her gown of spotted muslin or her lace-trimmed spencer. It was the delicate blush of her cheeks, as pink and fragile as the satin lining of her bonnet. It was the trembling of her lips as she set her face stoically forward. She made him feel like a monster.

  Deuce take the woman! What right had she to look like an affronted goddess? His fists tightened on the reins. She ought to look like a murderess, instead of sitting so proudly, her very manner proclaiming her innocence.

  His knee bumped the bag that held the chalice, and he grimaced. She’d been desperate to obtain it, desperate to make sure she could marry someone—anyone.

  Yet she’d refused Morys’s suit, even after she’d gained her precious drinking vessel.

  The thought brought him up short. It was odd she would go to such lengths, then refuse the one man in Llanddeusant most suitable to be her husband.

  I can’t marry someone I don’t love, she’d said. A strange sentiment for a woman whose blood ran cold in her veins.

  Except when she was in his bed.

  And that was another thing. Why had she let him bed her? It made no sense. She should have sent him away, secure in the knowledge that she’d escaped detection.

  He groaned. He mustn’t think about it anymore or he’d go mad. Best to leave the sorting of truth from lies to Quinley. At least the investigator could be objective.

  To his relief, they’d reached the Red Dragon. At last he could give her to someone else. If he spent more time brooding, he’d start making excuses for her.

  When they rode into the inn yard, the ostler rushed out to take his horse, casting a speculative eye on him and Catrin. “Good morning, sir. Mrs. Llewellyn has been in a tizzy worrying about you. With the storm last night, she thought you might have lost your way or fallen into a ravine.”

  Evan forced a smile. “I did lose my way, but Mrs. Price was kind enough to give me shelter for the night.”

  He dismounted, slinging the bag with the chalice over one shoulder as the ostler helped Catrin down from her horse. When Evan led her into the inn, she murmured, “Thank you for lying to the ostler. I already have enough problems with my reputation.”

  Her gratitude irritated him. “I didn’t do it to save your reputation. But I can’t have the town up in arms about the stranger who has come to hand Mrs. Price over to the authorities.”

  She stiffened. “I forgot that the courteous Evan Newcome of these past few days has been replaced by a ­madman bent on vengeance.” Then she swept through the door ahead of him.

  He followed at a leisurely pace, eyes narrowing. So she had claws, did she? Well, she’d best keep them sheathed if she wanted to enlist Quinley’s sympathies.

  He surveyed the common room, expecting to find Quinley eating breakfast, but no one was there. Mrs. Llewellyn swept in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She beamed as she caught sight of him and Catrin together. “Good day, both of you. The ostler tells me that—”

  “I’ve come to speak to Mr. Quinley,” Evan bit out. He wasn’t in the mood for polite conversation. He wanted to be done with this whole nasty business.

  Mrs. Llewellyn blinked. “But . . . but he left.”

  A chill stole over Evan. “What do you mean, he left?”

  “This morning, early. Said he didn’t want to miss the ship from Carmarthen.”

  “How long has he been gone?”

  Mrs. Llewellyn watched him warily. “More than two hours.”

  “Deuce take it!” Evan expected to see triumph on Catrin’s face, but she merely stared woodenly into space, as if no longer caring what happened.

  With a twinge of guilt, he told the now scowling Mrs. Llewellyn, “Thank you. Then I’ll be leaving, too.” He drew out some coins. “This is for my lodgings, and there should also be enough to send my belongings on to Cambridge. I don’t have time to pack.”

  “You’re going after the man, are you?” Mrs. Llewellyn asked.

  Catrin eyed him coolly, clearly waiting for his response.

  “Mrs. Price and I are both going after him.” Evan went to Catrin’s side. “Come on. We’ll have to ride like the devil if we’re to catch up to him.”

  “My pony can’t possibly keep up such a killing pace.”

  “Then you’ll ride with me.” He certainly wasn’t leaving her behind. And though riding double might slow them, at least it would ensure she didn’t try to escape.

  Still, the thought of having Catrin in his arms for a day’s ride to Carmarthen bloody well terrified him—even if it was the only way to ensure that he got her to Quinley before Quinley boarded the ship.

  “Mrs. Price is going with you to London?” Mrs. Llewellyn asked in shock.

  Damn. He hadn’t thought of how this would look. All Catrin had to say was that she didn’t want to go, and Mrs. Llewellyn would rise to her defense.

