Evangeline swallowed. At this rate, she’d be the one compromised with Mr. Lioncroft, not Susan. And the last thing she needed was to be the legal property of yet another murderer. “You’ll do no such thing.”
He smiled, leaned forward, brushed his fingertips down the curve of her cheek, along her neck, to the hollow of her throat. He lifted his fingers away just before they could slide across the lace of her bodice. Gooseflesh raced down her spine and along the bare flesh of her arms.
“Why not?” he asked softly. “You don’t trust yourself alone with me?”
“I don’t trustyou.”
“Why not?”
“You know why.”
“Tell me anyway.”
He wanted the truth? Fine. She’d give him the truth. “Because you’re a known murderer,” she said through gritted teeth. “Lord Heatherbrook’s death was no mysterious accident—he was clearly murdered. And none of us will be safe while the crime goes unpunished.”
Heavens above. Had she just blurted out all that to the killer? Mr. Lioncroft crossed his arms over his chest, but his gaze never fell from hers.
“Hmmm.” He slanted her a considering glance. “If you’re convinced of my guilt, why explain your reasoning to me instead of screaming for help?”
“Because I—well, because—I don’t know.” She stared at him for a moment, speechless. “I guess that’s not very logical of me.”
“On the contrary. Thus far, you’ve proven yourself the most logical of all my uninvited guests. Unfortunately for me, I happen to be the most logical suspect.”
“Fortunately for you, nobody summoned the constabulary.”
“Ahhh.” He smiled. “Perfect. Use your logic, Miss Pemberton. What does that mean?”
“You’re a blackguard with devilish powers of persuasion?”
“I like to think so, yes. Nonetheless, would I have been able to shoo away the constabulary had an angry mob arrived to string my neck from a gibbet?”
She stared at him for a moment, at the seriousness of his expression, the furrow in his brow, the white slash of his scar against the stubble of his jaw. Would he be able to escape punishment by fleeing through his labyrinthine mansion? If he used the secret passageways, perhaps. For a time. But would he ever be truly free?
“No,” she answered grudgingly. “I suppose not.”
“Then why aren’t they here? If everyone present was as convinced of my guilt as you are, surely by now one of them would have put ink to paper and demanded my capture.”
Evangeline had no response. She stormed forward, intending to shoulder past him by force if necessary. When he stepped aside to let her pass, she half-stumbled, half-fell into her chamber. She turned, positive his expression would be smug, his wide lips curved, his eyes mocking her.
But he was gone, leaving only his subtle masculine scent behind.
During her bath, Mr. Lioncroft’s words echoed in her mind. Later, as her lady’s maid attempted—and failed again—to fashion a chignon from Evangeline’s heavy curls, his words kept repeating themselves to her. By the time Susan burst through the connecting doorway, Evangeline was dressed, somewhat coiffed, and sick unto death of her mind replaying Mr. Lioncroft’s parting words.
He had a point.
She couldn’t fathom why most of the guests seemed equally averse to constabulary intervention. She was right to label him a blackguard with devilish powers of persuasion. He almost had her considering the notion he—but, no. He was no doubt the villain. Because if he wasn’t…who was?
“You look better,” Susan observed from her position in the sole chair, “but still deathly pale. Are you certain you’re feeling quite the thing? Have you eaten anything?”
“Yes,” Evangeline said, choosing only to respond to the latter. “Molly brought me some bread and fruit.”
“Who’s Molly?”
“My lady’s maid. That is, my borrowed lady’s maid.”
“You talk to Lionkiller’s servants? Maybe that’s why you’re so pale. You were supposed to be sleeping, not talking. Couldn’t you sleep?”
“I—no.” Evangeline frowned at Susan, who was too busy warming her feet by the fire to notice. Of course, Evangeline talked to the servants. She understood them. They tended to be more straightforward, friendlier,saferthan Polite Society aristocrats. She didn’t expect Susan to feel the same. They came from different worlds. “Where are the others now?” she asked. “Dining?”
