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There was something about that painting of Mary that niggled Ivy. She just couldn’t understand what.
She paused on the final stone step out of the house and glanced back. Perhaps it was simply her youth or the sweet smile that was so rarely seen in portrait paintings. Or even the fact that Mary would have been only a little younger than her when she vanished.
Perhaps it was because no one knew where she had gone and were so quick to blame Cillian rather than find out the truth.
Well, no matter how long it took, she would get to the truth. She just had to. They could not spend the rest of their days hiding from Mr. Marshall and Cillian should not have to suffer the accusations any longer.
“You shouldn’t have looked at it.”
She swiveled on a heel at the hissed statement, her heart jumping practically out of her throat when she spotted him.
“What are you doing here?” she said, the words almost lost to the slight breeze wrapping around the house. She glanced at the closed door then the gap between her and Harry Marshall. Finally, she looked to the gate all the way down the long road where her carriage and footmen awaited. They couldn’t see her.
“No one should look at that painting,” he uttered, shadowing her as she took a few steps backward.
“How did you know what I was doing?”
“I’ve been watching you for some time.”
“I only wished to see what Mary looked like.”
“She was mine,” he snapped, moved closer still.
Ivy took a few more rapid steps back. If she could get to the stables there would be someone there. Or maybe she could sprint quickly enough to shout for her driver. Whatever she did, she needed to do it quickly. She’d never seen a man’s eyes look so wild.
The buttons on his waistcoat were done up unevenly and his jacket was creased as though he had been sleeping in it. The first time she’d spied him from the house window, he’d looked polished and even handsome.
It didn’t take a crumpled jacket or wild hair to make him look unattractive.
No, it was the set of his jaw and the dark, terrifying look in his eyes that made her recoil.
“No one should be looking at that painting apart from me!”
She shifted again, inching her way to the edge of the house hands held aloft. “I am sorry. I didn’t realize. I won’t look again,” she vowed.
“No.” His eyes glinted with something that made nausea roll in her stomach. “You won’t.”
Ivy turned. She fled. She flew as fast as she could across the gravel. His boots crunched on the gravel behind her. She focused on the gate, the iron bars wide open, inviting her through.
An arm latched about her waist, drawing her to a halt so fast and hard that it felt like a punch to the gut. Ivy opened her mouth to scream but a hand quickly clamped across her face, the fabric of his gloves stifling her breath in an instant.
She ceased her struggles the moment the hand about her waist moved and something hard jabbed her in the back.
Her skin pricked. Was that—
“Do not move or I shall shoot you.”
The words were whispered in her ear, his breath hot. A cry escaped her, muffled by his thick glove. She focused on drawing breaths through her nostrils though they came hard and fast and too thin. Her head swam.
What did he want with her? Was that really a gun to her back? The crazed look in his eyes gave her no reason to believe otherwise.
He’d been watching her. Biding his time. Maybe even following her everywhere she went. He knew why she had come here.
Maybe he feared she would find proof of what he’d done.
Maybe he wanted to kill her just in case.
She looked toward the gate. The men wouldn’t see her nor hear her even if she managed to call out. Who knew what Marshall intended with her but all she could focus on now was staying alive.
