Page 11 of Along Came a Rogue

“I’ve been here for a while now, and no one could have missed that gunfire when we arrived. Where are your footmen and grooms?” He took her chin in his fingers and held her so she couldn’t look away. “And do not lie to me.”

She stared warily at him, as if trying to decide exactly how much she could trust him. Then she answered, the single word tearing from her in a hoarse whisper—“Gone.”

He couldn’t possibly have heard her correctly. “Pardon?”

“My husband was killed in a riding accident five months ago,” she whispered, as if terrified of being overheard. “But there were other…incidents. The servants feared for their lives. Half departed the night of his death, the others were gone by his burial. A handful remain, and if they hear gunfire, believe me, they will not come to investigate until it is long over.”

Grey stared at her, unable to fathom the creature before him and the situation she described. Was she really spinning ghost stories and expecting him to believe them?

He straightened away from her, yanking her fingers free from his coat. For a moment, her hands stayed in the air, as if still grasping for him, before she lowered her arms to her sides to bury her hands in the pockets of her baggy pelisse.

He shook his head. “Your parents never mentioned any of this. Thomas never said a word.”

“My family doesn’t know.” She drew a ragged breath, her gaze training on his chest. “Andrew died last fall when the weather was too bad for them to travel to his funeral. Then, the time was simply never right to tell them about the servants.”

Never right? For God’s sake, she’d been widowed and abandoned by her staff, and the time was never right to ask for help? “Mrs. Crenshaw—”

“I was unwell,” she interrupted. “Andrew’s death was such a shock—I fell ill. And then…” Her voice trailed off, and whatever she had been about to say was lost. “But I’m better now. In fact, I plan on closing up the house and returning to London next month, when the roads will be passable and when I’m feeling stronger.” But the words came far too smoothly, too practiced, and her eyes lifted to his, as if searching for proof that he believed her. “And now you know everything.”

That was a laugh. He’d barely scratched the surface of the secrets being kept here.

“As you can see, there’s nothing to concern you, but I cannot accommodate guests. Nor do I feel up to traveling…even as much as I want to see Thomas.” An aching grief passed over her face before she averted her eyes, and she drew a shaking breath, her hands wrapping in her skirt. “So when will you be leaving, Major?”

“Tomorrow.” He stared at her, grimly noting all the obvious signs of fear and unease she so openly displayed. “First light.”

Her shoulders sagged, and a soft sigh of relief escaped her. “I’ll have Yardley bring the letter to you at the inn—”

“Oh, no,” he interrupted with a forced calmness he didn’t feel. “You misunderstand me.”

Her eyes darted up to his. Sudden panic made their blue depths resemble a storm-tossed ocean. The tip of her tongue darted out nervously to wet her lips, and he watched, fascinated by the little movement. He placed his hand on the wall beside her shoulder and leaned in closer, close enough to see her pulse racing tantalizingly in the hollow at the base of her throat.

The brat, he reminded himself again. Thomas’s sister, which meant she was as good as a sister to him, too…a sister who just happened to have amazingly plump breasts.

“I’m not leaving without you.” He drew a deep breath to steady his concentration. “Hedley and I are spending the night here, and in the morning, you’re coming with us to—”

With a frustrated groan, she shoved futilely at his shoulders. “Why won’t you just trust me?”

His rising frustration matched hers as he ground out, “Because the last time we met, you nearly ‘trusted’ me straight into a duel.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” The words poured from her with an angry groan. “How many more times will that kiss ruin my life?”

His head snapped back as if she’d slapped him. “What?”

Her hand flew to her mouth as she realized what she’d said, deep regret dancing in her wide eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she forced out, muffled between her fingers. “I didn’t mean—oh, Grey…”

His eyes narrowed on her. She’d certainly meant it, all right. “The last time I saw you—” He angrily choked off. Lord, how this woman roiled his insides! One moment, the minx had him wanting to strip her naked, the next he wanted to wring her little neck. “Damned stupid of us—of me—to let you talk me into…” Christ!

He’d been kicked out of Ivy Glen, nearly lost Thomas’s friendship—now the damned woman had the nerve to blame him for ruining her life?

“Forget it, Emily. Please.” He’d certainly done his best to do just that, until Thomas sent him here, apparently straight into hell after all. “I’m still being punished for it by your parents. I don’t deserve to be punished by you, too.”

She gaped at him. “Punished—you? When I was sent—” She stopped, her eyes narrowing curiously on the bewildered look he gave her. Remorse darkened her face as she asked quietly, “You truly don’t know? Thomas never told you?”

“Told me what?” He sighed heavily, wanting nothing more than to put the past behind them for good, get on the road to London, and leave for Spain, where he already should have been. “He said you went off to school, then got married.”

And widowed last fall. Was that what was wrong? His heart skipped. Was all this emotion because she was still grieving her late husband?

“Emily,” he pleaded, his voice gentling, “tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.”