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She hid her recoil, but the accusation pushed the air from her lungs, as if he’d driven a fist to her solar plexus. “I—I beg your pardon. You’re mistaken.”
“You lied about your name.”
Her cheeks heated. How she wished she could go back in time and avoid the man entirely. “You lied to me as well. You said you had no purpose in Ashveil and you wouldn’t visit the manor. I suppose you forgot you were an earl.”
“You didn’t tell me you were a madame.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “The rice powder on my mirror last night was your doing.”
The invisible fist pressed harder. “I have not set foot in your room since you arrived.” Mrs. Keenan did, though, at my urging.
“Yet the powder matches your scent.” He leaned closer, his nose perilously close to her neck, and inhaled.
She might have swooned, especially considering her supply of air was hindered by the fear knitting itself between her ribs. But she had the family reputation to maintain, and a nosy earl to evade.
She retreated, but lifted her chin in silent defiance. “Are you accusing me of something?”
“You’re pretending to be something you’re not.”
“Aren’t we all?” She should find some way to distract him until she regrouped, but she’d never been one to back away from a confrontation.
“I believe you are a fraud.”
At any other time, she’d be proud of herself for maintaining her composure while her knees were threatening to collapse beneath her. She managed a smirk instead. “You traveled all the way from Yorkshire to Cornwall to tell me this? I would have accepted a letter. Even a telegram. Were no messenger pigeons available?”
His grey eyes narrowed. “An accusation requires evidence.”
Ah, so that was his plan. Anger bubbled in her gut. “You’re behind this legislation in Parliament, aren’t you? The one seeking to throw my grandmother into the Tower of London?”
He shifted on his feet, the side of his mouth kicking up briefly. “That’s extreme, but yes. I support it. Your grandmother should be held accountable for defrauding the vulnerable.”
“She’s doing no such thing!” Her hands clenched at her sides. “She’s brilliant, and her fame is a testament to her ability to commune with spirits.”
“And what about you? Do you share her ability?”
The floor shifted beneath her. What she would have given for the Keenans to burst into the room at that moment, or Mrs. Bunton-Talmadge asking about the rabbits, or a comet from the heavens crashing through the imperiled west wall.
But, much to her great annoyance, nothing happened. Therefore, she had no choice but to deflect.
She forced a sinister laugh. “You’re amusing. Did you know that? Hilarious.”
He recoiled slightly, blinked. “In what way?”
“Acting as though I’m such an immoral creature when your character is even more questionable.” She stepped closer, into his space. “Why are you, a grieving widower, so desperate to escape the room whenever I mention your wife? And when I spoke her name last night, there wasn’t a flicker of hope in you. A man still mourning wants to be wrong in his skepticism.” His nostrils flared. “You don’t want to be wrong. Why is that?”
The long line of his neck worked on a swallow. “Because I know you’re lying.”
She chuckled darkly. “You know nothing. I should send you packing now.”
“If you do, I’ll know you’re a fraud, and you’re frightened of what I’ll find if I stay.”
“You witnessed my ability last night, my lord.”
He tilted his head. “Or did I witness your trickery?”
She gave him a toothy grin, wishing she had fangs. “As you so wisely said, accusations require evidence, especially if you plan on incarcerating an elderly woman.” Or me.
“The ruin of her reputation would suffice.” He gave her a barbed look. “Imagine the scandal—England’s most celebrated medium, proven a fraud.”
The fist pressing on her chest transformed into a raging fire. She wasn’t about to let this horrid man ruin everything her family had built. He was a danger to their lives, their legacy, and if she was to protect it, she’d do it on her own terms.
