He headed straight for the dining room. Dark. Empty. Perfect. He crossed to the still-warm fireplace and lifted the heavy jewelry box from the mantle. He could scarce believe his good fortune.
A creaking footfall in the open doorway demolished the premature sense of relief.
Cradling the box to his chest as a father might hold his firstborn son, Evan turned slowly, willing to use the iron box to bash in Ollie’s head if necessary. He hadn’t come this far, gotten this close, to risk the gallows now.
Ollie, however, was not in the doorway. Miss Stanton was.
She looked at the jewelry box clutched in his arms, then looked him dead in the eyes. The expression in hers could only be described as... disappointment. As if she’d finally begun to think better of him, and he’d gone and proven her worst suspicions correct.
Pain slashed against his ribs. He could see the truth in her gaze: Even with the evidence duly destroyed, he could never be good enough in her estimation, never redeem himself from the lows to which he’d sunk. But he couldn’t back down now. Not with the last link tying his neck to the noose finally in his hands.
“I know what’s in the box,” she said, and took a small step into the darkened room. “And I know why you want it.”
Evan blinked and gripped his prize tighter. If she knew what was in the box, she was several steps ahead of him. Although by now he had a reasonable guess. If she knew why he needed the box’s contents... well, then that meant she knew just about everything. And his dreams of someday playing the eligible gentleman in complement to her role as marriageable young lady were just that: dreams.
“You may be used to taking whatever you want, whenever you want,” she continued softly, inexorably. “But it stops now.” She paused, touched a chain at her throat. “I had hoped...”
She trailed off, her expression both rueful and sad.
He didn’t speak, was incapable of formulating a believable explanation to justify any of his actions. She was a lady. He was a water rat. A libertine. A thief. He longed to say,It’s not what you think.He ached to be able to tell her,I’m not who you think I am.
But he couldn’t. Because she was right.
He had always been beneath her. Likely would always be beneath her. She had simply never realized just how far. Somehow, she’d imagined him a better man than he was, forgiven him when she should not have done, given him chances he didn’t deserve. And was now realizing the extent of her folly.
He yearned to toss the box aside and take her into his arms, promising to be the man she’d hoped he was. But he didn’t have that choice. As much as he wanted her, as much as it pained him to see her look at him with such regret and disappointment, saving his neck had to come first. At all costs. Even at the risk of whatever small thread of hope still bonded the two of them together.
Tucking the box beneath one arm, he strode forward, intending to shoulder past her without attempting to explain or mitigate his actions.
She widened her stance, hands fisted on her hips. A waif half his size, she did her best to block the doorway. Her attempt was valiant, if laughable in its chances for success.
As always, he could not help but admire her. Determination stiffened her posture, but a tiny sliver of hope still shone in her face. His heart twisted a little more. She still wanted to believe in him. Hoped he would prove her wrong. And he was going to fail her.
“Step aside, Susan.” He kept his voice soft, but knew she heard the steel beneath.
She swallowed, shook her head, appeared to be thinking furiously. Then she took a deep breath and slipped a hand into the folds of her skirts. Her fingers emerged, shaking. And holding a knife. She looked pale, her skin pasty white. But she opened the blade and gripped the handle, so the sharpened tip pointed directly at him.
“I’m sorry,” she said then, her voice wobbly but determined. “But I can’t let you have it.”
Evan hated himself in that moment. He couldn’t help but wish he were anywhere else, in anyone’s shoes but his own. He certainly hadn’t wanted what little relationship he still had with Miss Stanton to end likethis.But he had no choice. His death by hanging would benefit neither of them.
“I’m sorry,” he answered truthfully. Achingly. Then used his free hand to retrieve the loaded pistol from his waistband. “But I can’t let you stop me.”
Fear flashed in her eyes. Her back thumped against the doorjamb. She truly believed he would kill her without another thought or moment’s regret. The last thread of his humanity died at her feet.
He’dhadto bluff with the pistol. He could’ve wrested the knife from her with brute force, but he couldn’t risk hurting her in the process. He wanted to explain himself, to justify his actions, to see trust replace the agonizing expression of terror in her eyes. But despite the war raging in his heart, Evan could not chance loitering in Moonseed Manor a moment longer. He took the opportunity to finally escape with the strongbox in his arms. The thrill of victory no longer raced through his blood.
Instead, he felt the pain of loss.
Chapter 42
No matter what Mr. Bothwick might think, Susan wasnotgoing to let him get away with that box. Too many people were counting on her. Some of them still alive.
She dashed upstairs for her pelisse (having been caught in the rain enough for one week), then swore when she realized the round trip back to the front door had sucked a quarter hour from her evening. She was going to have to seriously consider trailing biscuit crumbs behind her.
At least she had no doubt as to her destination. Mr. Bothwick must be taking the strongbox back to his lodgings. Nor did she doubt he would prevent her from reclaiming it by any means necessary. Which meant she would have to proceed at her very stealthiest. And hide the jewelry box somewhere so clever, he would never be able to guess the location.
She headed into the darkness, moving toward the trails connecting his property to Moonseed Manor. She wished she’d brought a lantern, then chided herself for the silly thought. A lantern wasn’t stealthy. A lantern was stupid. If Mr. Bothwick could find his way to and from the two houses in the dead of night, so could she.
