‘I will treasure them, I promise,’ she replied in a hollow voice, rising to take her leave.
‘Don’t treasure them,readthem, my dear,’ Mrs Pellham said softly, ‘and discern the truth for yourself, for that is why you’re here, isn’t it? And when you are done, perhaps you can do the one thing I couldn’t?’
Josephine waited, unable to say anything.
‘Burn them.’
Josephine hurried back to Ebcott, feeling as though she’d fallen between the pages of one of her gothic novels. She’d set out looking for answers, but had hardly dared hope for a living relative, let alone a mother with a tragic story. She traced the outline of the letters concealed within her reticule, and felt the oddest shiver run through her. Mrs Pellham had guessed her real purpose, yet it hadn’t stopped her gifting the letters. Had she sensed her need for the truth? And now it could be truly within reach, which was tantalising, and yet she was conscious of a stir of fear too.
If Pellham wasn’t the wicked character she’d assumed, then where did that leave Lord Huntingly? Had the second meeting in Italy been as the General suggested? Or was there something she didn’t know about Eliza?Her mind darkened as it conjured all the mysterious ways a wild twin might complicate a close friendship. Could Lord Huntingly have been close to her himself?It would certainly explain his dark and melancholy turn of mind…
She hurried back along the woodland trail lost in thought, wondering if the answer had been under her nose all along. She’d so wanted to believe in Huntingly’s innocence that she’d convinced herself it was simply a case of proving Pellham’s guilt. But if Pellham was as honourable as his mother claimed, Huntingly couldn’t be innocent too.
She closed her eyes briefly, wondering if Phoebe had dispatched a search party for her yet, just as a shrill whistle permeated the air. Startled, she glanced down the trail, certain it wasn’t Willams, which was when she saw him, coming from the direction of Ebcott itself.
Josephine caught her breath, unable to believe her ill luck. ‘My lord?’ she questioned stiffly, as he drew near on the dappled forest path.
‘Miss Fairfax.’ Lord Huntingly frowned heavily. ‘I came to enquire after your safe return, only to find you had not yet returned.’
Josephine stared at his chestnut eyes, flaring with suspicion, together with his long, tousled hair that somehow suited the woodland setting so well. He looked a respectable country gentleman in his walking cape, fitted coat, cream breeches and Hessian boots, yet all Josephine could see was someone whose scars told only part of the truth, that there was so much he kept hidden, even from a grieving mother.
‘I had business elsewhere, as I mentioned,’ she replied coolly, feeling the weight of the letters even more now.
‘In the village?’ he challenged.
‘Yes,’ she returned, holding her ground. ‘And what of it? Iused to go to school here, so why shouldn’t I walk into the village, if I choose?’
‘Who did you see?’ he demanded, striding up before her, his glinting eyes searching hers.
‘I’m sure that is none of your business, sir,’ she snapped.
‘Don’t tell me it is none of my damned business, when we are to be wed,’ he hissed.
‘Really? And is that a promise or a threat?’ she retorted furiously, as he caught her around the waist and pulled her so tightly against him that she was forced to catch her breath.
‘You can make it whatever you wish it to be,’ he ground out savagely, before crushing his lips to hers.
For a moment, Josephine was too startled to do anything except absorb the heat of his fierce kiss, to return it with a mad fervour, and then acknowledge the cold seep of reality. Summoning all her strength, she thrust him away with a growl unlike any she’d heard from her own throat before.
‘Howdareyou!’ she accused furiously, gathering her skirts. ‘You are in every way insufferable!’
Then she stalked away, cursing every wild and unapologetic nobleman who’d ever insulted a girl, and made her burn for more.
ChapterSixteen
Ebcott Place; Olympians and Mortals
Three days later
Truly, Fitzwilliam, never were any of Jane’s heroines treated so, particularly by a suspected murderer, betrothed or not…
Josephine lifted her quill and stared at the blot of outrage she’d created just beneath her scribbled words. It had been three whole days since she felt calm enough to write in her diary. And now she’d related the whole affair it seemed even more scandalous. To be suddenly kissed by anyone was startling enough, but to be suddenly kissed by a suspected murderer-bridegroom was downright confusing.
For how am I supposed to maintain any consistent thought when he is adopting the habits of an irrational Romeo, who was also, incidentally, a murderer twice over.
Josephine had already written to Thomas. It was the first thing she’d done on arriving back at Ebcott, despite Phoebe’s complaints about her missing Alexander’s first real chuckle. Privately, Josephine thought it far more likely to be a complaint about Phoebe’s incessant peek-a-booing but refrained from saying so.
I have entreated Thomas to delay announcing the betrothal on the basis on new information I will impart directly…
