Page 43 of The Truth About Lord Stoneville
“Neither did you, of course. I hope you don’t think I believed his insinuation.”
“Believe what you wish. It doesn’t matter,” he lied.
They’d reached the entrance to the building. As he held the door open for her, she paused to stare at him, forcing him to meet her gaze. “It matters. He shouldn’t have said it.”
For a moment, he couldn’t look away. There was so much compassion in her eyes that he wanted to drown in it.
Then he wanted to run.
It wouldn’t last. How could it?
Snapping his gaze from hers, he led her down the front steps. “Trust me, Maria, that’s only a fraction of what he could have insinuated. He could have related the entirety of the rumor—that I shot Father so I could inherit, and then Mother when she tried to wrest the gun away from me.”
Though her hand tightened painfully on his arm, he didn’t relent. She might as well know the full extent of what was said about him and his family, if she meant to do such a foolish thing as go around defending them. “Then there’s the rumors that Father was meeting a woman and that’s why Mother shot him. Or that Gran paid to haveFather killed because Mother had asked it of her, but something went wrong when it was done. Every one of those theories has been whispered about my family during the past nineteen years.”
“That isn’t right!” she protested.
“It’s human nature,” he said wearily. “If the truth is too boring, people create more interesting versions. No one knows what really happened that night, even me. As best Gran could tell, Mother mistook Father for an intruder and shot him, then shot herself in a moment of grief when she realized what she’d done.”
“So their deaths were just a tragic accident.”
“Yes.”
It wasn’t a lie. Thatwaswhat Gran thought. But he knew perfectly well that it wasn’t the truth, either. He just couldn’t stand having Maria know the truth—that although he hadn’t pulled the trigger, the result was the same. Because of him, his parents were dead. And nothing he could do would change that. Certainly, no amount of sympathy from an American chit with a soft heart would.
The carriage pulled up before him and the footman put down the step. But even as he handed her up into it, she asked, “Where’s Freddy?”
God, he’d forgotten all about her cousin. “I took him round the corner to my club,” he said as he climbed in after her. “I didn’t want him giving away our subterfuge to Pinter, and he said he didn’t want to shop with us anyway.” It was true . . . except that he’d rid himself of her cousin because he had wanted to have her to himself for a while.
The minute he’d left Freddy, he’d known it was madness. She already got under his skin too damned much; time alone with her would only make it worse. He’d scarcely been able to sleep last night for his erotic dreams of having her beneath him in his bed, driving away the dark night with her tender mouth and soft sighs and brilliant smiles.
Ah, what a pleasure it would be to lose himself in the warm embrace of her body, to lay her down in the overgrown gardens surrounding Halstead Hall and make love to her as if she were a forest nymph and he a Greek god. Perhaps that would banish the curse on the place at last.
He ground his teeth together. Even if she would allow it, taking her to bed would only give her license to poke at his secrets, like a child digging out the currants in a plum pudding. And when she’d lined them up and seen how black they were, she would recoil from him. She would leave him naked and alone. Always alone.
Why the devil did he care if she left him alone? Damn her for tempting him so innocently. And damn him for being tempted.
He unbuttoned his cloak. It was suddenly very hot in the carriage, even without his coat and gloves. “We’ll pick up Freddy after we finish with the secondhand shops. He can’t do much harm at the club—”
“Are you serious? Freddy has the loosest tongue of any man in creation. By now, he’s probably revealed the whole tale of our pretend engagement to every member of your club.”
“Ah, but I took care of that. I told him he could orderwhatever he wished from the club’s chef as long as he kept silent about our activities. Surely he can’t say much with his mouth stuffed full of beefsteak.”
“You’d be surprised. Freddy is adept at all the wrong things.” She slanted a pretty glance at him. “You do realize that bribing him with food might end up costing you a fortune.”
“What do I care? I’m saving money on Pinter’s fee.”
When her face fell, he cursed his quick tongue. The last thing he wanted was to remind her of Pinter.
“It’s not Freddy you have to worry about, anyway,” she said in a low voice. “Thanks to something I said, Mr. Pinter guessed that our engagement is a sham. I’m sorry.”
He’d already surmised as much from Pinter’s demeanor. “No need to apologize. It would have been better if he hadn’t figured it out, but Pinter is clever—he knows perfectly well what my reputation is. He was bound to be suspicious. I’m sure you didn’t mean to give it away.”
“I truly didn’t. But he started insinuating things about you and me, and then me and Nathan and—”
“He manipulated you into revealing the truth. It’s all right. That’s what he does. It makes him a good investigator.” He softened his voice. “And you aren’t as practiced at playing a role as I am. It’s not in your nature.”
“No, but I promised you I’d keep the secret.”
