McAlistair's Fortune (2 page)

She managed, barely, to refrain from making an unpleasant face at him as he unfolded the letter and began to read. He showed no reaction to the message it contained. Bit disturbing, that. Even she had cringed at the contents, and she’d known them to be a lie.

It was a filthy string of insults and threats—considerably more filthy and threatening than she personally felt was necessary, but it did get the point across. It promised, in no uncertain terms, retribution for her sins.

McAlistair looked to her. “What sins?”

Which
sins would likely be more accurate, but she rather doubted he was interested in a list. It hardly mattered, at any rate. She assumed the author of the letter had very specific sins in mind. At least, she certainly hoped so. She didn’t care for the idea that Mr. Fletcher was apprised of all her misdeeds, including the fact that she had kissed a strange hermit in the woods.

Lady Thurston answered for her. “Evie has, with my permission, been quietly active in several women’s charities—organizations with missions some might consider radical, and therefore sinful. We assume that is the author’s point of contention, given the nature of his insults…and the fact that Evie is otherwise quite exemplary in her conduct.”

Evie smiled at her aunt and concentrated on looking suitably innocent—and not looking at McAlistair at all. Exemplary, indeed.

McAlistair set the letter down. “Suspects?”

“None that stand out,” Mr. Fletcher answered.

Whit pulled at his cravat. “We’re working under the assumption the threat comes from a family member or employer of one of the women Evie sought to help.”

Mrs. Summers sent her an approving smile. “Over the years, she has assisted in arranging secret passage out of the country for a number of mistreated women. Wives who suffered violence from their husbands. Women of ill-repute who sought to escape their abusive employers.”

“Those women left a fair number of angry husbands and bawds behind,” Mr. Fletcher added. “Although how they detected Evie’s involvement, we’ve yet to determine. And until we do, I feel it would be best if she is hidden away elsewhere. Somewhere safer.”

“Absolutely,” Mrs. Summers chimed in.

“Absolutely not,” Lady Thurston snapped at the same time.

“He’s right,” McAlistair said, earning a hard glare from Whit and Lady Thurston. “Too many doors here. Too many places to hide.”

“The staff has been instructed to—” Whit broke off with a scowl. “Who let you in?”

McAlistair shook his head.

“Damn it. Did anyone see you?”

Another head shake from McAlistair and a soft stream of expletives from Whit.

He turned to Evie. “Pack your things. You’re leaving in the morning.”

She was? “I am?”

“It’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Not particularly. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

Whit gave a very decisive, very unhappy nod. “Be ready by first light.”

First light? They really meant to send her away? How the devil had that happened?

“Tonight would be better,” Mr. Fletcher argued.

“I’ll not have her on the road at night.” And with that final pronouncement, Whit excused himself from the room.

Looking somewhat preoccupied, Mr. Fletcher gave Evie what he apparently thought was an encouraging smile and followed Whit. Lady Thurston and Mrs. Summers, exchanging heated whispers, rose from their respective seats, stopped to place reassuring kisses on Evie’s cheek, and made their exits as well.

Evie was so taken aback by the news she’d actually be leaving Haldon, it took a minute to realize she’d been left in the room with only McAlistair for company.

And he was staring at her again.

She scrambled for something to say. Preferably something that would, at the very least, induce him to blink. It was unnerving the way his dark eyes focused on her—almost as unnerving as her reaction. She swore she could actually feel her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest.

“I…You…” She swallowed hard. “You’ve b-been well, I hope?”

He gave one small nod and did not, she couldn’t help noticing, inquire after her own well-being. The blighter.

“Well, I am delighted to hear it,” she ground out, and moved to walk around him.

He caught her arm as she passed. “You’re angry.”

Furious, actually, but still sensible enough to realize some of that anger might be unwarranted. She opened her mouth, but before she could attempt to explain, or try to reach some sort of understanding between them, he let go of her arm and gave that small nod again.

“Good.”

She blinked at him, utterly astounded. “Good?” That was his response when faced with the possibility of her ire? Good? “You
want
me t-to be angry with you?”

“For the best.”

“Well, far be it from me to disappoint a guest,” she snapped, and brushed past him out the door.

T
he trouble with having a limp was that it was nearly impossible to execute a proper stomping. That wasn’t the
only
trouble, of course, but it was the inconvenience that most vexed Evie at present.

