Frovtunes’ Kiss (38 page)

“Good work.” He watched the maid bustle at the sideboard before retreating through the swinging door. Then he said, “And yet my original question goes unanswered. Where do you intend going today?”

Moira stood beside her chair. “Oh, all right. While you and Mr. Paddington meet with Inspector Parker again, I'm going back to Essex Court to show the sketches to the Oliphants' neighbors. There was one old woman in particular—”

A single stride brought him to her. He gripped her hands. “You most certainly will not.”

“You're hurting me.”

His fingers relaxed, but he did not release her. “Forget it, Moira. You're not going.”

“Don't be ridiculous. The Oliphants are gone, and it's broad daylight.” Managing to slip her hands free, she sat down and picked up her fork.

He stood gritting his teeth and glaring down at her. Then he slid into a seat opposite and fixed her with a level gaze. “The safety of that neighborhood aside, all the evidence points to Piers Oliphant having killed Smythe. We have no idea where he is at present or where he might turn up next. And to tell you the truth, Moira, it's becoming damned burdensome to have people engaging in self-destructive behavior on my account.”

She looked up from her breakfast, mouth going still around a bite of ham. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He raked a hand through his hair and thought briefly of Freddy, somewhat better now but still ravaged by the wounds that had driven him to opium. “It means I'm sorry about what your stepfather did. I know he hurt you very much. What I don't understand is why it all seems to be my fault.”

Her eyes went wide. “I never implied any such thing.”

“Yes, you did. With each cool word, each chilly glance, you seem to be visiting your stepfather's sins upon me. I've thought about it a lot these two days.” He stopped just short of admitting he'd lain awake nearly two entire nights. “Because Everett betrayed your trust, you feel you can no longer trust me. As if you're certain I'll hurt you as he did.”

“Is that what you think?” Her lashes fell. She wrapped her hands so tightly around her coffee cup he feared for its safety. “It's true that of all men on this earth, my stepfather seemed least likely to ever betray those who loved him. And yet he did.” Her gaze rose, shimmering darkly.

“And if
he
could, then surely a swaggerer like me will?”

“That isn't it at all.” She pressed her fingertips to her eyes. “I simply think we should stop doing the kinds of things we were just doing.”

“Caring about each other and showing it?”

“We've strayed far beyond that, and you know it.”

“At your prompting.” When her mouth fell open, he held up a hand. “I only meant you seemed happy enough in my arms until you learned of Everett's broken promises.”

“Yes, well, you have made me no promises and thus there are none to break.” She sat back, her spine stiff against the chair's spindles. “You are sworn to return to Egypt. That is your commitment. Your future.”

“What if it wasn't?” he murmured before stopping to consider the ramifications. The very notion set his blood racing, his thoughts reeling. This was something he hadn't dared consider before, a notion he had refused to entertain, and yet…hadn't every moment in Moira's arms led him to this very suggestion?

“Then you would be disavowing your oath to that sheik, wouldn't you?” Her chin squared in challenge. “Breaking a solemn promise.”

“So I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't.”

“This is pointless.” With a flick she deposited her napkin on the table and set her bonnet on her head. Scuffing back her chair, she came to her feet.

“Moira, wait.” He caught up with her in the doorway and seized her hand. “Why am I guilty before I've committed any crime? I am not your stepfather. How can I make you believe you're safe with me?”

“You could be Ni—” Her mouth snapped closed.

“Be what? Whom? Nigel? I could be Nigel? Blazing hell. Was he such a paragon you'd never suspect in him what you're so ready to condemn in me?”

“You still don't understand.” She snatched her hand free and gripped it with the other. “Nigel would have stayed. He'd have been content and not pined for more. Excitement to him meant racing his horse across the dales in the morning and reading a rousing good book in the evening. He was…like me.”

“Ah, Moira, I'm beginning to believe you and I are more alike than not.” He reached for her, but she pulled away.

Her ebony eyes glistened, but in their midnight depths defiance glinted, too. “Life's greatest disappointments spring from where one's trust lies deepest. Your words. But you didn't have it quite right. The greatest disappointments spring from where one's
love
lies deepest. And I'm sorry, but I simply don't dare risk loving you.”

       21      

M
oira strode through the house, away from Graham and out the front door. She didn't think he would follow, didn't want him to. Her flight came of a need to expend energy on something other than regret. Regrets were such a useless waste of time.

Outside on the foot pavement, she stopped to catch her breath, gain her bearings. Where should she go? A stubborn voice suggested Essex Court.

Graham would be angry. And he'd be justified, for she couldn't refute his arguments against her going. Putting herself at risk would only hamper the investigation.

She lingered at the bottom of the steps like a lost, loitering figure, when the sound of her name sent her pulse for a leap and transformed her next breath to a gasp.

