A movement from out the window caught his attention. He dove to the floor and crouched, wanting to stay hidden in case another one of his uncle’s men had come snooping around.
Nash rose enough to barely peek over the bottom of the windowsill. Blackness filled the yard. Not even the moon helped his vision, but he concentrated on the shadows, the trees, and wind-blown leaves drifting over the ground.
Searching the grounds surrounding Maxey’s house, he studied every inch, hoping to discover what he had seen. After a few moments, there was another movement. Long, wavy, blondish-brown hair streamed in the breeze as Maxey darted behind a tree. He groaned and fisted his hand.
The little tart was running from him. He should have guessed Maxey’s intentions wouldn’t be good once he told her of their travel plans.
Springing into action, he dashed out the door and chased after her. When she spotted him, she screamed and ran faster, but he caught up quickly. He grabbed her arm, pulling her to a stop. She tripped and fell. He followed her down, covering her with his body.
“Blast you, Nash!” She hit his chest with her fists. “Get off me, you big brute.”
He took hold of her hands and pinned them to the ground above her head. Her chest heaved in a quick rhythm against his. Glancing down at her clothes, he noticed the man’s black shirt. He also remembered seeing the black trousers that molded to her legs only moments ago.
“You fool,” he snapped. “What do you think to accomplish by running?”
“I—I—I feel that Lady Wentworth needs to know where I’m going. She will be worried if I disappear without a word, and after the death of her husband, I cannot put her through any more turmoil.”
Nash shook his head irritably. “Have you forgotten so soon? My uncle is after us. If you inform my sister-in-law where we are going, she might tell my uncle’s men if they come looking for you at the Wentworth estate. My uncle cannot know where we are going. Nobody can.”
She met his stare as confusion crossed her lovely features, and he waited for her answer.
“I—I—I never thought of that.”
“Please trust me, Maxey. I will prove my innocence, and especially that my uncle killed William. You just need to give me more time.”
He swept his gaze over the lines creasing her face. With her wild hair framing her head, she looked very tempting. He liked seeing her this way, except without the look of hatred blazing in her eyes.
“Maxey? May I ask you a question?”
She shrugged.
“Do you believe me at all? Or is all of this for naught?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because if you believed me, you would not have run. You wouldwantto come with me to help clear my name and find the proof at my uncle’s estate.”
She blinked, her face growing red. “I do want to believe you, Nash. Truly, I do.”
Her words told a different story than her expression, and he could read her well. Disappointment crushed his chest. She reallydidn’tbelieve him.
It hurt, and he wasn’t prepared for the stab of pain like a knife through his chest. But for some reason, she wanted him to think she believed.
What game was she playing with him now?
Chapter Seven
It shocked Maxeythat Nash didn’t bind or gag her. Not only wouldn’t he let her out of his sight, but she wasn’t allowed to go as much as three inches away. No matter what, she could not admit defeat. Instead, she would make him believe that traveling to Devonshire with him was an excellent idea, even though she really didn’t want to go. After all, what other way could she discover the truth? And, since she didn’t believe him, she needed to find the true story. He was hiding something. She just knew it.
With a groan, she realized going with him surpassed her call of duty as a governess, and she wished Lady Wentworth hadn’t given her this task. She wasn’t an investigator but a governess. She doubted other servants went to such great lengths to help their employer.
Maxey tried to convince herself this was a good thing. After all, if Nash were telling the truth, they would discover Lord Wentworth’s killer, and she could return to her position at the estate.
Nash had taken her back into town and to his townhouse. He pulled her inside just as the sun rose, announcing a new day. With her eyes drooping with fatigue, she stepped into the hallway and gasped. For being an opera singer, this man lived in luxury. She sincerely hoped his money came from his opera career, not his uncle’s fortune.
She panicked as she followed him through the small corridor and upstairs. A few servants stood back and watched. They didn’t appear at all shocked. With Nash’s fingers grasped around her wrist, he brought her into a room and shut the door. Closed curtains hung over the windows, so he lit the lamp nearest the door, illuminating his glorious chambers.
Never in her life had she been in a man’s bedroom, except for her father’s, of course. She sucked in a breath and took in everything around her. Walls covered in moss-green damask, the bedroom filled with Hepplewhite furniture, close to that which adorned some of the rooms at the Wentworth estate. A small marble-topped table stood beside an Empire sofa decorated with gold-painted seashells. In the corner of the room sat his bed. His very large bed. All in white with its twisted posts and damask hangings.
