Gavin rose from the window seat. “Leave her alone.”
Edmund tipped back his flask with a shrug. Miss Pemberton glanced at the bed, winced, swayed. Gavin leapt forward.
Rose reached out one hand to steady her. “Ignore Edmund. He’s a drunk and a fool. You look—”
But the moment Rose’s bare fingertips brushed against Miss Pemberton’s still ungloved wrist, Miss Pemberton dropped to the floor in a dead faint.
Evangeline awoke in her windowless bedchamber with the worst headache of her life.
A low fire crackled in the hearth, filling the room with flickering light and the faint stench of burning logs.
Anything but the scent of death.
Never again. So help her, she’d never step near that cursed chamber again. Let Lady Stanton do her worst. Evangeline far preferred the poverty of life on the street to death by the fickle hand of her dark Gift. Was that why Mama made her swear to always use her talent to help those in need? Because the possessor of the Gift was doomed to a short life of violence, loneliness, and betrayal? Her heart twisted in grief over the loss of her mother.
Not for the first time, Evangeline wished she were a typical girl from a typical family. Even if her family were atypical, they’d at least be atypical in a typical way.
Like Susan, whose mother was determined to matchmake her to the first available bachelor. Susan, whose dearest desire was to escape her mother.
Susan, who…was seated before Evangeline’s fire, flipping the pages of a small book.
Evangeline no longer questioned Susan’s presence in her room, but she couldn’t help but wonder how Susan had managed to pry a real book from the false shelves.
“What are you reading?” Evangeline croaked. She grimaced, swallowed, tried again. “What are you reading?”
The book tumbled from Susan’s fingers. “You’re awake! Oh. This?” Susan’s head dipped as she bent to retrieve the fallen book. “De Re Metallica, a hideously boring treatise on the history of metallurgy in the sixteenth century. You would know better than me. Lioncroft says you dropped it by accident.” Susan made a face. “I’d drop it, too. Into the nearest river.”
Evangeline bit back a laugh. The “novel” she’d filched from the library was a treatise on metallurgy? Mr. Lioncroft was no doubt as confused by her selection as Susan was, although it was kind of him to bring it by.
Kind. Kindness wasn’t a quality she suspected the average murderer to possess. Nor was empathy or thoughtfulness. Although, from the first, Mr. Lioncroft had been anything but average. She would’ve died right along with the earl had he not been there to save her. He’d offered comfort. Ordered her to breathe. Bade her speak his name.
Gavin.
Evangeline shivered. She could not. She would not. Not even in her mind. Kindness did not outweigh violence. Although…his kindness did give her pause. Her stepfather—another murderer—was not a kind man. He terrorized her and her mother, just like he terrorized the simple folk in her hometown, just like he terrorized the poor creatures slaving for him in his factories.
Gavin—Mr. Lioncroft, rather—did not seem to thrive on terrorizing others. He seemed to expect others to be terrified on their own. And used his reputation to his benefit. But did he seek to act upon the fear of others by striking out with vicious cruelty against innocents? No.
Lord Heatherbrook was hardly an innocent. Evangeline would never say anyonedeservedto die, but hadn’t she herself hoped Mr. Lioncroft would teach him a lesson about fear and revenge?
Of course, she hadn’t expected murder.
Susan yanked back a curtain and loomed over the side of the bed. “Ew. You look all pale and clammy. Are those bruises on your neck? Lionkiller didn’t try and strangle you, too, did he?”
Evangeline struggled to sit up, failed, and sank back down. “How long have you been here?”
“Ever since Lionkiller brought you in.”
“And when was that?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps an hour ago? Time flies when reading sixteenth century treatises on metal extraction techniques. Truly, Evangeline. A novel would’ve been better.”
“Thank you for the suggestion.”
Susan settled on the edge of the bed and met Evangeline’s eyes. “Will you please tell me what happened?”
Whathadhappened?
Evangeline had been in some kind of trance, reliving the final, panic-stricken moments of Lord Heatherbrook’s abbreviated life. The next thing she knew, she was warm and safe, tucked in Gavin Lioncroft’s strong arms. Protected. Evangeline frowned at the realization. In her entire life, her mother had been the only other person who had attempted to protect her. And in the end, she’d died. At the hands of a violent brute. In this case, Mr. Lioncroftwasthe violent brute—and also the protector.
