bring?”
“Harriet.”
Harriet. The maid was newly arrived in London and had been so willing to please that Lyssa had championed her. The pain of betrayal ran deep. “You were a soldier?”
“Yes.”
“You seem to know what you are doing.” She had to make her mind work, to make sense of the violence, of what was happening. This was all to have been a lark. An adventure.
She forced herself to stop shaking by clasping her hands together. “I don’t think anyone wants me dead.”
“Obviously you’re wrong. Someone has gone to a great deal of trouble and a good expense to achieve that objective, including using me.” There was a beat silence and then he added, “That was their first mistake.” She understood what he was saying. This was personal to him now.
“Do you think your father could be behind this?” he hazarded.
His suggestion staggered her. “No. I told you earlier, he’d never want to see me dead. He loves me! If anything it would be my stepmother.”
“Your stepmother?” The Irishman shook his head. “Murder is a bold crime. I’ve met her. She hasn’t it in her.”
“Of course,” Lyssa agreed sarcastically. “Every man thinks my stepmother is fragile. Trust me, she is far more resilient than most give her credit.”
“But what does she stand to gain by seeing you dead?”
“A more substantial inheritance for her child?” Lyssa suggested.
“To what purpose? She has all the money she needs.”
“Does anyone ever have all the money theyneed? The moment my stepmother came out of mourning for her first husband, the duke, she threw herself at my father. No one can convince me it was love at first sight. Consider their age difference. She chose him for his money, and it’s a pity my own father isn’t wise enough to see it.”
“But is she jealous enough of you to stoop to murder?” he asked.
Lyssa threw her hands in the air. “What more proof do you need? Who else would want me dead? I’m not a threat to anyone. Or perhaps you are right about my father. It seems I’ve ceased to matter with the advent of a baby. But then again, he is determined I marry for a title. A son can’t give him that.”
The Irishman put his pistol in his knapsack and adjusted it around his shoulders. “What about your betrothed?”
“We’re not betrothed yet, not formally.” She didn’t like to think about Grossett. Conscious that the Irishman watched her closely, she said stiffly, “He only gains if he marries me. If he wants me dead, he’d be wiser to wait until after I am his wife.”
“You don’t like him much?”
She despised him…but she’d not admit that to the Irishman. “He is my father’s choice, not mine.”
Even in the night, she could see him frown. “You could be more forthcoming, Miss Harrell. This isn’t some game, not anymore. These menwant to kill you, and me if I stand in their way.”
Was he criticizing her? “I understand the severity of my position. I’ve told you everything I know. I haven’t any idea why someone would pay men to murder me.”
He crossed his arms. Matching her clipped tone, he said, “Then let us start with what you know. Why did you run away?”
“I told you I want to go to Amleth Hall.”
“Why?”
She hated how with one word he could make her feel she had no choice but to answer…and how vulnerable he made her feel when she did so. As Dunmore Harrell’s daughter she’d rarely explained herself to anyone.
“Amleth Hall is my mother’s family seat. She was the laird’s daughter and a famed beauty. They called her ‘the jewel of the Davidson clan,’ and she was expected to marry well. Instead, when she was younger than I, she eloped with my father who then was nothing more than a shepherd. It was a terrible scandal and her father disinherited her. She never regretted her decision to marry Papa because she loved him with her whole heart. But I know that up until the day of her death, she always missed Amleth Hall and
“Harriet.”
Harriet. The maid was newly arrived in London and had been so willing to please that Lyssa had championed her. The pain of betrayal ran deep. “You were a soldier?”
“Yes.”
“You seem to know what you are doing.” She had to make her mind work, to make sense of the violence, of what was happening. This was all to have been a lark. An adventure.
She forced herself to stop shaking by clasping her hands together. “I don’t think anyone wants me dead.”
“Obviously you’re wrong. Someone has gone to a great deal of trouble and a good expense to achieve that objective, including using me.” There was a beat silence and then he added, “That was their first mistake.” She understood what he was saying. This was personal to him now.
“Do you think your father could be behind this?” he hazarded.
His suggestion staggered her. “No. I told you earlier, he’d never want to see me dead. He loves me! If anything it would be my stepmother.”
“Your stepmother?” The Irishman shook his head. “Murder is a bold crime. I’ve met her. She hasn’t it in her.”
“Of course,” Lyssa agreed sarcastically. “Every man thinks my stepmother is fragile. Trust me, she is far more resilient than most give her credit.”
“But what does she stand to gain by seeing you dead?”
“A more substantial inheritance for her child?” Lyssa suggested.
“To what purpose? She has all the money she needs.”
“Does anyone ever have all the money theyneed? The moment my stepmother came out of mourning for her first husband, the duke, she threw herself at my father. No one can convince me it was love at first sight. Consider their age difference. She chose him for his money, and it’s a pity my own father isn’t wise enough to see it.”
“But is she jealous enough of you to stoop to murder?” he asked.
Lyssa threw her hands in the air. “What more proof do you need? Who else would want me dead? I’m not a threat to anyone. Or perhaps you are right about my father. It seems I’ve ceased to matter with the advent of a baby. But then again, he is determined I marry for a title. A son can’t give him that.”
The Irishman put his pistol in his knapsack and adjusted it around his shoulders. “What about your betrothed?”
“We’re not betrothed yet, not formally.” She didn’t like to think about Grossett. Conscious that the Irishman watched her closely, she said stiffly, “He only gains if he marries me. If he wants me dead, he’d be wiser to wait until after I am his wife.”
“You don’t like him much?”
She despised him…but she’d not admit that to the Irishman. “He is my father’s choice, not mine.”
Even in the night, she could see him frown. “You could be more forthcoming, Miss Harrell. This isn’t some game, not anymore. These menwant to kill you, and me if I stand in their way.”
Was he criticizing her? “I understand the severity of my position. I’ve told you everything I know. I haven’t any idea why someone would pay men to murder me.”
He crossed his arms. Matching her clipped tone, he said, “Then let us start with what you know. Why did you run away?”
“I told you I want to go to Amleth Hall.”
“Why?”
She hated how with one word he could make her feel she had no choice but to answer…and how vulnerable he made her feel when she did so. As Dunmore Harrell’s daughter she’d rarely explained herself to anyone.
“Amleth Hall is my mother’s family seat. She was the laird’s daughter and a famed beauty. They called her ‘the jewel of the Davidson clan,’ and she was expected to marry well. Instead, when she was younger than I, she eloped with my father who then was nothing more than a shepherd. It was a terrible scandal and her father disinherited her. She never regretted her decision to marry Papa because she loved him with her whole heart. But I know that up until the day of her death, she always missed Amleth Hall and
Similar Books
