The Sweetest Love (Sons of Worthington Series) (31 page)

“Lord Hawthorne, forgive me for startling you. Lady Hollingsworth wanted me to make sure you and Lord Tristan were warm enough.”

Nic
arched a quizzical eyebrow. “Your ladyship actually wanted
you
to see to our welfare?”

“Actually no, she wanted Sally, but Sally was asleep. Lady Hollingsworth is aware that she instructed Lord Tristan to leave, but after she thought about it and realized the storm was too strong, she had wanted to let you know that you could stay the night as long as you left first thing in the morning.” She glanced at their beds in the hay.
“Although, I see you have already settled here just fine.”

“Tell Lady Hollingsworth we appreciate her kindness, and we plan on leaving first thing.”

“Yes, my lady is very kind…much more generous than I would have been, I’m sure.”

Tabitha’s tone was very harsh, yet softly spoken as if she tried to keep the conversation between them and not awaken Tristan.
Nic
glanced at his friend to make sure he was still sleeping before looking back at Tabitha. Her heated glare could cut through glass,
Nic
was certain. It tugged at his heartstrings to think he contributed to her extremely unpleasant disposition.

“Tabitha, I realize what you must be thinking—”

In three long strides, she stood directly in front of him. Tears glistened in her angry eyes, but she appeared too upset to cry.

“You have no idea what I’m thinking!” She took a deep breath. “How dare you accuse me of something you know nothing about?”

His fingers itched to reach up to her face and smooth out the wrinkles around her luscious mouth, amazing eyes, and tight forehead…to bring back her natural beauty once again. He gulped down the guilt sneaking back into his heart.

“How
dare
I
?” he asked. “I think considering the conversation I had overheard between you and Sally, that I have every right to
dare
accuse you. Tell me, Tabitha. If you were the bystander listening in on that particular conversation, what would you have gathered from it?”

“You see, my lord, this is one of the differences between men and women. Men jump to conclusions whereas women will seek to find the truth.”

“Indeed? Are you certain about that? I know women are meddlesome, but I highly doubt they are seeking to find any truth. They’d rather gossip and spread false rumors.”

She rolled her eyes. “Spoken by a
true
gentleman, I see.” She folded her arms. “But I can assure you, if you and Lord Tristan continue your pursuit to have me arrested for those murders, you both will be convicting an innocent woman.”

“I think I shall let the magistrate come to that decision.” He lifted his chin to show her his stubbornness.

“Just know this,” she snipped, “because I am indeed innocent, if I should die, my wrongful death will be on yours and Lord Tristan’s head.”

She spun around and marched toward the back door of the stable, toward the shadows. He hurried after her, grasped her arm and turned her around to face him. A few tears had slid from her eyes making her cheeks gleam with wetness. Once again, his chest clenched with indecision for his actions.

“If you are innocent as you proclaim, prove it,” he said softly, hoping not to disturb Tristan’s slumber.

She gasped. “Prove it? Why should I prove my innocence? You should be the one trying to prove my guilt.”

“Then prove to me that what I overheard was wrong.” He pulled her body closer to his. “I truly want to believe you are not a killer, Tabitha. I may not know you well, but what little I do know about you, I cannot believe you would purposely stab two men to death while in a highly intoxicated and undressed state.”

She placed her palms on his chest and pushed to move him away, but he wouldn’t budge. Heaven help him, but he enjoyed this closeness entirely too much.

“Were you aware that Lord Hollingsworth beat his wife?” she asked. “Diana was as much a victim in her home as Sally and I were victims in Lord Elliot’s home. If I—or her ladyship or Sally—would have stabbed those men, it would have been to break free of our cage…our hellish prison. So tell me, Lord Hawthorne, if
you
were in
my
shoes, would you want to kill someone who repeatedly did that to you? And when the person responsible was finally dead, wouldn’t you be relieved to know they would never be allowed to bring harm on another person again?”

Nic’s
chest clenched. She’d been beaten… He couldn’t imagine that, and out of nowhere, anger filled him for Lord Elliot. “I am very sorry to hear that you were treated poorly, and if I were in your situation, I would probably feel the same. But you are forgetting one thing. It’s not up to us to bring punishment to those disgusting people. It’s up to the courts…and God.”

“Then I suppose my only crime is that I’m satisfied knowing that someone helped God and the courts by hurrying the process.”

Shaking his head, he loosened his hold, but instead of removing his touch from her, he stroked her arms lightly. “Please, Tabitha. I wish to believe in your innocence. Help me.”

“I don’t know how I can except by telling you I did not do it.”

“That’s hard for me to believe since I overheard you saying that you
would
do it.”

She shrugged. “Then that’s your problem, not mine. At lease I’m being truthful, whereas you don’t know how to be.”

He scowled. “What do you mean by that?”

“Think really hard, Lord Hawthorne. Think what we were talking about…and doing in the sitting room while Lady Hollingsworth and Lord Tristan were away from us.”

Embarrassment crept over him—along with shame. He scolded his feelings. He should
not
be ashamed for kissing Tabitha and enjoying it. So then why did he feel this way? “Why don’t you believe I was truthful?”

“Are you jesting?” She snorted what sounded like a laugh. “There you were trying your hardest to seduce me, all the while suspecting me of murder. For a brief moment, your actions earlier showed me what a kind, gentle, and understanding man you were. For a brief moment I actually thought you were attracted to me…impossible as it may seem. Yet that was all a lie. I had known what kind of man you were, but you tried to convince me otherwise. Now I know I had been right about you all along.”

“How do you know I was lying?”

“Ha!” She shook her head. “You honestly think I’m that foolish?”

“What if I tell you that for a moment I had been attracted to you, and I had enjoyed our kiss?”

