Fortune Favors the Wicked by Theresa Romain Page B

ridiculous. Edward didn’t need to steal money. Lady Helena Selwyn, eldest daughter of the Earl of Mackerley, had brought a rich dowry to their marriage eight years before and transformed Selwyn House into a showplace.
    Eyes like a cat, Nance had said. But she had also said demon eyes, red as fire . They glowed in the dark . Even to the last, the barmaid had stuck to her unlikely story, talking of cat eyes and a cloaked figure. Comforting herself, maybe, that what had happened to her made sense. That it wasn’t terrible and random and undeserved.
    But it was terrible. And it made no sense.
    Charlotte picked her way back to the vicarage, taking care no one should see her—not that she needed such caution today. That fellow with the shovel was the only possible reward seeker she’d seen. The formerly blithe visitors to Strawfield had retreated in the aftermath of Nance’s death. Maybe some of them had decided the promise of riches was not worth the newfound risk. Or maybe they were lurking about the Pig and Blanket, hoping for a glimpse of the dead girl or a chance to be chosen for the coroner’s jury.
    She shuddered, wrapping her shawl more tightly about her with hands that were much less careful than Benedict Frost’s had been.
    When she let herself into the vicarage, she hung up her veiled bonnet on a hook by the door. After a second’s thought, she added the shawl, too. Mrs. Perry’s study door was still closed, and Maggie’s voice could be heard through it faintly. “St i n pragmatikót i ta, eg o ídios, me ta diká mou mátia, eída t i n Sívylla st i n Kým i krémetai se éna boukáli . . .”
    So, Maggie was learning to speak Greek. Yet another thing about her that Charlotte had not known. The precious infant had become a fat child in leading strings, then a darling curious girl. Now she was a half-grown mystery. The only constant was Captain, now gray-muzzled and slow, curled outside the study door.
    Charlotte bent to pet the old hound. Captain raised her head with a whuff .
    â€œDoes that mean you’ll put in a good word for me with your young mistress?” She petted the graying brindled fur of the dog’s head, until Captain lowered her head again and fell into a doze.
    Charlotte would have returned more often if she could have, if she dared. But each letter to her parents was met either with silence or with a not yet; maybe next year . And it was wise, she knew, to give Strawfield time to forget her face between each visit. Wise to keep Maggie from growing too attached to her.
    Her own attachment, she could not help.
    â€œIf you are quite done lurking outside the study, Miss Perry,” came a low voice, “I should like your assistance sending a letter.”
    Frost stood in the doorway of the small parlor. Of course he had heard her enter; his scrupulous ears noted every footfall.
    â€œI shall be glad to help.” She straightened up, finding that she was not quite able to look at him. He was no longer just Mr. Frost, but someone she had kissed. Someone she had been unable to resist touching. Someone she had pushed, and who had pushed her right back.
    Yet he called her Miss Perry, correct and proper as though she had never made him hard, as though he hadn’t shoved her into his bedchamber. The memory made her blush; she, who had lived in the naked world of sex for years.
    How little it had to do with her own desire.
    Thank heaven he could not see her burning cheeks. “What is the letter, Mr. Frost? Do you need to seal it, or only to address it?”
    â€œIt is to my sister, Georgette, in London. I have written the direction, but need a seal or wafer. And then if it could be placed with the other correspondence—”
    â€œYes, certainly.” She brushed past him, trusting him to follow her voice. “If you take your letter into Strawfield for posting when you attend the inquest, it ought to arrive in