“Shouldn’t we send for Lord Thurston, or—”
“I can handle the likes of Mr. McAlistair.” She headed toward the door, intent on doing just that.
Four
Evie had never considered herself a prude. Quite the contrary, in fact. At fourteen, she’d been the first of her friends to experience a kiss. At nineteen, she’d met her first prostitute, and by twenty she’d been propositioned by a bawd, a pimp, and a handful of drunken sailors. Such was the enlightenment of a woman who occasionally spent time in some of London’s seedier neighborhoods.
According to the standards set by her peers, she was a scandalously forward young woman—or would be, if any of those standard setters ever became apprised of her transgressions. But despite her broader than average education, she wasn’t quite prepared for the sight that greeted her on the other side of the connecting door.
Not when that sight was McAlistair, half undressed. Well, more like a quarter undressed, if one wished to be overly precise about it. The salient point was that it was McAlistair, in the room directly connected to her own chambers, and he was in a state of undress. He was down to shirtsleeves, and that had been unbuttoned down to his waist, exposing a smooth expanse of skin and muscle. Good Lord, the muscle. The man was as toned and sculpted as the wild cat she’d thought him earlier.
“W-W-” Oh, blast. She bit the tip of her tongue, then averted her gaze, pushed aside the sudden heat she felt everywhere, and tried again. “What d-do you think you’re doing?”
He said nothing, which was understandable given that what he was doing was fairly obvious. She felt her cheeks turn to fire. Why the devil hadn’t she thought to knock?
“You had no right to remove Lizzy from her own r-room.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him rebutton his shirt. “For her own safety.”
Utter bafflement momentarily replaced embarrassment. “Her own safety?”
He pointed at the large windows. “If I were coming for you, I’d use those.”
She looked at the windows in Lizzy’s room, then stepped back to peer through the connecting door at the more expansive windows in her own room. “Why not use my own?”
“Too well guarded.”
“Well, why not come in d-downstairs or through the windows of an unoccupied room?” Lord knew there were plenty of them at Haldon.
“These are closer.”
There was something rather odd about his argument—above and beyond the fact there was slight chance of an intruder climbing through any of the windows in Haldon—but she couldn’t put her finger on just what.
Since she couldn’t, she looked directly at him—a task much more easily accomplished now that he’d finished buttoning his shirt—and asked, “Are you an expert on such matters?”
There was a long, long pause before he nodded.
“I…oh.” How would a soldier-turned-hermit know of such things? For that matter, why would a regular, literate, possibly well-bred soldier choose to turn hermit? She tilted her head to study him. “Who are you?”
Surely, kiss or no kiss, he would afford her the courtesy of answering that much.
An extended silence informed her that, no, in fact, he would not.
She fought against the lump of disappointment and hurt that formed in her throat. It was ridiculous. The kiss, the scheme, his reticence—all of it was absurd and therefore no reason for her to suddenly begin leaking like a sieve. She was an experienced woman of six and twenty, she reminded herself, not a silly miss fresh from the nursery to be undone by one man’s disinterest.
“Keep your secrets, then,” she muttered and turned for the door.
“Evie.”
She shouldn’t stop. She knew she shouldn’t. But she did.
He waited until he caught her eye. “I meant no insult,” he said softly. “To either of you.”
She hesitated. She knew she shouldn’t ask. Knew she shouldn’t bring it up. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “Why…that night in the woods…why—” She cut off at the shake of his head.
“I shouldn’t have. You’re not meant for me.”
Suspicion, ugly and as painful as his earlier silence, seeped in. “And who am I m-meant for, Mr. McAlistair?”
“Someone…other,” he answered softly. “Just other.”
Suspicion left as quickly as it had arrived. He wasn’t speaking of a specific man for her, only a man who wasn’t him. He didn’t know of the ruse, then. Presumably.
“I am meant for whomever it is I am meant for,” she returned. “My fortune isn’t for you to tell.”
Pleased with her response and relieved she’d managed to deliver it without a single stammer, she turned and walked through the doorway, shutting the door behind her.
She found Lizzy still standing in the center of the room, clutching her bedding to her chest.
“Well, what did he say?” Lizzy demanded.
“That he expects your windows would prove too much a temptation for any murderers creeping about the grounds.”