The Witch Of Stonecliff. Dawn Brown

a bloody mess she was in. She needed to get away from this house, from the village. But she couldn’t. She was trapped like a fly in a spider’s web.

      She lifted her leaden arm and turned the tap, shutting off the water. Exhaustion slammed into her like a wrecking ball. She wanted to climb into bed and pretend the day had never happened.

      The last thing she wanted was to face Kyle again after he’d witnessed that mess with Paskin. What if he asked questions?

      She should skip Hugh’s dinner. It was the butler’s bloody idea, after all. Instead she dragged on a clean pair of gray trousers and a white blouse and returned to the bathroom. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror behind the sink and frowned. God, she was plain. From dull brown hair, the ends curling and brushing her shoulders, to dull brown eyes, to pale skin, her blouse and trousers as bland as the rest of her.

      She couldn’t even change. All her clothes were the same, varying only in color—beige, gray, white. All perfectly practical had she still been serving customers in a flower shop, or when she mucked about in the garden, but nothing for company.

      Since when did she care what she wore to dinner? She finished getting ready, and less than fifteen minutes later she was making her way down the hall to the stairs.

      As she rounded the last corner in the passageway her gaze caught on the burned-out wall sconce at the top of the stairs. Warlow still hadn’t replaced it. Dark shadows stretched across the corridor like a veil. Eleri slowed, unease prickling along the back of her neck. The smell hit her next. Putrid and rotted, the stink wafted to her nose, filling her nasal cavities, trickling down her throat until she wanted to gag.

      Whispered voices filled the air around her. The stench intensified.

      Eleri whirled around and started back the way she’d come. She’d use the servants’ stairs again. She couldn’t manage this now. Not after her run-in with Paskin.

      Once on the main floor, she hurried down the hall to the parlor, but Hugh’s voice stopped her outside the door. “We’re delighted you could join us tonight, Mr. Peirs. There are few men willing to dine with Eleri just now.”

      Her cheeks flamed. Why in the hell would Warlow say something like that?

      “I’m not worried,” Kyle replied.

      “How strange. Why is that?”

      “Even if Ms. James were indeed guilty, with an investigation going on, I should imagine her own self-preservation would keep me safe.”

      “But surely you’ve heard the story of the frog and the scorpion? The frog carries the scorpion across the river and the scorpion stings him even though they both will die because the scorpion can’t help what it is.”

      Dull fury pulsed behind her eyes. Eleri strode into the room and pinned Warlow with a hard stare. “In your cautionary tale where I’m the scorpion and Kyle the frog you left out yourself; the big, fat toad.”

      Warlow let out a long suffering sigh from where he stood before the fireplace. “I meant nothing by it, Eleri. You had concerns about Mr. Peirs’s motivations for staying here while there was a murder investigation in the works. This dinner is to help alleviate those concerns.”

      “So the abject humiliation was for my benefit. I should have realized.” Eleri lowered herself to the edge of the settee, half-tempted to sit on her hands to keep from throttling the butler. “You may leave and see to my father now.”

      She risked a glance at Kyle. He watched her, a bemused smile curling his lips, lounging in a frayed chair near the fireplace. She suddenly wished she had worn something else.

      He looked good in dark charcoal trousers, a white shirt untucked—which looked casual rather than sloppy—and navy jacket. His brown hair, a tad too long, was swept back away from his forehead, revealing the long lines of his face, straight nose, slightly pointed chin. Those smoke green eyes stood out bright against the dusky hue of his skin.

      He really was an attractive man. The only thing marring all that perfection was the jagged scar at his neck.

      “Your father’s resting,” Warlow said, dragging her attention away from Kyle. Probably not a bad thing; she was on the verge of staring. The butler nodded to the hissing baby monitor. “As he’s too ill to join you, he’s asked that I stand in for him while we get to know Mr. Peirs better.”

      Of course he would. Warlow had been pulling her father’s strings for as long as she could remember. Even before his illness took root, Arthur James deferred to his butler for nearly every decision. Now that her father was bedridden, was it any wonder Warlow behaved as though he owned the place?

      Though, for all she knew, once her father was gone Hugh Warlow might own Stonecliff. She doubted Arthur would leave the estate to either her or her sister. A small flicker or relief lit inside her at the possibility.

      “What made you choose our neck of the woods, Mr. Peirs, given the current goings on?” Warlow asked.

      Eleri frowned. Something had shifted between yesterday and today. Suspicion laced the butler’s false cheer.

      “Money, quite frankly. You’re charging considerably less than other houses I looked at. While I’ve set some money aside for this little sabbatical, without a steady income I need to conserve where I can.”

      “Did you quit your last job?” Eleri asked.

      He shook his head. “A six month leave to say I gave it a shot.”

      “Had you visited the area before?” Warlow’s chilly gaze was in complete contrast to the wide smile stretched across his face.

      Kyle pinned him with an icy stare all his own. “Never.”

      Eleri’s gaze shifted between the two men, the tension in the air thickening. Was Kyle lying? Had he been to Cragera Bay before, and did Warlow know him somehow?

      “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but that must have been a terrible injury to your neck.”

      The younger man’s eyes narrowed, features hardening.

      “Hugh!” Eleri snapped. She couldn’t believe how rudely he was behaving. Normally, he was a model of decorum. Pompous and condescending, but always well mannered.

      “It was,” Kyle agreed.

      “I’m sorry if I appear rude,” Warlow said.

      “If?” Eleri cut in.

      Warlow shot her an impatient glare. “Eleri was concerned that such an injury indicated ties to a criminal past.”

      Her eyes rounded. Her face burned. Kyle swung his gaze to hers, one corner of his mouth curling up in a smirk. “Really?”

      “No.” She shook her head. “That’s not true.”

      “That’s exactly what you said.” Warlow’s white brows pulled into a frown, his voice annoyingly patient. “We want to ease your concerns about his character.”

      “You had doubts about my character based on this?” Kyle traced a finger over the ridge of scar tissue.

      Why couldn’t the floor open up and swallow her? “He’s taking what I said out of context. I meant that he didn’t know anything about you, that you could have had criminal ties.”

      That didn’t sound any better.

      Kyle let out a dry chuckle and lifted his right hand as if swearing an oath. “I promise this isn’t the result of any criminal activity on my part. Does that set your mind at ease?”

      Not really. The best way to set her mind at ease would be to stop talking about it.

      “What sort of accident, if you don’t mind me asking?” Warlow said.

      Kyle stared at the man for a long moment before finally replying, “Traffic collision.”

      “Did