“You waited,” she said flatly, stepping back although she knew she couldn’t avoid him. Thank goodness, the church was at the village’s quieter end and the only people likely to pass sought either the vicarage or private worship.
He’d tipped his hat forward as if napping. “Of course.”
“I wish you hadn’t.”
Slowly he raised one hand and brushed his hat back. His eyes were steady and his voice was serious. “I see I must express my purpose blatantly, Miss Barrett. I’d assumed a smart woman like you could guess my intentions.”
Humiliatingly, her heart accelerated like a bolting horse. All at the mention of ‘intentions,’ when she knew any intentions he harbored were of the worst.
“You’re out to nettle me. Any fool can see that.” She hoped he didn’t hear the quiver in her voice.
That familiar half smile appeared. “Well, of course.” He paused. “And I’m keeping you safe.”
Shock turned her motionless as a pillar of salt. Briefly he didn’t appear the louche, decorative creature she fought so hard to resist. Instead he looked like a man she could rely on, more fool her. “What?”
He sat up and placed his feet flat upon the ground, bending forward to dangle linked hands between his powerful thighs. “You’ve had two break-ins at the vicarage. Each time, they targeted your study, nowhere else. Someone’s after the jewel. Someone ruthless and determined.”
Yes, you are.
She fought the urge to challenge him with her knowledge that at least one of those break-ins was his. But she was still curious about his purpose. Once she accused him, he’d be on guard. He might even scarper, leaving her at Lord Neville’s mercy.
“Will you let me keep it for you?”
She retreated toward the far wall. Was his protection just another ruse to get the jewel? “No.”
“Then will you tell me where it is?”
“No.”
He looked regretful, as well he might. “I’m sorry you mistrust me.”
This cut too close to the bone. She released an unladylike snort. “I can imagine.”
Mr. Evans looked as grave as she’d ever seen him. “Please heed my warnings. For men like Fairbrother, possession is everything. The jewel would be his dirty little secret and he’d derive as much—no, more—pleasure from his illicit treasure than from ann
ouncing it to the world.”
She desperately wanted to argue. Unfortunately over the last days, her longstanding wariness of Lord Neville had cemented into fear and dislike.
“He’s not getting it.” Her voice hardened. “The jewel is mine. You know why it’s important to me.”
Mr. Evans straightened against the wall, staring at her. “I’m still happy to buy it. Or if you sold it to Sir Richard, I’m sure he’d let you keep it until you finished your research. Given the family connection, he’d appreciate having the jewel’s history confirmed.”
She almost laughed. Mr. Evans was so clever and cunning and underhanded. And so utterly wrong about the jewel. She almost told him the truth about the artifact, just to put him in his place. Then she recalled what a coup her article promised, the kind of coup that launched a brilliant career, and she stifled the impulse. “I’m sure.”
He frowned at her ironic tone, but couldn’t, for once, read her thoughts. “Despite that balderdash you heard this morning, he can be a reasonable man. Sedgemoor knows him.”
“The jewel isn’t for sale.” She couldn’t, in conscience, take money for it.
“Then my company is yours until the threat passes.”
“You tempt me to sell the jewel,” she said drily.
He didn’t smile. “Genevieve, I think the danger is genuine.”
If he was behind the second break-in—and surely that was the most logical assumption—she didn’t. Her suspicion that Mr. Evans worked for Sir Richard solidified with every day. But for all his plotting to frighten her into relinquishing the jewel to his employer, she knew Mr. Evans wouldn’t hurt her.
She swallowed to moisten a dry throat. “Nobody is likely to leap on me in the middle of the village.”