McAlistair's Fortune (23 page)

She felt the sting of that wound now, as the worst of her temper began to ease in small increments.

With a sound that was half growl and half sob, she sat heavily on the edge of the bed.

Hadn’t he come to know her
at all?

Didn’t he love her even a little?

The sting grew into a heavy ache in her chest. She pressed at it with the heel of her hand, as if she could rub it away as McAlistair had rubbed away the pain in her leg.

Exhausted and heartbroken, she crawled on top of the bed, curled into a ball, and wished she had a pillow to cry on.

E
vie slipped into a fitful sleep and woke to the late-afternoon light barely seeping through the wool curtains.

She could open those now, she thought dully, and rose stiffly from the bed.

After letting in the meager light, she straightened her appearance, replaced the pillows on the bed, and then, finding herself with nothing left to do, sat back down.

She felt drained to her very core, completely hollowed out…except for her head, which felt stuffy…and her neck, which had a substantial kink in it…and her knee, which still throbbed from its encounter with the kitchen table. But the
rest
of her felt empty, as if someone had reached inside and torn out her heart.

It was almost amazing, she thought without feeling the least bit amazed, how one could be numb and yet hurt unbearably at the same time.

It was similarly odd that one could feel ill and hungry at the same time. But then, she’d had very little to eat all day, and while her appetite might occasionally suffer some from nerves and anger, it was never quelled for long. She hadn’t gained her curvy figure by skipping meals.

Resigned to filling her grumbling stomach, she headed downstairs, careful to keep an eye out for McAlistair. She wasn’t ready yet to see him, let alone speak with him—not while she was surrounded by what she assumed was expensive artwork and knew to be fragile vases.

She was careful to keep her foray into the kitchen brief. The room held unpleasant memories now, too fresh to linger over food choices. She grabbed an apple—a convenient and inexpensive projectile, should she run into McAlistair—and headed back upstairs.

She was at the foot of the main staircase when the front door swung open with a crash.

Heart in her throat, Evie spun around to see the Duchess of Rockeforte come stumbling in. Short of breath, wearing a wrinkled and dusty traveling gown, and with her dark hair escaping in large sections from her bonnet, she looked positively wild.

Evie gaped at her.
“Sophie?”

Sophie ran forward to throw her arms around her. “Evie. You’re safe.”

“Yes, I—” She returned the embrace. “What are you doing here? Has something happened?” A horrible thought occurred to her. Mirabelle, Whit’s wife, was expecting. “Mirabelle. The baby. Has something happened to—”

“No. No.” Sophie drew back, but gripped Evie’s shoulders. “It’s John Herbert,” she panted. “The footman from Haldon.”

“John Herbert?” Alternately relieved, baffled, and alarmed, Evie shook her head. “I don’t understand. Did he escape?”

“Escape?” Sophie blinked. “From Haldon?”

“Haldon? What? No, from Christian and Mr. Hunter.”

“Christian? Mr. Hunter?” Sophie dropped her hands. “We’re a set of parrots. What are you talking about?”

“John Herbert. He was here this morning. Christian and Mr. Hunter have taken him to the local magistrate. What are you talking about?”

“Absolutely nothing of relevance, apparently.” Sophie laughed suddenly. “We’d come to inform you of John Herbert’s treachery.”

“We?”

“I came with Alex, Whit, and Kate.” Blowing out a long breath, and looking calmer for it, Sophie searched out a chair next to the hall side table and sat down heavily. “We came as soon as Herbert’s absence was noticed.”

“Oh.” Evie still felt utterly lost. “Well, that was very…er…loyal of you. I’m surprised Alex allowed it.”

“He didn’t.” Sophie shrugged. “I came anyway.”

“Ah.” She looked in the direction of the still-open door. “Where is he? And the others?”

“A minute or two back.” She stretched out her legs with a grimace. “We raced the last two miles. Well, Kate and I did. Alex and Whit were checking their map and left somewhat unawares.”

“You left them
behind?”

“Unfortunately, they gave chase soon enough,” Sophie replied. “They’ve been the worst of traveling companions. Arguing for the first half of the journey and lecturing for the second.”

Evie looked warily at the front door again, expecting a storming pair of men at any moment. “I suppose Whit is no more pleased with Kate at present than Alex is with you.”

“They are a mite put out,” Sophie admitted, without, Evie noticed, the slightest hint of regret. “As is Lady—”

Sophie broke off as Lady Kate Cole entered through the front door, looking much as Sophie had only a minute before, her pale blonde hair mostly loose from its pins, and her wide blue eyes bright with worry.

