Page 30 of Never Tempt a Widow

Good. If the man laid a finger on her… Rowland chewed on his cheek. Hearing wasn’t enough. He wanted to see.

“You are shy. I understand. It’s been a long time since we were intimate.”

Rowland stifled a growl. He needed to do more than see. He needed to tear asunder.

“It’s not that. Go away, Mr Reedman. One step closer, and I’ll scream.”

“If you were so afraid of me, why did you come alone? You could have brought the hue-and-cry with you.”

“I wanted to be fair. I thought I should hear you out. But I will scream—and there are dozens of men within earshot.”

Rowland detected fear in her tone. Not just anxiety, naked terror—though she was fighting to hide it. He eyed the buttress, erected the previous century when the wall had started to bulge, and scrambled up it so that he could peer over.

Fina was facing up to a well-dressed man sporting a sword at his hip and a silver-topped cane. He wore his dark hair fashionably styled and had a square jaw and well-proportioned face—of the kind that females might find attractive. His shoulders were narrow, however, which made Rowland less regretful that he himself was unarmed. A man with no shoulders had no strength, and if it came to it, he could fight the fellow with a garden cane and still have some hope of beating him.

“But my darling, I love you. It’s always been you, only you. How could you doubt it? I was willing to give up everything for you.”

This was not the story Fina had given him. But then, she hadn’t given him much of a story at all, had she?

“You lured me out of my parents’ home with promises of marriage and a new life in London. Then you left me to drown.”

Rowland froze.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” The man shot out a hand, but Fina dodged away.

He scowled. “It was your horse, not I, that brought about that catastrophe. Damned beast, throwing you off into the river like that!”

“On the contrary. It was Saxon that saved me. He clambered down the bank, and I hauled myself up on his reins. Even though you thought you’d made him bolt with your whip, he came back for me.”

Rowland saw the man’s fingers clench into fists, a gesture hidden from Fina. He readied himself to jump down onto the other side of the wall.

“I couldn’t see you anywhere. I called and called—”

“—and galloped off down the road.”

“In search of help!” The man spread his hands. “When I found none, I spent hours hunting for you, up and down that bank. I sought your horse as well but never found him.”

“You hunted up and down to find my horse, not me. Perhaps because my saddlebags held incriminating evidence, linking you to my murder. Or to hide the fact that you’d emptied my jewel box when you loaded up Saxon and filled it with rocks.”

“I’m deeply insulted.” The man pressed a hand against his heart. “I was temporarily in need of funds, having used up my own to pay for our travel and accommodation. Once we were settled, I would have paid you back every last penny I got for them. And you must understand that a child brings added expense.”

She tilted her chin at him. “I don’t believe a word of it. I understand now that you were in debt and that my money would have been a temporary solution for you, at best. You needed a wife with better prospects than myself. A wealthy heiress in fact, to keep you from the clutches of some considerably powerful creditors. Thinking back on it, I think I can even name the wealthy heiress upon whom you had your eye. But then I told you I was with child—and I had to be got rid of.”

The man recoiled. “Seraphina! How could you say such a thing? I have grieved day and night, blamed myself ceaselessly for my folly. I lost not only my future wife but my child. Or I thought I had. How fares the babe?”

“The child died.”

Silence fell across the garden. Rowland sucked in a breath and held it. The man appeared genuinely upset. Damn the fellow—he was a good actor.

“The child died? Don’t lie to me, Seraphina. I know there is a child. My son.”

She tilted her head. “We had a daughter, Adelina. You will find her in the church, where my new husband has most generously erected a monument to her.”

Rowland heard the catch in her voice but resisted the urge to intervene and save her further pain. He was learning a lot from his eavesdropping—things Fina should have told him before they wed. The rosy hue of last night’s lovemaking was receding.

“Moonshine. I know there is a son in the house.”

“My husband’s. His first wife died in childbed. But I weary of this. If you don’t believe me, ask Sir Rowland. Or are you too much of a coward to confront him?”