She really did, but it was the least she could do for her mistress. “I’m your maid, so I shall do even the most loathsome task you give me, even if it means telling Lord Tristan and Lord Hawthorne they can stay the night. But keep in mind I might make their stay very uncomfortable because of my hatred for them.”
Diana smiled again even if tears filled her eyes. “Perhaps you should not, Tabitha. After all, they are convinced you killed those men. Perhaps I should have Sally do it.”
Tabitha nodded. “I think maybe you are correct. I will go fetch Sally for you.”
“Thank you, Tabitha.”
As Tabitha left the room, irritation grew inside her, higher and higher from her gut until it burned her throat. Diana was right. Tabitha shouldn’t go tell the men for fear they’d want to take her to the magistrate themselves. However, if Tabitha didn’t say something to Lord Hawthorne the malice collecting inside her might explode and kill her.
She couldn’t let that happen.
Quietly as she could, she crept to the guest bedroom and pressed her ear against the door. The room was too quiet, so she knocked softly. Still quiet.
Perhaps the men had left after all. Yet, as much as she believed them to be fools, they weren’t stupid enough to travel in this kind of storm.
On her way down the stairs, she listened for men’s voices, but all she could hear was the raging storm outside. When she reached the lower floor, she grabbed her cloak and shrugged it on, heading for the back door.
Before stepping outside, she gathered the cloak’s hood tight around her head and then dashed out into the rain. Immediately, the light from the stable caught her attention. Since Diana didn’t have a groom, there could be only one explanation for someone being in with the horses.
She ran to the stable and peered in the window. Lord Hawthorne and Lord Tristan were arranging the hay to make themselves beds. Both men wore frowns on their gloomy faces, but neither of their expressions was angry. In fact, if she were to put a name to it, she would think they were melancholy. Could she dare hope that they were both re-evaluating their accusations?
Rolling her eyes, she moved away from the window. Not likely! They were probably just sad because they were kicked out of a house with a warm fire to sleep in a cold stable. Well, it served them right!
She turned and hurried back to the house. As much as she wanted to lash out verbally at Lord Hawthorne, she didn’t want Lord Tristan to be present. So, she either had to wait until he fell asleep or hold her tongue and never voice her thoughts to thatirritating managain.
Unfortunately, Tabitha was never the kind of person who could hold her tongue for very long.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Nic leaned againsta bale of hay as he stared at the stable wall. How many hours had passed since he and Worthington had entered this foul place, he didn’t know, but with nothing to keep him entertained, the minutes seemed to drag.
Tristan, however, adjusted to the environment a little better. Of course his friend had slept many nights in a stable since he found himself struggling to find his memory and most of the time drunk. So naturally Tristan would fall asleep easier in a place like this. It helped that they took the bottle of port with them and Tristan drank most of it.
Nic glanced at his friend who indeed had already fallen asleep. The steady pitter-patter of the rain hitting the roof probably helped lure Worthington to sleep, Nic was certain. But he was yet to feel the same exhaustion. His mind was a constant whirlwind of thoughts that wouldn’t rest. Heaviness had settled in his chest as well, making him completely miserable.
He blamed Tabitha.
Why had he allowed that slip of a woman, amaidno less, to control his thoughts at a time like this?
Guilt washed over him in drowning waves. Never had he regretted kissing a woman in his life, but remorse dug a profound hole in his mind and heart now. He shouldn’t have kissed her. He shouldn’t haveactedlike he enjoyed the moment she was in his arms and her mouth eagerly met his in one of the most passionate kisses he’d ever experienced. Then again, he wasn’t acting. Hehadenjoyed every second of their heated moment.
Grumbling softly as not to wake Tristan, Nic rose from his makeshift bed and strolled to his horse. He picked up a brush and began stroking the animal’s mane.
This night couldn’t end fast enough for him. Not only did he hate being here, but he hated feeling this way and thinking about Tabitha.
Is she really a killer?
He hadn’t met many people with enough hatred in their soul to murder another person, but deep down inside, he didn’t think Tabitha could do it. Could she have really killed Hollingsworth and Elliot or was she merely voicing her thoughts and feelings when he’d overheard her and Sally?
What if I’m wrong?
Although he didn’t like admitting when he made a mistake, worry grew inside him like a festering boil. What if, by chance, Tabitha wasn’t the killer? What if she was just an angry and hurt servant like Sally?
Or what if Sally was the true killer?
A noise from the back of the stable jerked him from his thoughts and had him swinging toward the shuffling sound. From the darkness, a shadow emerged and slowly formed into a woman wearing a cloak. The closer she came toward him, the harder his heartbeat slammed against his chest.
Tabitha drew nearer and lowered her hood. Her eyes blazed a deep hatred as she aimed her glare at him. Nic scanned over her cloak to her hands for fear she would be holding a knife. But as his eyes adjusted, he could see she didn’t have any sort of weapon. He breathed a sigh of relief.