“Evie! You’re all right!”

“I’m perfectly well,” Evie insisted, even as Kate flew into her arms.

Keeping a tight hold on her friend, Kate threw a look over her shoulder at Sophie. An easy maneuver, as Kate was several inches taller than Evie. “Did you tell her? Does she know about John—”

“She knows,” Sophie cut in. “She knew already.”

Kate drew back, a line appearing across her brow. “What? How?”

Sophie untied the ribbons of her bonnet. “Mr. Herbert made an appearance several hours ago and was subsequently apprehended.”

Unless Evie was much mistaken, Kate’s shoulders slumped a little. “It’s done then? It’s over?”

“You needn’t sound disappointed,” Evie pointed out.

“I’m not, I…” Kate drew back and made a face. “Well, yes, I am. Just a little. I rather fancied the idea of riding to your rescue.”

“The effort is noted and appreciated,” Evie drawled.

Kate snorted, but her eyes danced with humor. “I missed Miss Willory’s birthday celebration for this.”

Evie smirked. Miss Willory was one of Kate’s least favorite people. One of her own, as well. “I am so terribly sorry.”

“And my mother is
supremely
irritated with me.”

“You disobeyed Lady Thurston by coming?” The very idea was bewildering. “Kate—”

“No lectures, I beg you. I’ve had my fill.”

“You’ll make room for more,” a cool voice said from the front door.

Whit entered, looking travel-worn and more than just “a mite put out,” as Sophie had phrased it. He shut the door carefully behind him, sent one cold, hard look at Kate and Sophie that promised retribution of a most grievous nature, and then stepped forward to place a kiss on Evie’s cheek.

“Evie, you’re well?”

She’d never been so miserable. “Perfectly.”

Whit nodded and pulled off his gloves. “Fetch the others, if you would. I’m sure Kate and Sophie have taken it upon themselves to inform you of our news.”

“It
is
why we came,” Sophie pointed out.

“And it hardly matters now, at any rate,” Kate added. “It’s over. We’ve come too late.”

Evie rolled her eyes at the overly dramatic statement.

Whit went still. “Too late? Herbert was here?”

“This morning,” Evie confirmed, and wondered if she would have to explain yet again when Alex arrived. “Christian and Mr. Hunter have taken him—”

Whit swore viciously even as concern, and just a hint of fear, crossed his face. He cupped her chin in his hand, his eyes searching. “You’re not hurt? He didn’t hurt you?”

“I’m perfectly well,” she repeated. “We all are.”

He looked at her a moment longer before dropping his hand and enveloping her in a hard embrace. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he said hoarsely.

Touched, as she always was by his unfailing loyalty, she blinked back tears and returned the embrace. “I’m quite well, Whit, honestly. You can’t be everywhere at once.”

“I should have been here. It is my responsibility to see to the safety of my family.” He looked around her to glare at Kate. “Though some would do their best to make that task impossible.”

Kate sent Evie an exaggerated look of sympathy. “Pay him no mind. It’s not your fault John Herbert is a lunatic.”

Whit let go of Evie to jab a finger at Kate. He opened his mouth to deliver what would no doubt be a blistering response, but the sound of the front door once again swinging open cut him off.

Alex, the Duke of Rockeforte, marched in. In the past, Evie had thought Alex’s tousled coffee-colored locks gave him a somewhat boyish air. That thought didn’t occur to her at present. Just now, he looked to her to be very much a grown duke—a tall, dark, and furious duke. “Whose bloody idea was it to race?”

Sophie smiled brightly at her husband. “It was a joint decision.”

“It sure as hell wasn’t a group one,” he growled.

“Well, it couldn’t have been,” Sophie argued reasonably. “You’d have said no.”

“You’re damn right I would have,” Alex snapped and either didn’t hear, or chose to ignore, Sophie’s mumblings about the annoyance of poor losers. Instead, he turned to Evie and looked her over. “You’re well?”

Evie managed, barely, to swallow a groan. “I’m entirely unharmed and John Herbert is on his way to the magistrate.”

“He’s been caught?” His face brightened as he stepped forward to plant a kiss on Evie’s cheek. “Excellent. How?”

“He made an appearance this morning. Perhaps we should wait until Christian and Mr. Hunter return for a full recounting. I’m certain you have questions for them as well.”

Alex and Whit nodded.

