Free Wicked Widow by Amanda Quick Page B

street.
    Artemas contemplated Glenthorpe. The man did not notice the perusal. He was too busy watching the dark street. He appeared anxious. There was a strained, nervous look about his eyes.
    “It’s none of my affair, of course.” Artemas lounged deeper into the shadows of the corner. “But I can’t help noticing that you seem a trifle uneasy tonight, Glenthorpe. Is there something worrying you?”
    Glenthorpe’s eyes jerked from the view through the window to Artemas’s face and then back again.
    “Ever had the sense that someone was watching you, sir?”
    “Watching me?”
    “Me. Not you.” Glenthorpe closed the curtains on the window and sank back against the worn, threadbare squabs. “Lately I have had the oddest notion that I am being followed at times. But when I turn to look, there is never anyone behind me. It is very unsettling.”
    “Why would anyone follow you?”
    “How the devil should I know?” Glenthorpe spoke much too loudly and far too vehemently. He blinked in alarm at the sound of his own voice. Hastily he lowered his tone. “But he’s there. I can feel it in my bones.”
    “Who is this man you believe to be following you?” Artemas asked with very little interest.
    “You will not credit this, but I think he is—” Glenthorpe broke off.
    “Who?” Artemas prompted politely.
    “It is difficult to explain.” Glenthorpe’s fingers twitched on the seat. “Goes back to something that happened a few years ago. Something that involved a young woman.”
    “Indeed.”
    “She was just an actress, y’know. No one important.” Glenthorpe swallowed convulsively. “Terrible event occurred. Never meant anything of the sort, of course. The others said it would be amusing. Said the girl was only teasing. Playing hard to get. But she wasn’t, y’see.”
    “What happened?” Artemas asked evenly.
    “We took her someplace private.” Glenthorpe rubbed his nose with the back of his gloved hand.
    “Thought we’d all have a bit of sport. But she . . . she fought us. Ran off. It wasn’t our fault she . . . Never mind. Point is, I didn’t have any hand in what happened. The others had their way with her but when it came my turn, I couldn’t, if y’see what I mean. Too much to drink. Or maybe it was the way she looked at me.”
    “How did she look at you?”
    “As if she were some sort of witch casting a spell of doom. She said we’d all pay. Well, that was nonsense, of course. But I realized the others were wrong. She wasn’t teasing. She didn’t want any of us.
    I… I just… I couldn’t go through with it.”
    “But you were there that night.”
    “Yes. But only because the others dragged me along. It’s not the sort of thing I enjoy, you know. I’m not
    . . . that is to say, my nature is not as … as physical as that of other men.” Glenthorpe twitched again. “In any event, I made some sort of excuse. The others laughed at me but I didn’t care. I just wanted to leave.
    But the girl, she got free. Ran off into the night. There was an accident. She fell.”
    “What did you do?”
    “Me?” Glenthorpe looked horrified. “Why, nothing. Nothing at all. That’s what I’m trying to explain.
    There’s no reason for him to come after me. I didn’t touch her.”
    “Who is after you? ”

    “She said—” Glenthorpe licked his lips and rubbed his nose again. “She said her lover would destroy us all for what we had done to her. But that was five years ago.
Five long years.
Thought sure it was finished and forgotten.”
    “But now you’re no longer so certain?”
    Glenthorpe hesitated and then shoved one hand into a pocket. He withdrew a watch fob seal. “Got this a few months ago. Just showed up on my doorstep.”
    Artemas glanced at the gold seal engraved with the image of a rearing stallion. “What of it? ”
    “I think he sent it to me. The one she said would avenge her.”
    “Why would he do that?”
    Glenthorpe rubbed his nose. “I have a nasty feeling that