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“Yer first mistake was to order a servant to ask George Slater to meet ye. A servant ye’ve no’ treated well. Why Slater agreed, I cannot imagine.”

“I revealed that I had information about his daughter that would cause a scandal.” She smirked. “It was a lie, of course, but your smudged reputation preceded you, Miss Slater. Your father was eager to learn what mischief you’d embroiled yourself in this time and to protect you from the consequence.”

A small gasp escaped Sophronie.

As if she hadn’t revealed herself as a lying, conniving wench, Leah fingered her spencer’s top clasp. “His devotion was really quite touching.”

“She is the Duchess of Waycross to ye, and ye would do well to address my wife with the respect and honor a woman of her station deserves,” Evan snapped.

Sophronie’s eyes grew wide and then softened slightly at his defense of her. He knew she believed he’d manipulated her father into agreeing to an arranged marriage between them and even now schemed to steal half of her fortune from her.

That he hadn’t done any such thing made no difference if she believed otherwise. In time, he hoped to convince her. She’d been halfway to winning his heart, and Evan had hoped she would soften toward him. Now a chasm had sprouted up between them so vast and so deep, he didn’t know how to breach the gap.

Eyes flashing with fury, Leah pursed her lips together as if she could barely restrain the retort kicking at the back of her teeth.

“Secondly, ye assumed yer guests were on the greens. However, Mrs. Honeyforth developed a migraine, and her daughter accompanied her to her chamber.” Evan angled his head as he watched understanding dawn on Leah’s face. “Their rooms faced the east side of the house, and Miss Honeyforth happened to glance out the window when she heard voices. She called her mother over, and they witnessed ye rammin’ yer horse into George Slater.”

Leah wilted like a rose tossed onto burning coals.

“How could you?” Sophronie’s eyes misting with anger and grief. “My father was a gentle soul, a kind, decent, and honorable man, and you killed him. Why?”

“I wanted to get rid of you,” Leah snarled. “I’ve waited years to become the Duchess of Waycross, and I wasn’t about to let you—an upstart American—usurp what was mine.”

Hatred rendered her voice strident and brittle and lifted the pitch to the ceiling.

“Ye were never goin’ to become my duchess,” Evan said in even tones despite the anger heating his blood. “Ye were unsuitable in every way that truly counted.”

She gasped and flinched, closing her eyes for a moment.

No guilt or pity chastised him for his directness.

“I have written confessions from yer servant—who, by the way, is now in my employ— as well as the ladies’ sworn testimonies.” Evan slid an arm around Sophronie, who trembled like a leaf in a gale. That she’d remained silent was a blessed miracle.

“What do you want of me?” Miss Wesleyan asked, shoulders slumping in defeat. She was careful to direct her question to Evan and to avoid looking in Sophronie’s direction.

Likely, Sophronie would’ve told her exactly what she’d like her to do in the most indelicate of terms, except Evan held one of her hands and gave it a preemptive warning squeeze.

“Ye will leave Scotland, and ye will no’ return as long as I, my wife, or our children draw breath. If ye do, I shall turn those incriminatin’ letters over to the magistrate without a second thought.”

Sophronie leaned into his side, seeming to need his strength. Tremors shook her slight frame, though from anger or shock, he couldn’t discern.

He kissed her forehead as if he’d done so many times before.

“Do ye understand, Leah?” Evan didn’t feel a morsel of pity for her. If it wouldn’t mean dragging Sophronie’s reputation through the mud, he’d have Leah arrested today. Also, Evan wasn’t convinced a jury would convict her as George Slater had already been gravely injured.

“I understand,” she said sourly, eviscerating him and Sophronie with an acrimonious glare.

“Ye have four and twenty hours to pack and depart.” Evan wasn’t giving her an opportunity to retaliate against his wife or family. “I dinna care what excuse ye give yer family. Just ensure ye heed me.”

She stood, haughty and superior even in her disgrace. “Choosing that American bumpkin over me makes you a laughing stock, Evan. You’re a fool, and soon everyone will know what a monumental mistake you’ve made marrying so far beneath you.”

He grinned. “A happy fool. You’d have made me and my family miserable. They adore Sophronie, as do I.”

With a final hate-filled glower toward Sophronie, Leah stormed from the drawing room.

He met Sophronie’s bemused eyes and arched eyebrows. “Adore me, do you?”

“Aye, more than ye can ken.”