Tempting Fate (20 page)

“I’d like a chance to speak with you.”

William’s voice pulled Whit away from his musings. He shot a quick look at Mrs. Jarles. Finding her sufficiently occupied with a conversation farther down the table, he relaxed.

“Certainly,” he replied to William. “What about?”

“I’d prefer to speak in private.”

“Ah,” he gave a wry smile. “About that sort of thing.”

“Indeed. Will midnight in your study be convenient?”

“It will, provided dinner goes no later than eleven.”

“Oh, Lord Thurston,” Lady Jarles chimed at the back of his head. “I’ve been meaning to ask if you intend to visit Almacks when next in London?”

Whit crammed a forkful of food in his mouth before turning his head. He’d have to make the bite last, as the footmen were even now replacing his plate of pork loin with a covered bowl he could only assume contained some sort of soup. There was no chewing of soup.

He needn’t have bothered with the ruse, nor worried over how he was to continue it, because even as he was shaking his head to indicate to Mrs. Jarles that he did not intend to visit Almacks, but was unfortunately unable to elaborate at this time, the footmen were uncovering the bowls.

And all hell was breaking loose.

Toads and lizards of varying sizes were bounding, leaping, and scurrying out of what appeared to have been otherwise perfectly good cold soup.

“What the devil?”

“Oh my! Oh my!”

“Catch it!”

“Aiiiieeee!”

“Put the lid back on! Put the lid back on!”

Amidst the screams and shouts of the adults, the wild laughter of the youngest children, and the clattering of chairs and the frantic attempts of the staff to either replace the lids on the bowls that still contained their extra ingredient or catch those that had made good their chance to escape, Whit noticed two things. One—Victor Jarles looked tremendously pleased with the melee, and two—Mirabelle looked respectably shocked and horrified, but she was watching Victor with an evil glint in her eye.

He knew that glint well.

“Enough!” Lady Thurston’s voice cut through the riot of noise. “Victor Jarles, you will explain yourself.”

“Me?” The boy’s expression went from delighted to mutinous in a heartbeat. “Why me? I haven’t done anything.”

“It is coincidence, then,” Lady Thurston inquired coolly, taking her seat once more at the foot of the table, “that your bowl is the only one not to have contained a reptile?”

“That’s not my fault.” He looked to his mother for help. “It’s not my fault.”

“I’m certain there’s a reasonable explanation for this,” Mrs. Jarles insisted. “Perhaps the staff—”

“My staff put these creatures in the soup?”

“Well—I’m certain they didn’t,” Mrs. Jarles backtracked at Lady Thurston’s cold stare. “But I’m sure there’s a reason for Victor not to have one in his. And not everyone has taken their lids off—”

“Miss Browning hasn’t,” Victor cried.

“It seemed imprudent under the circumstances,” Mirabelle replied. “I’ve no great fondness for reptiles…particularly lizards.”

“Lizar—” Victor’s eyes grew round and he squirmed excitably in his seat, pointing at Mirabelle. “She did this! She did! There won’t be a thing in her bowl! You! Footman. Take off the lid.”

The nearest footman turned to Mirabelle with a questioning look.

“I’d prefer you didn’t,” Mirabelle said calmly. “We’ve only just caught the others.”

“But he has to do what I say!” Victor snapped.

“Brindle,” Lady Thurston addressed the footman, “did you accept an offer of employment from young Mr. Jarles and neglect to inform me?”

The corner of Brindle’s mouth gave the slightest twitch. “No, ma’am, not to my recollection.”

“Ah, well,” Lady Thurston replied turning back to the boy. “It seems you are mistaken, Victor. Now, if you insist on dragging this nonsense out, you may do so, but you’ll be quite alone in the matter.”

“Fine.” He sniffed and stormed around the table toward Mirabelle. “I’ll do it myself.”

Mirabelle edged away from the table, which should have given the boy something to worry over, but he was determined in his mission to prove her a liar. Mirabelle stepped back when he reached her bowl and stepped back again when he lifted the lid.

A fat toad hopped lazily from the bowl to the table. In a somewhat anticlimactic ending to the whole dramatic affair, Brindle leaned forward and scooped it easily into his hands and back into the bowl.

“Shall I take it away with the others?”

