Bede’s lips worked. He looked at his sister accusingly. “Er. Mercy, I thought you—” He stopped abruptly, leaving it at that, saying nothing more, asking for no further clarification even if his eyes begged her for an explanation. Clearly he had no wish to incriminate himself in this.
Tension tightened Silas’s shoulders. He did not care for the way the blackguard was addressing his sister—as though she was at fault here.
Mercy. He let the feel of her name swim through him, flow through his veins. Her name was fitting.
Their entire interaction to this point had been a dramatic affair. Nothing mild or simple or calm about any of it. There was only one temperature between them and it was hot. Sweltering. His body still burned, aching, longing to return to her.
“Mercy?” Her brother said her name forcefully, demandingly.
“Why don’t you look at me, Kittinger?” Silas asked tightly, his jaw aching from clenching it. “I’m the one you need to worry about.”
Mercy looked back and forth between them with wild eyes and he could not help but feel a stab of pity for her. She had not asked for any of this. She had not asked for a brother to disappoint and betray her. She had merely tried to fix a bad situation.
Even if she had lied to Silas, used him and then stolen from him, his anger with her was fast fading. It was difficult to stay angry when the only thing he wanted to do was keep kissing her.
“Mr. Masters, I, ah . . .” Kittinger gulped visibly and took a hesitant step forward, offering up a hand in supplication. “Let me explain, sir.”
“No need. Your sister has explained everything to me.”
Kittinger looked at his sister warily. “Er. She has?”
She looked at Silas, too, in equal wariness, her deep brown eyes mirroring that question and seeming to say: I have?
She continued looking at him, her eyes wide and questioning, and then he heard himself saying, “She most kindly and eloquently explained how important this land is to your family, so I understand that now.”
“You do?” Kittinger looked as bewildered as ever.
“You do?” she echoed.
He nodded. “Yes. I understand.”
“And you are not . . .” Kittinger darted another puzzled look at his sister. “Angry?”
The fool was transparent. He wanted to know if Silas was here to punish them for stealing the voucher. The way he darted a panicky glance toward the door, he was clearly gauging the distance and debating whether or not he should make a dash for it. Coward.
“Your sister is very persuasive.” He heard her small gasp, but did not look at her this time. Of course, only she heard the innuendo in his words. He held on to Kittinger’s gaze without expression. “Let us just say she has provoked my sense of charity.”
Kittinger released a great breath. “Indeed?” His smile was one of relief. “That is very magnanimous of you.”
“It is,” he agreed. “I don’t normally permit anyone to take back the vouchers they’ve handed over to me.”
Kittinger shifted on his feet. “Well, er. Thank you. Thank you for being so understanding.”
He nodded, looking now at Mercy. “Your sister was kind enough to offer me hospitality for the night.”
Kittinger blinked. “Yes! Of course. You are welcome to stay the night with us . . . and longer if you so wish.”
Silas nodded. “I will quite enjoy that. Thank you. A bit of country air is a refreshing change.”
“It is?” Kittinger frowned and then blinked, chasing away the expression. “Of course, of course. Who doesn’t enjoy the country?”
They stood then, frozen and silent for several moments in the fragrant space. When it became too awkward, Silas gestured for them to move ahead. “Shall we go inside?”
Kittinger readily hopped into action, preceding them out of the orangery.
Mercy wavered, not stepping forward just yet. Silas motioned for her to depart ahead of him.
Her tongue darted to moisten her lips. “Why did you say that?” she whispered.
“It seemed the easiest thing to do in the moment.”
“I thought you were going to leave the explaining to me. You said I would think of something.” A bitter edge entered her voice as she recounted their conversation. “I believe you called me an accomplished liar.”
“Yes. I said something to that effect.”
He had been angry. Ever since he looked down at the blood on his bedding and read her apology note, he had been angry.
The entire journey here he had felt only anger. Until he saw her again and touched her and that particular emotion inside him deflated. When confronted with her brother he had felt only pity for her.
“I changed my mind though.” I felt sorry for you.
There was a beat of silence, and then she gave a small nod and whispered, “Thank you.”
Gathering her skirts, she stepped ahead of him and followed in her brother’s wake.
Chapter Ten
Perhaps it was foolish to hope that she would not have to confront the entire household this very evening. With any luck, the others had already retired for the night. Mercy would love nothing more than to put the whole uncomfortable matter off until morning.
It was not to be, however.
Of course, everyone was still awake when they entered the house. Gladys and Elsie poured out from the kitchen at the sound of their arrival into the small foyer.
“Oh! We have a guest!” Gladys’s head moved up and down as she looked Silas Masters over in a thorough appraisal. Elsie watched with enormous eyes behind her aunt. Other than an occasional caller from the village, it was rare that they had a guest. And even rarer that they had an evening caller . . . much less one who would be staying overnight.
“Yes. Mr. Masters just arrived.”
Grace descended the stairs then, looking bright-eyed and eager at the prospect of visitors—or in this case, one visitor.
Her sister scanned the group of them congregating in the entry hall at the bottom of the stairs. When her eyes alighted on Silas Masters, she came to a hard stop. She had only a few more steps to descend, but she froze like a hunk of marble. Her eyes flared wide and her hand flew to her hair. She patted the loosely piled plaits as though attempting to tidy the coiffure that was more than a mess after the long day.
“Gladys,” Bede announced, not even acknowledging Grace on the steps yet. “Mr. Masters is a friend of mine from town who has come to visit.”
Good. It was good that Bede claimed him. Even as suspicious as that was.
“Mr. Masters, welcome.” Gladys nodded deferentially.
Grace darted a speculative look at Bede. The girl was far too clever. Bede had never brought any friends home before, and well she knew it. Their brother was not particularly proud of their modest country house, and he always bemoaned the lack of diversions here.
Of course, as it was such an extraordinary event, Grace could wonder, but wonder was all she would do. She would never have any notion as to why he was truly here.
She would never suspect Mercy capable of what really brought him here. In her mind, Mercy was perfectly dull and would serve as enticement to no man.
Grace would not question his presence. Indeed not. She was simply too gleeful as she drank in the appealing sight of Silas Masters. Mercy knew what her sister was seeing because she saw it, too. Just as she had seen it at the club.