mistake. Alistair pretended to forgive her, but in fact he did not. He seduced her, and then he killed her." Her hands worked as she spoke. "Alistair could not forgive her one indiscretion, and yet Viola continues to love the man who murdered her! How could she?"
Lucien smiled. "Perhaps she is simply a woman who has more mercy than vitriol in her heart."
Eve's lips pinched together. Was he trying to say that she had no mercy? That she was filled with vitriol? Ha. She could be as merciful as any woman! "What are you grinning at?"
Lucien's smile didn't waver. "You look particularly lovely in the morning."
Eve had glanced at her reflection in the hallway mirror as she'd hurried to answer his knock, and knew better. "Sarcasm does not become you, Lucien."
"I'm perfectly serious. Your hair curls around your face going this way and that, your cheeks are a lovely pink, your eyes are dreamy and, if possible, more green than I remember." His smile faded. "And that particularly ugly and cumbersome wrapper cannot disguise the fact that you are not wearing a corset. You look so soft and..."
"Lucien!" she interrupted, grasping the lapels of her wrapper and pulling them together and up to her chin.
"It's the truth, Evie."
She didn't know whether to argue with him or run up the stairs. He didn't give her a chance to do either, but collected his specter-o-meter from the corner near the window and dropped to the floor to examine once again the damaged needle. She could swear that he cradled that device every bit as tenderly as he'd cradled her.
She moved to stand behind him, while he fiddled with his contraption. "Why are you so intent on proving that Alistair didn't kill Viola?"
"Perhaps the truth needs to come out before they can move on."
"The truth has been apparent for thirty years," she said sensibly.
"Then why are Alistair and Viola trapped here?"
"Because... because Alistair betrayed Viola and she cannot forgive him."
"You said she still loves him, even though she believes he killed her."
"She does, but... but..."
He lifted his head. "Can't we simply accept that there is the slight possibility that Alistair did not kill his wife and himself?"
Eve wrinkled her nose. "I suppose I could concede to a slight possibility."
"That's all I ask. We must approach this with open minds. Anything at all is possible. What do you have planned for today?"
He was looking at her that way again, as he had in the entryway a few minutes ago. He saw too much, he saw too deep. Time to run upstairs and get herself properly coiffed and armored for the day.
"I'd like to pay a call on the preacher."
Lucien's smug expression changed subtly. Preachers rarely understood or appreciated his talents. She had seen Lucien in church before, had seen him pray. But he always sat in the back pew and remained quiet, and he steered clear of personal contact with the preachers. She suspected that something had happened, before she met him. Something that made him leery of men of the cloth.
"You don't have to go with me," she said, trying to appear nonchalant. "It's not like there's anything you can do, and besides, it would be better if we weren't seen together in town."
"Why?"
"Lucien!"
He continued to stare at her. "It doesn't matter. I already told Miss Gertrude that we were going to get married."
"You did what?" She grabbed the closest thing to her and threw it at the man sitting on the floor. Luckily for Lucien, it was a soft afghan he caught and set aside. "Half the people in town have heard that rumor by now! Miss Gertrude is the biggest gossip in Plummerville!"
"When you insisted that I stay there rather than sleep on your couch," he said calmly, "you didn't share that bit of information."
"Oh!" She grabbed something else to throw, then glanced down at her mother's hand-painted vase and thought better of it. She placed the vase carefully on the end table by the sofa.
"If it makes you feel any better, I did tell her that you had not yet said
Lucien smiled. "Perhaps she is simply a woman who has more mercy than vitriol in her heart."
Eve's lips pinched together. Was he trying to say that she had no mercy? That she was filled with vitriol? Ha. She could be as merciful as any woman! "What are you grinning at?"
Lucien's smile didn't waver. "You look particularly lovely in the morning."
Eve had glanced at her reflection in the hallway mirror as she'd hurried to answer his knock, and knew better. "Sarcasm does not become you, Lucien."
"I'm perfectly serious. Your hair curls around your face going this way and that, your cheeks are a lovely pink, your eyes are dreamy and, if possible, more green than I remember." His smile faded. "And that particularly ugly and cumbersome wrapper cannot disguise the fact that you are not wearing a corset. You look so soft and..."
"Lucien!" she interrupted, grasping the lapels of her wrapper and pulling them together and up to her chin.
"It's the truth, Evie."
She didn't know whether to argue with him or run up the stairs. He didn't give her a chance to do either, but collected his specter-o-meter from the corner near the window and dropped to the floor to examine once again the damaged needle. She could swear that he cradled that device every bit as tenderly as he'd cradled her.
She moved to stand behind him, while he fiddled with his contraption. "Why are you so intent on proving that Alistair didn't kill Viola?"
"Perhaps the truth needs to come out before they can move on."
"The truth has been apparent for thirty years," she said sensibly.
"Then why are Alistair and Viola trapped here?"
"Because... because Alistair betrayed Viola and she cannot forgive him."
"You said she still loves him, even though she believes he killed her."
"She does, but... but..."
He lifted his head. "Can't we simply accept that there is the slight possibility that Alistair did not kill his wife and himself?"
Eve wrinkled her nose. "I suppose I could concede to a slight possibility."
"That's all I ask. We must approach this with open minds. Anything at all is possible. What do you have planned for today?"
He was looking at her that way again, as he had in the entryway a few minutes ago. He saw too much, he saw too deep. Time to run upstairs and get herself properly coiffed and armored for the day.
"I'd like to pay a call on the preacher."
Lucien's smug expression changed subtly. Preachers rarely understood or appreciated his talents. She had seen Lucien in church before, had seen him pray. But he always sat in the back pew and remained quiet, and he steered clear of personal contact with the preachers. She suspected that something had happened, before she met him. Something that made him leery of men of the cloth.
"You don't have to go with me," she said, trying to appear nonchalant. "It's not like there's anything you can do, and besides, it would be better if we weren't seen together in town."
"Why?"
"Lucien!"
He continued to stare at her. "It doesn't matter. I already told Miss Gertrude that we were going to get married."
"You did what?" She grabbed the closest thing to her and threw it at the man sitting on the floor. Luckily for Lucien, it was a soft afghan he caught and set aside. "Half the people in town have heard that rumor by now! Miss Gertrude is the biggest gossip in Plummerville!"
"When you insisted that I stay there rather than sleep on your couch," he said calmly, "you didn't share that bit of information."
"Oh!" She grabbed something else to throw, then glanced down at her mother's hand-painted vase and thought better of it. She placed the vase carefully on the end table by the sofa.
"If it makes you feel any better, I did tell her that you had not yet said
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