He crossed to the bed and studied Hollister’s body for a moment. Virginia sensed energy whisper through the room and knew that Owen had heightened his talent. She did not know the nature of the psychical ability he commanded, but she sensed that it was dangerous.
Owen turned around. “Excellent work, Miss Dean, although somewhat untidy.”
“What?”
“It is clear that Hollister will no longer be a problem, but we must get you safely away from here before you are arrested for murder.”
“No,” she managed.
Owen’s brows rose. “You do not wish to leave this chamber?”
She swallowed hard. “I meant I did not kill him.”
At least I don’t think I did. She realized she had no memory of anything after she had read the looking glass in the bedroom of the Hollister mansion. She had no choice but to claim that she was innocent. If she were arrested for the murder of Lord Hollister, she would surely hang.
He gave her another swift appraisal. “Yes, I can see that you did not plant that kitchen knife in his chest.”
She was startled. “How can you know that I am innocent?”
“We can discuss the details somewhere else at a more convenient time,” Owen said. He came toward her, moving with the purposeful stride of a beast of prey closing in for the kill. “Here, let me do that.”
She did not comprehend what he intended until he was directly in front of her, fastening the small hooks that closed the front of her gown. He worked with swift, economical movements, his hands steady and sure. If the fine hair on the back of her neck was not already standing on end, Owen’s touch would have electrified it. The energy around him charged the atmosphere and her senses. She was torn between an overpowering urge to run for her life and the equally strong desire to throw herself into his arms.
That settled it, she thought. The events of the night had unhinged her mind. She could no longer trust any of her obviously shattered senses. She sought refuge in the self-mastery she had spent most of her life perfecting. Mercifully it came to her aid.
“Mr. Sweetwater,” she said coldly. She stepped back quickly.
His hands fell away. He gave the front of her gown a critical once-over. “That will do for now. It’s after midnight and the fog is quite thick. No one will notice you once we are outside.”
“Midnight?” She reached down to the small chatelaine watch pinned to the waist of her gown. When she saw that he was right about the time, she shuddered. “I arrived at eight, as instructed. Dear heaven, I have lost four hours.”
“I apologize for the delay in my own arrival. I did not get word that you were missing until an hour ago.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Later. Put your shoes on. We have an unpleasant walk ahead of us before we are free of this place.”
She did not argue. She lifted her skirts and petticoats and shoved one stocking-clad foot into a boot. She did not bother with the laces.
Owen contemplated the body on the bed while he waited. “You’re sure you are unhurt?”
She blinked, trying to comprehend the lethal edge on his words.
“He did not rape me, if that is what you are wondering,” she said crisply. “You will have noticed that he is still fully clothed.”
“Yes, of course,” Owen said. He turned back to her, his odd eyes even colder than usual. “Sorry. It is just that for the past few hours I have been consumed with the sensation that something was wrong. When I came through the door a moment ago I discovered that I was right.”
“You were too late to save his lordship, do you mean, sir?”
“No, Miss Dean, too late to save you. Fortunately, you were able to save yourself.”
She got her other foot into its boot. “I certainly do not mourn Hollister. I believe he was a monster. But I cannot take the credit for his current condition.”
“Yes, I can see that now,” Owen said with a chilling calmness.
“Do not pretend to humor me, sir.” She leaned down to scoop up her heavy cloak. “I want to make it quite clear that I did not murder his lordship.”
“Frankly, it does not matter to me. Hollister’s death is a benefit to the world.”
“I could not agree with you more. However—” The sound of sighing hinges stopped her.
“The door,” she said. “It’s closing.”
“So it is.”
They both rushed for the door. Owen reached it first, but