Too Wicked To Kiss Part 19

He shrugged. "At Meadowbrook, where my brother lives."

His brother, the gangly teenage boy with the fishing pole. How lovely those days must've been. Evangeline had always wanted siblings. "Do you visit?"

"Never."

"Has he visited you?"

"He would rather die."

"Does-oh."

Evangeline turned from the painting of a small laughing child to consider the large serious man he'd become.

Mr. Lioncroft's gaze was dark, inscrutable. Although he remained in his usual pose, his muscles seemed tense, his posture less casual, as if answering her questions about his family was the last thing in h.e.l.l he preferred to be doing.

"Rose," he said at last, "may not visit again, either. My proximity has a distinctly abortive affect on the longevity of her family members. I shouldn't be surprised if this is the last time I see my sister or my nieces."

His jaw locked and he swiveled his gaze back to the painting, as if he regretted being so candid.

Mr. Lioncroft, Evangeline was beginning to realize, had a lot of regrets. He was not the cold-blooded, black-hearted beast rumor made him out to be.

"To be fair," she ventured, "it is not as if you forced the girls into the pa.s.sageway. Perhaps you ought to have locked the access doors a bit more securely"-his eyes flashed at this admonition, but he said nothing to defend himself-"but I, too, remember what it was like to be a child. Children get into mischief."

"And her husband?"

"What of him?"

"He didn't get into mischief on his own." He stepped closer, blocking the meager sconce light. "Everyone believes I killed him."

She shook her head. "Not everyone."

The words were scarcely out of her mouth before his lips crushed hers. His fingers gripped the sides of her face, bruising her with pa.s.sion. The stubble of his jaw chafed deliciously against her skin, just as she'd imagined.

Evangeline's hands barely had the chance to grip the hard muscle of his upper arms before he pushed her from him, as though he had not meant to kiss her, and sorely regretted the impulse.

She stood, wanting, trembling. Waiting for some explanation-why he'd kissed her, why he'd stopped, why he'd thrust her from him.

He said nothing. Tensed. Turned away.

"I'm not convinced Rose believes you a murderer," she said at last.

He smiled, a horrible, humorless mockery of a smile. "Yes, she does."

"I mean," Evangeline corrected herself, "of this this crime." crime."

"And why wouldn't she?"

"Because anybody could've done it. Including her. Perhaps her suspicion is mere affectation. An attempt to lessen her own guilt and deflect blame onto you."

"If that is what you suspect," he said, his voice low and cruel and terrible, "why don't you find out?"

She blinked. "Why don't I...what? I can't just ask ask her." her."

"No, you can't, can you. Not if you want the truth. But you can find out a different way, isn't that right?"

"I-" Evangeline faltered. She'd meant her speech to be rea.s.suring, but the earlier mistrust was back in his eyes with a vengeance. "What do you mean?"

"What do you think I mean? I am many things, Miss Pemberton, but I like to think stupid is not one of them. As I told you before, I don't believe for a moment you have little chats with G.o.d."

"You think I was lying about Lord Hetherington being-"

"No, Miss Pemberton. That's just it. I don't. I'm sure he did suffocate, exactly as you claimed. In fact, I believe," he said, snapping out each carefully enunciated word like thrusts from a dagger, "you get your information not from the Lord, but from everyone around you. Dishonestly. Surrept.i.tiously. Secretly."

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," she said, but the denial sounded weak even to her own ears.

"I don't think you do any 'talking' at all," he continued relentlessly. "I think you reach over and take take the information you want. It's why you laid your bare hands on Hetherington's cheeks, is it not? It's why you wanted to hold Rachel, upstairs in the hallway when Rebecca was still lost. It's why you use your kisses and your body against the information you want. It's why you laid your bare hands on Hetherington's cheeks, is it not? It's why you wanted to hold Rachel, upstairs in the hallway when Rebecca was still lost. It's why you use your kisses and your body against me me. A soulless murderer like myself must have countless lurid memories for you to steal. Tell me: just now, what did you see?"