She snickered. “Then I would say you were a great performer, because why would you enjoy a mere maid’s kisses when you have seduced many women over the years?”

Nic
bit his tongue to keep from saying anymore. He shouldn’t have said what he had to begin with. He didn’t want to admit—especially to her—how much their kiss had meant to him. “Then it appears we are both talented performers. Does it not?”

“I, my lord, am not a performer.”

“Then neither am I.” He pulled her closer as he lowered his head. His attention dropped to her lips—lips that tempted him to sample them again.

She sucked in a quick breath and her mouth parted in invitation.
Good heavens!
What was he thinking? He couldn’t possibly kiss her even as much as the idea lured him.

“Lord Hawthorne,” she whispered, “I beg you not to do that.”

“Do what?” he asked quietly.

“You know exactly what I’m referring to. Kissing me will not solve a thing. You still believe I’m a killer, and I still think of you as one of the most despicable rogues in England.”

He swallowed hard to moisten the cotton that had formed in his throat. She was correct again…blast it! He could not kiss her. He could also not understand why her statement hurt so badly—like a knife through his chest.

“Indeed, it won’t solve a thing.” Reluctantly, he released her and stepped back.

She gathered the cloak tighter around her neck before pulling on her hood. She turned to leave, but hesitated. For some foolish reason, anticipation shot through him, quickening his heartbeat.

“Lord Hawthorne,” she whispered and looked at him over her shoulder. “If you really cared about your friend, you would try your hardest to find the
true
killer so that Lord Tristan and Lady Hollingsworth can be together. They have waited too long to share their love, and until the real murderer is caught, they will never be fully happy. I’m just a mere maid so there isn’t much I can do to help my lady in this dire situation, but you can. Lord Hawthorne, if you put your mind to it, you can help your friend finally obtain happiness.”

She didn’t wait for his answer before hurrying outside.
Nic
stared at the closed door for the longest time as her words ran through his mind. The more and more he thought about what she said, the more doubt filled him.

Would a killer be so selfless and think about her friend’s happiness more than her own?

Deep in his heart, he knew the answer.

“Who was that?” Tristan’s voice came from behind him.

Nic
jumped and spun around. Tristan was still on his bedroll, but sitting up looking
Nic’s
way. “That was Tabitha.” He walked closer to his friend.

“What was she doing here?”

“She came to tell us that Diana has invited us back in the house for the night because of the storm, but we are to leave first thing in the morning.”

Nodding, Tristan adjusted himself on the ground, draping his arms over his bent knees. “I’m glad to know she has come to her senses…at least about that.”

The confusion thickened in
Nic’s
head, giving him a headache. He grumbled and strode to his blanket before plopping down on the covering. “Worthington? What if we’re wrong?”

Tristan’s head didn’t move, just his gaze as it rested on him.
“Wrong about what?”

“About Tabitha.”

“What makes you think we are wrong?”

Nic
sighed as he picked off some of the hay from the blanket. “During my talk with Tabitha earlier tonight, I saw a part of her I hadn’t noticed before. And, just a moment ago,” he motioned his head toward the stall where they’d talked, “I noticed the same thing.” He lifted his gaze and met Tristan’s. “Would a cold blooded killer think of others when her life hung by a thread?”

Tristan didn’t say anything for the longest time before shaking his head. “No. A cold blooded killer would only think of themselves, not others.”

“Well, Tabitha was thinking of you and Diana. Do you know what she told me?”

“What?”

“She told me that if I cared about you, that I would try to find the real killer so that you and Diana could be together…as you both deserve.” Sighing heavily, he pushed his hair back away from his eyes. “Worthington, I think we both jumped to conclusions when he overheard her and Sally. I honestly feel deep down in my heart that Tabitha is not the killer.”

Tristan laid back and looked up toward the rafters. For several minutes he was quiet, and
Nic
didn’t want to say anymore, either. Blaming Tabitha had been very wrong, and even if Tristan didn’t realize that,
Nic
would have to apologize to Tabitha soon or the guilt would eat him up.

“I can’t do this,” Tristan muttered.

“Can’t do what?”

“I cannot allow things to be unresolved between Diana and
I
. And I especially cannot go on with this doubt in my head.” He met
Nic’s
gaze. “I, too, have felt that blaming Tabitha was wrong, but with everything we’d heard and the way the maid acts, it’s hard not to think that way.” He scrambled to his feet. “Now that I’ve had more time to ponder on this, I realize that Diana would discern the girl well enough to know if she was a killer or not.” He breathed deeply. “I have been too quick to judge when I should have trusted Diana more.”

Tristan marched to the stall’s gate and picked up his overcoat. “I’m going back to the house to speak with Diana. Things need to be resolved tonight!”

Chapter Twenty-One

Tristan treaded as softly as he could up the stairs toward Diana’s bedroom. The house was quiet, and he feared everyone would be asleep. He didn’t care if the maids were asleep, but he needed Diana awake. They needed to talk this thing out.

He reached her door and stopped, lifting his hand to knock…but hesitated. What if she wouldn’t allow him entrance? He couldn’t very well carry on a conversation with a door between them.

Instead of knocking, he grasped the handle, turned it, and entered. The room was dark, but in the corner near her bed was a lamp that had been dimmed, illuminating Diana’s body as she sat at her vanity table and stared in the mirror. She didn’t look his way, so he assumed she hadn’t heard him. He waited a few brief moments before taking a step inside.

She wore the same nightgown and wrapper that she’d been in the first time he saw her after his kidnapping. And although he still thought she was the loveliest woman he’d ever seen, her eyes were swollen from crying and her desolate expression nearly brought him to his knees in agony. She was this way because of him.