“Mm. He is.”
“Is he coming by today?” Kenna rolled out another circle of dough then placed it on top of the filling. She sliced away the overhanging edges of dough from the pie plate and then pinched the rim of the crust between her thumb and forefinger. “Is that why you stayed here?”
“Yes. He said he would,” Alice admitted, looking somewhat defiantly at Kenna as if she anticipated her disapproval. “Are you upset?”
“Not at all.” Humming softly, Kenna placed the pie in the oven then wiped her palms on her apron.
“He said you wouldn’t be,” Alice said thoughtfully and explained quickly, “I told him I wouldn’t be alone here, as if I would invite him if I were. I said you never went to the warehouse on the day you give us off, that you liked to fix Mr. Canning’s dinner yourself.”
“I like to prepare my own dinner as well,” she said. She looked around the kitchen, surveying the disorder with a certain amount of pride, then proceeded to begin cleaning up. Mrs. O’Hare had never made it a secret that Kenna was an intruder inherkitchen. The cook would not speak to her for a week if she misplaced so much as one spoon or left the kitchen in any condition but immaculate. “Would you like to meet with your suitor in the parlor?”
Alice shook her head. “I thought we would go for a walk.”
“It’s a lovely day for it.” Kenna looked out the window above the sink as she wiped scraps of dough off the bread board. Sunlight touched her face, caressing her features with its pleasant warmth. “Can I prepare you something for lunch?” She wished it were not so many hours until Rhys came home. She wished they were sharing the day as Alice planned to do with—. “What is your young man’s name, Alice? You never said.”
The back door opened and Alice gave a little squeal of delight. “Here he is, Mrs. Canning. This is—.”
“It’s all right, Alice darling. Mrs. Canning and I have already met.”
Kenna dropped the bread board as she spun away from the sink. “You!” It was the only thing she could think to say. How in God’s name had he found her? Her hands clutched the counter for support as she faced the man she knew as Mason. She searched her memory for his last name. Rhys had mentioned it once. Devon. Devers, Deverell. That was it. Deverell.
Kenna glanced at the paring knife on the table and in the next second leaped for it. She held it up threateningly. “Get out of here, Mason!”
Mason leaned against the door frame, perfectly at ease. “So you do remember me. How flattering.”
Alice’s face registered equal parts horror and bewilderment. “Mrs. Canning! What are you doing?”
Kenna ignored her. “Alice,” she said sharply. “I want you to take the carriage and go directly to the warehouse. Tell my husband that Mason Deverell is here.”
“But—”
“Now, Alice! Go now! Hurry!”
Alice was certain Kenna had taken leave of her senses but for all her defiant airs, Alice was used to taking orders. She put her sewing on the stool and took a step away from Mason, an apology in her eyes for her employer’s strange behavior.
Mason grabbed Alice’s wrist and pulled her to him. Neither of the women saw how he produced a knife, but suddenly it was there, its cutting edge against Alice’s slender throat. “Put your knife down, Mrs. Canning, or I will not hesitate to use this on Alice.”
Kenna did not doubt him. His crystalline blue eyes bored into hers and her fingers unfolded. The knife clattered to the floor. “Let Alice go. You don’t want her.”
Mason chuckled. “Truer words have never been spoken.”
Alice’s face crumpled and she sobbed once. The knife nicked her throat and a drop of blood appeared on the wound.
“Careful, Alice,” Mason warned her. “Come here, Mrs. Canning.”
Kenna shook her head. The subtle hint of an accent in his speech grated on her nerves.
Mason pressed the knife against Alice’s throat. Another drop of blood appeared, staining the edge of the blade. “Come here.” Kenna stepped forward and Mason held out his free hand. “Give me your hand.” Kenna put her hand into his. Mason gave Alice a hard shove and pulled Kenna against him, holding the knife to her throat now.
Alice bumped into the corner of the table, clutching her throat and weeping piteously.
“Leave here, Alice,” Kenna said. “Leave while you can.”
“Don’t do it,” Mason countermanded Kenna’s order calmly. “You don’t want to have Mrs. Canning’s death on your conscience, do you?”
Alice shook her head, unable to lift her head and meet Kenna’s eyes. She was sick with shame that she was somehow responsible for what was happening.
“Good. I want you to go upstairs and pack some clothes for Mrs. Canning. Put whatever you think necessary into a valise. Pack a few things for yourself as well. The three of us will be leaving shortly. Go on, Alice.” When she hesitated he snapped. “Now!”
