“Sit down, Northwood.” When Felton made no move to obey, the viscount’s eyes went back to the portrait of his wife. “You must forgive a friend if he lashes out upon you. One usually only does so when one is hurting.”
“Then you must forgive a friend too if he does something unwise and imprudent.”
“We have been over it already. I’m quite ready to go back to chess and book reading if you are.”
“Indeed, my lord.”
“Good.” The viscount rose and shook Felton’s hand. His grip was warm, settling. “Stay here, and I shall send in Eliza. She has never asked me for anything—but she entered my study today and requested to see you.”
Why would she do that?
“It seems there was an accident. The potting shed took fire today, and Mrs. Eustace seems certain Eliza was the cause. By any account, it seems to have upset her even more than she has already been. Perhaps you can pacify her fears?”
“I shall do my best.”
“I am sure of it.” The viscount smiled. “You do your best in everything. Likely such a manner will one day be the salvation or death of you.”
Of all the people, why should Felton Northwood be the one she needed to see?
She didn’t know. Maybe it didn’t matter. But all day long, through her quiet meals and lonely hours of learning needlework with a maid, her mind kept leaping back to him.
Now, she stared at him from the saloon doorway, her heart skittering faster for reasons unknown.
He closed the distance between them. He didn’t say anything at first. Not his usual commands or questions and such. He only took both of her hands and pulled her to one of the couches.
Then he sat next to her, still holding her hands, and watched her with eyes that made her already feel as if he believed her. Maybe that was it. The reason she’d needed him. Of everyone else she knew, who would believe what she was about to say?
“I think someone is trying to kill me.”
“What?”
“I think someone is—”
“Yes, I heard you.” His grip tightened. “His lordship mentioned a fire, but nothing like this.”
“He only knows what the housekeeper has told him. That it was an accident.”
“And it wasn’t?”
“No.”
“You are certain?”
“I was locked in. Someone broke the window and threw in a torch.”
“Did you see anyone?”
“No, I saw nothing.”
Felton released her hands and stood. He walked to the mantel, rubbed his jaw, then glanced up at the portrait of a familiar woman. “We were warned of this.” When she didn’t answer, his face turned to hers. Regret flickered in eyes that were deep and green. “Your captain came to his lordship and spoke with him. Something about the danger in bringing you back…about you meeting the same fate as your mother.”
He’d brought her here anyway? Knowing of such a risk?
As if sensing her thoughts, he grimaced. “Some kind of a devil, aren’t I?”
“Captain knew the danger too.” She squeezed her hands together. “And he let me come here?”
“He was thinking of your happiness.”
