Page 47 of The Villain's Fatal Plot
She didn’t know how to express her relief. She eyed her hat, afraid to touch it for fear she’d ruin it with her filthy hands. It looked worse for wear. The lace might be salvageable. But his safety was far more important than a hat.
Studying her charred skirt, Rafe exclaimed in horror, “You could have gone up in flame! Sit down! Let me do that.” He took her shovel and wrapped a burly arm around her shoulder, steering her gently, as if she were made of porcelain.
She was so shocked, she actually sat back down, hastily wiped her hands on her skirt, and clung to her once-lovely hat.
His two big companions entered through the open gate, distracting her more, but his words... She studied the hat and asked in puzzlement, “You caughthim? I thought Mrs. Holly said it was a woman? Wearing my hat?” She had hoped they’d caught the poisoner.
“The scoundrel was wearing a woman’s skirts and your bonnet,” Rafe said in disgust, pumping water into mugs and passing them around.
She was too tired and shocked to ask more. “I hope you’re hanging him tomorrow.” Bitter, angry, grief-stricken, her runaway emotions worried her. She didn’t want to appear weak. Men tookadvantage of weakness. But only anger prevented another outburst of tears.
“Hunt can’t hang anyone.” The French count leaned inside the shed and found a coal shovel. “He’ll hold court tomorrow, then transport the prisoner to assizes.”
Rafe used the shovel to finish her task. “I shouldn’t have left you alone. A soldier gives chase. Old instincts die hard.”
She nearly wept at his almost apology. He had no reason to apologize toher, not for making them safe again. She accepted a clean handkerchief from Sgt. Fletcher while Mrs. Holly scolded the men for not protecting a lady.
Verity was no lady. She ought to correct her and Rafe, but the niceties eluded her on this occasion. “It’s over then? We’re safe? Who is he?” And why didn’t she feel safe?
“Clement, the old sot Hunt turned off.” Arnaud carted a shovelful of ashes to the burn corner, then doused them with a pail of water.
“He claims he’s innocent, and we only have a deaf mute as witness,” Rafe explained. “But the hat alone makes him a thief. Mrs. Holly, you didn’t see him enter the yard, did you?”
“I did, but I fell asleep, dear,” she said sadly. “I just thought he was Mrs. Porter.”
Verity thought she ought to object to this description, but she’d always known she was sturdy and unfeminine.
“Rafe caught him running up the path.” Fletch dumped water on uncovered embers by the door, creating a cloud of smoke that had everyone coughing. “Mrs. Holly as witness, and the hat as evidence ought to be enough.”
“Won’t be for Hunt, not for murder, leastways. Have you been inside yet?” Arnaud carried off the final clump of wet ash, leaving a puddle of dirty water on the step.
“Stay there,” Rafe ordered when Verity started to stand. “Let me go first.”
“I am not a dog to be told to stay.” Anger carrying her on, Verity stood and limped past all the big men except Rafe, whoblocked her path. She ached in every bone of her body, but for now, this was her home. She had to see. “Is the door still hot?”
Rafe used a rake handle to push at the charred wood. “At least stay behind me,” he ordered.
Since he was twice her size, she had no choice.
The door fell apart at his thrust. Cursing, he shoved the remains aside.
Verity peered under his arm. Clement had ransacked the place. Again.
TWENTY-EIGHT: RAFE
Refusingto let the fool woman inside the cottage, Rafe forced Verity to accept a ride up to the manor in Henri’s cart, clutching her mutilated black hat. She was dead on her—broken—feet and still thought she could stay and clean up the doorless cottage.
She looked so very unhappy... He shouldn’t let a slip of a woman get under his skin like that, especially one who wasn’t telling him all the truth.
He paid one of the village’s unemployed ex-soldiers to guard the cottage, then walked up to the manor. He should probably stop and check on the animals, but he couldn’t just send a prisoner to Captain Huntley without following up with a report.
The manor ladies took Verity under their wings and led her away, leaving Rafe with the gentlemen and his jumbled thoughts.
“The prisoner claims he’s innocent, that he was just out fishing to put food on the table. He even had string and a hook in his skirt pocket.” Hunt set a glass of brandy on the table beside Rafe. “I’ve heard about men who dress in women’s clothes, but I’ve never known one to go fishing in them. Can’t be easy.”
Since the manor’s cook had been at the inn all day, the staffhad only put together a cold collation. Rafe’s fault. Everyone had been helping him achieve his fool dream. At what cost?
“Lousy fisherman if he couldn’t catch anything in that stream,” Rafe replied grumpily, before tearing into the beef sandwich. “Maybe stolen hats put the fish off.”
