Evan punched the wall again, this time with the other hand, and swore. Now he had two sets of bruised knuckles, a perfectly solid wall, and the same maddening lot of problems as before.
Damnit.
He had to compose himself. To think. To plan. He crossed his arms against the temptation to keep throwing punches, and propped his bare shoulders against the irritatingly immobile wall.
Calm down. Think of something pleasant. Think of...Susan.
No matter how gobsmacked he felt about his brother, Evan shouldn’t have let her run off. She’d come to him out of fear and worry and he’d likely only added to both, rather than bring her the comfort she’d needed. He couldn’t blame her for being upset over Lady Emeline. His own muscles had jumped with fury when he’d seen the tiny woman treated like an animal. There had to be something he could do, short of killing Ollie. Although that didn’t seem a half-bad plan.
If Timothy had his way, Ollie would swing soon enough. They all would.
Stop thinking like that.
Evan couldn’t believe that his little brother was still managing to complicate life from the grave. Or that he was able to talk to Susan about it. And that she hadn’t breathed a word. No, that wasn’t fair. If Evan saw spirits, he doubted he’d write a column about it for theTatler.It must be lonely to have an ability like that and be unable to mention it. He supposed he could have schooled his own reaction a bit better.
He pushed away from the wall, crossed to a small drawer, and pulled out the pearl-encrusted hair comb that had tumbled from her hair before she’d fled from his arms in Moonseed Manor. Sometimes it seemed as if she was always running from him. Or perhaps it was he who kept chasing her away.
He pocketed the comb and gazed unblinking at his rumpled bed. Today marked the first time he’d made love in it. Amazing. During the four years he’d lived at Bournemouth most of his interaction with women had taken place in other locales. Happenstance. Convenience. He’d cherished the ability to ride or sail back home with the knowledge no complications would ensue from the liaison because he’d never lay eyes on the woman again.
And now look at him. Standing alone in his room, a stolen memento in his pocket, the smell of lovemaking still rich in the air. Thinking of Susan.
Longing to see her again.
He gritted his teeth at the irony. The one time in his life he found himself interested in a woman as more than a means to pleasure, and he could do nothing about it, thanks to his Janus-faced brother. Or could he?
Evan paused halfway to the bed, beside which his shirt and waistcoat still lay crumpled on the floor. What, precisely, had Susan said? Timothy had been investigating pirates, yes. But for whom? Perhaps he’d been doing so on his own, for whatever incomprehensible reason. Perhaps he fancied himself a novelist. Timothy had always preferred the company of his mind to that of living people.
She’d said she imagined they would all hang. Yet she hadn’t given any reason for this eventuality to transpire. If Timothy had died before setting his plans into motion—whatever those plans might be—perhaps therewasno imminent threat.
Not that Evan shouldn’t continue to be cautious. He often took risks, but always weighed the odds first.
He slid his hand into his pocket. The pads of his fingertips traced the teeth of the small comb. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d left town more or less overnight. But it would be the first time he’d regretted it.
He wouldn’t consign himself to the captain’s new adventures. But that wouldn’t be enough. He also had to make sure there was no evidence tying him to the crew’s previous activities. Otherwise, the only option would be to leave Bournemouth. Now. Before undesirable outcomes likeprisonordeathcame to pass.
He lifted his waistcoat from atop the crumpled cravat and shirt, then dropped it back onto the pile. Better to ring for new clothes. He’d never learn to tie a cravat as fine as his valet anyway.
Fifteen minutes later, Evan emerged from his bedchamber freshly dressed. He strode downstairs and came to a surprised stop when he discovered one of his liverymen pacing just inside the front door. The servant looked... not nervous, precisely, but undeniably... unsettled. Unsettled might not be as alarming a state as nervous, but in Evan’s current frame of mind, anything out of the ordinary was cause for concern.
“Yes?” he asked cautiously.
“It might be nothing,” the liveryman began, instantly snapping Evan to high alert, “but there was someone come nosing about the stables, just a moment ago, and as ye said to inform ye immediately if we seen any strangers poking their heads where they oughtn’t... well, sir, that’s why I’m meant to interrupt yer day.”
The humidity in the room increased tenfold. For a moment Evan couldn’t breathe. Escaping in the dead of night was going to be a problem if they were already here for himnow. But who were “they”? The constabulary? And why start with the stables without sending a man to subdue him at the same time?Stay calm. Concentrate.
“Did you get a good look at him?” he asked. “What exactly was he doing?”
The liveryman shook his head. “He’d be a she, sir. Wanted to see the horses, she did.”
Evan blinked. “A... she?”
“Little blonde thing, about so high, as I recall.” The liveryman gestured just above his shoulder. “Pair of spectacles, now that I think about it. Didn’t say her name, but she came out of the path leading from the house. Maybe ye saw her hereabout?”
Yes, yes, he undoubtedly had. Evan ran a hand through his hair and tried to think. Susan had been nosing around his horses? But why do so clandestinely rather than just ask to see them? Hell, he hadn’t realized she’d known hehadhorses. He kept his stables well hidden.
Belatedly, he recalled her odd reaction to news of the assembly in Bath. She hadn’t asked about the food or the fashion or the guests or the entertainment. Her first priority had been to ascertain the presence of posting-houses. Doubt wriggled beneath his skin. She couldn’t possibly have intended to steal one of his mounts and ride to Bath... could she? If she no longer wished to stay in Moonseed Manor—and, truly, who could blame her?—why hadn’t she trusted him enough to ask for his help? She could’ve stayed here. Or leftwithhim. She didn’t realize it, but she wasn’t the only one interested in leaving town. Lingering overlong in Bournemouth could be hazardous to Evan’s neck.
He had better set his servants to packing. Just in case. He lurched over to the closest bell pulls, his feet leaden. A few words from him, and a timely departure would be set into motion. A matter of days, if he took everything. Tomorrow night, if he left all but the essentials behind.
