Page 53 of Tender Blackguard

It was difficult to keep his fury in check as he recalled that brief interview. How he’d hated seeing the resemblance between them. How he’d so badly wanted to erase the smirk from the old man’s face. He’d never wanted to set eyes on him again.

“He died that night. I suspect he was killed by one of his old friends who no longer had a use for him. And all that was his passed to me. I intended to forsake every bit of the damned inheritance. But then I found his little book of notes. His memoir. And I realized walking away from it all wouldn’t be enough. I had to destroy it and the legacy of torment that came with it.”

His vow faded into the silence. And though he felt her there, steady and calm at his side, he kept his gaze trained forward.

She knew all of it now.

His stomach churned with old shame and disgust. Would she look at him now and see the horrors of his sire’s crimes? As his mother had done? Would he see the same revulsion in her eyes that he’d grown so accustomed to as a child?

“You will destroy it,” she finally said, her words strong and clear after having been held back throughout his explanation. “And I’m going to help you.”

With a heavy sigh and low curse, Alastair combed his fingers back through his hair. Turning away from her, he strode to the fire, where he crouched to add wood. Needing the added warmth to chase the chill from his soul.

“You’re going to do nothing.” He looked over his shoulder at her with a forbidding scowl. “You’re going to stay safely inside this house.”

“I’m not.” Her chin lifted defiantly. “That’s not what I came here for.”

Cursing under his breath, he straightened and crossed the room again to stand in front of her. His tone was harsh and angry with the need to make her understand. “Yes, I know. You came to find your friend. And I promise, I’ll do everything in my power to uncover her fate. But you might have to accept that she’s gone. These men have murdered to protect their secrets and they’ll do so again.”

Her eyes flashed with wrathful conviction. “Harriet isn’t dead. I cannot believe that. I will not. She’s hiding. Or perhaps she was sent away as your mother was. I will find her. And I will help you bring these monsters to justice.”

He growled in frustration. “What will it take to convince you there’s nothing you can do except put yourself at risk?”

Determination chased across her features. “A worthy risk if it can help keep other women from your mother’s fate.”

His stomach clenched as he narrowed his gaze to harshly scan her fine features. She possessed so much courage and fury and passion. But none of that would save her if she caught the attention of men who’d proven themselves willing to do anything for their pleasures and their secrets.

“My lord,” she continued, “I’ve spent my entire life looking over my shoulder, listening intently while walking down darkened alleys and unlit hallways, ever aware of the dangers that can befall a woman alone. These perils exist for all women of all classes and circumstances, but I know well the risks female servants face in order to earn their living. Stories like your mother’s are horrendously common. If I can do something to prevent even a handful of such injustices, I must.”

Her words rang with truth and conviction, but the need to protect her overwhelmed him. To hold her and keep her from the evils beyond these walls despite the strength of her courage. Or perhaps because of it. Unable to stop himself, he slowly slipped one arm around her back and pulled her close. As she tipped her head back, he lifted his other hand to the side of her face and brushed his thumb over the softness of her cheek.

She blinked and her lips parted softly but she didn’t try to pull away. In fact, she seemed to soften against him. The curves of her body pressed intimately to his hard frame. Her hands curled around the muscles of his upper arms as she looked up at him with expectation in her eyes.

He held her gaze as he lowered his head to breathe in her scent—rich, feminine, lovely. Then he allowed his focus to slide over the pert tilt of her nose, then the sweet arch of her parted lips to the determined curve of her jaw.

He suspected that if he kissed her now, she’d welcome it with a sigh. And he’d breathe her in, and the strength and sweetness of her would wash away the dark stain he carried.

Holding her felt too right. Too calming and fulfilling. Too good.

Knowing that gave him the strength to release her and walk away.

He needed the anger and the revulsion. The darkness and desperation. Maybe someday he could allow himself something different. But not today. Not until the evil had been cleared from the night and the moon shone bright again.

His voice was heavy as he spoke. “I inherited more than this house from my sire. His sins have become mine to bear while my mother’s shame and agony run thick through my veins. I cannot be free until I’ve atoned for his actions and avenged her.”

“I can help you,” she urged once again, her voice coming from the shadows behind him.

He forced himself to stare fiercely into the fire. “Go to bed, Mrs. Evans. The hour is late.”

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