Gritting her teeth, she continued down the hall in the slow, short steps required to maintain an even gait. After severely injuring her leg in a carriage accident, her stride would never be perfectly smooth. But unless one was actively looking for the slight dip of her frame or listening for the brief drag of her foot, one wasn’t likely to notice her limp. That was all well and good, but slow, short steps and an even slightly dragging foot made it exceedingly difficult for her to storm off with the sort of haughty disdain the situation clearly warranted.

Good, indeed.

She threw open the door to her room, stepped inside, and slammed the door behind her. The resulting noise provided a small amount of satisfaction.

Glaring in the general direction of the study, she tried desperately to sort out her fractured feelings. She was livid, which went without saying, but not all that anger was directed at McAlistair. A fair amount of it was reserved for her own foolish behavior.

What the devil had she been thinking all these months, that McAlistair would return to Haldon with a fistful of flowers and a book of poetry to recite? Had she expected words of love, public courtship, perhaps an offer of marriage? She turned her glare to the back of the door and briefly wondered how much it might hurt if she kicked it. Too much, she decided, and crossed the room to drop down in an overstuffed chair.

She didn’t want to marry, she reminded herself. And it had only been a kiss. A single kiss from a man she barely knew. Obviously he understood as much and likely recognized that she had mistakenly built it into something more. So he sought her anger rather than face her infatuation.

How utterly mortifying.

He might have attempted some diplomacy, she thought glumly, but then he was a hermit, not a barrister. And it was hardly McAlistair’s fault she’d turned their brief encounter in the woods into a fairy tale. He certainly wasn’t to blame for the fascination she’d had since the day she first spotted him, years ago, sitting on an outcropping of rock, quietly skinning a rabbit. He’d been little more than a myth to her until that moment—a story Whit had concocted to scare and entertain the young ladies of Haldon. A mysterious former soldier haunting the woods of Haldon. A wild man, dark and dangerous, hiding away from the world. They weren’t to fear him, they’d been told, but they were to keep a respectable distance should they cross his path.

As she was the only one of the girls who enjoyed walking the woods at odd hours and eschewing the trails when there was still light, Whit had made certain to repeat his warning to her at regular intervals.

She hadn’t believed a word of it…until she’d seen McAlistair that day on the rocks, with the dying light of the sun outlining his taut frame in gold. It had only taken a heartbeat for him to catch her eye, and then he was gone, into the woods. She’d stared after him for a long time, feeling as if she’d caught a glimpse of something unworldly, something magical. Something wonderful. Every time she’d stepped into the trees after that, it had been with the hope she would glimpse that magic again.

Which was, she thought now, a perfectly ridiculous reaction—golden light and magical sightings. Honestly. When had she become so fanciful? And why the devil had she not realized it before now? She should have told her friends about seeing him, rather than keeping it to herself all these years. They would have laughed and gossiped and speculated, and otherwise turned the whole business into what it truly was—silly and insignificant.

It
wasn’t
particularly important, Evie assured herself. His hadn’t even been her first kiss. She wondered what McAlistair would say to that. Not a thing, she decided with an annoyed puff of breath. Likely as not, he’d simply gift her with that disconcerting stare he had—the one that made her heart race and her skin tingle.

She caught sight of her exasperated expression in the vanity mirror and groaned. Then groaned again when she noticed her plain ivory gown. If she’d known McAlistair was to come, she would have changed—worn something perhaps a bit less comfortable and a bit more flattering. Not that the dress wasn’t lovely; it was, but Lady Thurston had taught her that there was lovely, and then there was
lovely.
And while she may have blown the kiss out of proportion, it hardly followed that she couldn’t do her very best to remind McAlistair
of why
he’d kissed her. As she had noticed that men had a tendency to allow their eyes to drift downward from her face when in her company for more than a few moments, she rather thought one of the reasons might be her generous bosom.

Rising, she stepped closer to the mirror to study her face. It was nice enough, she thought without vanity—heart-shaped with wide brown eyes, a thin nose, and full lips—but it wasn’t beautiful. She would never be beautiful. Her finger traced the long thin scar that ran from her temple to her jaw, another result of the carriage accident in her childhood.