“If that’s settled,” Sophie commented, “I should like to find Mrs. Summers. Perhaps—”

“The issue of your impromptu race has not been settled,” Alex interrupted in a cool tone. “It was reckless. You could have been injured.”

“Can we have this lecture somewhere with more seating?” Kate inquired. “Sophie has the only chair in the hall.”

Whit glared at his sister. “You’d be a sight more uncomfortable if you’d taken a spill from your horse.”

“I have
never
fallen from a horse,” Kate said with some indignation. Several pairs of brows rose at that statement. “I have never fallen from a
moving
horse,” she clarified with a sniff. “I may be clumsy, but I am hardly a danger to myself, generally.”

“Kate is a fine horsewoman,” Sophie said loyally. “We both are, and we have engaged in a number of races in the past without mishap.” Her eyes briefly jumped to Kate. “Significant mishap,” she amended.

“Racing across familiar terrain is not—”

Alex broke off at the sound of Mrs. Summers’s voice coming from farther down the hall. “Good heavens. What is all this?”

Evie poked her head around Whit’s shoulders. “We’ve visitors.”

A round of greetings followed, and then another when Christian arrived. It was a great mass of noise and movement, as bows and handshakes and embraces were exchanged. Sophie held on to Mrs. Summers for an extended period of time, Kate answered questions on the progression of their journey, and Evie sidled up next to Whit to whisper in his ear.

“Handle your wife and sister, can you?” she asked, reminding him of his pronouncement the morning she’d left Haldon.

“Mirabelle’s not here, is she?” Whit pointed out.

Evie doubted Mirabelle had been foolish enough to consider riding cross-country in her condition. “I’m sure convincing her to stay was a great trial.”

Whit pretended not to hear her. “Where’s Mr. Hunter?” he asked Christian.

Christian jerked his head toward that back of the house. “Cleaning a bit of dirt from his boots. I expect we arrived from the north not three minutes after you came from the east.”

“Two minutes for the ladies,” Sophie corrected.

Alex narrowed his eyes. “What if Herbert had been here? What if something had happened to both of us? Where would that have left our son?”

Sophie stood and stretched out the kinks in her back. “I imagine you should have thought of that before insisting you come along.”

When a low growl emitted from Alex’s throat, Mrs. Summers stepped between them. “Would anyone care for a spot of tea in the parlor?”

The answer to that question was delayed by the sudden appearance of McAlistair.

And just as Evie had feared, the sight of him turned her inside out. She felt her fingernails dig into the apple she’d almost forgotten she was holding, and she might very well have winged it at his handsome head if others hadn’t been present. Because the temptation still remained, she turned her attention to Sophie and Kate, who, unfortunately, had their attention turned to McAlistair.

Sophie dipped in a quick curtsy upon their introduction. Kate, on the other hand, had lived with the legend of the hermit McAlistair for a third of her life without having ever seen him. She indulged in a moment of gaping and then a long and obvious perusal of his person.

“The Hermit of Haldon Hall,” she breathed, fascination evident in every syllable. “I could scarcely believe it when Mirabelle told me you were real.”

“I’ve been telling you for nearly a decade,” Whit pointed out.

“Yes, but you’re my brother,” she said dismissively.

“And?”

“Brothers lie.” She ignored Whit’s grumbling and offered McAlistair a sunny smile. “I am delighted to finally make your acquaintance.”

Eventually, tea was prepared and consumed in the parlor, and the story of John Herbert’s plan for revenge summarized and discussed. Though there were still questions Evie would have liked to ask McAlistair about some of the things Herbert had said, she found she wasn’t quite interested
enough
to speak to McAlistair directly. Not yet.

She answered the questions of others instead, drank her tea and ate her apple, and then excused herself from the early dinner Mrs. Summers suggested, pleading nerves after the trying day.

In retrospect, it hadn’t been a very clever excuse for her exit. No one who knew her well was likely to believe she’d succumbed to a fit of nerves, and so she wasn’t terribly surprised when a knock sounded at her door an hour later.

Though she knew it to be foolish, a small part of her couldn’t help but hope, just for a moment, that it might be McAlistair.

It was Kate, holding a plate of cold meat and cheese. The early dinner, Evie surmised.

Without bothering to wait for an invitation, Kate swept past Evie into the room, took a seat on the bed, and shoved the plate at Evie. “Sit, eat, and tell me what’s happened.”

Left with no other choice, Evie took the plate, but set it on the nearby desk. “You know what happened. John Herbert—”

“Oh, devil take John Herbert. What’s the matter with you?”

“A run-in with a murderer isn’t enough?”