  So it surprised him when Catrin said, “Mr. Newcome and I need to speak with Mr. Quinley. If that requires going to London, then I suppose we shall.”

  Mrs. Llewellyn’s eyes narrowed. “Does this have anything to do with all the questions the Quinley fellow asked about you last night?”

  Catrin colored. “Yes.”

  “He said you might have been involved in a murder and a theft. Of course I told him that was nonsense.” Mrs. Llewellyn paused, then shot Evan an accusing glance. “Come to think of it, Mr. Quinley asked me about a chalice, just as you did, Mr. Newcome, the first time we spoke.”

  Evan tightened his grip on the bag he carried, but before he could answer Mrs. Llewellyn, Catrin said with an edge to her voice, “Mr. Newcome and Mr. Quinley are anxious to learn the truth, Annie. That’s why Mr. Newcome insists that I speak with the investigator.”

  “That Quinley told me he’d questioned you yesterday, so why are you running after him in a rush today?” Annie glared at Evan. “Surely, Mr. Newcome, you don’t think our Catrin had anything to do with this crime, do you?”

  Catrin shot him a questioning glance.

  He ignored it. “This is none of your concern, Mrs. Llewellyn. We’re leaving now, and you have no say in it.”

  But as he took Catrin’s arm, Mrs. Llewellyn stepped forward to clasp Catrin’s other one. “She don’t have to go anywhere she don’t want. I don’t know what made you up and decide our Catrin could take part in a murder, but I’ll not let you carry her off to be hanged for no good reason.”

  The word “hanged” stopped him in his tracks. He hadn’t considered what would happen to Catrin if she was found guilty of conspiracy to murder.

  Hanged. The very word blew an ominous wind through him.

  Catrin patted Mrs. Llewellyn’s hand. “It’s all right. Mr. Newcome is only doing what he believes he must. I’m going with him because I want to clear my name, and I can’t if I stay here. Don’t worry; it will all come right in the end. But your loyalty means a great deal to me.”

  Mrs. Llewellyn reddened. “Oh, Catrin, I would never have told Mr. Newcome a word about you if I’d known he would use it in this despicable manner. I can’t bear to think—”

  “We have to go.” Evan couldn’t take much more; he had to escape all these people who thought well of Catrin. It was having a very telling effect on him.

  “But you must take provisions,” Mrs. Llewellyn said. “You don’t know how long it will be before you catch up to Mr. Quinley, and you both look as if you could use some breakfast.”

  “We’re leaving now,” Evan said sharply, and led Catrin out the door.

  As he explained to the ostler that he and Catrin would both be riding his horse, he tried to ignore the mention of hanging. Damn it all, if Catrin were guilty, she deserved to be hanged. And if she were innocent, the truth would out.

 
; For some reason, that didn’t make him feel any better.

  Evan and Catrin had just mounted his horse when Mrs. Llewellyn rushed out to thrust a bundle into Catrin’s hands. “Here’s a bit of cold mutton and a loaf of bread.” She shot Evan a fierce glance. “The girl has to have something.”

  “Thank you,” he managed to say.

  Seconds later, they were on the road. At first, he concentrated on keeping up a punishing speed so they could overtake Quinley. But when after an hour’s hard riding they hadn’t spotted the investigator, Evan was forced to let the horse slow its pace.

  By then the silence between him and Catrin had become painful. Nor did it improve matters that every jounce of the mare made Evan dramatically aware of Catrin’s thighs draped over his and her face inches away. Their ride had tugged a few tendrils of hair free, which tickled his cheek whenever the wind blew, and her lilac scent eddied between them. Once, he even caught himself breathing deeply to take it in.

  God help him. He tried to concentrate on what he’d say to Quinley, but he could only think of the slender woman whose luscious bottom nestled between his legs. Had it been only last night that he’d tasted every lovely inch of her, that he’d thrust into her, relishing her wanton cries of pleasure?

  The memory made him so hard he doubted he’d ever again find satisfaction for his desires. How could he know fulfillment with any other woman after Catrin had shown him what mutual enjoyment really was? Damn her!

  By now she should have collapsed under the strain, admitting the truth with tears and pleading, begging him not to bring her to the authorities. But ever since they’d left, she’d remained strangely calm. How could she, when her world was falling apart? And why did it make him feel like the basest man alive?

  “That was a noble scene you played in the inn,” he snapped, determined to break her silence. “You were quite the tragic heroine. Unfortunately, I know the whole story, so I’m less inclined to think you a saint.”