Read Veil of Lies for Free Online Page B

successful at your profession, then why such poor lodgings? I’ve seen stables that are better furnished.”
    His smile faded. “If you do not wish to hire me then don’t waste my time.”
    She waved her left hand. The gold band gleamed insolently in the candlelight. “I merely asked because I do not trust easily.”
    “Indeed. Then why are you here? Alone.”
    She turned to look him in the eye. “I trust myself.”
    He lowered his face. That was more than he could say for himself. He remembered how she looked with her impatient lover. His face grew hot with the memory. “You must trust someone if you are to get the help you say you need.” He moved away, putting the table between them. “I have no proof of my deeds except by the word of others. I am not a man to parade my triumphs about my person.”
    She made a slow measure of him again. She did not smile, but her guarded posture eventually softened. Even weakened. She bit her bottom lip and turned from him. No longer did she wear the expression of the grand lady of the manor, but that of a frightened girl.
    “There is something dangerous, something strange hidden in my house,” she said in her throaty voice. “I believe it is why my husband was killed. I want you to find it and dispose of it.”
    He frowned. “Why have you not told the sheriff about this?”
    She laughed without pleasure. “I reckon I’m a good judge of character, Master Crispin. And of cunning. Of the two, my choice was you.”
    He was also a good judge of character, at least he liked to think so. And a good judge of intonation. He again noticed that her accent somehow did not match her status. Her cultivated speech seemed too careful. “There’s no need to be melodramatic,” he said and crossed the room, took up the iron poker, and jabbed it into the ashes and embers. No fire emerged. He broke some sticks and placed them on the radiant coals, blowing on them to catch a flame. When they did, he poked the small fire to give himself time to think.
    She moved slowly toward the hearth, each sinuous step rustling the generous fabric of her gown. “You don’t know. You can’t imagine. They killed poor Nicholas. I wish it had never been brought into my house.” She hugged herself even though the fire now burned warmly.
    He walked to the back window and closed the shutter. It did not close all the way, and the wind whistled through the open crack. He moved back toward the fire. “They? Who killed him? Your lover?”
    “I have no lover.”
    He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “Are we to play this game again? Very well. Then I will checkmate you. I saw the two of you together at the Thistle. In the room.” He raised his brows meaningfully. “I saw what transpired. Must I go on?”
    Her expression did not change except to cool. “I have taken the time, Master Guest, to visit these…lodgings. And I have precious little time to give.”
    “You would protect a murderer?”
    She turned her face away and he stared instead at a soft cheek and a braid looped over a pink ear. “I protect no one but my husband. Now he is beyond my protection.” She whirled. “What good would it do anyone to kill Nicholas?”
    “Why Madam, then your lover could have you for himself.”
    She shook her head. “Nonsense. He don’t want—” She pressed her lips closed. This time one edge of her mouth turned up in a smile.
    “Then I have another question,” he said, monitoring her reactions. “Did you kill him?”
    The smile vanished. “No!”
    He moved nearer. Her expression remained cool. She seemed aware of his closeness, and like a feral animal, attuned herself to it. One shoulder rose and she tucked her chin down. She looked up at him through a veil of lashes. He detected the faint, sweet scent of elderflowers and found himself leaning closer.
    She blinked, slow and even. Her gaze seized him, as if drawing him into a secret she was not yet willing to reveal. He could not help but