Tempting Fate Kerrigan Byrne (ebook reader .TXT) 📖

“Titus is convinced her ailment isn’t stemming from poorly prepared food. He… he suspects she was poisoned.”

He made a pensive sound. “Does Mrs. Winterton have enemies? Could she have ingested something on her mysterious family journey that day?”

She shook her head, burrowing deeper against him. His shirt was damp with rain and smelled of loamy earth and spices and… whatever delicious musk radiated from his skin.

Why was she noticing things like that at a time like this?

“Not likely. I distinctly remember her saying she was famished. That she didn’t have a bit to eat that day until—”

Recognition lanced her at the selfsame moment every part of him went rigid. They each pulled away long enough to look at each other and reveal their thoughts. “The fish stew.”

She put a hand to her head. “I gave her my portion, and you didn’t partake more than a bite because you are not fond of fish.” Felicity noted the rain had bunched his forelocks into gathers of hair that still dripped water below his eyes to run down the crags and planes of his brutally compelling features. “Did you feel at all ill?”

He shook his head. “My life’s left me with an iron stomach and most toxins take a larger dose to fell a man my size than a slight lady such as Mrs. Winterton or…”

His gaze skittered away.

“Or me,” she breathed. “They were trying to poison me. That’s what you think, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer, but his hands stilled on her back before bunching into the fabric.

“I need to get my estate in order,” she realized. “What if something truly happens to me? There are those in my household to worry about.”

“Yes,” he clipped, “Someone in your employ is likely trying to kill you.”

She went very still as his words sank in and struck a chord so painful, she couldn’t even fathom it.

Jerking out of his grip, she whirled away. “That’s impossible.”

“It’s the only possibility at this point. That letter was left in your private solarium. The poison in your food. Even the fact that you were accosted at a specific time of night.” His massive hand clamped on her shoulder and turned her around. “Your assailant knew where you were going to be, because someone in your household provided them that information.”

Both her hands covered her mouth in sheer horror. Every part of her rejected the very notion. However, his logic was sound. “What should I do?”

“You should let every last one go.”

That brought her brows down and she released her mouth to frown at him. “I can’t just… I mean… some of these people have been in the house longer than I’ve been alive. It’s their home. I refuse to punish them all for the transgression of one. Not without surety of their guilt. Don’t ask that of me.”

He scowled in kind, but ultimately relented. “What about a sabbatical? You could fabricate a reason to at least get them all out of the house for a time, whilst we conduct an investigation. Maybe pick one or two of your most trusted to remain. Mrs. Pickering, perhaps.”

She nodded, feeling dazed. “Yes. And Mr. Bartholomew. Unless they were part of— oh, Lord. That isn’t worth thinking about. What is happening?”

A band of steel surrounded her lungs and threatened to squeeze the life out of her. Heart racing and vision blurring, she worried the starch would abandon her knees.

“Felicity.” His hands bracketed her shoulders, his grip careful but firm. “Felicity, listen to me.”

She looked up at him, compelled by the gravitas in his voice. “Do not panic. I will keep you safe. I will watch who is left. Do you believe that?”

She did. Without question. “It’s just… I wish I didn’t need you to.” She gripped his forearms and captured his gaze, needing to unburden herself. To explain. To apologize. To ward off the self-recrimination that’d become a part of her everyday conversation since back before she could remember.

“How is this happening to me? I’ve always done the right thing. I’ve always done the safe thing. I’ve been afraid of letting myself misbehave because then my life would truly have no meaning. I would have no use to anyone. My parents, my peers, my sisters. I convinced myself I’m capable of taking on this immense responsibility left to me by my father, but I’m discovering that the more threatened I feel, the less capable I am, and I… I detest that about myself. I really do. I can’t even help you stitch a wound without fainting. I can’t face people for longer than a few hours before I want to collapse. I’m weak and ineffectual and—”

“Stop.”

She blinked up at him, stunned by his none-too-gentle tone and the firm shake he gave her.

“Listen to me, Felicity Goode,” he said in a voice she’d not yet heard from him. One that could have commanded legions. “You are capable of things I’ve never before seen in this world. You’ve taught me something as I’ve watched you. That strength— real strength— is quiet. And that nothing is so powerful as gentility. To remain soft in a hard world, that takes immense courage. Courage few people possess. Trust me on this, Felicity, and please do not tear yourself apart over what you should not change. Do not let anyone make you feel weak for caring.”

His words brought a very different sort of tears to her eyes, and she stared up at him with a longing she couldn’t at all identify. When he was near, when he touched her… she didn’t feel so hollow. She could believe that she possessed courage.

He made her brave.

“Can we forget what happened the night of the ball?” she blurted, silently pleading with him to melt the fortress of ice between them. “I don’t want there to be this uncomfortable distance. I miss the ease of what we had before.”

Severity and relief sat strangely on features such as his. “I do as well,” he admitted.

“Then let us chalk it up to a