Page 28 of Rakes & Reticules
“Whatperil? IthoughtI was being helpful.” Even in her weakened state, she glowered in defiance. “I knew you’d received previous death threats. But I understood that culprit had been apprehended, though you continued to implement an abundance of caution out of prudence.”
How could Fletcher or Siobhan have known his nemesis had changed tactics?
Nevertheless, self-recrimination cudgeled him.
“I suggest you save your voice.” Despite his determination not to let her pathetic story move him, distinct pricks of sympathy poked behind his ribs. Hunching a shoulder, Fletcher strode to the door. “The doctor said you needed to rest. You look about to swoon.”
Had she been standing, he didn’t question she’d have fallen flat on her face by now.
Regardless, he would bet she’d walk on coals before admitting how ill she was.
“I’ll have someone bring you chicken soup,” he said.
“What about my brother and sister?” Her voice had grown noticeably weaker, yet there was no denying the stubborn set of her jaw or the mutiny glinting in her ebony-lashed eyes. “When can I see them?”
“They are safe.” Fletcher opened the door. “I shan’t let you see them until I know exactly why you chose my establishment to defraud, Miss Siobhan Kenney.”
“But they are innocents in all of this.” Her exhaustion overtaking her, she sank further into the pillows. “Direct your ire at me all you wish, but I beg you, do not punish Paddy and Kimber for my actions. They yet grieve our parents.”
His conscience whispered what an unconscionable cad he was into his ear.
This was why Fletcher had to leave medicine; he was too soft. Too empathetic. That was also why memories of his time as a physician still haunted his dreams.
Summoning his resolve, he raked her with an uncompromising glare.
“Be that as it may, I find it highly suspicious that you justhappenedto assist someone in delivering a threatening letter to me while pretending to be someone you are not.”
“Threatening?” Siobhan puzzled her brow, the epitome of confused innocence. “It wasn’t arrangements for a secret liaison?”
She was unswerving in her story.
Fletcher would credit her with her consistency.
“I do not dally with married women.” His cryptic response earned him a skeptically raised arched eyebrow.
Widows, yes. However, husbands complicated matters, and he had no desire to feel a lead ball or sword pierce his flesh. Still, he didn’t owe her an explanation.
“Then what did it say?” Siobhan appeared so confused and earnest that Fletcher waffled with telling her the truth.
However, she might be—probably was—playacting.
She’d already proven to be highly skilled in that area.
“It said,It’s not over.” He watched her closely for a reaction.
She didn’t disappoint.
Puckering her forehead further, she narrowed her eyes. “What’s not over?”
“That, Miss Siobhan Kenney, remains to be seen.”
Pale and surrounded by the large mattress, she appeared young and vulnerable.
“By the way. How old are you?” Most women flew into a dust-up when asked their age, but Fletcher was far past niceties.
Her glower suggested he could go straight to Hades. Finally, she sighed. “Seven and twenty.”
“That old?” She glared daggers at him then, and despite the gravity of the situation, a chuckle throttled up his throat. “I meant it as a compliment. You look younger. Most women would be delighted.”
