Chapter Twenty-Four
The door to the study closed behind Evelyn with a soft click of the latch. She hurried down the corridor and rushed to the spiral staircase. The peace and calm of her chamber beckoned her. She needed to be alone, if only for a few minutes. She needed to think. How could she possibly explain to Sally that she must leave? How could she tell her dearest friend that she would not stand with the bridesmaids as Sally spoke her vows?
“Where are ye off to in such a rush?” Catriona stepped from the library, standing directly in the path of the stairs. Blast it, there was no way to avoid the woman. This perfectly dreadful day was about to get worse.
“I’ve developed a megrim. I am going to my room to rest.”
Catriona’s gaze wandered over her, assessing with a narrow-eyed focus. Her attention lit on a small, dark spot near the hem. “Do take care not to dirty your gown. A bridesmaid’s appearance must be pristine.”
Evelyn’s fingers went to the scratchy trim at her throat. “My first priority upon returning to my room will be to strip off this torturous lace and slip into my day dress.”
“If ye would be so kind, I would appreciate a moment of yer time,” Catriona said. Pivoting on her heel, she motioned to the library. “Let’s have some privacy, shall we?”
“Of course.” Good heavens, what now? Had she found a footprint in her garden and wished to compare Evelyn’s shoe to see if it was a match?
She pulled her own lips taut, as if that might help her to hold her tongue, and followed Catriona into the room.
“I know there is something going on between Mr. MacMasters and ye. For Sally’s sake, I must implore ye to conduct yerself like a lady.”
Not now. Her head pounded, and the room began to spin.
Pulling in a calming breath, she steadied herself. She was not a sniveling milksop who would skulk away from this place with her head held low. Fresh resolve filled her heart. Blast it, she would not let this slip of a woman humble her.
“There is nothing between Mr. MacMasters and myself.” Squaring her shoulders, Evelyn spoke calmly, her words true—at least for the moment.
“In that case, would ye care to explain to me what ye were doing in the man’s room last night?”
“You were spying on me?”
“Of course not. At times, I find slumber elusive. I heard a noise in the hallway and peeped out, just in time to see ye tiptoe from the man’s chamber.” She pinned Evelyn with a scornful look. “Ye aren’t even going to deny it, are ye?”
“Why would I? You know what you saw.” Evelyn hiked her chin. “But I do not owe you, or anyone else, an explanation.”
Catriona’s upper lip curled, and she gave a little sniff, as if detecting a foul odor. “Ordinarily, I would not interfere in yer affairs, but ye must consider how yer conduct reflects on the rest of us.”
“My conduct? I will have you know that my conduct since arriving in Scotland has been prim and proper and rather dull.” She pulled in a low breath. “Unless, of course, you count the rendezvous I enjoyed in Mr. MacMasters’ chamber last night.” She smiled sweetly. “And of course, there was that all-too-brief liaison with the man in the study. Quite the memory to keep one warm on a cold winter night.”
Catriona’s mouth gaped open. “I never…”
“Perhaps you should consider a good shag from time to time. It might release that stick up your bum.”
“Good heavens, Evelyn! What’s come over you?”
She whipped about to face Sally, who stood very still, nervously twisting the silver chain of her locket around her fingers. When had she come into the room?
The afternoon was rapidly careening in a downward spiral, from miserable to horrible to utterly disastrous.
Catriona found her voice. “Sally, I must be frank. Yer friend has been cavorting about with Mr. MacMasters and heaven knows who else. It goes without saying that I willnae speak of it outside of this room, but the staff does not miss much that goes on. Their tongues will be wagging. And that, my dear, reflects poorly on you and my brother.”
Heat prickled Evelyn’s cheeks. It seemed a scarlet letter had been branded on her skin. She wanted little more than to find a quiet place. Away from Catriona. Away from Gerard. Even away from Sally and the stunned embarrassment in her eyes.
“I can assure you it will no longer be an issue.” Evelyn mustered a steady tone.
“What ye do when ye return to London is yer concern,” Catriona went on. “But for now, ye must remember ye are a bridesmaid. Yer conduct must be unassailable.”
Slowly, Evelyn shook her head. “Actually, it’s rather a moot point now. You see, I am leaving this place.”
“Leaving? I don’t understand.” Sally’s words came as a gasp. Her fingers curled around the heart-shaped locket, as if to reassure herself with its familiarity. Evelyn could scarcely remember a time when she had not worn the pendant, a gift from her grandfather shortly before the dignified old gent had taken his last breath.
