Page 51 of Nature of the Crime
Audrey had always thought it a bit wicked of her mother and uncle. Perhaps she felt that way because of their possible affair prior to her father’s death. Or perhaps it was because her mother had mourned Audrey’s older brother James relentlessly while giving no indication at all that she mourned her husband, who had died of the same fever within hours of James. Their mistreatment of her also colored her opinion of them.
However now, a slim ray of sympathy for them surprised her. The smallest of rays, but it was still there, much like the weakening late afternoon sunlight outside the inn’s windows.
But she didn’t want her mother and uncle’s life. A life of hiding, of tucking herself and Hugh away from watchful eyes. She didn’t want to pretend she did not love him. She wanted to love him openly, be able to marry and have a family.
And yet, that happiness could not be purchased by letting St. John go free. Lord Burton had tried to do as much. He’d been willing to accuse an innocent woman just to protect himself. That wasn’t who she was. It wasn’t who Hugh was. And she loved him for it.
Greer sipped her tea in silence, and after several minutes of listening to the pop and hiss of coals in the hearth, and Carrigan’s soft snores from where he’d drifted to sleep on the sofa, rapid footfalls came toward the front room.
“Your Grace,” Mrs. Plimpton said, heaving for air as she rushed in. “Come quickly. It’s Becky, she’s returned!”
Audrey jumped up, and Greer got to her feet too. She stumbled a little and Audrey held out her hand. Her maid had exerted herself too much today. “It’s all right, stay with Carrigan. I’ll speak to Becky.”
Her legs went a little flimsy with relief as she followed the innkeeper to the kitchen. Mrs. Plimpton crossed it and entered another room. Her own living quarters, Audrey assumed.
“Becky? Thank goodness, I was starting to truly worry?—”
But as soon as Audrey crossed the threshold, she stopped. Tried to back up. But it was too late. The door shut and locked behind her.
Chapter
Twenty
The room was empty except for Mrs. Plimpton, who must have darted behind the door and positioned herself to act quickly once Audrey fully entered.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded while also taking note of the innkeeper’s transformed demeanor. She wore a new, flat expression that chilled her.
“Sorry, love,” she said, though she hardly looked as if she meant it. “I didn’t have much choice.”
A cold streak of dread churned her stomach. “Step aside, Mrs. Plimpton. I am leaving.”
“You are not.” The voice came from the space behind her.
She went still, and then she instantly chided herself for being a fool. The innkeeper was an excellent actress. Or perhaps Audrey had simply doubted her cunning.
Slowly, she turned. From behind the tri-fold silk privacy screen that acted as Mrs. Plimpton’s dressing quarters, the same man she had see on the Western Heights emerged, hat tugged low, woolen scarf wrapped high. And yet, she recognized him all the same.
“They know it is you, St. John.”
“I had come to that conclusion,” he replied in the cultured tones of a well-bred gentleman. However, his appearance—grungy and unkempt—was entirely contradictory.
“Then why are you still here?”
Silver gleamed at his hip as he withdrew a blade. “I always finish what I set out to do, Your Grace. Now, you shall come with me.”
The command evoked a memory from last summer when the duplicitous Mr. Henley had forced her at gunpoint to leave Greenbriar with him. She had agreed, though only to keep him from crossing paths with those she cared for. Cassie and Greer, specifically. Mr. Henley had proven he could and would kill, and now, so had Lord St. John.
Still, falling in line and obeying orders had never been her strength.
“I am quite certain my driver could wrest that knife from your hand, Lord St. John. He is but two rooms away.”
Mrs. Plimpton scoffed. “Man can barely haul himself off that sofa cushion, what with the tonic I added to his tea.”
Audrey held her breath. The conniving woman had dosed his tea? No wonder he’d been such a frightful mess in the sitting room.
“I’m sure you can appreciate my need to make haste,” St. John said as Audrey fumed. “Unlessyouare willing to wrest this knife from my hand, unassisted? Though I assure you, you will not achieve the result you desire.”
St. John was not particularly burly, but Audrey was not so delusional to believe she could overcome the man in a physical scuffle. Especially not with the treacherous Mrs. Plimpton to assist him.
