“Why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me? I trusted you, Rosalind, with my secrets.”
“Benedict asked me not to. I promised.”
“And you didn’t think it was unreasonable, considering my investigation? Or suspicious even? I admire loyalty but for God’s sake.”
“Well, yes, but IknowBenedict. He wouldn’t do anything like that. And as it happens, I was righ–”
“The outcome does not excuse the lie.”
“I never lied.”
He leaned in close behind, his voice low in her ear. “You lied by maintaining your silence even though you said you trusted me.”
“Sometimes it’s best not to say anything.” She brought a hand to her lips as she realised what she’d said, repeating Lucas’s same words from the nursery eighteen years ago.
He stiffened but made no comment. “There is a killer in this district, and even the woman I…even the people I am staying with cannot tell me the truth. I bared my soul to you, and all I received was lies and omissions.”
“I promised Benedict. I owe him everything.”
“How?”
“He took me in when my parents died,” she blurted.
“That’s not enough for such allegiance – that’s mere familial ties. Tell me.” And she felt lips graze her neck, just below the ear.
Anger erupted through her: at Lucas, at her inability to speak of the past, at her curse, at that awful lavender scent.
“Get your bloody, filthy, Maggie-scented chops off my neck.” She spun, surprising him, and clouted him across the face.
“God damn it, woman. That hurt.”
“Oh Lud, your scars, I didn’t mean to–” And she ran a hand over his face, seeking any signs of damage.
“No matter. But you have a hard wallop for such a dainty thing.”
“I’mnotdainty!” she shouted, losing her temper again. “Why do you call me that?”
“Compared to me you are.”
“Oh, I suppose that trollop – magnificently proportioned Maggie – could handle your swiving?”
“What? Where do… How do you come to know such words?”
“Hah, I know worse than that, you cow-handed, drab-tupping…goat!” she yelled. Horribly, she was aware that sounded like a shrieking fishwife and hated it, but it came out anyway.
He laughed. The man actually laughed and she couldn’t help but fling herself at him, fists raised. He swung her around until her back met the wall, and held her flailing arms either side of her head as she tried to bash him again. She kicked at him but his damn top-boots were like wood and it made her toes hurt. “Let me go, you bully.”
“When you have calmed down, Rosalind. Otherwise I will have more scars to add to this motley collection.”
“Hah. I expect that trollop added a few scratches to your back.” She bit her lip hard as he abruptly tensed. Why did she say that? She liked Maggie. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean that. You made me so angry.”
Rosalind suddenly felt small, in more ways than one. Like this, he was huge. His paws held her wrists easily and his large body was pressed tightly against hers, to stop the kicking. She also felt small, because she was…jealous. Jealous and miserable. And she turned her head to the side and closed her eyes.
“Let me go,” she said quietly. His hands loosened at her wrists but didn’t withdraw, instead bringing them down to her sides. She had thought he’d stand back, but his body seemed to press even tighter, and she suddenly felt soft lips at her cheek. She bit back the whimper.
“Are you jealous, Rosalind?” he whispered against her skin.
“No, you addle-pated coxcomb.” A gentle breeze disturbed her ear as he laughed low at the insult.
