“For as long as I want,” he corrected softly.
Jane turned before glancing back at Evangeline. “Tell them Neal Pam-pem-what?”
“Pemberton. My stepfather.” Evangeline hugged the clay pot to her chest. “Your uncle will know what to do.Go.”
With a gasp, Jane twisted away and took off running.
A chilling smile played at Neal’s lips. Tears rolled down the child’s dirt-stained cheeks.
Evangeline burst out. “Please let Rachel go. We—we both know you’re here for me.”
“That’s right. I own you,” he reminded her, eyes hard. “Come closer, stepdaughter. I know how tricky you are when it comes to escaping. You’ll never see the attic again, little witch. From here on out, it’s the pantry for you.”
Evangeline’s vision briefly faded at just the mention of that horrible dark space. God, how she hated that wretched pantry. But she hated the terror in Rachel’s eyes even worse.
She inched forward warily, knowing every step toward her stepfather was another step toward her own slow death, even if she managed to gain Rachel’s freedom. She was fairly certain she wouldn’t survive another night incarcerated in the suffocating blackness of the pantry.
The moment Evangeline was within arm’s reach, he snatched the pot from her with the hand he’d previously been using to muffle Rachel’s screams.
“What the hell is this?” he demanded.
“D-dirt.” Evangeline reached for the little girl. “Can you please let Rachel go now?”
Neal spat at her shoes, reared back, and hurled the pot at the gazebo. The clay vessel shattered on impact, showering damp soil against the side.
A tiny bit of green fluttered to the ground.
Evangeline bit back a hysterical laugh. A seedling. Gavin had given her aseedling. Wherever she’d gone, she could’ve planted her own blackberry bush, and thought of him every time the flowers bloomed and the berries budded. He’d given her a living thing, something that grew, that blossomed, that thrived. Or would’ve thrived, had her stepfather not thrown it against a wall.
Neal shoved Rachel forward. The little girl scraped her knees on the rough dirt, but didn’t cry out. She scrambled to her feet and stared wide-eyed at Evangeline, who now had Neal’s hand across her mouth and his knife digging into her side. He sliced through her gown and into her skin. Not enough to kill her—just enough to hurt, to terrify. She couldn’t go back with him again. She couldn’t.
Evangeline lifted one leg and kicked him in the knee.
He cursed and flipped her up into his arms, slicing her anew in the process.
Rachel burst into tears.
He tore through a row of bushes, laughing as the brambles scratched Evangeline’s exposed face and ripped one of her slippers from her feet.
“Evangeline!” came Susan’s panicked voice from somewhere across the fields. “Evangeline! Come back! He’s out there! He’ll kill you!”
Too late.
Chapter 45
Gavin’s relief at seeing the true murderer taken into the constabulary’s custody warmed him throughout the long ride home, but his euphoria disappeared the moment Blackberry Manor rolled into view.
His sister, his nieces, the Stanton chit, and quite possibly every single one of his servants crowded the front lawn and ruined porch. As his homecoming never previously heralded an all-hands-on-deck welcoming party, Gavin doubted his afternoon was taking a turn for the better. Particularly since Evangeline wasn’t present.
He leapt from the horse a few seconds too early and almost took a header into a clump of rocks. He hauled himself upright and ran toward his porch.
“What happened?” he shouted, trying not to fear the worst. Which would be what? That Evangeline had left forever? That would be the worst forhim,but surely not cause for his servants and houseguests to await him out-of-doors, hands wringing, faces drawn.
“It’s Evangeline,” the Stanton chit stammered, eyes watering.
No.
“What happened?” he demanded again. Instead of sounding fierce, the words came out…scared.
