Katarina watched him. He could not read her expression. “Then I think,” she said slowly, “I must thank you for offering me the chance to choose differently. Does that mean you trust my word, William Carrington?”
He met her dark eyes. “Yes.”
“For some unknown reason,” Kent cut in acidly. “He may, but I do not.”
“You don’t believe Wilton could have knocked over his own candle?” William protested. “Or that Palmer’s enemies could have—?”
“Not the latter, certainly. Think, Carrington. You went looking for Katarina after you tangled with Schwieger. You and Schwieger both went looking, outward from the house, trying to find her footprints by the rising sun.”
“We followed them for a short way,” William agreed, “but then she cut across a field.”
“But that short way was dirt, was it not? You s
