After talking to his mother this afternoon, he realized a part of him had always known about his father’s penchant for pretty, young girls, but he’d chosen to look the other way. But talk in the village had been hard to ignore, even when he was twelve years old.
He recalled a hushed conversation at the local blacksmith where the vicar’s wife had been urging him against sending his young daughters to work in servitude. Roarke had heard the words “Eversleigh Hall” and “defiler of innocents” as he’d ridden past, too embarrassed to stop, even though his horse had thrown a shoe. He remembered quite clearly the blistering he’d received from Mr. Edwards because of it, for the animal had ended up tearing a tendon in his front leg and had to be put down.
But none of that even compared to the rage he’d felt tearing him up inside when Mara said his father had accostedher.
Roarke knew if the situation had been different,hewould have been the one wielding that deadly weapon, and admitting that he would have killed his sire for Mara had been rather unsettling, to say the least.
He looked at her now, as she conversed with Lyra. When Mara suddenly turned and bestowed that lovely green gaze upon him, she offered him a rather hesitant smile before looking down at her plate. Obviously, she was still uncertain of his feelings, in light of what she’d told him, but when this mess was over, he intended for her to know exactly where she stood.
And that was right by his side.
* * *
The fire was burning low in the grate when Mara finally put aside her book and pulled the covers up to her chin. Once dinner had concluded, Roarke had gone to his study with Mr. Davis, and the ladies had returned to the parlor. Lavinia didn’t remain long, claiming a headache before retiring for the evening.
Afterward, Mara and Lyra had decided to play a bit of Farkle, a popular dice game. Before long, with Mara’s attention focused elsewhere rather than the game, Lyra finally gave up and pleaded fatigue.
Left to her own devices, Mara had wandered about the house until she’d eventually found her way to the library. She’d paused upon the threshold, waiting for the demons of the past to confront her. But as she’d looked around at the numerous bookshelves lining the walls with their leather-bound volumes, she felt…nothing.
There was no fire burning to take the slight chill from the room. Even so, she didn’t experience the cold sensation of dread she’d expected to upon returning to the scene of such a heinous crime, but merely the scent of a musty room that hadn’t seen much use over the years. As she’d trailed her finger over one of the many thick tomes, she felt the urge to sneeze at the tiny dust motes that stirred in the air, but that was it. No sinking feeling in her gut, no empty hollowness in her chest, just a sort of—acceptance.
Of course, she wished that things had happened much differently, but at least she was able to find a measure of peace now, and she vowed that she wouldn’t let Roarke’s father’s ghost haunt her ever again.
Thus empowered, she’d selected a random book, and without even looking back once, Mara had gone to her chamber.
Now, as the clock began to strike the eleven o’clock hour, she had to face the fact that Roarke wouldn’t be coming to her like she’d hoped he might. When he’d looked at her at dinner, she’d thought perhaps…
With a sigh, she was about to blow out her bedside candle when there was a sudden commotion. The sound of running footsteps, slamming doors, and shouting voices caused Mara to jump up and throw on her robe. She made it into the hall at the same time as Lyra and Lady Eversleigh. “What’s going on?”
“I have no idea,” the countess returned, her eyes widening in alarm.
“Such a fuss,” Lavinia murmured, although it was apparent she was just as perplexed.
Huddled together, it wasn’t long before Mr. Davis caught sight of them and strode over. He was still fully dressed, although his jacket and cravat were gone. His face was grim. “There’s a fire at the old gamekeeper’s cottage. Roarke and some of the servants have gone to try and calm the blaze.”
Mara gasped, concern for Roarke and the others freezing her very bones. “Was there anyone…?” She couldn’t even finish the thought.
“I’m told it’s been abandoned for some time,” Mr. Davis reassured her, although his expression didn’t change with the news.
Lyra must have noticed his reticence as well, for she asked, “What are you not telling us?”
The investigator hesitated, before giving a heavy sigh. “Lord Eversleigh asked me not to worry you, but…” He shook his head. “I’m of the firm belief that it is good to be forewarned.” Looking at them both, he said solemnly, “We are under the impression that such things don’t happen by mere accident. When the call for help came to us, we were discussing our plans to capture Mr. Larkin.” His mouth turned down at the corners. “We feel this is merely an attempt to cause a diversionary tactic. Many criminals do this to cause focus on another matter so they can infiltrate their intended target when their defense is weak.”
Lyra blanched. “You think he’shere?”
Mr. Davis took a pistol out of his waistband and checked it. “I’m almost sure of it. And since the viscount has charged me with your safety, I suggest we all go downstairs to await his return.”
Mara frowned. “But don’t you think we would be safer in our chambers…?”
The investigator suddenly turned the gun on her and cocked it. “I think you should do what I say, for Mr. Larkin will be here soon, and he doesn’t like to wait.”
