Windswept Page 22

  “You were the one who asked for food.” She went to the tray and looked at it. “Still, I don’t know what possessed Mr. Vaughan to send you so much. There’s even a joint of mutton.”

  “Don’t you touch that joint of mutton,” Evan warned. “In a few minutes, I shall eat the entire thing. I might even make you feed me, since you obviously think I’m not strong enough to lift a fork.”

  When she looked at him askance, he grinned. Then he reached over and took her hand. “But right now, I need to talk to you.”

  “If this is about Quinley and the investigation and—”

  “It’s not about that. If I took you to London to speak to Quinley now, I can’t predict the outcome, so I can’t risk it.” When she blinked in surprise, he said gently, “You saved my life. What kind of man would I be if I made you face those hostile men who don’t know you—who might jump to the wrong conclusions?”

  “But what about your friend’s death?”

  “You said you had nothing to do with it, and I believe you, so that leaves only one possibility: He was murdered by thieves. So there’s nothing you can add to the investigation, but much you’d risk by speaking out. And there it stands.”

  She slumped in relief.

  “But that’s not what I wanted to discuss.” He drew her to stand between his splayed legs, then nodded at his knee. “Will you sit with me again?”

  Out of consideration for his weakened condition, she sat at his feet instead.

  With a sigh, he laid his hand on her head. “Do you remember the night you first told me about the chalice?”

  She tensed. “The night I lied to you, yes.”

  “And the night we talked about marriage.”

  That wasn’t what she’d expected. Why was he bringing it up now, when nothing had changed, especially since she no longer had the chalice?

  “Yes,” she said. “You told me you couldn’t marry because of your position at Cambridge.”

  His lips tightened into a thin line. “That was a lie, I’m afraid.” When her eyes widened, he added, “I mean, it’s true that university fellows aren’t allowed to marry. But that wouldn’t stop me. I’d simply leave the university to do something else.” He gave a faint smile. “Be a schoolmaster in a town like Llanddeusant, for example.”

  “Oh, of course,” she said with a trace of bitterness. “I’m sure you’d prefer the scintillating conversation of scruffy children to the boring intellectual stimulation of Cambridge.”

  “University fellows are more like children than you’d think.” He stroked her hair absently. “They’re just as likely to snub someone who’s different. They’re jealous of anyone more successful, and like children, they can be inordinately cruel, except that their sophisticated minds enable them to find more subtle ways to ostracize the unusual . . . the brilliant . . . the misfit.”

  When he glanced away, she realized with surprise that he spoke of himself. She’d assumed that a genius would be perfectly at home at Cambridge, but she’d forgotten he was also a Welsh tenant farmer’s son. She well understood what it meant to be a misfit in one’s community. With a pang of sympathy, she rested her cheek on his knee, unsure how to comfort him.

  “Intellectual stimulation doesn’t feed the heart, Catrin. Leaving Cambridge wouldn’t trouble me in the least, I assure you.”

  She chose her words carefully. “Then why did you tell me you couldn’t marry?”

  He glanced down at her. “Do you remember what I said about Henrietta, my former fiancée?”

  She nodded. She shouldn’t let him tell her this, especially if it was leading to a discussion of marriage. But she wanted to hear it all.

  “I’d known Henrietta for years when I became enamored of her. Her father was a rich Welsh merchant who admired my books and was pleased when I offered for her. We even made plans for me to work with him in his business.”

  He stared off across the room. “One night I found Henrietta alone with a man. He was holding her close, and I . . . went insane with jealousy. I jerked him away and began hitting him while she screamed and begged me to stop. Of course, that only made it worse, for I thought she was defending her secret lover.”

  A shadow crossed his face. “She was defending her cousin, whom she hadn’t seen in several years. I’d come across them just as she was hugging him . . . as she would hug any cherished relative who’d just returned from the war.”

  His gaze met hers. “In my fit of temper, I broke his nose and bruised him badly.” He let out a heavy sigh. “She was furious. She called me a beast and ended our engagement, and that was that.”

