Page 7 of Redemption

The dark drawl in his voice was as silky now as it had been that night in the museum. It made her heart skip a beat. She immediately chided herself for being distracted by his voice and everything else about him.

“I doubt I can be of any assistance to you. My deduction skills are practically nonexistent,” she said with a calm that belied her current state of mind.

Panic was driving a need to run as fast and far as possible. But to leave now would only confirm she had something to hide. Tension held her rigid as she eyed him warily.

“You really do intend to make this difficult, don’t you,” he growled.

“I am not being difficult. I simply can’t help you. Now, I would like to leave.” Rhea took a step toward the open archway of the gazebo, but he quickly blocked her path.

“You underestimate yourself, Rhea. You’re quite capable of helping me solve this particular mystery,” he murmured in an almost seductive manner. Trapped in a web of tension that left her frozen where she stood, she tried to steady her breathing.

As he closed the distance between them, his slow walk possessed the same raw power she remembered. His stride was reminiscent of a tiger’s lazy gait that belied a deadly strength beneath the relaxed prowl. It was as disturbing as it was beautiful. Her throat closed and threatened to stop the flow of air to her lungs. What in heaven’s name was she thinking? The man had the power to destroy her. Worst of all, he could easily deliver a crushing blow to Arianna’s happy marriage. Rhea would go to hell and back to keep that from happening. Determined to protect her sister at all costs, she straightened her shoulders as she mustered every ounce of disdain she could find inside her.

“You’ve either had too much to drink this evening, Mr. Rockwood, or you’re delusional. I cannot help you,” she said coldly. She was resigned to the fact that her bluff would be a futile effort, but she would do whatever necessary to protect those she loved.

“You didn’t answer me before, Rhea,” his voice was a low growl that heightened the image of him as a predator. “Have you ever been to the British Museum?”

“Yes,” she said quietly and arched her eyebrows at him. “Most Londoners have at one time or another.”

“Have you ever visited the museum at night?” The anger in his voice scraped across her senses.

“As I recall the museum closes well before nightfall.”

“Then allow me to refresh your memory,” he snarled. “How did you put it? Oh, yes—‘I’m so sorry. This wasn’t supposed to happen.’”

Although she’d accepted the fact that he’d guess the truth, hearing her words flung at her made her flinch. In an attempt to hide the way her hands had suddenly begun to shake, Rhea clasped them in front of her. Years ago, she’d learned that silence was the best weapon she possessed when it came to escaping a desperate situation unscathed. This was one of those moments. Warily, she met Percy Rockwood’s hard gaze. When she didn’t answer him, he released a loud noise of disgust and anger.

“Sit down, Rhea.” He gestured toward the bench that curved its way around the gazebo’s interior.

“I prefer to stand,” she said with quiet defiance.

“I said sit down.” His command said she would pay a price for disobedience. Instincts honed on the streets made Rhea sink slowly down onto the wooden seat. Her steady gaze met his as he glared at her.

“I don’t appreciate being held hostage, Mr. Rockwood. I would like to leave. Now.”

“And I don’t appreciate being shot,” he ground out harshly.

The accusation in his voice sent an icy blast across Rhea’s skin. Frozen in place, she was grateful for the ability to remain unflinching in the face of his fury. Percy folded his arms across his chest as he studied her coldly. His stance declared he expected an explanation or at the very least a response from her.

“I’ve never shot anyone,” she choked out.

Although up until tonight that was something she'd not believed, simply because she'd left him for dead. But she’d never actually shot or killed anyone. She’d not even been able to kill Ruckley when she’d had the chance. The thought of killing was abhorrent to her, which was why she'd been so tormented ever since that terrible night in the museum.

She hadn’t wanted to leave him dying on the museum floor. Even if all she could have done was to hold him until he took his last breath, she would never have left him if it hadn’t been for Ruckley. It had been a horrible choice to make when Ruckley had forced her hand.

“But you did leave me on the floor of the British Museum to die.” The brutal contempt in his voice made her jump. She shook her head vehemently.

“No, it wasn’t like that.”

Her sharp denial made Rhea suck in a sharp breath as she saw the triumphant gleam in his eyes. Horrified, she struggled with the extent of her error. She’d just confessed to a crime. One of the first lessons Ruckley had taught her was to never admit guilt. Rhea stared at her accuser in fear as her heart pounded wildly in her chest. The moment his gaze narrowed on her, she experienced the sensation of being pinned to a lepidopterist’s board of butterflies.

“Then explain your actions,” he bit out tersely. “Explain why you would leave me lying on the museum floor in a pool of blood.”

The bitterness in his voice made her close her eyes. How could she possibly make Percy Rockwood understand what had driven her to ignore every universal law of compassion and kindness? She met his gaze for a long moment then looked away.

“I thought you were already dead. If I’d protested any more than I did, Ruckley would have shot me as well.”

“Your desire to live is something I understand all too well,” he said sardonically. At the suggestion that her life was all that mattered Rhea directed a cold look at him.