He grabbed her wrist, eyes intense. “Evangeline, I—”
A hunched shadow fell across them.
“Mind your inappropriate behavior, Lioncroft,” came the trembling, reproachful voice of Mr. Teasdale.
Gavin’s muscles tensed, but he released Evangeline’s wrist. “I shall be as inappropriate as I wish in my own house.”
“Then I shall quit the premises at the earliest opportunity.” Mr. Teasdale’s palsied hand slowly removed each lid until he found the correct platter, slowly lifted the serving tongs above the kippers, slowly poked around for the perfect strip. “I shall leave after breakfast.”
Gavin’s jaw clenched. “Good.”
When Mr. Teasdale set about sifting through a tray of eggs with even less haste, Gavin muttered, “Propriety is for gentlemen; I am not one,” and tugged Evangeline a few feet to the right.
His voice was low, strained. “Don’t leave without saying good-bye.”
“I would never.” If there weren’t a half dozen people in the same room, she’d throw her arms around his neck and kiss him until his eyes lost their desolation.
“I…” He paused, grimaced…blushed? Surely not. “I have something for you. It’s stupid. It’s nothing. It’s all right if you don’t want it. I’ll send it to your room. I—if we had more time, I would give you anything. Everything. Clothes, jewelry, whatever you wished.”
It was almost impossible not to kiss him, breakfast guests be damned. He looked so embarrassed, so earnest, so endearing.
“Don’t worry,” she assured him. “I don’t want anything.”
That was a lie, of course. She wanted plenty of things she couldn’t have. But more than that, she wished to ease the anguish in his eyes. So she smiled up at him, trying to infuse her gaze with all the love clutching at her heart.
He sucked in a breath, stared at her with naked hunger, then abruptly turned on his heel and stalked from the dining room without another word.
Her limbs were leaden as she resumed her place at the table.
Benedict Rutherford glanced over with a concerned frown. “What’s the matter? Did you have words with Lioncroft?”
Evangeline shook her head. She feared she hadn’t hadenoughwords with him. Perhaps she should go to him. Now. Wherever he was. The carriage would be here in less than an hour and she had nothing to pack. She should spend her last fleeting moments in Gavin’s arms. What if this was the last time she saw him? What if she managed to escape her stepfather until she reached her majority, and returned here only to learn the owner of Blackberry Manor had long since been hung for a crime he hadn’t committed?
She shoved her chair back and sprang to her feet. If only she could’ve identified the murderer! Why was she cursed with a Gift capable of helping villains and strangers, but unable to save the man she loved?
Ignoring the startled expressions of the breakfast guests, she bolted from the dining room and sprinted through the corridors.
When Evangeline reached the anteroom, Francine Rutherford was descending the spiral staircase, one slender hand resting atop the burnished railing. Her slipper slid on the slick marble, pitching mother and unborn child forward.
Evangeline leapt forward to prevent her from tumbling headfirst down the remaining three or four steps.
Francine twisted midair, recoiled, clutched for the banister. “Stay away, you little witch,” she hissed, eyes wide, face pale. “Don’t you dare touch me.”
Evangeline froze, arms still outstretched from her attempt to prevent a fall. Her flesh chilled and she returned her hands to her sides.
A strangled “What?” was the only word her numb lips were able to form.
Francine’s eyes narrowed. “Lady Stanton told me about you and your unholy abilities. So much for speaking to God.”
Evangeline’s spine straightened and her fingers clenched. She was not violent by nature, but she found herself battling an overwhelming desire to plant Lady Stanton a facer.
Nose pointed skyward, Francine eased down the last steps until she was toe to toe to Evangeline, who still hadn’t moved.
Francine’s arms crossed below her bodice. “Go ahead and touch me if you want to see it firsthand, you little freak. Nobody will believe a commoner over a countess. If you breathe a word, I’ll say I saw Lioncroft kill him myself.” She shoved past Evangeline, head held high, and sauntered toward the hallway leading to the dining room. “As soon as I collect my husband, we’re leaving. Our carriage is waiting outside.”
“What?” Evangeline gasped, reaching out to grab Francine’s arm.
But Francine had already sailed through the open doorway into the depths of a shadowed passageway.