  Catrin gaped at him. After he’d hinted at the terrible thing he’d done to make his fiancée hate him, Catrin had imagined something much more horrible. “You mean, she ended it because you made a mistake?”

  “No.” He tipped her chin up with one finger. “Because she saw for the first time what I really was. Unreasonable. Ill-tempered.” His lips tightened. “Violent. I couldn’t blame her for breaking the engagement. She was refined and beautiful and civilized, and I was exactly what she’d called me—a beast.”

  “Oh, but you’re not!” she cried, wishing she could tear the word from his memory. “One slip does not make you a beast. Besides, many men would do the same if they saw their fiancées in what looked like compromising positions!”

  “I doubt it. Another man would shout a little. He might even challenge the man to a duel, withdrawing the challenge once he realized the circumstances. But a civilized man never loses his temper to the extent that he beats someone to a bloody pulp without even knowing the situation.”

  “But you’ve learned from what you did, haven’t you? I doubt you would do it now.”

  “I don’t know if—”

  “I know,” she broke in. “I know you’re not a beast.”

  He stroked her jaw with the back of his hand. “What a prickly little minx you are, so fierce in my defense even when what I did was inexcusable. Perhaps you’re right, and I’m not quite the beast Henrietta thought.”

  He brushed her hair back from her face. “Even though you’re of similar wealth and station, you’re nothing like her. She was always just so: every hair in place, every word proper, the epitome of perfection . . .”

  “No, that’s not me at all,” she said with a trace of envy. “I am definitely imperfect.”

  “Thank God. Perfection is for statues, not for people with whom you wish to share your life. Perfection doesn’t feed the heart, and after a while it can be bloody intimidating.” His eyes bore into hers. “You, my darling, are perfectly imperfect and warm and full of surprises. I wouldn’t trade a thousand Henriettas for one of you.”

  He’d barely given her the chance to revel in the sweet statement before his face hardened. “Anyway, that’s why I told you I couldn’t marry. I’ve always been afraid of what might happen if I ever . . . lost my temper with a woman I cared for. I couldn’t bear the thought of striking a woman, and the fear of doing that has kept me from taking a wife.”

  “But you lost your temper with me the day you found the chalice, and you didn’t strike me—although I’ll admit you wreaked havoc on my study.” She rested her arms on his knees. “If ever you had provocation, it was then.”

  “I’ve told myself that.” Anguish filled his face. “Still . . . Good God, Catrin, you don’t know how quickly I can lose my temper. Nor how . . . violent I can be when I do. I’m terrified of what I might do.” He gazed down at her. “Especially now that I’ve found someone I want to marry . . . someone I love.”

  Her heart twisted. Marriage to Evan would be heaven . . . until the day she watched him die because of the curse.

  She rose and turned away, trying to conceal her turmoil. He didn’t believe in it, so it didn’t matter to him. And if she encouraged him, he’d seduce her into believing it didn’t matter to her, either.

  But it did. Deep inside, she knew it was real. She couldn’t marry without the chalice. These past few days had been bad
enough, but if she ever had to watch him die, knowing it was her fault, she couldn’t bear it. Not when she loved him.

  A groan escaped her lips. She loved him with all the breath in her body. Her friendship with Willie paled by comparison. Watching Willie die had been heart-­wrenching, but watching Evan die would split her in two.

  So she must give him a firm refusal. No explanation, no soft words of regret, just a no. That was the only way to make him see how impossible it was. She wouldn’t make the same mistakes with Evan that she’d made with David. No more evasions.

  Oh, but how could she stand to tell him no?

  At her long silence, Evan broke into her thoughts. “I know I’m not much of a prize. I can bring nothing to a marriage but myself and my willingness to work hard. Yet I’d like to try. I—”

  A knock sounded, and they both started. Catrin whirled toward the door, thankful for the reprieve.

  But Evan cursed under his breath. He couldn’t believe this. Here he’d been in the midst of telling Catrin how he felt, and some idiot had come to spoil it. “Go away, I’m resting!” he shouted.

