Trial by Desire (Carhart #2)

His lips pressed together, and he looked into Kate’s eyes. A cold shiver of fear ran down her spine. He didn’t look at her with sexual desire; however unclean that might have made her feel, it was an emotion she could have understood. No, she grew cold because he looked at her as if she were not anything at all. For all the clarity in his piercing eyes, for all the sparkling and malevolent intelligence directed toward her, he didn’t see any worth in her. Not an object to be desired, not a person to be reasoned with. Perhaps he saw her as a piece of furniture he might make use of—or break, if she failed to suit his needs.

“She has a young child,” he said. “She needs me. She needs her husband, her family. What she doesn’t need is to be off, gallivanting on some stupid adventure. She needs protection and direction.” He scowled into the distance.

“Harcroft,” Kate said, “you must know I love your wife as I would a sister. I would never want anything that was bad for her. If she needs you, why would I keep her from you?”

It was a dangerous tack to sail into, that line of questioning. He let out a breath, and then—she was watching his eyes—his pupils contracted, slowly but surely, until all that malevolent attention focused on Kate. If his lack of attention had made her shiver, that focus froze her to the bone.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “Why would you keep her from me?”

He took a step toward her, and Kate flattened herself against the wall.

“Why would you keep her from her lawful husband?” Harcroft asked. “Why would you think she needed to stay away from me? Do you imagine she has anything to fear from me?”

He took another step. Kate made to sidle away from him, but he rammed his hand into her shoulder, slamming her into the wall. The force of the blow pushed her against one of the carved cornices that decorated the doorway. The wood embellishment bit into her back. Kate stifled a cry of pain.

“Because surely, any obedient wife would know she need feel no fear of me right now. That’s what you feel, isn’t it? Fear?” His hand clenched on her shoulder. “Louisa would want for nothing at all, so long as she followed the commands of her husband. Any God-fearing woman would never set a foot outside the path dictated to her by the man she’d made a sacred vow to honor.”

“Get your hands off me.” Kate set her hands on Harcroft’s chest and pushed, but the man didn’t move. “I don’t know what you’re speaking about.”

“But then, what would you understand of God-fearing women?” Harcroft pushed close into her. She choked on the angry smell of smoke on his clothing. Taproom smoke. “A God-fearing woman wouldn’t lead her husband astray. When I left Ned this morning, he had promised to start canvassing immediately. Yet not a few hours later, he was traipsing about the village, gazing into your eyes. Why would you distract him from his duty, if you weren’t afraid of what he might uncover?”

“You’ve lost your senses.” She pitched her voice to carry. Any second now, a footman would hear them. He would intervene, and then Harcroft would have to let her go.

“Have I? God-fearing women don’t steal other men’s wives away. Do they, Kathleen?”

Maybe the servants wouldn’t come. But Kate wasn’t the sort to cower and wait. She was tired of feeling scared, of cowering and waiting for help. She grasped the ends of his cravat and twisted, hard. The cloth scraped against her hands. He choked, and pulled his hands away from her involuntarily. He scrabbled at his neck, grabbed the ends of the cloth she’d ripped loose and pulled it off.

Kate skittered sideways.

He glared at her. “You goddamned bitch.”

“I told you to get your hands off me.” Kate’s heart was pounding.

He raised his arm in threat.

What she said next wouldn’t matter—not to him, she didn’t think, because a man who would hit a woman didn’t need an excuse. But it mattered to her that she not placate him, that she not give him even that much power over her. She balled her hands. “Get out of my house.”

His fist flew. She just had time to turn away, to keep from getting the brunt of the blow against her mouth. His hand smashed against her neck as she turned. For one second, she was so numb, so surprised that he’d actually done it, that she didn’t even feel anything. Then she felt the stinging ache of it.

He grabbed her elbow and tried to pull her around. Kate ground the heel of her shoe into his boot. He yelped—a decidedly unmasculine sound—but wrenched her arm. A shooting pain traveled up her shoulder, and she bit her lip.

“Where is my wife, Kathleen?”

His breath felt clammy against her ear, and she shook her head.

He only yanked her arm again, harder. “I said, where is my wife, Kathleen?”

Kate pressed her lips together in defiance. There was nothing Harcroft could do to make her divulge that information. Every violent impulse he indulged now he would visit on Louisa a thousandfold if he found her. Harcroft would eventually have to leave her house. But if Kate spoke now, Louisa would be stuck with her husband for the rest of her life, however long—or short—that might be. Kate would not speak. Harcroft pulled harder, and the shooting pain burst into stars.