Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
With trembling hands, she removed the packet of herbs she’d tucked into her bodice. The pot of tea was on the table before her, lidless and releasing wisps of steam. She had brewed it strong, the way he liked it. The smoky blend would hide the taste…until it was too late.
Hate filled her as she stared at the fancy, patterned teapot.
His wife liked to surround herself with luxury—and was willing to turn a blind eye to enjoy a life of comforts.
She hadn’t blinked when he’d sent her and their children off to London.
He’d dismissed the servants for the night, knowing they, too, wouldn’t dare to whisper a word.
No one would stand up against him. He was too powerful.
A bully masquerading as the village’s finest citizen.
She alone knew the monster inside the fine clothes.
She’d smelled the hot stink of his breath, felt the vicious groping of his hands, and the suffocating weight of his body pinning her down.
Yet that knowledge, as heinous as it was, was not the worst pain he’d inflicted upon her.
Grief surged, and she channeled it into rage.
She heard the menacing thump of boots downstairs and knew she didn’t have much time. She opened the packet of herbs, a lifetime of her mama’s teaching making her hesitate.
The first rule of any healer is to do no harm, my girl.
She shoved aside the memory of her mother’s warm face and gentle teachings.
She was no healer; the talent of her womenfolk had skipped her.
She’d failed in that as she had in so many things, yet she’d earned the love of a good man.
A true gentleman, who’d given her his name…
and his life. Heat pushed behind her eyes, and she blinked it back, drawing on the new force within, the part of her husband that would live on.
Protecting this precious gift outweighed vengeance—outweighed everything.
Give me courage, beloved. To do what must be done. For you…and for our babe.
The footsteps grew louder. With shaking hands, she sprinkled the contents into the teapot and replaced the lid just before the door slammed open.
She spun around as the monster advanced.
“There’s my good little whore,” he sneered.
When she tried to escape, he grabbed her arm, twisting it until a whimper tore from her throat.
“Time to have ourselves some fun, Rose.”
“Evie, wake up. It’s just a dream.”
Gasping, Evie opened her eyes, her vision blurred by panic.
She was paralyzed by the wrenching pain in her shoulder.
An instant later, James’s face came into focus.
He hung over her, a lock of hair dangling over his worried eyes.
The phantom pain in her shoulder vanished, and she ran a confused gaze around the strange room.
“You had a nightmare.” His tone was soothing, the kind one might use with a skittish horse. “We are in the gamekeeper’s cottage—where we spent the night, remember?”
Everything came back to her. Last night, she’d told him everything…and he still loved her. They had spent the night celebrating that love in a variety of ways, from tender and slow to raw and wild and all the shades of passion in between.
“I remember. But my dream…” Her voice hitched. “It was more than a nightmare.”
“There, now. You’re shaking like a leaf. Whatever you dreamed, it wasn’t real—”
“It was real,” she blurted. “A memory. It was Rosalinda’s memory.”
He stilled. “Rosalinda…from the legend of Bloody Thom? The supposed witch who turned out to be the lover and wife of Thomas Mulligan?”
She nodded.
“Well, then.”
His brows were drawn, but at least he didn’t look at her as if she were mad. She was grateful that Xenia and Gigi had paved the way by sharing their visions of Thomas and Rose and that her husband, while logical, was not narrow-minded.
“You had best tell me about it,” he said.
They settled side by side against the narrow headboard. Snuggled under James’s arm, Evie told him about her two dreams, starting with the one that took place in the hermit’s grotto.
“The grotto was Rose’s sanctuary. The place took her in when she had nowhere else to go,” she said softly. “She felt safe there, as if nothing could touch her.”
“Extraordinary,” James murmured. “And you found this place after all this time?”
“Rose led me there.” Evie swallowed. “And there’s more.”
She told him about her most recent dream—about Rose’s desperate actions and her captor’s cruelty.
“When she put those herbs in his tea, I felt like it was my hand doing it. Even though she suffered worse abuses than I did, I understood her fear and grief. She wasn’t a killer by nature, but she needed to protect herself…and her babe.”