She’d been terribly self-conscious of the flaw as a child, perhaps because the injury had taken so long to heal. Even months after the wound had closed, the skin around it had remained red and swollen. And between her marred countenance and noticeable limp, she’d been certain she appeared a veritable monster.

It hadn’t helped, particularly, to have her own mother pale at the mere sight of her.

Evie had taken to hiding herself away from the gaze of others and to stammering when their gazes couldn’t be avoided. It wasn’t until Lady Thurston had brought her to live at Haldon (an offer Mrs. Cole had accepted with great relief) that the worst of her shyness had begun to ease. She’d been so quickly accepted, so openly loved by her aunt and cousins that, over time, she regained some of the confidence she had lost. Now she only grew nervous and stammered when faced with the staring eyes of someone she didn’t know well…someone like McAlistair.

“You’re going in circles, girl,” she berated herself

And because she was, it was probably best that her musings were interrupted by the crash of the connecting door to her room. Lizzy, the lady’s maid she and Kate shared, rushed in, looking breathless and excited.

“Is it true, miss? Is he really here?”

Evie turned from the mirror and resumed her seat in the chair. “I assume you’re referring to Mr. McAlistair?”

Lizzy rolled her eyes. “No, the smithy. I’m always such aflutter when he arrives. Yes, of course McAlistair.”

Evie laughed despite her foul mood. She rather thought Lizzy had to be the cheekiest lady’s maid in all of England—a distinction Evie appreciated and encouraged.

“Mr. McAlistair has indeed graced us with his presence.”

“Mister, now, is it?” Lizzy raised her eyebrows comically. Of average height and build, with a long nose and round face, she was a woman some might consider plain. But Evie had always been of the opinion that Lizzy’s dramatically expressive face made her uniquely attractive. It was impossible not to smile while in her company. “Is he a gentleman, all of a sudden?”

“He was dressed as one.”

“Oh.” Lizzy’s face fell. “I’d rather hoped to see him in all his hermit glory.”

“Life is rife with disappointment.”

“Apparently.” Lizzy took the seat across from her. “What’s he like as a gentleman, then? Is he handsome? Or have years of living as a savage taken their toll?”

“He’s handsome enough.” Enough to steal the air from her lungs.

“But what does he look like? Is he tall, short, blue-eyed, or—?”

“Tall, dark-haired, and dark-eyed. You’ll see him for yourself soon enough, I imagine.”

“Yes, but I’d like to know what to expect.” Lizzy leaned forward in her chair. “Is he terribly frightening? Does he growl and snarl if one attempts conversation?”

“No, he’s simply…reticent.”

Lizzy pursed her lips and stood. “He’s not the only one.”

“Well, I do have other things on my mind at present.”

“The letter, do you mean?” Lizzy frowned. “Too much fuss over one little missive, I should think. Lord Thurston won’t allow for any harm to come to you.”

Evie pressed her lips together. “He means to send me to Norfolk to make certain of it. I’m to leave first thing in the morning, under armed guard.”

Lizzy visibly started. “To Norfolk?”

“Under armed guard,” she repeated.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Whit certainly is.” She blew out a long breath. “I need to pack.”

Packing was accomplished with little speed and even less enthusiasm. It didn’t help matters to have Lizzy running off downstairs every ten minutes with excuses that ranged from the practical, “Lady Thurston might have some idea how many days you’ll be gone,” to the absurd, “I wonder if Cook remembered to slice the onions thin, the way Mrs. Summers prefers.”

“Caught sight of him yet?” Evie inquired after Lizzy returned from her seventh trip.

“I’ve no idea what you mean.” Lizzy pasted on an innocent expression and began folding the last of the chosen gowns into a trunk.

Evie smirked and carefully wrapped a bonnet in tissue. “All this running up and down the steps hasn’t been an attempt to catch sight of Mr. McAlistair, then?”

Lizzy scowled. “The man’s frightfully elusive.”

“He’s had considerable practice, you’ll recall,” Evie said with a laugh.

“And puts it to good use. I asked John Herbert if he’d managed a peek. He hasn’t, and John always knows what’s afoot in Haldon.”

“John Herbert? The new footman?”

“He’s been here near seven months, miss. I don’t know as I would qualify him as new.”

“That’s because you qualify him as dreadfully handsome,” Evie teased.

