The Witch Of Stonecliff. Dawn Brown

London. Were you hoping to gather enough clues to verify my story? Do you need the date, the hour of the accident? Perhaps a look at my medical records?

      Warlow turned his attention to her and asked, “Eleri?”

      There wasn’t a hole big enough for her to crawl into. She shook her head.

      A part of her wanted to blurt out that she had nothing to do with Warlow’s probing, but she had suspected him of a criminal past. So when had her opinion changed? When he came to her rescue with Steven Paskin?

      “I’m sorry,” she told him.

      His light green eyes held hers. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

      The low rasp of his voice shivered along her skin and a thin flutter tickled low in her belly. She frowned and dropped her gaze to the floor. What was that about? But she already knew. She found him attractive. Desirable. And that was dangerous for them both.

      Look how things had turned out for Griffin.

      “Dinner has been set in the dining room.” Mrs. Voyle’s sharp voice cut through the tension like a jagged blade. She stood in the doorway, buttoning her coat. “You’ll need to come straight away if you want your dinner hot.”

      Hugh stood, genial grin fixed firmly in place. “I must see to Mr. James, so I’ll leave you to dine without me. Thank you for indulging us, Mr. Peirs.”

      Kyle jerked a shoulder, his impassive features impossible to read. “Of course.”

      Outside the parlor, Warlow started up the stairs, and Eleri and Kyle followed Mrs. Voyle down the hall.

      “You’ll have to serve yourselves,” Mrs. Voyle said, as Eleri and Kyle entered the dining room. “I’ve already stayed later than I prefer. And you’ll need to tidy up yourself. I won’t wait.”

      “Thanks, Mrs. Voyle,” Eleri ground out. If by some unfortunate twist of fate her father should leave Stonecliff to her, after all, Eleri’s first order of business would be to fire the woman.

      Mrs. Voyle hurried away, and Eleri led Kyle to the plates stacked at one end of the sideboard. “I should apologize in advance for Mrs. Voyle’s cooking. Whatever threat you were willing to face by letting the lodge, I’m afraid you may have increased it considerably by agreeing to eat here.”

      She glanced back over her shoulder with a smirk, but the expression dissolved quickly. Kyle stared down at the domed platters, his normally olive skin pale, expression shuttered.

      Of course, he wouldn’t find the crack amusing—especially coming from her. “I was kidding.”

      His gaze met hers and he smiled but it looked forced. “If you’re willing to eat it, I’m sure I’ll be safe enough.”

      Eleri lifted the silver dome off the first platter, and let out a soft sigh. Ah yes, Mrs. Voyle’s infamous gray roast beef. No doubt they would have the woman’s lumpy potatoes and mushy vegetables to look forward to. And of course, her sludge gravy. She forked a slice of meat onto her plate. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”

      “I’m just pleased to be invited for a meal. Saves me from having to cook something.”

      “Are you certain this is better?”

      He met her gaze. “There’s the company, as well.”

      Warm flush tingled over her skin. Was he flirting with her?

      What a lot of nonsense. As if he’d be interested in the likes of her. He was attractive, successful, sexy. He could no doubt do better than a short, plain woman under investigation for murdering men just like him.

      With dinner on their plates, they sat at the large table facing each other.

      “I’m sorry about Hugh,” Eleri said, smoothing her napkin over her lap. “It was wrong of him to pry the way he did.”

      “I should imagine letting your house to a complete stranger is disconcerting.”

      Eleri used her fork to squash the larger lumps in her potatoes. “I can’t imagine anyone choosing to stay here if they had somewhere else to go. And when Warlow said you were a writer, I worried that you might be after a story. I haven’t had great experiences with reporters.”

      The jagged scar curling across Kyle’s throat bobbed. “How do you mean?”

      “A few years back, a man who worked for us vanished. Despite indications that he’d simply moved on, his family was certain he’d met with foul play.”

      “What sort of indications?”

      “His belongings were gone from the coach house and his car had gone. There was no evidence that the man hadn’t just moved. When his family lost faith in the police, they went to the media. One reporter in particular wrote a series of articles, none of them true. He filled the articles with gossip and rumors. He was actually the one to come up with the name The Witch of Stonecliff. Life in the village quickly became unbearable. I left first chance I got.”

      Kyle’s face had paled, his expression intent. “Did you ever meet him?”

      Unease prickled the base of her neck.

      She shook her head. “He asked for an interview, but I refused.”

      “What happened to him?”

      “I’ve no idea. Once the story played itself out, I imagine he moved on to something far more titillating. Alien sightings in the Outer Hebrides maybe. Another royal family conspiracy.” She shrugged. “Who knows?”

      He nodded slowly, his gaze distant as if lost in thought. “Maybe he’s one of the men they found in The Devil’s Eye. Maybe that’s why the articles stopped.”

      Eleri’s stomach squeezed, and she pushed her plate away. She sincerely hoped not. “Surely, if he’d disappeared, someone would have noticed. You can bet the police would have been at my door the minute the man had been reported missing.”

      Kyle stared at her for a long moment without speaking, his expression stony. Something in the conversation had changed. He’d changed. Gone was the mildly flirtatious man who’d arrived. He’d been replaced by a man searching for something.

      Had her initial instincts been right all along? Could he be working with the detective like Reece had been? Related to one of the men police had fished out of The Eye?

      “What aren’t you telling me?” she asked, softly.

      He grinned, all warm charm once more, chilly intensity leaving his light eyes. “It’s not fair how you’ve been treated.”

      Was he being sincere, or playing her? And if it was the latter, to what end? What did he want from her?

      She stood abruptly. “If you’re finished, I’ll take your plate.”

      “Let me help you,” Kyle offered.

      “It’s fine,” she told him, snatching up his dishes and hurrying away to the kitchen. Dumping the plates on the counter, she let out a slow breath.

      What was she doing? She should never have brought up the murders, reporters or anything else to do with The Devil’s Eye. She shouldn’t have agreed to this dinner. She needed to get Kyle on his way back to the lodge and avoid him for the length of his stay.

      “Can I help with the washing up?”

      She started at the sound of Kyle’s voice. He leaned against the far wall, arms folded over his chest.

      A flutter tickled low inside her. She swallowed hard and shook her head. “I can manage. It’s getting late.

      “Have I overstayed my welcome?”

      She lifted her shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. “It’s been a long day.”

      “Did my questions about that reporter make you uncomfortable?”