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“No.” His hand under her fingers curled into a fist and a growl ripped through his throat. He stared up at the coved mahoganyon the ceilingfor several heartbeats.
His brother.His damn brother.
“I’m not believing you again.” The words whispered from his mouth and his look dropped to her. “I swore I would never do that again—not believe ye.”
He heaved a sigh. “But with Gil—it is instinct. I’ve spent my whole blasted life protecting him from every fist that flew his way, dousing every fire he left in his wake, making sure he got everything he ever wanted.” His fist lifted and slammed onto the arm of the chair.
Her hand flew up with the motion, but landed just as quickly on the top of his fist. “It doesn’t matter now. It doesn’t.” Her forehead tilted slightly down, her eyes steady on him. “But how did you know he was lying? How did you know to come for me?”
“I didn’t know—I certainly never imagined he’d stuffed ye into a pit of blackness. I only knew he wasn’t telling me the truth. Gilroy—early on he mentioned sending you back to London as quickly as possible. And then yesterday he mentioned how I got you from London—told me to gather up a new lass from there to replace you.”
“And?”
“And I never told him you were from London. There are scores of places I could have fished about for a fake fiancée. That woman—Mary—from the Den of Diablo, rode with Jasper and me in the carriage from London to the Willows. Her hair color was much like yours. Whoever Gil sent to follow me surely thought you were the same person.”
“So that was suspicious.”
“Aye. And Gil disappeared the morning after you left with Ness, so I assumed he went to try and find you. But he returned saying he couldn’t find the both of you. The whole of it sniffed so odd that I told him I was going to Edinburgh. He tried to steer me to London instead. Didn’t want me anywhere near Edinburgh.”
“So?”
“Gilroy never cared where I was as long as I was out of Whetland and out of his way. His sudden interest in my whereabouts—opinions on it—was enough for me to be leery. So I left Whetland, but then waited and followed him.”
She nodded, her hand tightening over his fist. “And he led you right to me.”
“Aye, but with a dagger at the ready in his hand.” His voice grave, his top lip pulled tight. “I knew the instant he disappeared into the vaults you were in trouble.”
The weight of that image, of Gilroy standing over Juliet, a blade aimed at her chest, crashed into him and suffocated him as surely as he’d been buried under a boulder.
He’d failed her. Failed her on so many levels.
His mouth opened for one second before he realized no words could possibly explain how completely he’d failed her.
He yanked his fist from under her grasp and abruptly stood, moving to the door. It wasn’t until he had one foot in the hallway that he managed to cut a few spare words through the thick of his throat. “I need to fetch you more broth, food, a bath.”
He couldn’t look back at her.
{ Chapter 32 }
Food, along with a bath, and Juliet felt like she’d gained back not just a slice of her sanity, but almost the whole of it. The wounds between her breasts, around her ankle, and scraped along her face were reminders, but that was all. She was weak, but could reasonably move her limbs once more.
As comfortable as this room was, there wasn’t need to stay at Evan’s townhouse for more than the night. The maid that had helped her with her bath had already begun to mend the dress she’d been wearing and had found new stays and a longer chemise for her. She could be on her way to London on the morrow.
She’d always been efficient at moving on, moving forward, whether she wanted to or not.
Even if, in this instance, she didn’t want to. Didn’t want to move on from Evan.
But she didn’t have a choice.
Not with the way he’d abruptly left the room when they were talking of Gilroy. The way he’d avoided eye contact as he’d overseen the bath being brought in. The way not a word had been mumbled as he’d set a tray of solid food down on the table in the room.
He hated her for his brother’s death. For setting the whole of it into motion.
That much was clear.
Wrapped in Evan’s too big banyan, Juliet dragged a tortoise-shell comb through her hair as she stood in front of the fire, staring at the flames. Evan had set two new fat logs into place before exiting and leaving her to the bath. Even with his hate of her, he took care of her.
Blast the man.