“She was with child?” he asked somberly.
“Yes. Even though she lost Thomas, she carried a part of him with her still.”
Wetness trickled down Evie’s cheek, but she was barely aware of it. Numbness was seeping through her like a fog. A chilling realization of the parallels between her and Rose.
“She loved Thomas so much. He was honorable and respected her—loved her enough to give her his name. To sacrifice his life to protect hers. Was it any wonder she was willing to kill so that his blood, the babe they’d made together, would survive? In her shoes, I would do the same.”
I would do anything to defend you.
“Sweetheart, look at me.”
She did, and James thumbed away her tears.
“You are not Rosalinda, and I am not Thomas,” he said firmly.
“What if you come to harm because of me? I couldn’t bear it.
And your life isn’t the only thing I fear for.
The blackmailer could take away your future.
He could ruin your reputation and your bid for a seat in the Commons.
All the reforms, all the good you were meant to do in this world would be destroyed. Because of me.”
“It wouldn’t be because of you. You’ve done nothing wrong. Listen to me, Evie.”
She was listening, but he was the one who wouldn’t hear the truth. Last night, she’d been so relieved by his acceptance and unconditional love that she’d let herself believe that all would be well. Yet the dream had reminded her of the fact that nothing could alter.
I am, and always have been, a liability to James.
“You were an innocent preyed upon by Wilmington. His death was an accident, but even if it wasn’t, he deserved what he got.
Truth be told, the bastard got off too easily.
As for the blackmailer, don’t worry your head over it.
I have a plan. And once he is apprehended, no one will believe the word of a criminal—of a filthy extortionist.”
There were times, she thought, when James’s moral certitude blinded him to how ordinary people thought.
Gossips didn’t care about the source of the scandal.
The juicier the better, and there was nothing more succulent than blackmail and murder.
Knowing it was pointless to argue, she focused on the other part of his statement.
“What is your plan?”
“I will set a trap to capture him. I have no doubt he will contact you again. This time, I shall be ready.”
“That sounds dangerous,” she protested. “You cannot do this alone, but I don’t know how we can contact the authorities. They will ask questions, and if they discover that I killed my stepfather, even if it was by accident—”
“I agree. Discretion is necessary.” He canted his head. “How do you feel about sharing this with the family?”
The notion of exposing her atrocious act to James’s kin, people whom she cared for and whose opinion mattered a great deal, caused a quiver of dread. Yet she nodded.
“They can be trusted,” she said quietly. “I want to tell them.”
The approval in James’s gaze soothed her ruffled nerves.
“They will want to help. The more hands, the better in this case. Whilst we set our trap, we will simultaneously try to hunt the bounder down. The blackmailer has highly specific information about you and Wilmington, which narrows down the list of suspects. Last night you mentioned the valet, Merrow. Who else have you considered?”
“I have been in too much of a panic to think clearly,” she admitted. “I was so afraid of my secret coming out—of you being hurt because of it—that I gave the blackmailer what he wanted instead of trying to identify him.”
“Your reaction is perfectly understandable and, truth be told, I am relieved that you did not go after the blackguard on your own. From now on, you must not take risks. You are far too precious to me, do you understand?”
“As you are precious to me,” she said tremulously.
The lines around his mouth softened. He kissed her hand before tucking it against his thigh. “All right, then. Besides Merrow, who comes to mind?”
She forced herself to think back. “There was the butler, Hotchkiss. Yet he was as old as the hills even then, and I cannot imagine he would have the stamina now to attempt extortion. As for the rest of the staff…no one stands out. Most did not last long in Wilmington’s employ, for he was a difficult master.
There were several times when the approach of a maid or footman interrupted his advances and allowed me to flee.
However, I don’t recall the servants’ names. Perhaps Harkness might know.”
“Harkness knows a lot of things.”
Interpreting his pensive expression, Evie shook her head vehemently. “No, James. Harkness would never do anything to hurt me. She is my family, and I won’t have her put under suspicion.”
“All right. Who else might know enough to blackmail you?”