Page 29 of Her Scandalous Rake (The Worthington Legacy #8)

N ic leaned against a bale of hay as he stared at the stable wall. How many hours had passed since he and Worthington had entered this foul place, he didn’t know, but with nothing to keep him entertained, the minutes seemed to drag.

Tristan, however, adjusted to the environment a little better. Of course his friend had slept many nights in a stable since he found himself struggling to find his memory and most of the time drunk. So naturally Tristan would fall asleep easier in a place like this. It helped that they took the bottle of port with them and Tristan drank most of it.

Nic glanced at his friend who indeed had already fallen asleep. The steady pitter-patter of the rain hitting the roof probably helped lure Worthington to sleep, Nic was certain. But he was yet to feel the same exhaustion. His mind was a constant whirlwind of thoughts that wouldn’t rest. Heaviness had settled in his chest as well, making him completely miserable.

He blamed Tabitha.

Why had he allowed that slip of a woman, a maid no less, to control his thoughts at a time like this?

Guilt washed over him in drowning waves. Never had he regretted kissing a woman in his life, but remorse dug a profound hole in his mind and heart now. He shouldn’t have kissed her. He shouldn’t have acted like he enjoyed the moment she was in his arms and her mouth eagerly met his in one of the most passionate kisses he’d ever experienced. Then again, he wasn’t acting. He had enjoyed every second of their heated moment.

Grumbling softly as not to wake Tristan, Nic rose from his makeshift bed and strolled to his horse. He picked up a brush and began stroking the animal’s mane.

This night couldn’t end fast enough for him. Not only did he hate being here, but he hated feeling this way and thinking about Tabitha.

Is she really a killer?

He hadn’t met many people with enough hatred in their soul to murder another person, but deep down inside, he didn’t think Tabitha could do it. Could she have really killed Hollingsworth and Elliot or was she merely voicing her thoughts and feelings when he’d overheard her and Sally?

What if I’m wrong?

Although he didn’t like admitting when he made a mistake, worry grew inside him like a festering boil. What if, by chance, Tabitha wasn’t the killer? What if she was just an angry and hurt servant like Sally?

Or what if Sally was the true killer?

A noise from the back of the stable jerked him from his thoughts and had him swinging toward the shuffling sound. From the darkness, a shadow emerged and slowly formed into a woman wearing a cloak. The closer she came toward him, the harder his heartbeat slammed against his chest.

Tabitha drew nearer and lowered her hood. Her eyes blazed a deep hatred as she aimed her glare at him. Nic scanned over her cloak to her hands for fear she would be holding a knife. But as his eyes adjusted, he could see she didn’t have any sort of weapon. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Lord Hawthorne, forgive me for startling you. Lady Hollingsworth wanted me to make sure you and Lord Tristan were warm enough.”

Nic arched a quizzical eyebrow. “Your ladyship actually wanted you to see to our welfare?”

“Actually no, she wanted Sally, but Sally was asleep. Lady Hollingsworth is aware that she instructed Lord Tristan to leave, but after she thought about it and realized the storm was too strong, she had wanted to let you know that you could stay the night as long as you left first thing in the morning.” She glanced at their beds in the hay. “Although, I see you have already settled here just fine.”

“Tell Lady Hollingsworth we appreciate her kindness, and we plan on leaving first thing.”

“Yes, my lady is very kind, much more generous than I would have been, I’m sure.”

Tabitha’s tone was very harsh, yet softly spoken as if she tried to keep the conversation between them and not awaken Tristan. Nic glanced at his friend to make sure he was still sleeping before looking back at Tabitha. Her heated glare could cut through glass, Nic was certain. It tugged at his heartstrings to think he contributed to her extremely unpleasant disposition.

“Tabitha, I realize what you must be thinking—”

In three long strides, she stood directly in front of him. Tears glistened in her angry eyes, but she appeared too upset to cry.

“You have no idea what I’m thinking!” She took a deep breath. “How dare you accuse me of something you know nothing about?”

His fingers itched to reach up to her face and smooth out the wrinkles around her luscious mouth, amazing eyes, and tight forehead, to bring back her natural beauty once again. He gulped down the guilt sneaking back into his heart.

“How dare I?” he asked. “I think considering the conversation I had overheard between you and Sally, that I have every right to dare accuse you. Tell me, Tabitha. If you were the bystander listening in on that particular conversation, what would you have gathered from it?”

