Sin With a Scoundrel (The Husband Hunters Club 4)

“Mr. Gregor is perfectly capable of writing to me, Evelyn.”

“But it is so silly! You never visit. Anthony has been dead for two years, and still you stay away. I know it is because you feel you are to blame.”

That tilt of her head, the bright malicious gleam in her eyes. He remembered it all so well. How could he have been such an idiot as to fall in love with her all those years ago? He had been utterly smitten. And then Anthony had met her, and Evelyn had realized which brother was the rich one. She’d set about acquiring Anthony, and soon they were married.

Richard hadn’t spoken to his brother after that. He’d left for London and refused to return, despite Anthony’s efforts to mend things. Of course he regretted his refusal now, bitterly, but it was too late. And Evelyn didn’t help matters by inventing her own version of the past—and the future. She wanted Richard to tell her he was still in love with her, had never stopped loving her, and that he was seeking Anthony’s killer for her sake, so that he could marry her with a clear conscience.

Such a perfect Evelyn ending!

All because he’d made the mistake at Anthony’s funeral of telling her about his vow to find his brother’s killer, and how he meant to deny himself his inheritance and any solace to be found in marriage until he did. She’d laughed at him, called him a silly, passionate boy.

“I’ll marry you now,” she’d said.

Shocked, he hadn’t known what to say. He should have told her in no uncertain terms that he meant never to marry her, but he was reeling at his brother’s death and all that had been left unresolved between them. She must know now that her hopes were nothing more than fantasies, and yet she persisted.

Evelyn was one reason he never visited Eversham Manor; Anthony’s unsolved murder was the other.

“ . . . A

riot among some farmers, Mr. Gregor says, for no apparent reason than to show they could. Dreadful, isn’t it?”

Richard snapped out of his reverie. “What did you say, Evelyn?”

She gave an exaggerated sigh. “I was talking about the Bossenden Wood riots in May, Richard. Mr. Gregor heard from . . . oh, someone or other, that there was a gentleman around at that time, gathering disgruntled farmers together to cause trouble. Evidently the ringleader was just a poor madman this gentleman had persuaded to act a part. And then, as soon as the men started rioting and the soldiers were called in, the gentleman vanished.”

Her eyes were gleaming. She’d known he’d be interested, and by God, he was. “Do you know the name of this so-called gentleman, Evelyn?”

She pretended to give it a great deal of thought, and then Archie interrupted with the tray, and there was much ado about pouring tea and cutting cake. When they were finally alone again, Richard repeated his question.

“McGregor did not say,” she said airily, “although he did mention he was medium height, with fair hair, and rather handsome. A toff, he said, from the north.”

“From the north?”

“North of Kent, at any rate,” Evelyn said, biting into her fruitcake with relish. She’d always had a good appetite, he remembered, even at Anthony’s funeral.

A thought occurred to Richard, and he set down his cup. “Evelyn, did you know about Anthony? Did you know what he was doing when he died?”

She widened her eyes innocently, but he wasn’t deceived.

“I might consider increasing your allowance, a little.”

Those violet-blue eyes narrowed. “By how much?”

The figure was haggled over until she reluctantly agreed to an amount. “Yes, I knew what he was doing,” she admitted coyly. “Anthony told me everything. He trusted me completely, unlike you, Richard.”

“So you knew about the Guardians?”

“Sir Henry Arlington and his silly spy games? Of course I did. And I knew about the Captain. That was who killed him, wasn’t it? Sir Henry had it put about that he’d been robbed and murdered by some ruffian, but I always knew that wasn’t true. Sir Henry even secured me a little pension from the government, but it was really to keep me quiet,” she said smugly. Then, seeing the shocked expression on his face, she hurriedly added, “Not that I would have said anything! But why refuse when one is a poor widow and desperate?”

“If you know who the Captain is, you’d better tell me,” Richard said with soft menace.

Evelyn’s lips trembled, and her eyes filled with tears. “R-richard? Do you think I would know the name of my husband’s murderer and say nothing? I know I hurt you terribly, but surely you can’t think such a dreadful thing of me?”

He felt ashamed, as she’d meant him to. He’d gone too far. Evelyn might be a greedy and unpleasant woman, but she wouldn’t protect the man who’d killed Anthony. “I’m sorry,” he said roughly. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

By now her tears had turned to sobs, and reluctantly he came to sit beside her and put his arms about her to comfort her. Immediately she turned into his chest, clinging to him, shaking with grief. She was enjoying it, but he couldn’t say that, and did he really know it for a fact? Perhaps it was time to set aside the ill feelings he had for her. Perhaps she was right, and in some corner of his heart he’d never forgiven her for throwing him aside because she preferred Anthony.

Evelyn raised her swimming gaze. “Richard, I am so alone,” she said with trembling lips. “Come home, please come home.”