“I’m sorry. I must return to London.”
Her friend’s eyes went wide. “You cannot be serious.”
“I must go—as soon as I can arrange transportation to Inverness. From there, I will take the train.” Evelyn clasped her friend’s hands in hers. “Something has come up…something entirely unexpected… I can’t…I cannot explain. One day, I will tell you everything. But for now, I hope you can forgive me.”
“You cannot do this.” The pain in Sally’s voice was tangible. “I can’t imagine speaking my vows…without you here.”
“I’ve made up my mind.” Evelyn gave her hands a little squeeze. “You will be fine without me. A radiant bride and her handsome groom. You don’t need me.”
Catriona’s face paled. Concern knitted her delicate brows. “I fear there has been a misunderstanding. I did not mean to imply that ye should leave.”
“I understand. Truly, I do.” She choked back the tears scalding her throat. “You see, I have no choice. I cannot stay here.”
“So, this is what it’s come to…does our friendship mean so very little to you?” Sally sniffled, even as a tear streamed down her cheek.
The image pierced Evelyn’s heart, but she had to be strong. She had to leave before Sally was swept up in the dangerous intrigue that had stalked her from that dank little shop in Inverness.
“I treasure our friendship, Sally. That is one reason I must go.”
“Devil take it, Evelyn, you are not making any sense.” Anguish colored Sally’s voice, and she sniffled again. “I wish…I wish I could understand.”
Evelyn steeled herself. If only she could reveal the truth. But confessing the danger she now faced—the threat she wished to lead away from Sally and the others—would only serve to burden her friend with worry. Heaven knew she’d already cast a pall over the wedding. There was no need to further dampen the joyous day Sally so deserved.
Swallowing hard against the persistent, bitter lump in her throat, Evelyn went to the door. “I am so very sorry, Sally, but I must leave. There truly is no other choice.”
Since she’d been a girl, Evelyn had hated to cry. There was something about the act of shedding tears that made her feel weak, proof that she’d fallen short of the stiff-upper-lipped ideal her mother had always advocated. Now, huddled on a stone bench in a well-shaded nook within the garden, out of view of the guests and household staff, she dabbed a linen handkerchief at the rebellious tears that had managed to escape her tight control.
She’d packed her trunk and would leave within the hour. Catriona had arranged for a driver to see her to Inverness. Once in the city, Evelyn intended to spend a night in a comfortable inn and take the morning train back to London. Soon, her time at Houghton Manor would be nothing but a memory. Bittersweet, with touches of joy and heartache woven throughout.
The night she’d spent in Gerard’s arms had been one of bliss. He had loved her with thorough abandon. He’d kissed every inch of her and left her utterly sated, yet craving him more with each breath. She’d been foolish enough to believe he’d hungered for her with the same intensity that had filled her. She’d cast her suspicions aside. Convinced herself his seductive pursuit had been spurred by passion and nothing more.
She should have known better. He’d been driven by an ulterior motive. His words of desire were meaningless, crafted to serve his own purposes.
His passion had been real, but love had nothing to do with it. He’d offered nothing of his heart.
He’d offered no promises. In truth, he had not deceived her. No, she thought, as pain squeezed her heart.
She’d deceived herself.
If only she had not wanted him so desperately. Not only the heat of his kiss. But the rumble of his hearty laugh when amusement lit his eyes. The way he’d made her feel beautiful even when she’d fallen on the cabbage roses in the garden. His protective tenderness when she’d confided the devastating event that had left her good name in tatters.
What a fool she’d been.
He’d sought that peculiar card and the treasure to which he believed it would lead. Not her.
Ah, but his kiss… That, at least, had been real. The passion in his touch and his raspy burr as he’d loved her—those had not been lies. In her heart, she knew that truth.
The door to the garden opened with a soft squeak of the hinges. She pulled in a low breath. Had Gerard come after her? She was not ready for this…
Would he try to persuade her to stay—under his protection, but far too close to shield her heart?
He would not succeed, no matter how badly she wanted him to—he, of all people, should understand why she needed to put distance between the wedding party and herself. She could not bear the thought of bringing harm to Sally or the others because of her own selfish choice.
The look in Sally’s eyes had nearly shattered her determination. For so many years, they’d been close as sisters. Now, she would miss seeing Sally speak her vows. She would not be there on the day when her dearest friend began her life as McLeod’s bride. What must Sally think of her?
A bitter ache throbbed in her chest. If only she could tell Sally the truth.
