Page 17 of A Daring Pursuit

Chapter Six

“What exactly isit you believe my father stole?” Mr. Oshea spoke slowly, carefully. There was no defensive stance or immediate denial that his father had indeed stolen anything. And he had. Geneva was certain of it.

A sudden current cut across the cliff, knocking Geneva off her feet. Her arms flailed and for a second, she was horrifyingly airborne. Then her feet were back on solid soil and her arm scorching where Mr. Oshea still held her in an iron grip, dragging her from the edge where she’d stood. “Are you all right?” His words came out in a rush of fearsome brutality.

Her hand splayed her chest. Her heart pounded through the layers of her frock, her cloak, her gloves. She feared the blasted organ would fly from her body if she removed her hand. “Yes. Yes, I-I think so.” She’d never been so frightened in her life. Not since she’d taken up the carving knife against Papa’s threat all those years ago. She shut out the memories and moved a few more steps from the cliff’s edge, hugging herself.

Perhaps Mr. Oshea wished her ill.

She cut her gaze to him. “We should head back.” Damn, the tremor in her voice. Showing weakness was not her forte and certainly not in her best interest. A sharp gasp escaped her—perhaps he wished to keep her locket for himself.

“What’s wrong?” His words came out amid abrasive, pointed breaths.

Notably, he didn’t re-ask his question on what his father had stolen. A question she wasn’t inclined to answer. Not yet. Not until she learned if her legacy had indeed been confiscated by Lord Pender. Those memories in her past—her five-year-old self—were so vague and obscured by that sweltering greatcoat that had seemed so ominous at the time, hovered over her, and felt as intensive as to bury her alive.

In silent, mutual consent, they turned as one to the front of the castle. They rounded the corner and Mr. Oshea let out a gurgled sound. “Damnation.” The low growl whispered over her skin, raising bumps.

Geneva stopped beside Mr. Oshea and lifted her glance from the path. Abra remained near the bench, standing halfway between the front entrance and the corner where Mr. Oshea and Geneva now stood. Her gaze moved to the shiny carriage she’d pulled behind that morning. Mr. Oshea’s words from the hall that morning pushed Abra’s presence from her mind. “Isn’t that Miss Hale’s rig?”

“Er, yes. It is.” He edged back from the line of sight.

The action touched Geneva with amusement. “You don’t wish to see her again?”

Other carriages began lining the drive.

“She’s considered family and has the devil of a temper. Storming out in a huff is hardly unusual for her. I just don’t wish to deal with her at the moment. That’s all.” Nowthatsounded defensive.

Geneva hid a smile that tipped quickly into a frown. “Are you in love with her?” The instant the words left her mouth, she wished to snatch them back. But there they were, floating on the breeze.

He didn’t answer right away. Perhaps the words had been carried out to sea and he hadn’t heard them. His eyes werestormier than the crashing waves with which she’d nearly experienced an intimate proximity.

An unlikely scenario, however, watching from the corner of her eye as he shoved a hand through his dark hair.

“Forgive me. I tend to be a bit too forthright,” she said.

His grunt came out sarcastic. Yes. She was absolutely positively certain she’d heard sarcasm.

His lack of verbal response prompted her further. “It’s especially annoying when improper things emerge with no thought on my part.”

He cleared his throat. “Think nothing of it.” His unreadable tone said it all. She’d overstepped common propriety. As usual.

Gads, it was the story of her irregular life.

“It appears the viewing of my father’s body is underway,” he said with a resigned sigh that tugged at her sympathies, surprising her.

Geneva straightened her spine and firmed her resolve. She hadn’t made the trek to Northumberland only to get distracted by the intricacies of the remaining Oshea clan. “I’d best check on Abra. She’s really quite introverted, you know. Thank you for the tour. Oh. And for saving my life.”

He inclined his head with a cool smile. “It was the least I could do.”

“Of course. An accident while walking might do harm to the family name and all that rot,” she muttered, marching away. She started in Abra’s direction and stopped. Her friend had moved and was disappearing through the front door among those emerging from carriages. One in particular—shiny, black, outrageously costly—Martindale. Quickly, Geneva turned back to her host. “Is there, um, another entrance? I prefer not”—facing—“fighting the crowd.”

For the first time since she’d met Noah Oshea, genuine amusement glinted in his eyes, turning his irises from stormgray to something that hinted at dark steel. He took her arm and led her back around the fallen turret to another less visible door. “Right this way.”

*

Noah didn’t blameMiss Wimbley for wanting to avoid the throng at the entrance. He rather wished he could as well. After all, he’d been the one to issue the invitations for the service. But if she had aspirations in angling for a husband—

He barely restrained from dropping his head in his hands and groaning aloud. She’d told him why she’d shown up on his doorstep. The danger lay in him, not her. Besides, it was not as if they were likely to run into other guests in this portion of the castle.

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