Page 115 of A Shadow Amongst the Roses

“I saw you leave them,” he continued. “You did not look cherished in that moment.”

“You have been near the windows,” she said.

“Here and there,” he replied. “People speak freely when they believe they are safe.”

A thorn caught his sleeve as the wind moved through the bed. He did not look down.

“You took Sammy,” she said.

A faint smile touched his mouth.

“No,” he said. “I arranged for a path to bend. Others handled the boy. I ensured he wandered where he could be seen. Retrieved. Returned.” His gaze sharpened. “You needed reason to move. He provided it.”

“You risked a child,” she said, her hands fisted at her side.

“I risked nothing,” he answered. “He was watched. His fear was brief. A fair price for what I gained.”

“And what,” she asked, “have you gained.”

His gaze sharpened.

“Knowledge,” he said. “Of how far you will ride. Of how the house will strain to follow. Of where its vigilance thins.”

Her breath stayed shallow. Controlled.

“The boy was never your goal.”

“No.” His voice softened. “You were.”

The words hung between them, out of place in the open air.

“I thought,” Ashwood went on, “that once your husband’s house settled under new command you would be easily guided. Influenced. Invitations. Counsel. You disappointed me. You rooted yourself instead. Built a place for which I had not accounted for.”

His gaze drifted up to the windows, then back to her.

“That required adjustment,” he said. “I am nothing if not adaptable.

“Some adjustments leave traces,” he went on, his tone almost conversational. “Records. Accounts. Patterns that look one way until someone less patient begins to read them.”

His gaze flicked, briefly, toward the house. “I imagine you have seen enough today to understand how such things are interpreted.”

Eliza held his gaze, letting the implication pass without answer. He was watching for reaction. She gave him none.

“You used Margaret,” Eliza said.

He shrugged lightly.

“She wished to belong,” he replied lightly. “I offered direction.”

The gravel pricked against Eliza’s soles. The roses whispered.

“You have said more than is wise,” she said.

“Not for a man who has already done what he came to do,” he answered. His eyes moved over her face again. “You walked away from them. You came into the one place where the house does not see so clearly. Do you know what that tells me.”

“That you have overestimated yourself,” she said.

“It tells me,” he said, “that you are tired of rooms where decisions are made around you. Over you. You wish to stand on your own feet. Away from their concern. Away from his.”