He straightened like a rheumy old man, putting on a brave front to calm the concern in Eva’s voice. “I merely needed to catch my breath. Do not fret.”
“Donotfret?” She flailed her arms. “What am I supposed to think when I am told by a guest that two men are on the front lawn bent on brawling? This is a fundraiser, Bram, not a ringside match. If those people in the hall were to witness flying fists, it would have spoiled the whole evening.”
“I know, which is why I never even took off my coat. It wasfoolish of me to give in to Trestwell’s baiting. I allowed anger to rule over common sense, and for that I am truly sorry.” He drew in a deep breath, shoving down the remaining pain. “Will you forgive me?”
A great sigh deflated her, an incongruous sound with the merrymaking filtering out of the event hall. “Yes, I suppose I must. You were only defending yourself, after all.”
“Thank you.” He dipped his head.
“I am curious, though.” She stepped closer, her pale blue eyes searching his face. “What sort of legal charges could you bring against Mr. Trestwell for a mere blow to the belly? What else has Mr. Trestwell done?”
He tucked away the stray curl hanging against her cheek, the silkiness of it doing much to soothe the frayed ends Trestwell had unraveled. “Besides trespassing—for it was not the curse on the land that has been causing all the setbacks on the dig—it seems our balloon ride the night of the bonfire was compliments of the man.”
Eva angled her head. “What do you mean?”
“He cut the rope. I was told as much by one of the guests inside who witnessed the event.”
“But...” The curious scrunch of her nose vanished, replaced with a fire in her eyes and flames on her cheeks. “We could have been killed!”
“Thank God we were not.” Ever so gently, he rubbed her upper arms, hoping to calm the same rage that had shook through him and now made her tremble.
“How dare he? How dare that man risk our lives!” She whirled toward the carriage yard.
“Eva, what are you about?”
“To finish the job you started.” One of her hands flew in the air. “That man deserves a good pop on the nose and then some.”
Eva had seen a wide leather belt snap once, flying off a steam-powered thresher and nearly taking off the head of a nearby farmhand.
She was that belt.
Until Bram pulled her back around, his fingers a vise on her arms. “Enough, Eva. We are finished with Trestwell. His absurd vendetta is his own burden to bear, not ours.”
“But I am not finished!” She wrenched from his grasp. “He needs to know what he did was wrong.”
“Deep down, I believe he does. God puts a moral code in us all, does He not?”
She snorted, wholly unladylike yet completely unstoppable. “Richard Trestwell’s conscience was seared long ago. He is a manipulative schemer who expects to get his way in everything.”
“Yes, he is, but...” Bram huffed a sigh. “Perhaps his conscience is buried beneath layers of deceit and bitterness, yet it is not beyond redemption. Harsh words and flying fists will not change his heart. Only God can do that. Besides, giving in to Trestwell’s provocations only grants him power over us, allowing him to dictate our actions and emotions. I will give him that power no longer. What about you?”
She rubbed her arms, suddenly chilled by the truth in his words, and not just a little bit missing his touch. He was right, of course. It was childish of her to think anything she said would instantly change Mr. Trestwell’s villainous ways.
“Fine.” It was more of a groan than a word. “But that does not mean I am not still angry.”
“You have every right to be, and yet, perhaps, Trestwell does not deserve all our wrath.”
“What do you mean? Of course he does!”
“Maybe, but we must consider his motivations. Yes, there may be some minor jealousy or downright pettiness, but that is not enough to make the man go out of his way to break the law. There is something bigger going on here. I suspect he was paidoff to commit such skullduggery. He has always been insatiably greedy for a coin or two.”
“By whom?” she demanded.
“I do not know—yet.” Bram flashed a grin, his teeth white in the flickering light from the driveway torches. “You know, your nose crinkles in the most charming way when you are fiery like this.” He ran a light touch down the length of her nose. “And there is the slightest quiver at the bottom of your chin, which I find quite attractive.” His finger brushed over her lips—inducing a shiver—and made a home on her chin. It was all quite delicious.
But she turned away her face. “You are just trying to make me feel better.”
“Mm-hmm.” The sound rumbled in his throat as he crooked his knuckle and directed her face back to his. “Is it working?”
