“Stay,” he said, holding a hand forward, palm toward her. “Just one more moment. I’m trying to burn the image into my memory.”
Olivia gave him a surly bit of lip and carefully crawled along the wall, away from the window.
“Let me guess,” he said. “Blisters on both feet.”
She ignored him.
“You and Mary Cadogan are writing a new theatrical. You’re playing the sheep.”
Never had he been more deserving of a comeback, but sadly, never had Olivia been in less of a position to deliver one.
“Had I known,” he added, “I’d have brought a riding crop.”
She was almost close enough to bite his leg. “Winston?”
“Yes?”
“Shut up.”
He laughed.
“I’m going to kill you,” she announced, rising to her feet. She’d skirted half the length of the room. There was no way Sir Harry would be able to see her here.
“With your hooves?”
“Oh, stop it,” she said disgustedly. And then she realized that he was ambling into the room. “Get away from the window!”
Winston froze, then twisted around to face her. His brows were arched in question.
“Step back,” Olivia said. “That’s it. Slowly, slowly…”
He feigned a motion forward.
Her heart lurched. “Winston!”
“Really, Olivia,” he said, turning around and planting his hands on his hips. “What are you doing?”
She swallowed. There would be no avoiding telling him something. He’d seen her crawling about the room like an idiot. He would expect an explanation. Heaven knew she would, had their positions been reversed.
But she might not have to tell him the truth. Surely there was some other explanation for her actions.
Reasons Why I Might Be Crawling About on the Floor AND Need to Avoid the Window
No. She had nothing.
“It’s our neighbor,” Olivia said, resorting to the truth, since, given her position, she had no other choice.
Winston’s head turned toward the window. Slowly, and with as much sarcasm as a lateral move of the head could convey.
Which, Olivia had to admit, was quite a bit when performed by a Bevelstoke.
“Our neighbor,” he repeated. “Do we have one?”
“Sir Harry Valentine. He leased the house while you were in Gloucestershire.”
Winston nodded slowly. “And his presence in Mayfair has you crawling on the floor…because…”
“I was watching him.”
“Sir Harry.”
“Yes.”
“From your knees.”
“Of course not. He saw me, and-”
“And now he thinks you’re a lunatic.”
“Yes. No! I don’t know.” She let out a furious exhale. “I’m hardly privy to his inner thoughts.”
Winston quirked a brow. “As opposed to his inner bedchamber, which you are-”
“It’s his office,” she cut in heatedly.
“Which you feel the need to spy upon because…”
“Because Anne and Mary said-” Olivia cut herself off, well aware that if she said why she was spying on Sir Harry she’d look more of a fool than she did already.
“Oh no, don’t stop now,” he implored dryly. “If Anne and Mary said it, I definitely want to hear it.”
Her mouth clamped into a businesslike frown. “Fine. But you mustn’t repeat it.”
“I try not to repeat anything they say,” he said frankly.
“Winston.”
“I won’t say a word.” He held up his hands, as if in surrender.
Olivia gave a curt nod of acknowledgment. “Because it isn’t even true.”
“That, I already knew, considering the source.”
“Win-”
“Oh, come now, Olivia. You know better than to trust anything those two tell you.”
She felt a reluctant need to defend them. “They’re not that bad.”
“Not at all,” he agreed, “just lacking in any ability to discern truth from fiction.”
He was correct, but still, they were her friends, and he was annoying, so it wasn’t as if she was going to admit it. Instead, she ignored his statement altogether and continued with: “I mean it, Winston. You must keep this a secret.”
“I give you my word,” he said, sounding almost bored by the whole thing.
“What I say in this room…”
“Stays in this room,” he finished. “Olivia…”
“Fine. Anne and Mary said they had heard that Sir Harry had killed his fiancée-no, don’t interrupt, I don’t believe it, either-but then I got to thinking, well, how does a rumor like that get started?”
“From Anne Buxton and Mary Cadogan,” Winston answered.
“They never start rumors,” Olivia said. “They only repeat them.”
“A critical difference.”
Olivia felt similarly, but this was neither the time nor place to agree with her brother. “We know he has a temper,” she continued.
“We do? How?”
“You didn’t hear about Julian Prentice?”
“Oh, that.” Winston rolled his eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“He barely touched him. Julian was so far gone a gust of wind could have knocked him out.”
“But Sir Harry did hit him.”
Winston waved a hand. “I suppose.”
“Why?”
He shrugged, then crossed his arms. “No one knows, really. Or at least, no one is telling. But stop for a moment-what does any of this have to do with you?”