Chapter Five #2
She felt a scream building but knew it would do her no good.
No good at all. It was her fault, all her fault!
She had brought herself to this end. She waited, her eyes shut tight, for her punishment for surely it was coming.
She kept her eyes closed and despite her resolve to stay silent through what was to come, a whimper escaped.
Oliver watched the play of emotions which traveled across her face.
Terror was the last thing he thought he would see, not from her.
She looked like she was waiting for him to strike her.
What kind of man did she think he was? He would never hit a woman.
He had wanted to make it clear he would not be manipulated, not terrorize her.
He released her.
Was this all some kind of act? Surely, she was not so talented? He could feel her fear vibrating all around him. He knew fear like this, had lived it. No one should have to feel like this, let alone a woman.
“Countess,” he said his tone soft now. “There is no need for all these dramatics. Just tell me.”
“How can I tell you?” she bit out, opening her eyes and pinning him with a painful glare.
“You, who would sell me up the river as soon as the price was right. You, who have no idea of what it is to suffer a false accusation, to live with a guilt which is not yours, day after day! You, who have not been given a name which breeds fear and loathing everywhere you go! A name which makes little children fear you will peck out their eyes if they do not eat their peas!”
Her voice was near hysterical and Oliver sat, stunned.
How was he to react to that? He realized his mouth was open and shut it.
Part of him sympathized with her plight and had she been any other woman he may have offered her some kind of comfort.
While the other part was a little upset she had such a low opinion of him.
But how could she have otherwise? Last night had been a disgraceful display of stupidity.
Yes, he needed money, and yes, he had agreed to the damn wager, and yes, he was supposed to be reporting on her to Ashton, but he was not as amoral as she seemed to think. Sell her up the river, indeed!
She was right, though; he had no idea what it was like to be accused of a crime he didn’t commit. What was he supposed to do now? If he were her and was innocent of such a crime he would stop at nothing to prove his innocence.
Fireworks went off in his brain like Guy Fawkes Night as he realized at last what was going on here.
She was trying to find out who killed her husband.
Hence the disappearing act, the snooping around in Wainwright’s study, the notebook, and even the pistol.
He fell back against the swabs and stifled a groan.
Dawn was so very bright after such a dark night.
He lifted her chin and spoke softly and directly to her. Those eyes of hers were huge with uncertainty. “Despite what you think of me, you chose me for a reason. If you are truly innocent, then I will help you find out who killed your husband.”
She gaped at him. Her disbelief etched in her every feature confirmed he had guessed right.
Well, damn me! His intuition had not abandoned him completely it seemed. This changed the game considerably.
“Shall we start over?” he offered. “This time we will be honest with each other, agreed?”
Lisbeth stared at him; she couldn’t believe it.
Doom fell on her like a lead blanket. It was too late to deny it.
The shock was written all over her face.
If he had figured her out so quickly, would others also guess so easily?
She closed her mouth and looked at his large hand that he had offered her.
He had strong-looking fingers. Fingers with character—if such a thing could be said of fingers.
Little nicks and scars decorated them, and she wondered briefly how he had come across so many. Lisbeth looked up from his hands.
She had little choice in the matter now.
She had to trust him. She just hoped she was doing the right thing.
Tentatively, she put her hand in his. He brought it to his lips and brushed them over her knuckles.
Warmth spread up her arm and rested on her cheeks.
Her eyes swelled and she blinked furiously.
She would not weaken, not now, not in front of him.
“I am afraid I cannot accept your kind offer, Bellamy.”
“I don’t know how you will be able to stop me.”
“This is none of your concern. I am none of your concern. I appreciate your offer, I do, but I will not allow you to be put in danger on my account.”
“Glad to hear it, Countess, but I am afraid my mind is made up. I am stubborn like that, you know.”
“Foolhardy, more like.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps, but understand this, I can no more let you snoop around strange men’s… rooms than I could let my poor Aunt Petunia go off to far exotic India with nothing but a miniature of Mad King George in her pocket.”
“How chivalrous of you, Bellamy. I’m impressed, really, but I’m not your Aunt Petunia. If you are going to help me, you will have to remain out of the way. You are to be my escort not my protector. I made it quite clear last night and do so again now.”
“Hmm yes, as renowned as I am for my gallant nature—and perhaps because I am particularly attached to my head and it to my shoulders, I cannot let you conduct some misguided attempt at an investigation without me to protect your far prettier neck.”
“I will not let you walk all over me, Bellamy. This is too important to me. I will defend myself with whatever information I have at my disposal, you must know this. I will not hesitate to use the information I have on you, should you betray me.”
He smiled. A charming half smile. She hated when he did that. Hated what it did to her. How it made her heart skip a beat. She didn’t have time right now to analyze what those tingling sensations meant only that it happened every time he smiled at her.
He inclined his head in acceptance. Although, she knew he would not play by her rules.
“I wouldn’t expect any less from the Black Raven,” he said.
Lisbeth raised a brow. Perhaps he did understand, a little. Was it enough, though? “Then you had better eat your peas, Lord Bellamy.”