Page 52 of The Secret of the Three Fates
“Saved my life… evidently.” I let out a breathy laugh, turning back around and took the bandages from his hands, working to reaffix them to myself. “I suppose I ought to thank you for it—it’s a nasty habit you’ve gotten into, saving my skin—but you really should have taken a bit more care for yourself.”
“You do that often, don’t you?” The edge of his mouth turned up slightly.
“Do what?”
“Use humor to hide when someone gets too near to the quick.”
I bristled. “I absolutely do not.”
“You absolutely do. But you cannot hide from me, Ruby Vaughn.” He smiled again, and my irritation fled.
I sighed, slipping the strap of my nightgown back up my shoulder. “I am fine, Ruan. Truly. But you almost died. For a moment I thought you actuallyweredead and I—” The words would not come.
He stared at me for several seconds, brows furrowed.
“What is it?”
“Nothing. I just—” His expression shifted. “I must be weaker than I thought.”
I scooted back, putting a bit of distance between us before I made a fool of myself. “Sleep. Get stronger. I intend to go back to the castle later this afternoon and see what has happened while we’ve been gone. I also mean to get those negatives from my room before someone else finds them.”
Ruan’s fingers went to his throat, where the chain still held the ring. He struggled one-handed with the clasp before giving up. “Take it with you. Protect it. At least until I’m stronger.”
“Of course.” I clumsily removed the silver chain from his throat before affixing it to my own. The enameled ring remained warm from his overheated body and I tucked it inside my nightdress.
“Do you trust him?” I tilted my head to the door from which Andrew had withdrawn. He hadn’t given me any reason to doubt him, aside from the fact Lady Amelia told me he’d been following Genevieve Demidov. Certainly, if he meant us ill, he wouldn’t have gone to the extraordinary effort of keeping us both alive.
“I don’t know.” He rubbed his beard with the back of his hand. “Please be careful. The killer has already proved that they don’t mind shooting us to keep their secrets.”
Yes, well. That was a problem. I tugged the ring out again, turning it over in my palm. The intricate enamel glinted in the sun. “Do you suppose we’ll ever find out what this means? Or if it means anything at all?”
Ruan’s hand covered mine, ceasing my fidgeting. “It must since someone took a shot at us. But are we going to talk about what happened on the bridge?”
“We did discuss it—we were shot and you did your best Saint Ruan of Kivell impression and patched me right back up,” I teased, pointing to my freshly scarred chest, but he did not smile.
“No. The other part. What happenedbeforethat.” His eyes held mine, the intimacy too much to bear. Heat rose to my cheeks at the memory of his kiss.
We absolutely would not. I cleared my throat to erase those memories. No. That kiss was a mistake that should not be repeated. It was dangerous to get too close to Ruan Kivell. A girl could lose her head. Or worse—her heart. “What’s there to talk about besides who would want to kill us?”
He took my hand, pulling it to rest over his heart, which beatsteady and slow beneath my palm. “You don’t have to pretend. Not with me.” The tenderness in his voice broke something deep inside me. Oh, what I wouldn’t give for that to be true. A better woman might have stayed there with him, carried this conversation down the path that it was destined to go. But I was not that woman, and instead I made some half-hearted excuse about why I had to go, and headed for the door.
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONEA Curious Discovery
THERE’Salways been something about sitting in a kitchen that soothed my mind—hiding deep in the belly of the home, safely away from the outside world and all the problems that came with it. As a girl, I scarcely left our family’s kitchen. Always underfoot, swiping something sweet from the larder, or simply watching our cook Mrs. Carty prepare for supper. But for some reason, here at Hawick House, with all the bustling and preparation going on around me, my mind remained fixed upon the memory of my mother’s simple picnic hampers. Every Saturday and Sunday for as long as I can recall, Mother would send the staff away, and the house would grow still and quiet. She would wake me up before dawn, and we’d steal away into the kitchen, filling a basket to the brim with whatever struck her fancy, and the two of us would set out—spending those precious hours together on the small catamaran Father had bought her. When we were in the city, we’d sneak out onto the Atlantic for a handful of days, but in summer Mother and I would escape for weeks on end and sail the Great Lakes. I hadn’t thought about those precious days with her in years.
But kitchen notwithstanding, there would be no comfort forme until I found out who truly killed the two mediums—for I feared that Genevieve was right and that the missing woman was just as dead as poor Lucy Campbell.
I toyed with the chain around my neck, my finger loosely hooked in the ring.
“Something the matter with your soup, miss?” Bridget asked with a cheery smile looking down at my long-forgotten bowl of vegetable stew that had grown cold before me. The young maid had been hovering ever since I left Ruan’s bedside. She’d stay and fuss over me for a few minutes before going off to complete another chore, only to return and repeat the same cycle again and again. This was the fourth or fifth time we’d been through this particular routine and it was growing downright suspicious.
“When did you say Captain Lennox would be returning? I need to borrow his driver.”
She paled and shook her head. “I do not know, miss. The young master is a private man. He said he would return this evening, that’s all I know.”
“Did he take his automobile?” I arched a brow. “I’m certain he wouldn’t mind my borrowing it.” I actuallywasn’tcertain, but she didn’t need to know that.
“No, miss. Captain Lennox said that you were not to leave without his permission. I cannot let you go.” The rapid flutter of her pulse was visible beneath the thin skin at her throat.
