“How did it stop?”
“I had a growth spurt. Shot up inches in a matter of months.” He hadn’t realized it. He’d thought it was just his fear making the closet smaller and smaller. “One day, I just wouldn’t fit on the shelf.” He felt his lips curve in cold humor. “The man tried damn near everything to wedge me in, nothing worked. When I stood again, I noticed for the first time that I was looking at him eye to eye.”
Mr. Burnett had noticed it too. McAlistair remembered seeing that spark of horror come into the older man’s eyes and his hand coming up to strike him down again. “He wanted to try a new closet. I refused. We fought.”
Mr. Burnett had still been stronger, but the difference in their sizes was no longer so great that he’d been able to grab and keep hold of his quarry. And in the months since they’d last grappled, McAlistair had had ample practice of how best to elude capture and hits, thanks to Mrs. Burnett. But in the end he’d still been just a boy.
“He might have overpowered me, but…” He paused and glanced at the top of Evie’s head, wondering how she would take the next part of the story. “I grabbed a vase and hit him with it.”
“Hard?” she asked.
“Hard enough to render him unconscious.”
“Excellent.” It was impossible to miss the grim pleasure in her voice. “Did it kill him?”
“No.” Not that time, he added silently. “But it gave me time to tie him up, steal a large amount of money from his desk, and see my brothers safely out of the house.”
“What of the staff? Of Mrs. Burnett?”
“Mrs. Burnett was visiting a neighbor. The staff thought nothing of our walking to the stables. Only one of the grooms knew. I paid him a small fortune to help saddle the horses, then turn a blind eye.”
“You ran away with five brothers in tow?”
He almost laughed at that memory. “I did, and what a nightmare it was.” Charles had been no more than four. “But we had funds enough to see us through—”
“Where? Where did you go?”
“To the Scottish border. We stayed with Mrs. Seager, my brothers’ retired nanny, until Mr. Carville and my mother could be found.”
He hadn’t been certain they would return, and he’d been terrified they would, only to send the children back to the Burnetts. He hadn’t known Mr. Carville then, but he’d known his mother well enough. When she loved a man, she loved with a blind and dangerous devotion.
“What did they do, when they returned?” Evie asked.
“Sent men out to search for the Burnetts, who’d disappeared after my brothers and I had run off. Mr. Carville apologized.” McAlistair frowned thoughtfully. Apology wasn’t quite the word. The man had been swamped with remorse. He’d been appalled by what had happened and determined to see it was never repeated. McAlistair believed him, but had been too angry, too battered still, to forgive. “I ran away. I was angry.”
“And became a soldier? At fourteen?”
“No, I went to London, worked at whatever came to hand.”
“What sorts of things came to hand?”
He fought back a chuckle. She was so bloody persistent. “Another time, sweetheart. I have to go.” He ran his hand down her back once more, kissed her gently on the forehead, and rose from the bed.
Evie sat up, taking the counterpane with her. She stifled a sigh as McAlistair began to dress, but she didn’t argue for him to stay. She knew the others would return soon. Just as she knew that when they did, it would be over. This golden afternoon would end and, over time, it would be nothing more than a memory, stored along with the memories of all her other firsts. The first time she’d seen McAlistair, the first time they’d kissed in the woods. The first time she’d felt his hands on her skin. The first time she’d heard his deep rumble of laughter.
Only it wouldn’t be just a string of firsts for her, she realized. It would be a list of lasts and onlys as well. The first, last, and only day she and McAlistair had stood chest deep in pond water and laughed. The first, last, and only day they had made love. Her chest tightened painfully. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want just one of anything with McAlistair.
She felt McAlistair’s hand on her hair and realized she’d been staring at her lap for the last five minutes. “What is it, Evie?”
She made herself lift her head and smile. “Nothing. I’m trying to find the energy to stand.” It wasn’t a complete fabrication. She was exhausted, and it would be lovely to lose her worries in sleep for an hour or two.
“Lie back down,” McAlistair suggested. “Rest.”