“I’m not convinced Rose believes you a murderer,” she said at last.
He smiled, a horrible, humorless mockery of a smile. “Yes, she does.”
“I mean,” Evangeline corrected herself, “ofthiscrime.”
“And why wouldn’t she?”
“Because anybody could’ve done it. Including her. Perhaps her suspicion is mere affectation. An attempt to lessen her own guilt and deflect blame onto you.”
“If that is what you suspect,” he said, his voice low and terrible, “why don’t you find out?”
She blinked. “Why don’t I…what? I can’t justaskher.”
“No, you can’t, can you. Not if you want the truth. But you can find out a different way, isn’t that right?”
“I—” Evangeline faltered. She’d meant her speech to be reassuring, but the earlier mistrust was back in his eyes with a vengeance. “What do you mean?”
“What do you think I mean? I am many things, Miss Pemberton, but I like to think stupid is not one of them. As I told you before, I don’t believe for a moment you have little chats with God.”
“You think I was lying about Lord Heatherbrook being—”
“No, Miss Pemberton. That’s just it. I don’t. I’m sure he did suffocate, exactly as you claimed. In fact, I believe,” he said, snapping out each carefully enunciated word like thrusts from a dagger, “you get your information not from the Lord, but from everyone around you. Surreptitiously. Dishonestly.”
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, but the denial sounded weak even to her own ears.
“I don’t think you do any ‘talking’ at all,” he continued relentlessly. “I think you reach over andtakethe information you want. It’s why you laid your bare hands on Heatherbrook’s cheeks, is it not? It’s why you wanted to hold Rachel, upstairs in the hallway when Rebecca was still lost. It’s why you use your kisses and your body againstme. A soulless murderer like myself must have countless lurid memories for you to steal. Tell me: just now, what did you see?”
“No,” Evangeline said, shaking her head violently. “Nothing. You’ve got it wrong. I swear to you, I—”
“I don’t believe you.” He strode past her, brushing her aside as if she were less than nothing. He threw open the office door. “I need a maid,” he called. “A footman. A—Miss Stanton? What the devil are you—oh, it doesn’t matter. You’ll do. Come.”
He tugged a wary-looking Susan in by the wrist and thrust her before Evangeline.
“Now,” he said. “Do you mean to tell me you don’t ‘see things’ from others’ touch? Take off your gloves, Miss Stanton. Put the backs of your fingers against Miss Pemberton’s arm.”
“Er…” Susan stammered, clearly at a loss as to how to react to a conversation that had obviously taken a less than desired turn.
“No,” Evangeline said. “Please don’t.”
Even without Susan’s touch, a warning headache brewed at the back of Evangeline’s skull. She had no wish to see another vision, to have her head split open by the ever-worsening aftershocks, to faint from pain in the middle of Mr. Lioncroft’s office floor.
“You confess it to be true?” he demanded, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.
She took a deep breath, nodded. Heaven help her.
“Go,” he said to Susan. “You do not wish to be present while I tell thisliarexactly what I think about her deception.”
Susan’s eyes widened, but she remained otherwise both motionless and speechless. Her gaze flicked from Mr. Lioncroft to Evangeline, back to Mr. Lioncroft, back to Evangeline, as though she couldn’t decide which desire was greater: to flee from Mr. Lioncroft’s obvious rage, or to not abandon Evangeline to suffer his wrath alone.
At that moment, the footman who had earlier delivered Evangeline’s summons strode through the door.
“You called for a servant, my lord?”
Mr. Lioncroft’s forehead furrowed, then cleared. “I’m sorry, Milton. I no longer need your assistance. Miss Stanton helped me confirm what I needed to know about Miss Pemberton.”
The footman glanced at Evangeline, then back to his master. “You…know?”
Mr. Lioncroft’s voice rose. “Youknow?”