  But the door swung open and Lady Juliana breezed in. “Resting, indeed. Your sister’s here and—”

  She broke off as she caught sight of him in the chair and Catrin standing a few feet away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had company.”

  “I brought Evan his tray,” Catrin said.

  Evan tried not to scowl, but it was hard. Catrin seemed suddenly distant, and he could only hope it wasn’t because of what he’d said. He wanted to finish their conversation. He wanted to know how she felt about marriage.

  Lady Juliana eyed the untouched tray with raised eyebrows. “I see your appetite hasn’t yet returned. I’ll call and have a servant take this away.”

  “Touch that tray, Juliana, and I’ll bite your hand off,” Evan said. “I called for that food, and I intend to eat it.”

  “Is that Evan?” came a familiar voice from the doorway, and he looked up to find his sister standing there.

  A wave of feeling gripped him. Mary, his sweet Mary. He’d missed her more than he knew.

  Tears welled in her brown eyes, and she hurried to his side with a little cry of joy. “Oh, Evan, look at you! You’re . . . you’re . . .”

  “He’s nearly back to his old self,” Lady Juliana finished. “Ordering people about and scowling at everyone.”

  Mary wiped away tears as a smile spread over her ruddy face. “As long as he’s awake and breathing, I don’t care if he orders me about.”

  “It’s good to see you,” he whispered, his own eyes growing misty.

  What he’d been through had made him appreciate his family more than ever. He rose, ignoring a flurry of protests from the three women, and pulled his sister close.

  She hugged him, though he noticed she was careful not to press his bandaged arm and shoulder. “Oh, my dear boy,” she whispered, “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you well. And standing up, no less!” Drawing back to look at him, she said, “I feared I’d not see you again in this life, and here you are, looking quite fit for a man who’s been shot.”

  “You must thank Catrin for that. She saved my life.” Still leaning on his sister, he angled his body toward Catrin. “I’d like to introduce you to—”

  “Oh, we’ve already met,” Mary said brightly, casting Catrin a shy glance, “haven’t we, Mrs. Price?”

  When Catrin nodded, Evan stared at Mary. “You were here before?”

  “Oh yes, while you were so bad off with the fever,” Mary said. “Mrs. Price and I kept vigil over you until I had to go home and see to my own family. She and I became rather cozy.” She squeezed him with a smile. “I told her all about the scrapes you got into as a boy, and she told me what a hero you were to throw yourself in front of that madman with the pistol.”

  It was all Evan could do to keep his expression even. He dared not let Mary see how her matter-of-fact words alarmed him. Which scrapes did she mean? The times he’d stolen plums from the Llynwydd orchard before being caught by the gardener and then rescued by Juliana? Or the punishments his father had inflicted?

  He didn’t think Mary would speak of the latter, but at the very least, she must have revealed that his father had been a mere tenant farmer to the Vaughans. He’d planned to tell Catrin himself eventually, but he’d thought that if he first told her how much he loved her, the other wouldn’t matter so much.

  Now he wondered if her unsettling reaction to his talk of marriage signaled that it did indeed matter. She might have decided that a man like that, especially one with the violent nature he’d described, wasn’t a man to marry.

  And though she was probably right, he couldn’t bear it if she rejected him. He tried to catch her eye, but she refused to look at him, causing more dread to build in his chest. Had he completely misread her kisses, the way she’d melted in his arms, the sympathy she’d shown him when he was telling her about his broken engagement? Had he misunderstood everything?

  “In any case,” his sister was saying, “it appears as if our vigilance has been repaid, for here you are, looking much better. Don’t you think he looks well, Mrs. Price?”

  “Yes.” She glanced at him, then cut her eyes away.

  That one movement spoke volumes. And he feared what it said.

  “Oh dear,” Mary exclaimed. “I’m forgetting about everyone who’s waiting for me downstairs. Goronwy is here, and I brought Robert and the girls. They’re all eager to see you. Do you think you can endure a few more visitors?”

