For a brief instant, he saw the flare of retaliation in the other man’s eyes. Then they were veiled again, and the habitual urbanity returned.
“I see that you have not lost that hot-headed temperament that was so much your undoing all those years ago.”
Raith did not move from his position. “No, I have not lost it. If you value your skin, Forteviot, you will beware of it.”
His tormentor held up one well-manicured hand. “Consider me warned.”
His jaw tightening, Raith stood upright once more. His tone was biting. “Very well, then. Tell me this, if you please. If Rosina was willing to become your mistress — I do not mince words, I — why did she run away?”
Forteviot looked blank. “Is that what she said?”
Once again, Raith found himself almost caught by the expression of innocent enquiry, as if Rosina had been trapped in a lie. Hell and damnation, but the fellow was wily! Well, then, let him set his head in a noose. He clamped his lips upon a sharp retort.
“You have another explanation?”
“I hesitate to say this, my dear Anton, for I know how it must wound you. But the boot was on the other leg. Had I accepted her for the debt at the last, I should have been obliged to hand her back. I had not bargained for receiving damaged goods.”
By extreme effort of will, Raith contained himself. A muscle twitched in his cheek, and he could barely get out the words. “How would you know if they were damaged?”
Forteviot’s lips pursed, and his features became pinched in an expression of displeasure. “I am sorry to say that my partner in the exchange betrayed me.”
An oath left Raith’s lips. The wretch knew of that? “He told you?”
There was scorn in the other’s smile. “You do not know Cambois. What would you? He was drunk, as ever he is. The fellow confessed all to me.”
In spite of himself, Raith could not help the question. “How do you know that he succeeded, carried out the attack?”
“Oh, did Rosina say otherwise?” The tone was all innocence. “Dear me.”
He sighed again, and Raith met his eyes, despising himself for the dread rise of uncertainty in his breast. “What is your inference this time?”
Forteviot spread his hands again in his characteristic way. “I hesitate to say it, Anton. You have several times offered me violence this morning, and—”
“Say it, and be damned to you!” Raith flung at him, thrusting away to the window.
“Then do not blame me, for I am quoting another.” His voice was matter-of-fact. “Cambois gave me to understand that someone had been before him. A footman belike. She consorted, he said, a great deal with the servants.” The tone lowered to one of hushed compassion. “Rosina did not run away, my poor Anton. Cambois was obliged to throw her out.”
For a moment Raith stood just where he was, gazing unseeingly out of the window, struggling with his baser self. How cunning was this history. Marching readily with Rosina’s tale, and yet parting from it in just those details guaranteed to strike precisely at his questing jealousy. It had to be intended. He strode away, pacing across the little parlour, and back again. Then he faced Forteviot. He spoke in a low tone, laced with a vibrant chord of hatred.
“You black-hearted devil! I don’t believe a word of this!”
A laugh escaped Forteviot. “How should you? Who can blame you, my dear Anton? Your affections are deeply engaged.”
“So deeply, that I will trust my own knowledge of her before your trumped-up fictions.”
“In your place, my dear fellow, I should feel precisely the same,” said Forteviot gently. “You are bound to wish to think the best of her. She is so very innocent and sweet, is she not? On the surface.”
“Enough!” Raith drew several tight breaths before he was able to command himself. “I know what you would be at, Forteviot. I tell you now that you will not succeed. Neither in this, nor in your vile scheme. If you persist—” with a raking glance that made the other flinch, his voice dropping to a menacing hush “—I will kill you.”
Raith cantered his sweating mount into the stable yard, and brought him to a standstill. Leaning forward, he caressed the beast’s warm neck. “I have ridden you too hard, old fellow. You will have to forgive your master’s blue devils this accursed day.”
He had galloped the animal, in an attempt to rid himself of the seed of doubt planted by the wilful evil of Rosina’s enemy. There had been enough of suspicion in his marriage. She had been too much injured already. He would not be cozened into belief.
Dismounting, he looked in concern at the stallion’s heaving flanks, the steam rising from his coat. “We must get you properly looked to, my buck.” Turning, he called into the stable block. “Parton!”
There was no reply. What in thunder ailed them all? If his groom was not present, one of the two stable lads always came running forth on his approach. He set his hands to either side his mouth.
“Hο, there! What, is no one by?”
