Page 52 of The Villain's Fatal Plot
THIRTY: RAFE
A ghost,damn. Rafe had never been a dupe for women—well, maybe the first time or two they’d sobbed until he gave them money and they’d disappeared. But whoever in hell the woman was in his lobby wasn’t... lost and forlorn any more, but scared and just a wee bit angry. That clenched jaw looked good on whoever in hell she was, as if she’d take a battleax to his head but politely refrained.
This was no delicate lady playing on his sympathies.
He’d lived with her this past week. She hadn’t taken his money or beat him with her cane for his presumptuousness. The fool woman had tried to make him comfortable, even attempted to mend him— She was furious with him for taking her books and still tried to stop him from hurting his arm! She’d been nothing but helpful, in her quiet, naïve, stubborn way.
And no longer wearing ugly widow’s weeds, she turned out to be adorable in a perky bonnet and high-waisted gown. He ought to smack his head against a wall and be done.
Grudgingly, he ordered, “Come upstairs and tell me which rooms you think worth furnishing.” He didn’t know what else to do with a terrified female trying to be brave.
Was she saying Faith Palmer and Verity Porter were both her?Except Faith was dead. He could make no sense of it. But inheriting herparents’library might be logical.
Did this mean she wasn’t a widow? That ought to send him into a panic. Widows knew what they were about in the bedroom. Virgins required marriage. He didn’t need complications, but he’d given up any expectations with this female, right?
“Come to the cottage and tell me if anything is worth saving,” she countered, just to prove his point. “I need my clothes. And I want Marmie back.”
The kitten, he could handle. “I have him patrolling the kitchen for mice. Don’t worry, the doors are shut, and he has food and water. I just let him out for a roam a bit ago. Wolfie is patrolling the yard. Choose a room, and we’ll haul your clothes back here.”
“I don’t want that little worm to drive me from my home!” she argued. “I can sleep on the floor. I want to learn herbs and vegetables and how to cook. I want my own home!”
That was the end of enough. “The cottage is not your home! You can’t fix up a place you may lose next week.”
He clattered down the stairs. He’d toss her clothes in her bag and carry it here. He already had her cat and books. True, he’d miss that garden... “If the worm left a basket or two, I’ll carry the pantry items here,” he decided. “We bought most of them.”
She’dbought most of them, with her account at the mercantile. She wasn’t poor, just... afraid? And it was his duty to protect, even if the obstinate female objected.
She cast him a sideways look and instead of marching back out the door, she headed for the kitchen. Rafe rolled his eyes and followed her. Why was he even trying? He’d never understand the weaker sex. They all seemed to think they were generals.
She opened the kitchen door and the marmalade kitten came running, practically climbing up her skirt. She lifted it into her arms and cooed over it, stroking its tiny head until it purred. “Let’s go see what our house looks like, shall we?”
And carrying the kitten, she glared at Rafe as if he were the thief, and set out for the street.
“So, I should keep calling you Verity, even if you’re someone else?” he asked conversationally as he surrendered and followed her through the village, waving to people they were coming to know.
“Yes, please.” She didn’t explain further.
The woman would make him utterly mad.
He hadn’t bothered locking the front gate last night. It wasn’t as if there was anything left to protect. He shoved it open for her and led the way into the cottage.
Her gasp of dismay nearly broke his heart. He told himself to toughen up. “I told you so.”
The neat satin sofas had been ripped down the middle, their insides scattered across the room. The cottage wouldn’t need a chimney cleaner after the crazed thief had run a perfectly good broom up it and strewn soot everywhere. Rafe hadn’t thought there’d be anything left in the fireplace after the last time.
The bookcase had been turned over and the walls broken into. Fortunately, the intruder must have decided ripping the legs off the wooden chairs would accomplish nothing, so they’d been left whole.
“I can fetch your clothes,” he suggested. “You really don’t want to see what he’s done up there. He must have started as soon as we left yesterday.”
Or when the woman in black had passed by the tavern?
The deacon couldn’t have expected her to be a thief, but wouldn’t he have noticed if it had been Clement in skirts? Ned had seen no one taking the footpath from the manor, but he didn’t have eyes in the back of his head. No one could have predicted anyone risking the rocky terrain on the far side of the hill as Clement had when he’d tried to escape.
Perhaps there had been two people? One who traipsed from the inn past the tavern, and Clement sneaking around the far side of the hill from the direction of the highway?
The fact that they’d actually caught Clement ought to be enough, but Rafe regretted it hadn’t been in time to prevent thisdestruction. They’d been after evidence of a thief and possible killer, not trying to stop one. He needed more manpower for that.
Verity’s eyes glistened, but she stuck out that determined jaw of hers, cuddled her kitten, and marched into the kitchen. The table and chairs were still good. What remained of the pantry contents were flung everywhere. It looked as if the bastard had even tried digging into the flour, although that was beyond foolish or just plain mean. Flour mixed with soot on all the surfaces.