  Somehow he managed a smile, even though he felt as if a hollow chasm was opening up beneath his feet. “By all means, tell them to come up.”

  She beamed at him. “Wonderful. I’ll hurry down and fetch them. I’ll be only a moment.” Then she hastened out the door.

  Deprived of her support, he felt a little weak, but it was Juliana who came to help him back to the chair, not Catrin. And when he sat down and released a heavy breath, he looked up to see Catrin headed for the door.

  “Where are you going?” he asked, his throat feeling raw and tight.

  She paused at the door, not looking at him. “To my room.”

  “Don’t leave.” He was begging and he knew it, but he couldn’t let her go. If she left, it meant that his talk of marriage had alarmed her. It meant she didn’t want him. “Please stay and meet the rest of my family,” he said, knowing it was a shameless ploy and not caring.

  But even that didn’t work. She met his gaze, then said in gentle tones, “I don’t think that would be wise. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

  “It’s not an intrusion.”

  She looked on the verge of tears, and shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t stay.” She stiffened, as if gathering her courage. “I shall be in my room if you wish to speak to me later.”

  “Why can’t you stay?” Juliana asked, clearly puzzled by the strange interchange.

  Catrin left without answering, but Evan didn’t need words to know what her answer was. She knew he was going to ask her to marry him. And she was going to refuse him, so she didn’t want to meet his family or further the connection with him in any way.

  He’d lost her, and he wasn’t even sure why.

  “Evan?” Juliana said. “What’s going on? What happened between you and Catrin just now?”

  He closed his eyes, marshaling his resources to endure the pain. “Nothing.”

  “If this is about Justin’s murder—”

  “Deuce take it, no!” He glared at her. “I’d be an idiot to still believe she had any part in that after she saved my life, wouldn’t I?”

  “Then what—”

  “It’s none of your concern. Good God, haven’t you meddled enough?” When Juliana stiffened, he instantly ­regretted his words. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

  She leveled a wounded gaze on him. “How have I meddled? What have I done to make you snap at me?”

  He bit back another angry retort. Julian
a had been a second mother to him, and he wouldn’t hurt her for anything in the world, but her questions were driving him mad. “Nothing. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “No, I want you to tell me what terrible thing I’ve done!”

  He glared at her. “Well, for one thing, you let me believe that the Lady of the Mists was an old woman. I’ve had plenty of time to think about that, and I’ve finally figured out why.”

  Juliana’s anger seemed to dissipate like smoke in a sudden rain. Now she looked nervous. “Oh? And what did you decide?”

  “You wanted me to meet Catrin without any prejudgment.” His voice grew hoarse. “You thought I’d take one look at her and be lost, and then it wouldn’t matter if she was the Lady of the Mists. It wouldn’t matter what part she had in Justin’s murder.”

  Juliana just stood there, quiet, waiting.

  “And you were right,” he said bitterly. “You know me so well. I lost my heart to her the second I saw her.” He lifted his anguished gaze to her. “But you forgot to take her feelings into account. You assumed she would fall in love with me, too. Well, I hate to disappoint you, but she didn’t.”

  “What? That girl sat by your bedside night and day, crying and praying that you’d wake up, not eating, not sleeping . . . Merciful heavens, Evan, how much more proof of her feelings do you need?”

  “I need her not to leave when I start talking about our future.” He gave a shuddering breath. “Before you came in, I was on the verge of asking her to marry me. She knew it, and that’s why it ‘wouldn’t be wise’ for her to stay and meet the rest of my family. She’s planning to refuse me, and it would have been too hard for her to meet them, knowing what she intended.”

  “I don’t believe that.” Juliana planted her hands on her waist. “If that girl isn’t in love with you, then I’m deaf and blind. If you could have heard the way she spoke of you, the way she fretted over you—”

  “Yes, but that was before she found out from Mary that I’m only a tenant farmer’s son by birth!” He couldn’t stand hearing Juliana talk about how well Catrin spoke of him. “And before I told her why my engagement to Henrietta failed. Now that she knows I wouldn’t make a good husband—”