Branches and old leaves crunched underfoot. Normally, the man creeping through the trees took better care how he moved. Silence was always best. But to move without sound in a forest required a bit of attention, and his was occupied elsewhere just now.
They’d called him back. Walked straight into his camp and told him it was time—that he was needed.
Bloody, buggering hell.
He might have said no, might have packed his meager belongings and walked away if not for three reasons. He was grateful. He wasn’t being asked to resume his former role, and he was in…
“Oh!”
He’d unsheathed his hunting knife and bent his knees into a fighting stance before the cry of surprise died away. He recognized the voice as female, but knew full well that a pretty face could hide a blackened heart.
A bright light blinded him momentarily, and he took a quick side step to avoid the glare. When she lowered the lantern, he saw her face.
And everything inside him stilled.
Evie.
“You’re M…McAlistair,” she breathed as he straightened.
He nodded once, slowly and without taking his eyes off hers. He couldn’t look away, couldn’t so much as blink, afraid and unwilling to lose sight of her even for that short heartbeat of time.
“I…I’m Evie…Evie Cole.”
“I know who you are.”
He wasn’t surprised to find his voice scratchy and rough from disuse. Nor did he care. He didn’t want to speak any more than he wanted to blink. He yearned to hear her voice, not his. It was soft and low, like the echo of her laughter the wind sometimes swept up from the lawn to soothe and torment him in his solitude.
“I…The others say you’re n-not real.”
He hadn’t known she stuttered when she was nervous, and stowed that small bit of knowledge away with the precious few he’d gleaned over the years. “I’m real.”
She licked her lips, an action he was sure would haunt him for the rest of his nights. “I know,” she answered with a small nod. “I saw you once. Th-There.” She pointed to a rocky outcrop thirty yards away. “It was almost n-night, and you were skinning a rabbit, I think. You left so quickly. You didn’t see me, I suppose, b-but—”
“I saw you.”
With the exception of to night, when he’d been so distracted, he’d always known when she was walking his hills, and always made certain she never walked alone.
“Oh,” she whispered softly. “You didn’t want me there. Do you want me to leave now?”
He shook his head, a slow motion he was only vaguely aware of making. He was thinking she smelled of lemons and mint, and wondering if she might taste the same.
He had to know. He wasn’t capable now of doing what was best for her. Not when she was so near he could hear the hammer of her heart, the quiet pant of her breath. He wasn’t strong enough to turn away.
So he bent his head and sampled. Lemons and mint, he thought again as he brushed his lips across hers, warm and soft and comforting as a cup of tea. He only needed a sip, just one small sip to ease the ache inside him. But he kept his hands fisted at his side, knowing if he touched her he might not be able to stop from taking and devouring in big greedy swallows.
He moved his lips over hers slowly, languidly, a careful dance of advance and retreat. He nipped gently at her bottom lip, and dipped the tip of his tongue inside when she gasped. He withdrew it again to press kisses at the corners of her mouth. She was so lovely, so perfect, his sweet Evie.
And he had no business touching her with his stained hands.
He pulled away. “Don’t walk alone for a while. I won’t be here to keep you safe.”
She blinked at him and brought her fingers up to touch her lips.
He nearly smiled at the movement. It was reassuring to know he hadn’t lost the ability to properly kiss a woman.
“Keep me…” She dropped her hand. “You’ve followed me before, haven’t you?”
He nodded, and watched her eyes narrow in suspicion and annoyance.
“Whit’s idea?” she asked.
“Perhaps.” He reached up, unable to resist brushing at a lock of hair. “Will you think of me?”
“Perhaps,” she mimicked.
Perhaps would have to be enough, he told himself and turned to lope into the trees.
Sixteen
Mirabelle opened her bedroom door slowly and swept the candlestick back and forth in front of her to illuminate the room. She knew Whit had disposed of the spiders, but it was difficult not to be a touch jumpy. Finding everything in appropriate order, she stepped inside and closed the door. That was when she noticed the folded paper tacked to the inside of the door. Frowning, she pulled it down and opened it.
Miss Browning,
The earl’s study. Midnight, to night. There will be a discussion it is in your best interest to accidentally overhear. The adjoining sitting room will be unoccupied at that time.
Yours most faithfully,
A concerned friend.