“Please,” Lady Thurston replied. “And you, Victor, may take yourself to the nursery, unless your mother would prefer differently. Until you learn to behave as a gentleman, and a gentleman does not attempt to frighten my guests with reptiles, I’ll not have you at my table.”

“The nursery? But—”

“Come along, dear.” Mrs. Jarles bustled her son out of the room.

After several reassurances that the next courses would be up to Haldon’s usual standards, the guests returned to their seats and the remainder of the meal. It wasn’t overlong before conversation returned to normal—Victor Jarles wasn’t the first naughty thirteen-year-old to play a joke during dinner, after all—but Whit kept his eyes on Mirabelle and wondered if Victor had truly been naughty at all.

He had his first chance to ask after dinner when the gentlemen joined the ladies in the parlor. He found her standing in the corner with Kate and Sophie, the three of them conversing in rapid whispers that ceased abruptly as he approached.

Might as well have put guilty signs around their necks, he thought grimly.

“I’d like a word in private with the imp, please.”

Mirabelle didn’t resist when he tucked her hand around his elbow and escorted her across the room. Of course, she had very little to worry about, as privacy was relative in a crowded parlor, but he managed to secure them a spot by the windows where they wouldn’t be overheard.

“Was to night’s debacle your doing?” he asked, letting go of her arm.

She gave him a bland look. “I thought we’d settled this at the table.”

“I haven’t settled anything as of yet. And until I know for certain who is responsible for embarrassing my mother, I’ll not—”

“What ever else you may think of me, Whit,” she interrupted. “You should know I’d rather cut off my own arm than cause Lady Thurston one moment’s pain or embarrassment.”

He nodded in acknowledgement. “It’s only that…these
parties mean a great deal to her, and for a guest to take advantage of her hospitality by enacting a joke at her own table—”

“Is that what’s bothering you so? That’s tremendously sweet, Whit.” She smiled at him and then,—to his utter shock and horror—gently patted his cheek. “But she was in on it from the very start.”

He shot a quick glance about the room to be certain no one else had seen her little pat. It probably shouldn’t have been his first priority given what she’d just said, but a man had a reputation to consider. Reassured no one else had been witness to his embarrassment, he turned to her.

“I beg your pardon?”

She smiled sweetly and leaned against the window sill. “How else could two dozen toads and lizards make their way into dishes straight from the kitchen? Your mother has a wicked sense of humor, you know. And a keen sense of justice.”

“Justice? In accusing a boy of a crime he didn’t commit?”

“It’s not a crime to put reptiles in soup,” she pointed out. “And it is justice for his earlier antics.”

“You’re—”

“Also, I was told just this morning that little Isabelle’s doll had all its hair shorn off sometime during the night. I’ll not feel bad for him, Whit.”

“What if his mother punishes him unfairly?”

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Define unfairly.”

He sent her a scathing look. “You know very well what it means.”

“Yes, I do, and if I thought for even a second that Victor would suffer anything more than a little forced humility—”

“Also known as humiliation.”

“Very well, humiliation,” she conceded, “then I never would have done the thing. Your mother assured me that Mr.
and Mrs. Jarles dote on the boy and won’t lay a hand on him under any circumstances. Really, what do you take us for?”

“Clever women with a vengeful streak a mile wide,” he responded dryly.

She shrugged at the backhanded compliment. “Something had to be done. If his mother would discipline him appropriately, one of us would have approached her. But your mother dismissed the idea. The Jarleses won’t hear a word against Victor. They’ll likely believe his denial of involvement in this as well.” She furrowed her brow, contemplating the notion. “Is that irony?”

“Close enough,” he murmured. A corner of his mouth twitched. “Dare I ask how you obtained two dozen toads and lizards?”

“The usual way. We caught them.”

“My mother—”

“Of course not,” she laughed. “Evie, Kate, Sophie, Lizzy, and I made a trip to the lake. Took us near to four hours. It was only to be lizards at first, but it was easier to grab what was available.” She grimaced suddenly. “I feel rather bad.”

“For framing a thirteen-year-old boy?”

“Heavens, no. I feel childish and immensely gratified for having done that. But I feel sorry for the toads and lizards.” She winced. “They must have been scared half to death.”

“Insomuch as it’s possible for a small reptile to feel afraid, yes. I imagine they were.”

“Well, they’re back at the lake by now,” she said. “I was going to return them myself, but Evie wanted one of her strolls anyway.”

“Yes, I know.”

