The Leopard Prince (Princes #2)(44)

He was the most magnificent thing she’d ever seen.

AMAZING, REALLY, HOW SIMPLE it was to kill.

Silas looked down at the woman lying in the gorse. He’d had to drag her here after keeping her locked up for over a day. It’d been important, after all, that she die in the proper way, and he’d had to find and prepare the poisonous herbs. A rather tedious job. The woman had convulsed at the end, and the body was twisted. Before she died, she had vomited and lost control of her bowels, shitting quite disgustingly all over the place. He curled his lip. The whole process had taken too much of his time and had been foul to boot.

But it had been simple.

He’d chosen a sheep pasture on his own land. Isolated at night but close enough to the road so she’d be found before she rotted entirely away. It was important to associate this with the sheep poisonings. These farmers were a dull lot, and if the connections weren’t made for them, they might not see the obvious.

He could have tried to get the woman to drink the brew he’d made, but it’d been quicker to simply force it down her throat. Then he’d sat back and waited. The woman had sworn and cried at his treatment—she had already been drunk when he’d found her. Then, after a while, she’d clutched her stomach. Vomited. Shat.

And finally died.

Silas sighed and stretched, his muscles cramped from sitting so long on a damp boulder. He stood up and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. He walked over to the stinking corpse and unwrapped the carved stag. Carefully he placed it a few steps from the woman. Close enough to be found but far enough away to have been dropped. He looked critically at the scene he’d created and found it good.

He smiled to himself and walked away.

A WEIGHT LAY ON HIS CHEST. Harry opened his eyes but didn’t move. He saw a cloud of ginger hair floating over his chest and right arm.

She’d stayed the night.

He glanced at the window and cursed silently. It was dawn already. He should’ve been up an hour past, and Lady Georgina should have left well before that. But lying here in a too-small bed with his lady was nice. He could feel the cushion of her breast against his side. Her breath puffed on his shoulder, and her arm was flung across his chest as if she had taken possession of him. And maybe she had. Perhaps he was like some enchanted prince in one of her tales and now she held the key to his heart.

The key to his very soul.

He closed his eyes again. He could smell her scent mingled with his. She stirred, her hand moving down over his belly, almost to his morning cockstand. He held his breath, but she stopped.

He needed to piss, and besides, she would be too sore this morning. He eased her arm off him. Harry sat up. Lady Georgina’s hair was a tangle around her face. He gently pushed it back, and she scrunched her nose in her sleep. He smiled. She looked like a wild gypsy lass. He bent, kissed her bare tit, and rose. He stoked the fire, then pulled on his trousers to take a piss outside. When he returned, he put water on to boil and glanced into the little bedroom again. His lady still slept.

He was taking down the teapot when someone started pounding on the cottage door. Quickly he shut the bedroom door. He palmed his knife and opened the cottage door a crack.

A gentleman stood outside. Tall, with reddish-brown hair. The stranger flicked a riding crop in one bony hand. A horse was tethered behind him.

“Aye?” Harry braced his right hand above his head. The other hand held the knife, hidden on his side of the doorjamb.

“I’m looking for Lady Georgina Maitland.” The stranger’s voice, clipped and upper crust, would have frozen most men.

Harry raised one eyebrow. “And who might you be?”

“The Earl of Maitland.”

“Ah.” He started to close the door.

Maitland wedged his crop in the doorway to prevent him. “Do you know where she is?” There was warning in his voice now.

“Yes.” Harry stared flatly at Maitland. “She’ll be at the manor soon.”

Anger sparked in the other man’s eyes. “Within the hour or I’ll kick this bloody hovel down around your ears.”

Harry closed the door.

When he turned, he saw Lady Georgina peeking from the bedroom. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and she had used a bedsheet as a wrap.

“Who was it?” Her voice was husky with sleep.

Harry wished he could pick her up and carry her back to his bed and make her forget about this day, but the world and everything in it waited.

He replaced the teapot on the shelf. “Your brother.”

HER BROTHER HAD TO BE the one person in all the world a woman didn’t want to meet directly after a night of ecstasy. George fiddled with the ribbon at her neck.

Tiggle batted her hand away and set a last pin in her hair. “There you are, my lady. As ready as you’ll ever be.” At least the maid was no longer sending her mournful looks.

Instead, she was now commiserating. Did everyone know what had happened last night? She really should’ve been more discreet than to spend the night. George sighed and contemplated feigning a headache. But Tony was nothing if not stubborn. He might not drag her from her room to interview her, but he’d be right outside the minute she tried to emerge. Best to get it over with.

She threw back her shoulders and marched downstairs like a Christian going to meet a particularly irate lion. Greaves sent her a sympathetic look as he held the breakfast room door for her.