"No," Evangeline said, shaking her head violently. "Nothing. You've got it wrong. I swear to you, I-"

"I don't believe you." He strode past her, brushing her aside as if she were less than nothing. He threw open the office door. "I need a maid," he called. "A footman. A-Miss Stanton? What the devil are you-oh, it doesn't matter. You'll do. Come."

He tugged a wary-looking Susan in by the wrist and thrust her before Evangeline.

"Now," he said. "Do you mean to tell me you don't 'see things' from others' touch? Take off your gloves, Miss Stanton. Put the backs of your fingers against Miss Pemberton's arm."

"Er..." Susan stammered, clearly at a loss as to how to react to a conversation that had obviously taken a less than desired turn.

"No," Evangeline said. "Please don't."

Even without Susan's touch, a warning headache brewed at the back of Evangeline's skull. She had no wish to see another vision, to have her head split open by the ever-worsening aftershocks, to faint from pain in the middle of Mr. Lioncroft's office floor.

"You confess it to be true?" he demanded, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.

She took a deep breath, nodded. Heaven help her.

"Go," he said to Susan. "You do not wish to be present while I tell this liar liar exactly what I think about her deception." exactly what I think about her deception."

Susan's eyes widened, but she remained otherwise both motionless and speechless. Her gaze flicked from Mr. Lioncroft to Evangeline, back to Mr. Lioncroft, back to Evangeline, as though she couldn't decide which desire was greater: to flee from Mr. Lioncroft's obvious rage, or to not abandon Evangeline to suffer his wrath alone.

At that moment, the footman who had earlier delivered Evangeline's summons strode through the door.

"You called for a servant, my lord?"

Mr. Lioncroft's forehead furrowed, then cleared. "I'm sorry, Milton. I no longer need your a.s.sistance. Miss Stanton helped me confirm what I needed to know about Miss Pemberton."

The footman glanced at Evangeline, then back to his master. "You...know?"

Mr. Lioncroft's voice rose. "You know?" know?"

Susan raised her hand. "I know." know."

Evangeline closed her eyes. "Who doesn't doesn't know?" know?"

"I want to know why my staff staff knows." Mr. Lioncroft faced Milton. "Explain yourself." knows." Mr. Lioncroft faced Milton. "Explain yourself."

"It seems...She's done witchery for a few servants, my lord. Missing items, and the like. News of such feats travels fast."

"It's not witchery," Evangeline muttered. "I'm no witch."

"You," Mr. Lioncroft bit out, "are a...witch."

But she got the distinct impression he'd been about to call her something even worse.

She cleared her throat. "I wasn't going to-"

"Be quiet," he interrupted, his voice low, edgy, dangerous. "Or I'll burn you at the stake myself."

A hysterical t.i.tter escaped Susan's mouth. She clapped both hands across her face in horror and flushed a deep red.

Mr. Lioncroft didn't seem to notice.

"Your 'witchery,'" he said, "appears to be common household knowledge. I do not appreciate being the last to know."

"You're not," Evangeline a.s.sured him. "That is, some of the staff may know-and I'm a woman, woman, not a witch-but the only guests aware of my visions are those of us in this room and Lady Stanton." At least, she hoped so. "I would much prefer to keep it that way." not a witch-but the only guests aware of my visions are those of us in this room and Lady Stanton." At least, she hoped so. "I would much prefer to keep it that way."

"You would, would you? Did it occur to you I would prefer not to be spied spied upon every time you touch me?" upon every time you touch me?"

Before Evangeline could respond, Lady Stanton swept into the room.

"Well?" she demanded to Evangeline. "Yes or no?"

Mr. Lioncroft's eyes narrowed. "'Yes or no' what? Has this something to do with her witchery? Let me guess: the sole purpose of your visit was to peer into my mind without my knowledge."

Evangeline blushed, shook her head, motioned for Lady Stanton to speak no further.

Lady Stanton ignored her.

