Free Seduced by a Stranger by Silver Eve

here.”
    “Killed? How?”
    “I do not know.” Madeline shook her head, her expression one of confusion. “My cousin took me away so quickly…” A shudder shook her. “He did not want me to see. But I looked back. Like Lot’s wife. Only I am not turned to a pillar of salt.” She paused, frowned, as though she had lost what she meant to say, then her brow cleared and she continued. “There was blood, so much blood, and I saw that she was cut open…or did I only hear that after, from one of the maids?”
    Catherine stared at her, appalled. “Madeline, who was the girl who died? A servant? A friend?”
    “No…no…I don’t think so. I don’t know.” Her voice rose in agitation and she began anew to pluck at her skirt. Then she grabbed Catherine’s hand and held it tight between both of her own, drawing it to her breast. “I am so very glad you came here. You have done me a service. You will probably never know the magnitude of what you have done for me.”
    There was such sincerity in her tone that it took Catherine aback. Before she could form a rejoinder, Madeline whispered, “And I think you are safe here, for you are not…” She stared into the distance, her expression blank as a marble slab. “Well, I believe he likes to play with a different sort entirely. But have a care…” A sigh escaped her and she released Catherine’s hand. “Try not to be caught alone or unawares.”
    Catherine recoiled, the implication of those words knifing through her. Did Madeline refer to the fate of the dead girl and express her concern that there lurked some danger? Her admonition did not make it sound so. Her word choice implied something else. Did Madeline dare to voice aloud St. Aubyn’s preferences in female companionship? The first possibility horrified, while the second mortified. But what else could she mean by such an odd observation? The inflection on the word play sounded almost…sinister, and the warning could be construed as nothing else.
    “Madeline, do you—” Catherine hesitated. Do you believe your cousin killed that girl? No, of course such fancy was ridiculous. Whatever ill feelings hounded her relationship with Sir Gabriel, Madeline could not mean to imply that he was a murderer.
    Rubbing her palms along her upper arms, Catherine mastered her confusion. She knew well that monsters hid behind any façade, but she must not let her own memories color the meanings she heard in the words of others.
    Madeline sat unmoving for a moment, and then she whispered, “Do nothing to draw yourself to his attention.” She took a shuddering breath. “I cannot say more.”
    “I see,” Catherine murmured, though she did not see at all. But she did know that she had no wish for St. Aubyn to turn his attention to her. No wish for any man to notice her in that way. The very thought made a greasy sickness roll in her belly.
    She must have made some outward show of her musings, for Madeline made a sound of dismay, and cried, “Oh, I never meant…that is…well, he is away now, and that is for the best.”
    For the best, indeed.
    Catherine allowed herself to conjure an image of him in her mind’s eye, Gabriel St. Aubyn, with his perfect features and thick, pale hair, the breadth of his shoulders, his long fingers holding the cup of tea with such perfect grace. Deceptive grace. She had seen the way lean muscle shifted beneath perfectly tailored cloth. He could have shattered the delicate china with those strong fingers. Crushed it in his fist.
    She shuddered, and beside her, Madeline shuddered as well.
    “The sun has gone behind a cloud,” Madeline observed.
    Arranging her expression in a serene smile, Catherine reached over and laid her hand on Madeline’s. She thought that even through the gloves she could feel how cold her friend’s hands were.
    “Come, let us go and have a cup of tea and find a warm fire,” she said, and like a child, Madeline rose and did as she was bidden.
    St. James’s Street,