“Yes, sir,” Miss Darby said.
Jamie raised a hand, ready to knock on the door. “Is he here?”
“I believe he’s in the parlor.”
Without another look at Tilly, Jamie set off down the hall, bellowing Mr. Hannan’s name.
“Jamie. Jamie!” Tilly finally found both her voice and her legs. She ran after him. “Let me explain!”
But it was too late. Jamie was already at the parlor door. Miss Darby stopped next to Tilly.
“Nothing happened,” Tilly said to Miss Darby, desperate for someone to believe her.
“It doesn’t matter now.” Tilly thought she heard a note of sympathy in Miss Darby’s voice. “Are you the marshal’s . . .?”
“Sister.” But Tilly’s attention was now on the two men in front of her. Mr. Hannan stared at her, and then looked at Jamie.
Jamie rested his hands on his hips, the motion pushing back the edges of his coat to reveal the guns he wore. It was a menacing gesture, and he knew it. Tilly began to step forward, but Miss Darby pressed a hand against her arm and gently shook her head.
“But I can explain,” Tilly protested.
Neither man gave her a glance. They were too busy staring each other down. Mr. Hannan gave a visible swallow, but he didn’t back away. If she weren’t so concerned about what might happen next, Tilly might have admired his courage.
“The only explanation I want is one from Hannan,” Jamie said in a deadly even voice. “About why you had my sister squirreled away in your room.”
Chapter Seven
SISTER.
Liam had hoped for second cousin or half-niece or something a little more removed thansister. But there it was, and it hung in the air as an accusation.
And for the first time, he sympathized with his own sister’s now-husband, Jeremiah Wiley, when Liam had first discovered their marriage and Jeremiah had indicated that it had simply been a convenient option. He’d wanted to beat the man into the ground.
Which, he supposed, was exactly how Marshal Wright felt toward him right now.
“I didn’t know she was there,” he said. It was honest, mostly. He didn’t know the woman who’d wandered into his room and fallen asleep was Miss Wright. Although it should have occurred to him that it might have been her, he realized now.
The marshal didn’t believe him. That much was clear from the set of his jaw. And it didn’t matter that Miss Wright piped up to agree with Liam, because her brother paid her no mind at all.
“Miss Darby,” Wright said without looking behind him. “I don’t suppose you’re in the habit of handing out keys to gentlemen’s rooms to your lady guests?” Around the corner, behind Liam, the entire parlor was silent. They were all hanging onto every word of this conversation, and Liam wished he could disappear between the floorboards.
“Of course not.” Miss Darby said immediately. “This is a respectable house.”
Miss Wright’s face tinged red, and even though she had caused this situation, Liam couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. It was one thing for accusation like this to fall on him, and quite another for a young lady. It was embarrassing—particularly with a room full of men listening nearby—but nothing that would ruin him in the way it could her.