"Yes," she said matter-of-factly. "Miss Pemberton was to discover whether or not you will hang for Hetherington's murder. And as I have just overheard you mention she touched you, I am now expecting confirmation one way or the other. Miss Pemberton?"

"Yes, Miss Pemberton." The slow laziness in Mr. Lioncroft's voice was unable to mask the hard edge of coiled danger beneath. "Seeing as how the only reason you suffer my presence is to pry my secrets straight from my flesh, I, too, am curious as to whether my neck will survive the fortnight. Care to apprise me of my future at the gallows?"

To be honest, Evangeline felt like vomiting.

If she lied and said, "No, you'll escape punishment," the expression on Lady Stanton's face indicated she was more than ready to move forward with the ill-advised compromise, which meant in seconds Mr. Lioncroft would find himself saddled with both a new bride and a new scandal, and Evangeline would no doubt (rightfully) bear the brunt of his rage.

If she lied and said, "Yes, you'll swing," the Stantons would head out at first light and abandon her at the first roadside inn...if she survived that long and avoided being committed to an asylum for her witchery.

And if she confessed the truth with a murmured, "I have no idea and will never have any idea," she would lose her usefulness to Lady Stanton altogether, giving the baroness no reason not to return her directly into her stepfather's custody as threatened.

All the potential outcomes were less than desirable. No matter which path she chose, her future would take a quick turn for the worse.

Unable to conceive of a plan of action that would appease all parties and ensure her continued safety from her stepfather, Evangeline did the only thing she could think of to do.

She faked a swoon.

Chapter Fourteen.

Having witnessed Miss Pemberton topple over in a lifeless, graceless heap after her encounter with Hetherington's corpse, Gavin suspected her sudden sigh, fluttering eyelashes, and slow sinking to the floor were all affectation.

But why? Had his touch shown her a vision of him stretched on a gibbet, and she found herself not wishing to admit it?

He had made more than his fair share of mistakes in the eight-and-twenty years of his life, but he had no interest in being put to death for another man's crime. If he found out who was standing silent, content to let him swing in his place, he'd kill the son of a b.i.t.c.h with his bare hands.

Unless it was his sister, as Miss Pemberton seemed to believe. In which case...G.o.d, he didn't know what he would do.

"Evangeline!" the Stanton chit gasped, nudging her slippered toes against Miss Pemberton's shoulder. "Is she dead?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to say, "She's not dead; she's playacting," but since he wasn't 100 percent sure of that fact, Gavin ignored the question altogether and motioned for Milton to fetch smelling salts.

The footman sprinted out the door in his eagerness to obey Gavin's command, whether because Miss Pemberton looked a mere breath from death's door or because the servants of Blackberry Manor lived in perpetual fear of the infamous Lioncroft temper, Gavin wasn't sure.

With a sigh, Lady Stanton flipped open a painted fan. When she directed its breeze at her own face instead of Miss Pemberton's, Gavin gave up on the idea of a.s.sistance from that quarter.

He knelt to the ground, knees spread, and sat back on his heels. Miss Pemberton's shoulders brushed against his calves and her unruly ma.s.s of rich brown hair pooled against the fall of his breeches. He eased both hands beneath her shoulders, palms up. His fingers curved against the soft silk covering the skin above her ribs. Slowly, carefully, he pulled her limp body toward his lap, sliding her warm torso up over his thighs until her head lolled against his chest.

"Miss Pemberton?" he asked quietly.

She said nothing.

"She is is dead!" exclaimed the Stanton chit, wild-eyed. dead!" exclaimed the Stanton chit, wild-eyed.

Lady Stanton harrumphed and continued fanning her cheeks, as if the threat of perspiration was a much larger concern than human life.

"b.i.t.c.h," he muttered under his breath.

Miss Pemberton flinched.

Gavin stared at her. She was feigning. He knew knew she was feigning! she was feigning!

He dropped his head forward until the side of his mouth rubbed against her temple.

"From this angle," he breathed into tendrils of flyaway hair, so softly only she could hear him, "I happen to have an excellent view of your nipples. May I touch them?"