She blinked back tears, muttering a mild epithet as another coursed down her cheek. Gerard’s passion-filled eyes flashed in her thoughts. The ache in her chest intensified, and she dashed away another rebellious teardrop.
She had to be strong. She had to leave this place. There was no alternative.
Someday, her heart would heal.
Someday…
Footsteps approached. Evelyn looked up. Westbrook came toward her, clad in a linen shirt, waistcoat, and a dapper suit. Given his jacket and layers of clothing, it seemed a wonder he had not collapsed in the unpleasant heat.
“I thought I might find you here, Lady Evelyn.” He cocked his chin, seeming to study her. Furrows of concern scored his forehead. “May I join you?”
“Of course,” she said. She’d no desire for his company, but he’d done nothing to warrant a display of incivility.
“Have you been weeping?”
“Perhaps a little.”
“Might I inquire as to the reason for your tears?”
“It’s nothing.” She gave a little shrug. “In time, everything will work out.”
He took a step closer…uncomfortably so. He reached out to her, as if to brush a renegade droplet from her cheek, but she evaded him with a subtle movement. She did not wish to appear impolite, but she’d no desire to confide in this man, much less allow him to comfort her.
His mouth hiked subtly at the corners. A gleam lit his eyes, hungry and calculating, his interest as false as his smile.
“Your tears will dry soon enough, Lady Evelyn,” he said, offering her a linen pocket square. “Perhaps, you will reconsider my offer. I would like to photograph you…in a private setting. As I told you, every artist needs a muse.”
The man’s low, coaxing voice set Evelyn’s nerves on edge. He’d no doubt intended his satin-smooth tones to calm her, but their effect was quite the opposite.
She dabbed the cloth against her nose and let out a sigh. “As flattering as that prospect may be, it does not suit in the least.”
“The camera’s lens would capture your independent spirit.” His attention swept over her pale blue traveling ensemble. “The real woman—not a bridesmaid who’s cast aside her individuality for a gown that does not suit her in the least.”
She forced a smile. What was it about this man that made her want to put distance between them? By all rights, she should enjoy the attentions of a handsome artist. Pity his interest was no more sincere than a thespian’s mask.
Wariness peppered her with gooseflesh. In her mind’s eye, she mapped out the quickest path back to the house. Something was very wrong.
“If you will excuse me.” Rising, she turned to the smooth stone path.
“We have not finished our discussion.” The exaggerated warmth in his voice was replaced by an icy hardness.
“I am sorry, but I must go.”
He shook his head, very slowly. “We are not finished, Lady Evelyn. You have something…that belongs to me. What did Graham give you?”
He lunged, capturing her forearm in a punishing hold. She winced, a moan escaping her lips.
“Take your hands off me.” She bit out the words as she tried to wrench away from him.
His fingers tightened around her wrist. “Do not make the mistake of crying out. If you defy me, I will snap your arm in two.”
A fresh ripple of pain coursed the length of her arm. Fighting panic, she searched for a weapon. She had to free herself.
“What…what the devil is this about?”
His mouth was a grim slash. “The bookseller…what did he give you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. He gave me nothing.”
“You are a poor liar. Perhaps this will help you to understand.” With his free hand, Westbrook reached into a pocket in his waistcoat. He clasped a jewelry chain between his long fingers. A taunting look flashed in his eyes as he dangled Sally’s treasured locket like a mesmerist’s pendulum.
“How did you get that?” Evelyn reached for the etched silver heart, but he snatched it away.
A malicious smile curved his mouth. “Patience, Lady Evelyn. You do not want to anger me.”
Dread coursed through her veins. “What have you done?”
“I needed a bit of leverage to ensure your cooperation. Miss Brennan is safe. For now. What happens next depends on you.”
“This is madness,” she whispered. Her pulse roared in her ears. “What is it you want from me?”
“Graham entrusted you with something…something I need.” His fingers dug into her flesh. “You are wasting precious time. Now, tell me the truth—or I’ll kill you both.”
Pulling in a low breath, Evelyn fought the terror that threatened to paralyze her. She had to fight through it. She had to protect Sally at all costs.
“The old man gave me a card—like part of a fortune teller’s deck.”
“Do you have it here? Don’t even think about lying to me. Your friend’s life is in your hands.”
She managed a desperate nod. “Yes. I have the card.”
“Get it. Now,” Westbrook ground out between his teeth. “Bring it to the place they call the Witch’s Hearth. Come alone.”