“He is that.” Lizzy sighed dramatically.

Eager to avoid a discussion on John Herbert’s tremendous handsomeness, which would inevitably be followed by a monologue on Robert Klein’s immense physical strength, which was guaranteed to precede a lengthy discourse on Calvin Bradley’s devilish charm, Evie asked, “Has anyone else arrived?”

“Mr. Hunter,” Lizzy replied, reaching for another gown, “an hour ago. And word just came from Lord Rockeforte by way of special courier. He’s been delayed, something about having to slip out of the house under the cover of night.”

Evie grinned at the idea of the proud and powerful Duke of Rockeforte finding it necessary to sneak out of his own home to avoid his wife and her friends. “How is it you’re aware of what the duke had to say? Eavesdropping, were you?”

“Not this time,” Lizzy answered without the slightest hint of shame. “Mr. Fletcher read the missive aloud for the benefit of Mr. Hunter. I happened to be in the parlor at the time.”

“Very convenient.”

“It was, rather.” Lizzy frowned absently at the contents of the trunk. “Does he seem at all familiar to you?”

“Mr. Hunter?” Evie set down her work. “Kate asks me that every time we see the man.”

Lizzy nodded. “There’s something about him, something that niggles at my memory. And he seems to always have this look about him, as if he knows exactly why that might be, and won’t tell.”

“Has he been unkind to you? Has he—”

“Oh, no, miss. Nothing of the sort.” Lizzy shook her head. “He’s very much a gentleman to the staff—more so, in my opinion, than some who’ve been born to the position. I think he has a secret, that’s all.”

“Perhaps I can ferret it out at dinner for you.”

Lizzy winced. “Dinner. Oh dear, I’d forgotten. Lady Thurston says you’re to take dinner in your room tonight.”

Evie blinked at that news. “Did she say why?”

“Not to me, but I overheard her informing Mrs. Summers she was uncomfortable with the idea of you being downstairs late at night.”

“Conveniently in the parlor again?”

“No, I was eavesdropping.”

Evie snorted out a laugh. “Well, it’s an absurd idea. She can’t possibly mean it.”

A knock on the door and the arrival of a maid carrying a tray of food told Evie that Lady Thurston was very much in earnest. Uncertain whether to be amused or annoyed at being banished to her room for dinner, Evie directed that the tray be set on the bed. After seeing the maid out, she sat down and reached for a roll.

“I repeat, this is absurd.”

“There are an awful number of doors and windows in this house,” Lizzy pointed out.

“I thought you said there was too much bother being made of all this.”

“I’m not sure I’d consider being served dinner in bed such a bother.”

Evie stopped with the roll halfway to her mouth. “You have a point.”

An excellent one, Evie admitted silently. And now that she thought on it, she didn’t particularly care for the idea of going downstairs for dinner. She never did when there were guests in the house. Guests at the table meant stares and a pressure to speak. With McAlistair as one of those guests, the staring and the pressure would be infinitely worse. Well, the staring would be.

She wondered if being relieved by the knowledge she wouldn’t have to face him across the dinner table made her a coward. She bit into her roll, thought about it, and decided she didn’t much care. She was who she was. Perhaps she was less than courageous in some areas, but she made up for it with bravery in others.

“All done here, I think.”

Evie swallowed, mentally shook herself from her woolgathering, and looked up to find Lizzy standing over a pair of closed trunks. “Beg your pardon?”

“You’re all packed,” Lizzy repeated. “Unless we forgot something.”

Evie took mental inventory of everything they’d fit into the trunks. “I’ve enough, I think. I’ll not be gone for more than a fortnight.”

Lizzy nodded in approval. “That’s the spirit. Lord Thurston will take care of this business before you’re halfway to Norfolk.”

Evie muttered a noncommittal, nonsensical reply. Whether the ridiculous business was done or not, she was returning to Haldon at the end of the fortnight.

Her agenda was clear for now, but in two weeks’ time, Mrs. Nancy Yard from London would be expecting someone to meet her behind Maver’s tavern in the nearby village of Benton. It was Evie’s job to be that someone—to see that the woman received instructions and funds for the next leg of her trip. If all went well, Mrs. Yard would have a new life in Ireland, free from the violent whims of her husband.