“No.” Her head fell against his shoulder, her forehead against his neck. “She did so because of me. Had she not been with child, she would’ve taken her chances as a beggar on the street rather than be wife to Neal Pemberton. But she wouldn’t have had to. She had education, if not family; beauty, if not money. She had been a lady. She could’ve been a fine governess or companion. She would have been. Had it not been for me.”
He cradled her in his arms. “Had it not been for the visions, you mean.”
“Had it not been forme. Even without visions, what could a woman in her position do, but marry? She was to be a mother. Her child needed a father. She took the first man to offer and regretted it ever since.”
“Marrying a blackguard like Pemberton?”
“Havingto.”
He hated the unshed tears choking her voice.
“Nonetheless,” Gavin insisted, “it was hardly your fault. Surely she didn’t blame you for a situation outside anyone’s control.”
“How could she not?” Miss Pemberton lifted her head to fix him with her steady, bloodshot gaze. “Can you say you’ve never resented someone for something outside their control?”
“No,” he admitted. “I cannot make that claim. But I try to focus my energies on that which I can control.”
“I can’t control anything. Not even my own skin. The visions come, regardless. Not even myself. I belong to my stepfather. He will come after me, as well. What did he say? He would drag me home and chain me there.”
“A figure of speech.”
“Hardly.”
His grip on her waist tightened. “He would chain you?”
“He would do anything.” She paused, shivered. “His temper cannot be controlled. When he shoved her down the stairs, he meant to hurt her, not kill her. But it was too late.”
“I won’t let him touch you,” Gavin snarled.
He hoped.
Chapter 33
After claiming her mouth in the briefest of kisses, Mr. Lioncroft gently eased Evangeline from his lap and rose to stand beside her. She would’ve preferred to remain wrapped in his arms all evening.
“We can’t stay hidden any longer,” he explained softly, as if her reluctance to leave him shone on her face. “They’ll be looking for someone to explain why the porch is a shambles of blood and splintered wood.”
“Hmmm,” Evangeline murmured. “I can see how that might catch their attention. As might you, Mr. Lioncroft, dressed as you are in ripped and ruined clothing.”
“Mr. Lioncroft?” he repeated with an arched brow. “What happened to Gavin?”
“My stepfather stuck a knife in his side,” she answered. “For protecting me.”
“I’d do it again.” His eyes flashed down at her. “Let him stick me with a thousand knives.”
“Let us hope not.” She couldn’t suppress a shiver at the thought. The idea was not as far-fetched as Mr. Lioncroft might believe. “What do we do now?”
“Now? I don’t know.” His head cocked to one side as he gazed down at her. “Supper will be ready soon. I’ll change into something a little less bloody and then join you in the dining room. Can you avoid the others until then?”
“I don’t wish to avoid them,” Evangeline said grimly. “I wish to determine which of them is callous enough to let you hang in his place.”
He dipped his head in a quick nod before striding to the opposite side of the room. The tilting of a vase triggered an access panel to the passageway between the walls. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes sober. “If you should save me from the noose, I would be in your debt.”
“Not ‘if,’” she informed him, but he’d already disappeared into the shadows. The panel eased shut behind him. “WhenI save him,” she announced to the empty room, her words more confident than both her tone and her posture. “I’ll unmask the true villain. Tonight. At supper.”
For the cost of failure was Mr. Lioncroft’s death.
Unacceptable.
