A Rake's Midnight Kiss (Sons of Sin 2)

“Are you accusing me of something, Miss Barrett?” he asked, suddenly tired of fencing. If she recognized him as her burglar, she’d have to say so.

Her eyes narrowed and he wondered if perhaps she meant to denounce him. Then what would he do? If ruthless men plundered the vicarage, she was in danger. He couldn’t forsake her, whatever lies he’d told Cam about his lack of emotional involvement.

“Not right now.”

Which was no answer at all.

With a flounce of her skirts, she marched off, still carrying the broom. When she was annoyed, her walk developed a swinging stride that heated his blood. She was such a passionate creature. His hands curled at his sides as he resisted the urge to catch her and turn all that passion toward him.

Still she strutted away. Tall. Straight-shouldered. Ready to take on a world of men and win. She should look absurd. What she looked was strong and brave and beautiful beyond his wildest dreams. And after today’s incident, terrifyingly vulnerable.

It seemed Richard Harmsworth wasn’t alone in marking Genevieve’s beauty and the treasure she guarded. After today, he had a more important task than wheedling the jewel away from her. That could wait till Doomsday if it must. Ensuring Genevieve’s safety couldn’t.

Chapter Thirteen

After hearing garbled tales about rampaging mobs, Lord Neville slammed into the vicarage and didn’t notably calm even after Genevieve downplayed the drama. He insisted upon bearding the vicar in his library.

Genevieve followed, although as a mere woman, her opinion wasn’t sought. Her aunt stayed outside, but Mr. Evans joined them. Genevieve waited for Lord Neville to object to his presence, but perhaps even his lordship quailed from such presumption in another man’s abode.

Genevieve stood near the hearth. This chilly afternoon, she appreciated the fire. Or perhaps the cold stemmed from awareness that the criminal fraternity had invaded her home. For a second time.

Could Mr. Evans be right? Was today’s outrage his lordship’s doing? Or, as seemed more plausible, was it like the last break-in, all up to Mr. Evans?

While she accepted Mr. Evans’s story about being with Sedgemoor, he could easily pay someone to rob the vicarage. The thieves had rifled her study, although yet again, nothing was missing. Luckily the jewel was safe in her petticoat.

When Mr. Evans had caught her in the woods, she’d come so close to revealing that she’d identified him as her burglar. The accusation had trembled on her lips. Until she’d remembered the buffer he created between her and her blackmailing suitor. Right now, she didn’t know whom to trust. Her strongest instinct was to trust nobody, stay silent, and watch for some clue to the truth.

“I cannot be easy with the vicarage unprotected.” Lord Neville held forth from the center of the library as if he owned the house. “You and Genevieve must move into Youngton Hall until these thugs are apprehended.”

Mr. Evans remained a silent observer. Sirius sat at his side, seeming to follow each argument.

“What about my parishioners?” the vicar asked in a quavering voice from where he sat—crouched really, like an animal at bay—behind his untidy desk. After the first break-in, he’d been nervy, but today’s broad-daylight opportunism left him befuddled and frightened.

His lordship dismissed the vicar’s question with a swipe of one hand. “If you’re needed, they can send a message. I’ll bring you over for Sunday services.”

“I’m not sure.” Her father was hardly an active shepherd to his congregation and usually he’d leap to partake of aristocratic bounty. But after today’s events, Genevieve knew that abandoning his home for a strange place, even so luxurious a strange place as Youngton Hall, would unsettle him. “It’s my duty to stay if thieves infest the neighborhood.”

Lord Neville sighed with ill-concealed impatience and his hand clenched on the silver gargoyle on top of his cane. Genevieve was familiar with the piece, an elaborate copy of a carving in Lincoln Cathedral. She’d never liked it. The grotesque seemed steeped in malevolence. “Then send Genevieve to me.”

She drew breath to refuse. Since his proposal, Lord Neville had treated her with resentment, punctuated with smothering solicitude. At least he hadn’t renewed his blackmail threat since she’d called his bluff—except she had a discomfiting presentiment that he merely bided his time. She preferred his pique over his care, especially as his care became most overt in Mr. Evans’s vicinity.

“That’s hardly proper, my lord,” her father bleated. “Your visits to Little Derrick raise no questions because you’re here for scholarly purposes. But for Genevieve to stay in your house? As a man of God, I can’t condone it, however innocent your motives.”

Genevieve wasn’t so sure about the innocent motives. To her irritation, she couldn’t disregard Mr. Evans’s insinuations about his lordship.

Lord Neville’s smile dripped superiority. “You mistake me, Dr. Barrett. Your daughter’s reputation is precious to me too. I would of course offer Mrs. Warren hospitality.”

“I’m not leaving you, Papa.” Genevieve hated that Lord Neville discussed her as if she wasn’t present. His bombastic manner only made her grateful that she’d never contemplated marrying him—or any man.

Lord Neville was adamant. “Genevieve, prudence insists—”

“Miss Barrett has a right to decide whether she stays or goes, my lord,” Mr. Evans said in the light, pleasant voice that indicated he was determined on his opinion prevailing.

“This doesn’t concern you, Evans,” his lordship snarled. Since Genevieve had refused his proposal, he’d foregone even minimal politeness to Mr. Evans.

“On the contrary, I take this outrage very personally indeed.” As always, Mr. Evans gave no indication by tone or expression that he resented the other man’s rudeness. As always, his coolness made Lord Neville look like a hectoring bully.

“Perhaps I should stay until the danger passes.” His lordship subjected Mr. Evans to a narrow-eyed glare.