“You see, my lord, this is one of the differences between men and women. Men jump to conclusions whereas women will seek to find the truth.”

“Indeed? Are you certain about that? I know women are meddlesome, but I highly doubt they are seeking to find any truth. They’d rather gossip and spread false rumors.”

She rolled her eyes. “Spoken by a true gentleman, I see.” She folded her arms. “But I can assure you, if you and Lord Tristan continue your pursuit to have me arrested for those murders, you both will be convicting an innocent woman.”

“I think I shall let the magistrate come to that decision.” He lifted his chin to show her his stubbornness.

“Just know this,” she snipped, “because I am indeed innocent, if I should die, my wrongful death will be on yours and Lord Tristan’s head.”

She spun around and marched toward the back door of the stable, toward the shadows. He hurried after her, grasped her arm and turned her around to face him. A few tears had slid from her eyes making her cheeks gleam with wetness. Once again, his chest clenched with indecision for his actions.

“If you are innocent as you proclaim, prove it,” he said softly, hoping not to disturb Tristan’s slumber.

She gasped. “Prove it? Why should I prove my innocence? You should be the one trying to prove my guilt.”

“Then prove to me that what I overheard was wrong.” He pulled her body closer to his. “I truly want to believe you are not a killer, Tabitha. I may not know you well, but what little I do know about you, I cannot believe you would purposely stab two men to death while in a highly intoxicated and undressed state.”

She placed her palms on his chest and pushed to move him away, but he wouldn’t budge. Heaven help him, but he enjoyed this closeness entirely too much.

“Were you aware that Lord Hollingsworth beat his wife?” she asked. “Diana was as much a victim in her home as Sally and I were victims in Lord Elliot’s home. If I—or her ladyship or Sally—would have stabbed those men, it would have been to break free of our cage—our hellish prison. So tell me, Lord Hawthorne, if you were in my shoes, would you want to kill someone who repeatedly did that to you? And when the person responsible was finally dead, wouldn’t you be relieved to know they would never be allowed to bring harm on another person again?”

Nic’s chest clenched. She’d been beaten. He couldn’t imagine that, and out of nowhere, anger filled him for Lord Elliot. “I am very sorry to hear that you were treated poorly, and if I were in your situation, I would probably feel the same. But you are forgetting one thing. It’s not up to us to bring punishment to those disgusting people. It’s up to the courts, and God.”

“Then I suppose my only crime is that I’m satisfied knowing that someone helped God and the courts by hurrying the process.”

Shaking his head, he loosened his hold, but instead of removing his touch from her, he stroked her arms lightly. “Please, Tabitha. I wish to believe in your innocence. Help me.”

“I don’t know how I can except by telling you I did not do it.”

“That’s hard for me to believe since I overheard you saying that you would do it.”

She shrugged. “Then that’s your problem, not mine. At least I’m being truthful, whereas you don’t know how to be.”

He scowled. “What do you mean by that?”

“Think really hard, Lord Hawthorne. Think what we were talking about, and doing in the sitting room while Lady Hollingsworth and Lord Tristan were away from us.”

Embarrassment crept over him, along with shame. He scolded his feelings. He should not be ashamed for kissing Tabitha and enjoying it. So then why did he feel this way? “Why don’t you believe I was truthful?”

“Are you jesting?” She snorted what sounded like a laugh. “There you were trying your hardest to seduce me, all the while suspecting me of murder. For a brief moment, your actions earlier showed me what a kind, gentle, and understanding man you were. For a brief moment I actually thought you were attracted to me, impossible as it may seem. Yet that was all a lie. I had known what kind of man you were, but you tried to convince me otherwise. Now I know I had been right about you all along.”

“How do you know I was lying?”

“Ha!” She shook her head. “You honestly think I’m that foolish?”

“What if I tell you that for a moment I had been attracted to you, and I had enjoyed our kiss?”

She snickered. “Then I would say you were a great performer, because why would you enjoy a mere maid’s kisses when you have seduced many women over the years?”

Nic bit his tongue to keep from saying anymore. He shouldn’t have said what he had to begin with. He didn’t want to admit, especially to her, how much their kiss had meant to him. “Then it appears we are both talented performers. Does it not?”

“I, my lord, am not a performer.”

