“It’s Mary, isn’t it?” a deep voice said.
A surprised scream erupted out of me, and I spun toward the trees on my right, stumbling back.
Frank stood there, leaning against a tree. He held up his hands. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
I swallowed, trying to calm my frazzled nerves. “You didn’t frighten me. I was startled, that’s all.”
He tilted his head. The fading rays of the sun caught on the dark scruff along his jaw, highlighting it against his skin. His eyes looked almost black in the soft light. “You overheard the entire conversation between Lydia and me, didn’t you?”
I nodded.
He sighed, not looking pleased. “So you know.”
“I know,” I confirmed, softly.
His perfect brows drew together. “Then why did you stop her from ratting me out to the other fae?”
“Because you didn’t kill Isabella.”
His eyes widened. “What makes you certain of that?”
My cheeks warmed, and I stared at the ground. “I… I know that’s something you wouldn’t do.”
“Do you?”
I looked up, meeting his gaze, my heart searing with certainty. “I do.”
An unidentifiable look flashed in his gaze. He glanced away. “You are aware that werewolves, once transformed, have no control over their actions.”
I swallowed. There were various animal shifters that lived in our community, and that was perfectly legal. But werewolves couldn’t control their transformation. When the full moon came, they changed and lost sight of themselves completely. It was why the ancient fae texts condemned their very existence. “But you had a potion. You mentioned it to Lydia.”
“Yes, I took my potion for the night.”
Relief enveloped me. “You see? It couldn’t have been you.”
A haunted expression passed over his face and his jaw tightened. But then his eyes returned to me and they softened. “Well, Mary.” He bowed gallantly, as if I was a maiden in a fine gown and we attended a grand ball, far from the dirt and trees. “You have saved this fae in distress. I find I am in your debt.”
My hands fiddled with the hem of my blouse. “It was nothing.”
“Not to me.”
His intense expression caused my cheeks to heat. He stepped a little closer, and I couldn’t help but admire his lengthy frame in his dashing Regency garb.
“I like your costume.”
He examined his attire, then regarded me gravely. “Everyone keeps getting it wrong. I’m not Anthony from Bridgerton.”
“Who is that?”
A relieved grin spread across his face. He lifted the violin in his hand and unhooked the bow that he’d somehow attached to his belt. He placed it under his chin. “I am Niccolo Paganini. Virtuoso violinist who revolutionized violin technique.”
I smiled, a light spreading in my chest. I was aware Frank had mastered playing the violin, but I’d just discovered a new detail about him. “You enjoy history.”
He lowered the instrument. “I love it, but most people around here only seem to care about the latest TV show.”
“Books are so much better.” I adjusted my glasses, unsure what else to do or say. “I should get going.” There was a ghost at a cemetery I needed to converse with. A murder to solve. And yet my feet stayed planted, and a partof me deep inside screamed in protest. Frank Churchill was finally talking to me, noticing me, and I was cutting the conversation short. “I won’t say anything about what I heard, and I made sure Lydia won’t be saying anything, either.”
His lips twisted up at the corners and his eyes grew even warmer. “Then I owe you twice over.”
