Page 72 of Wolfhaven

“Yes. If I must.” What was the difference anymore? Twice, she had slept with men for pleasure. Both times, any momentary connection she had felt had been followed by a betrayal, not to mention the worry of an untimely pregnancy. Gareth had taken precautions but no method was foolproof. She couldn’t support herself and Gran, never mind a child.

Despite this, longing pinched her.

“I won’t let you do that,” Gran said.

“You’re the one who pushed me into Gareth’s arms!” Evaine shouted. Hot tears boiled up. Hazel’s eyes flared wide. She sat quietly, staring straight ahead. The old sock full of their entire life savings jingled faintly in her lap. A few coins. It wouldn’t get them far.

“I thought he would marry you,” she said quietly. “Not try to kill you. I didn’t see his dark side, Evie. I am sorry for that.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say, He didn’t⁠—

But Gareth had. Hadn’t he? He’d been a man possessed. Out of his mind with grief. His own mother had been hospitalized for delusions. For decades. He’d claimed it was his father’s doing when she proved to be an inconveniently defiant wife, but what if there was more truth to the dowager duchess’ infirmity than her son wanted to admit?

What if he suffered from the same condition?

The entire town thought he had murdered his bride. That the late duke had been the one to rush in and try to save her from the son’s depravity, instead of the other way around, as he had claimed.

She didn’t know what to believe. About ghosts, or dukes, or caretakers. She only knew that safety lay ahead of her, and that danger was hard on her heels.

“We keep moving,” Evaine said firmly.

They drove in silence for a long time.

Chapter 32

Gareth

Evaine Ballard was gone.

He was alone.

In his father’s house.

The very place from which he had been fleeing for a third of his life. This mansion had ensnared him in the end.

There had never been any escape. Not for him.

Gareth breathed in the scent of old fires. One would think that years on, the smell would have dissipated, but he had disturbed the ashes of history and now he was choking on them.

Brimstone filled the air.

Gently, he placed the lid of the box back on top. He couldn’t look at those tiny bones for another minute. Cogswell hadn’t yet returned with a shovel, damn him. What was taking so long?

Gareth began digging the box out of the earth with his bare hands. Ripping out plants by the roots. A stinging slash across his palm made him wince. Breathing hard, he kneeled in the dirt and stared at his open hands.

Hands that he had used to hurt Evaine.

A sob racked him.

“What did I do?” he shouted.

He’d chased her away the only way he knew how to. She was stubborn to a fault and she had asked a question that might as well have been a knife to his heart.

Marina hadn’t been dead when he arrived. But he hadn’t killed her. He had tried to save her. Rushed past the bucket brigade and into the house, only to be felled by a grandfather clock, of all things. There had been witnesses. Yet no one really believed him. Even he didn’t really believe it.

He had killed Marina. He had left her where she was still in danger. All of this was his fault.

He didn’t deserve Evaine. He’d needed to find a way to make her go away.