“Then neither am I.” He pulled her closer as he lowered his head. His attention dropped to her lips—lips that tempted him to sample them again.

She sucked in a quick breath and her mouth parted in invitation. Good heavens! What was he thinking? He couldn’t possibly kiss her even as much as the idea lured him.

“Lord Hawthorne,” she whispered, “I beg you not to do that.”

“Do what?” he asked quietly.

“You know exactly what I’m referring to. Kissing me will not solve a thing. You still believe I’m a killer, and I still think of you as one of the most despicable rogues in England.”

He swallowed hard to moisten the cotton that had formed in his throat. She was correct again, blast it! He could not kiss her. He could not also understand why her statement hurt so badly, like a knife through his chest.

“Indeed, it won’t solve a thing.” Reluctantly, he released her and stepped back.

She gathered the cloak tighter around her neck before pulling on her hood. She turned to leave, but hesitated. For some foolish reason, anticipation shot through him, quickening his heartbeat.

“Lord Hawthorne,” she whispered and looked at him over her shoulder. “If you really cared about your friend, you would try your hardest to find the true killer so that Lord Tristan and Lady Hollingsworth can be together. They have waited too long to share their love, and until the real murderer is caught, they will never be fully happy. I’m just a mere maid so there isn’t much I can do to help my lady in this dire situation, but you can. Lord Hawthorne, if you put your mind to it, you can help your friend finally obtain happiness.”

She didn’t wait for his answer before hurrying outside. Nic stared at the closed door for the longest time as her words ran through his mind. The more and more he thought about what she said, the more doubt filled him.

Would a killer be so selfless and think about her friend’s happiness more than her own?

Deep in his heart, he knew the answer.

“Who was that?” Tristan’s voice came from behind him.

Nic jumped and spun around. Tristan was still on his bedroll, but sitting up looking Nic’s way. “That was Tabitha.” He walked closer to his friend.

“What was she doing here?”

“She came to tell us that Diana has invited us back in the house for the night because of the storm, but we are to leave first thing in the morning.”

Nodding, Tristan adjusted himself on the ground, draping his arms over his bent knees. “I’m glad to know she has come to her senses, at least about that.”

The confusion thickened in Nic’s head, giving him a headache. He grumbled and strode to his blanket before plopping down on the covering. “Worthington? What if we’re wrong?”

Tristan’s head didn’t move, just his gaze as it rested on him. “Wrong about what?”

“About Tabitha.”

“What makes you think we are wrong?”

Nic sighed as he picked off some of the hay from the blanket. “During my talk with Tabitha earlier tonight, I saw a part of her I hadn’t noticed before. And, just a moment ago,” he motioned his head toward the stall where they’d talked, “I noticed the same thing.” He lifted his gaze and met Tristan’s. “Would a cold blooded killer think of others when her life hung by a thread?”

Tristan didn’t say anything for the longest time before shaking his head. “No. A cold blooded killer would only think of themselves, not others.”

“Well, Tabitha was thinking of you and Diana. Do you know what she told me?”

“What?”

“She told me that if I cared about you, that I would try to find the real killer so that you and Diana could be together, as you both deserve.” Sighing heavily, he pushed his hair back away from his eyes. “Oh Worthington, I think we both jumped to conclusions when we overheard her and Sally. I honestly feel deep down in my heart that Tabitha is not the killer.”

Tristan laid back and looked up toward the rafters. For several minutes he was quiet, and Nic didn’t want to say anymore, either. Blaming Tabitha had been very wrong, and even if Tristan didn’t realize that, Nic would have to apologize to Tabitha soon or the guilt would eat him up.

“I can’t do this,” Tristan muttered.

“Can’t do what?”

“I cannot allow things to be unresolved between Diana and I. And I especially cannot go on with this doubt in my head.” He met Nic’s gaze. “I, too, have felt that blaming Tabitha was wrong, but with everything we’d heard and the way the maid acts, it’s hard not to think that way.” He scrambled to his feet. “Now that I’ve had more time to ponder on this, I realize that Diana would discern the girl well enough to know if she was a killer or not.” He breathed deeply. “I have been too quick to judge when I should have trusted Diana more.”

Tristan marched to the stall’s gate and picked up his overcoat. “I’m going back to the house to speak with Diana. Things need to be resolved tonight!”