She tilted her head at him, curious. “I’m surprised you let her wander about alone after dark.”

“She’s safe enough if she stays on Haldon grounds and away from the road.”

“Yes, but still, it’s an unusual freedom—”
“I have my reasons.”

Whit’s reason was even now nearing the edge of the woods.

Branches and old leaves crunched underfoot. Normally, the man creeping through the trees took better care how he moved. Silence was always best. But to move without sound in a forest required a bit of attention, and his was occupied elsewhere just now.

They’d called him back. Walked straight into his camp and told him it was time—that he was needed.

Bloody, buggering hell.

He might have said no, might have packed his meager belongings and walked away if not for three reasons. He was grateful. He wasn’t being asked to resume his former role, and he was in…

“Oh!”

He’d unsheathed his hunting knife and bent his knees into a fighting stance before the cry of surprise died away. He recognized the voice as female, but knew full well that a pretty face could hide a blackened heart.

A bright light blinded him momentarily, and he took a quick side step to avoid the glare. When she lowered the lantern, he saw her face.

And everything inside him stilled.

Evie.

“You’re M…McAlistair,” she breathed as he straightened.

He nodded once, slowly and without taking his eyes off hers. He couldn’t look away, couldn’t so much as blink, afraid and unwilling to lose sight of her even for that short heartbeat of time.

“I…I’m Evie…Evie Cole.”

“I know who you are.”

He wasn’t surprised to find his voice scratchy and rough from disuse. Nor did he care. He didn’t want to speak any
more than he wanted to blink. He yearned to hear her voice, not his. It was soft and low, like the echo of her laughter the wind sometimes swept up from the lawn to soothe and torment him in his solitude.

“I…The others say you’re n-not real.”

He hadn’t known she stuttered when she was nervous, and stowed that small bit of knowledge away with the precious few he’d gleaned over the years. “I’m real.”

She licked her lips, an action he was sure would haunt him for the rest of his nights. “I know,” she answered with a small nod. “I saw you once. Th-There.” She pointed to a rocky outcrop thirty yards away. “It was almost n-night, and you were skinning a rabbit, I think. You left so quickly. You didn’t see me, I suppose, b-but—”

“I saw you.”

With the exception of to night, when he’d been so distracted, he’d always known when she was walking his hills, and always made certain she never walked alone.

“Oh,” she whispered softly. “You didn’t want me there. Do you want me to leave now?”

He shook his head, a slow motion he was only vaguely aware of making. He was thinking she smelled of lemons and mint, and wondering if she might taste the same.

He had to know. He wasn’t capable now of doing what was best for her. Not when she was so near he could hear the hammer of her heart, the quiet pant of her breath. He wasn’t strong enough to turn away.

So he bent his head and sampled. Lemons and mint, he thought again as he brushed his lips across hers, warm and soft and comforting as a cup of tea. He only needed a sip, just one small sip to ease the ache inside him. But he kept his hands fisted at his side, knowing if he touched her he might not be able to stop from taking and devouring in big greedy swallows.

He moved his lips over hers slowly, languidly, a careful
dance of advance and retreat. He nipped gently at her bottom lip, and dipped the tip of his tongue inside when she gasped. He withdrew it again to press kisses at the corners of her mouth. She was so lovely, so perfect, his sweet Evie.

And he had no business touching her with his stained hands.

He pulled away. “Don’t walk alone for a while. I won’t be here to keep you safe.”

She blinked at him and brought her fingers up to touch her lips.

He nearly smiled at the movement. It was reassuring to know he hadn’t lost the ability to properly kiss a woman.

“Keep me…” She dropped her hand. “You’ve followed me before, haven’t you?”

He nodded, and watched her eyes narrow in suspicion and annoyance.

“Whit’s idea?” she asked.

“Perhaps.” He reached up, unable to resist brushing at a lock of hair. “Will you think of me?”

“Perhaps,” she mimicked.

Perhaps would have to be enough, he told himself and turned to lope into the trees.

Sixteen

M
irabelle opened her bedroom door slowly and swept the candlestick back and forth in front of her to illuminate the room. She knew Whit had disposed of the spiders, but it was difficult not to be a touch jumpy. Finding everything in appropriate order, she stepped inside and closed the door. That was when she noticed the folded paper tacked to
the inside of the door. Frowning, she pulled it down and opened it.