“But—”
“She is quite right,” Mrs. Summers cut in. “Evie faces very real danger as a result of her work. Adding a contrived threat would be unconscionable.”
William blanched. “Unconscionable seems a bit—”
“Did I tell you what happened to Mrs. Kirkland last summer?” Lady Thurston asked, turning to Mrs. Summers.
Mrs. Summers nodded sadly. “Exposed by the very woman she sought to help.”
“And her home burned to the ground the very next day. She was lucky to have escaped.”
Mrs. Summers took a sip of her tea. “The authorities ruled it an accident.”
Lady Thurston gave a most genteel sniff. “Shameful.”
“That is most unfortunate.” William tried again. “But I hardly intend to start fires or—”
Mrs. Summers shook her head. “It is no good, William. Not only does your plan go too far, the strategy itself is flawed. In order for the ruse to work, Evie would need to believe in the threat. If she believes in the threat, she will be too preoccupied to notice the attentions of a young man. No sensible young woman would be thinking of love whilst her life was in jeopardy.”
“Sophie did,” he pointed out quickly, rather surprised he was able to get a word in edgewise.
Mrs. Summers pursed her lips thoughtfully. “True, but Sophie, though I adore her, is not always the most sensible of women.”
Lady Thurston nodded in pleasant agreement.
William scowled. “And you’re absolutely certain Evie is a sensible young woman?”
“Yes,” both women answered simultaneously.
“Blast.” He frowned a moment longer before sighing and finally reaching for his own cup. “Well, I still say it was a clever idea.”
Mrs. Summers smiled at her old friend fondly, if a bit condescendingly. “Exceedingly. But you shall have to think of something else.”
Two
Two Weeks Later
It was conceivable that ten years ago, Mr. James McAlistair would have laughed out loud at the notion that he might one day fall in love. It was easier to imagine, however, that he would have simply hooked up one corner of his mouth in the sort of cool and unfathomable expression that can really only be successfully affected by either a profound poet or a talented assassin.
Anyone looking at him now—standing on the grounds of Haldon Hall, his dark gaze unreadable, and his tall frame honed to the muscled leanness of a panther—would have a difficult time mistaking him for the former.
Pity, that.
Because despite what his reaction may, or may not, have been ten years ago, McAlistair had indeed fallen in love. And a man in love could always use the gifts of a poet.
Particularly when burdened with the sins of an assassin.
Reflecting on those sins now, he rolled his shoulders in a rare, albeit barely perceptible, show of nerves.
He shouldn’t be there.
With Evie Cole in danger, though, he couldn’t possibly be anywhere else. He scanned the lawn before him, mapping out his path before taking a step. “Act in haste, repent in leisure,” his dear, departed, and no doubt often repentant mother had been fond of saying. An interesting bit of advice from a woman who’d birthed six bastards.
He moved forward silently, keeping to the long shadows in the late evening light. It was a precaution taken out of habit more than necessity. He’d already checked the grounds and woods immediately surrounding the house for signs of an intruder. All was as it should be. And he knew, down to a branch, exactly how it should be. Those woods had, after all, been his humble home for years. Long years of hardship and solitude—of trying to atone for, or perhaps just forget, the heavy burden of his memories.
The forest would be his home still if he’d had his say in the matter, but William Fletcher, his one-time employer and current thorn in his side, had been steadily pushing him back into the world over the past few months.
McAlistair had capitulated to a point—walking away from the old forgotten hunting cabin he used during inclement weather and buying an equally old, but slightly less secluded cabin just outside the Haldon estate. He was making use of the money he’d earned from the War Department. Money he’d thought he would never touch. He had an armoire filled with the clothing of a gentleman. He owned the fine gray mare he’d just slipped into the Haldon stables. But those trappings were as far into the realm of society as he was willing to venture. He wanted to be left alone, to live as he pleased. And he would…as soon as this business with Evie was sorted out.