One quivering with relief.

That instant compelled her to admit, silently, that yes, she
had
wanted him to follow, wanted it with the entirety of her being. Irrationally, ill-advisedly, her world had come to revolve around this man, and she could not envision what it would be like when he left.

Her thoughts churned as he descended the steps to stand beside her, so close he had to tuck his chin to look down at her. His scent, fresh and vibrant and uniquely his, surrounded her and traveled through her, making her crave his arms and ache for the feel of him against her. She concentrated on breathing, on not allowing even a hint of her longing to reach her features.

“I was wrong,” he said, “entirely wrong. All those things I said about family and loyalty and disappointments. All of it was rubbish. Good grief, I was wallowing in self-pity, babbling nonsense. You shouldn't have listened. I didn't think you had. Throw it all back in my face if you must, but don't believe it, not a single blessed word of it, Moira.”

Ah, when he stood so close and looked like that…his eyes sea-bright with remorse, his tanned face aglow with self-blame…how easy then to shove her qualms aside and simply believe, as he so obviously wished her to, that they wanted the same things in life. That they could make each other happy in the years ahead.

She placed a hand on his cheek, smooth from his morning shave. “I'm so sorry. I was mean to you inside, and it was wrong of me. I—”

“Don't.” When she might have taken her hand away, he pressed his palm over it as if to savor the contact, never let it end. “Don't apologize. Don't be sorry. I'm not.”

She understood what he meant. Even now she would not undo their time at Monteith Hall. Could not, for all it would have made the days ahead easier. Fool that she was, she'd rather have that one memory to cherish, even with all the anguish that went with it, than trade it for the luxury of walking away from him with a light heart.

“You spoke of love before you ran off,” he said.

Yes, in a moment of wretched madness, she'd said too much. She reclaimed her hand now lest the feel of him beneath her palm compel her to reveal more secrets, convince her to ignore too many truths. She stepped back.

“What I meant was that if we continued what we began at Monteith Hall, I might run the risk of falling in love with you. It is a risk I will not take.”

His nostrils flared; his blue eyes frosted. “I see.”

That was all. No protestations, no arguments assuring her of his love. Only a despondent look that mirrored the heaviness of her own heart. The truth was, they cared for each other, a great deal. Of that she had no doubt. She simply didn't believe those feelings could weather a lifetime.

She raised her skirts, preparing to retreat back up the steps into the house.

“Lord Monteith!”

They both started at the sound of the hail. Gazing to the street, they watched as Miles Parker stepped down from a hackney.

“I've news,” he told them without pausing to exchange pleasantries. “The Oliphants may have been found.”

Moira couldn't prevent the cry that burst from her lips.

“It's not the best of developments, I'm afraid.” The inspector hesitated and made an unnecessary adjustment to his cravat. “Not what we hoped for.”

“Don't keep us in suspense, Mr. Parker.” Moira swept closer to him. “Where are the Oliphants?”

The man hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. “My lord, may we discuss this inside? I think you both should sit down.”

“Of course. This way.” Graham ushered them into the house and to the nearest room off the main hall. In the dining room, he bade them be seated near the head of the long table. “Now then, Parker, explain what's happened.”

Mr. Parker gave a brisk nod. “I received a report early this morning that a family fitting the Oliphants' description may have boarded a coach at the White Chapel yard. A porter there remembered them because the man paid the driver extra to start out an hour early, before daybreak.”

“Were your men able to catch up with them?” Moira's hopes raced along with her heartbeat.

“In a manner of speaking, yes. But we're not entirely certain it's them.” Mr. Parker inclined his head. “That's why I'm here. I'd hoped the two of you might come along to identify the pair.”

Graham was shaking his head no. “Not Miss Hughes. It's too dangerous.”

“Oh, but Graham—”

The inspector held up a hand. “If these are the Oliphants, I can assure you they pose no threat. You see, there was an accident. The coach slid off the road and rolled down a ravine. There were…” He swallowed. “No survivors.”

Don't let it be them; oh, please, don't let it be
.

The words rang through Moira's mind as Mr. Parker led the way into the barn turned makeshift morgue. She could barely draw breath while images at the corners of her eyes faded into a blur. It was like walking into a nightmare, knowing that what lay within the wooden structure had nothing whatsoever to do with farming or coaxing anything to life, but quite the opposite.

The surrounding fields stood unnaturally quiet despite the bevy of onlookers, neighboring families who'd come to assist or simply view the carnage. They stood scattered about the barnyard in small clutches, whispering among themselves. Others had gathered on the porch of the nearby stone-and-timber farmhouse, their straw hats and gingham bonnets pulled low over bleak, bewildered faces. Their murmurs ceased as Moira, Graham, and Mr. Parker cut a somber path through their midst.