Page 23 of Along Came a Rogue

His heart skipped. He didn’t have an answer for that.

“Whoever killed him didn’t chase him down, didn’t attack him,” she continued, her fingers tightening around his. “Whoever it was talked him down from the horse, I’m certain of it. Andrew knew and trusted him. Which means I most likely know and trust him.” Then she whispered, so softly he could barely hear her, “Which means I can’t trust anyone.”

When she raised her eyes to his, the fear was gone, replaced by a deep fatigue and firm resolve, an expression that was almost emotionless now that she’d confessed this secret to him. She was completely drained yet forced herself to endure. He’d seen that same expression on the faces of the war wounded, of civilians forced to flee from their homes, of old soldiers who had served too long in the heat of battle—it was the look of survival.

“I know you must think me an utter bedlamite,” she continued, “shooting guns at you, claiming my husband was murdered when I have no real proof…but I’m not mad, Grey.” She jutted her chin into the air with grim determination. “I know my husband was murdered.”

“But why?” He shook his head gently with disbelief. “Emily, what you’re saying—”

“Because Andrew became the heir apparent to Alistair Crenshaw, Marquess of Dunwich,” she poured out in a rush, yet so softly whispered that he barely heard her over the rolling wheels beneath them. “That’s why he was killed.”

She pulled away. This time, stunned by that news, he let her go.

He stared across the dimly lit compartment at her. Impossible. Of course, stories littered English history of men who committed fratricide and patricide in order to inherit titles and of women who killed to become heiresses. But to murder Andrew Crenshaw, a man few people in London knew existed and even fewer cared about…no. Her grief over losing her husband had made her irrational, that was all.

“At the time your husband died, no one knew who was in line to inherit,” he explained gently. “Even the Committee for Privileges didn’t know.” Or the gossip of that would have poured through London like a spring rain.

“Someone knew,” she assured him. “They’ve known for six months.”

“Tell me.”

She drew a deep breath. “It started right before Andrew was killed, strange happenings around the estate…a stray bullet from a hunter hit the carriage, a footman who fell down the stairs swore he’d been pushed, food was poisoned…” She held her arms wrapped against her lower stomach, as if trying to hold and comfort herself. “At the time no one thought they were anything more than just accidents.”

“Then your husband died,” he murmured, “and you began to suspect they were more than coincidental.”

She nodded. “A month later I received a letter from Dunwich’s attorney, stating that Andrew was the new heir—they hadn’t heard that he’d died. He was a distant cousin, you see, so I never thought to send word to that branch of the Crenshaws. But I knew when I saw that letter what happened to him and why.”

“And the accidents?”

“They stopped when he was killed.” Her blue eyes glowed bright even in the darkness. “Until tonight.”

His blood turned cold. He understood now why she’d pleaded with him so fiercely to leave, why there had been such fear in her eyes when he’d refused. Whoever had caused the accidents and murdered her husband was still there, still watching her, and whoever it was thought Grey was a threat. Enough of a potential risk that he’d set the house on fire to try to kill them both.

“That’s why I wanted you to leave,” she whispered and looked down at her trembling hands in her lap. “I couldn’t bear it if—” The words choked her. Turning her face toward the shadows, she breathed out softly, “I could never forgive myself if anything happened to you because of me.”

His chest tightened with wrenching regret. He’d been wrong about her, so very wrong…He’d thought she was simply a coldhearted harridan who couldn’t be bothered with her brother when she’d actually been going through hell. Alone and isolated in the countryside, she’d been dealing not only with the grief of her husband’s murder but also the terror of knowing that whoever did it might come after her.

No wonder she needed brandy to help her sleep and kept a loaded pistol in her sitting room. No wonder she’d shot at them when they arrived. Good God. For the past five months, she must have felt as if she were being hunted.

But now she had him. And he would protect her the same way he’d always protected her brother. With his life.

He held open his arms. “Come here, brat.”

* * *

Emily stared at him as he waited for her, his arms wide in invitation, and the emotions churned inside her.

For so long, she’d been alone. First during those long years at school when she’d never fit in and made no friends, then even after her marriage, when she’d lost both her husband and her brother. All alone and isolated…until today, when Thomas sent Grey to her.

Nathaniel Grey. More than loneliness drew her to him. It was all of him—the way his grin warmed her insides, how she could talk to him so easily, how he made her laugh even when she was so furious with him that she wanted to throttle him. She admired most of all the fight he possessed, the determination to carve out a better life than fate had given him. She was even attracted to the vulnerability she glimpsed in him, that vulnerability he tried so hard to hide from the world beneath his devil-may-care veneer.

She nearly laughed that the same man who inadvertently caused her loneliness was now the same man offering to rescue her from it by taking her into his arms. And oh, how badly she wanted to let him! Yet she was still keeping secrets, and how furious would he be when he learned the truth? She’d told him about Andrew, but nothing else had changed. And every minute she spent with him only continued to put his life in danger.

But for now, they were safe, and finally, he was hers.

Slowly, she reached out her hand, and he took it to help her across the bouncing carriage to sit beside him. When his strong arms folded around her to draw her close, she melted against his chest and closed her eyes.

So warm and strong, his arms encircling protectively around her—for a moment, she did nothing but let herself feel. And sweet heavens, how good he felt! The strong heartbeat beneath her fingertips as her hand rested on his chest and the steady rise and fall of his deep breaths soothed her more than she could ever have imagined, and when he placed a tender kiss at her temple, she trembled.