She shook herself back to the conversation and said, “It might have been a little by design, yes,” she admitted. “I didn’t want to marry any of those…those boys who didn’t like the idea that I might have a mind of my own. Opinions that didn’t entirely mirror their own. I was resigned to be a happy spinster when they foisted Montgomery upon me.”
He shook his head. “I am very sorry about that.”
“You needn’t be,” she said with a sigh. “It wasn’t your doing.”
“Perhaps not, but I can help make up for it a bit. If this is to be your first trip to London, then you will have to sample all its delights. I have lived in the city all my life and I will be your guide.”
She caught her breath. “You would…you would do so? Won’t you be very busy with your investigation?”
He shrugged. “Yes, but I do have private time, Celeste. A man can’t work all day every day.”
“I hate to intrude upon your relaxation.”
He tilted his head. “If you do not wish to spend the extra time with me, I understand, especially given the circumstances of our…relationship.”
Her lips parted. In her haste to keep him from troubling himself, she had made him think she didn’t like him. And she realized in that moment that it wasn’t true. She did like this man who had swirled into her life like a tornado and turned everything on its head.
“I fear I’ve offended you,” she said softly. “And I didn’t mean to. I would love a guide to London whenever you have the time or inclination. Though Mabel went on about museums with you today, I certainly pictured myself being tucked into some hidden home, only there to assist when I was needed, but if there can be more I will gladly take it.”
He held her stare for a long beat, as the serving maid took their bowls and replaced them with the main meal. Celeste might have breathed in the scents again, noticed the bright beauty of perfectly roasted vegetables, but she couldn’t drag her eyes away from her companion.
“Whatever more I can provide,” he said before he was the one to break that intense stare.
She began to eat and for a little while they ate in silence. Not uncomfortable, but not exactly companionable either. She felt a drive to fill it as the food on their plates dwindled.
“Will I…will I meet the other wives?” she asked.
He lifted his gaze. “You would wish to do so?”
She nodded. “I admit I am curious. But perhaps they would hate me. Put the blame on each other rather than on Erasmus for what was done.”
“I assure you neither of them are that kind of lady. You will meet them both, and I think you will get along just fine.”
“Will you tell me about them?” she asked, pushing her food around her plate as she tried not to sound too eager or nervous.
“If you’d like.”
“Oh yes. I hate being kept in the dark. I can imagine so many worse scenarios when left to my own devices.”
“Let me see, the first wife is Abigail. She was married to Montgomery for almost five years. She is warm and very kind. And lovely, a very pretty woman.”
Celeste felt a twinge of jealousy at that descriptor, but shoved it down because it certainly wasn’t her place. “What was her reaction when she discovered what Erasmus had done?”
“Shocked, just as you were,” he said, though his brow wrinkled slightly as if he had thoughts on that which he didn’t share as he continued, “Angry, though she handled it well. She has been cooperative. And she was instantly welcoming to Phillipa, the second wife.”
“Oh, so they have already met?” Celeste said, worrying her lip again. Perhaps she would be the odd woman out, then.
“They did, for Phillipa Montgomery was visiting London at the time of the murder.”
Celeste searched his face a bit closer. “You count them both as suspects, don’t you?”
He arched a brow. “What makes you say that?”
“I heard it in your voice.”
“You know me so well after so short an acquaintance?” he asked. “Or are you simply that observant?”
Celeste ignored those loaded questions. “Why do you suspect them?”
“Both were in London. In fact, Phillipa Montgomery was in Town rather unexpectedly,” he said. “And while both expressed surprise to hear the news about Montgomery’s behavior, that could have easily been pretended.”
“And we wives certainly have motive,” Celeste mused.
“Yes.”
“And what kind of woman is Phillipa?” she asked, mulling it all over in her mind.
“She was certainly the angriest of the three of you when she was told about Montgomery. She’s a fiery spirit and seems to feel the injustice of what was done most keenly.”
Celeste nodded. “I admit I’m very interested to meet them both. It seems we are markedly different people in temperament.”
“And in appearance. Abigail has dark hair, Phillipa blonde curls and you have those…” He cleared his throat. “…beautiful auburn locks.”
Her cheeks heated and she tried not to smile at the compliment. It was so rare that anyone told her she was pretty. It wasn’t something she valued all that highly, after all. She liked to be recognized for her mind, for her values. She had always chased away men who waxed poetic about her face. It had never sat right with her when Erasmus did so during their halfhearted courtship.
But something about the way this man said it landed very differently. In the center of her chest. Which was wrong, wasn’t it? She’d only just met him and she was supposed to be in mourning for a husband she had never loved and who had destroyed her world so carelessly.
“Why don’t we take a walk?” Owen said, smiling up as their plates were removed. “The rain has passed and the moon came out. It might do us both some good to take in a little fresh air.”
Celeste shifted. The idea of taking a walk in the moonlight with this man felt intimate and a little dangerous. But she also longed for it. “Very well.”
She rose and took the arm he offered. It was impossible not to be very aware of how strong that same arm was. She hadn’t touched him before, save for a few glances of his hand on hers. Under all those proper layers was a solid man, muscular. Why was her heart racing so fast?
She tried to draw a full breath as she allowed him to lead them from the inn. They walked down the lane together in the still, cool night, and she tried desperately not to tremble from being so near to him. She was no wanton—she didn’t want to display as such.
“Th-thank you for thinking of a walk,” she managed to croak out when the silence seemed to stretch out forever and become heavy.
“You looked troubled at the end of supper,” he explained softly, then glanced down at her. “What can I do?”
She almost laughed. The man seemed created to solve problems. Put others at ease. It was very attractive, of course. Too attractive, just like everything else about him.
“I suppose I cannot lie and say I’m not troubled. I’m only trying to picture how this will all work…and I’m afraid I’m failing,” she said with a sigh as she broke away from him so she could think more clearly. “It’s such an untenable situation. I am a widow…except I’m not, because my marriage was never real. Am I expected to wear black and give a proper time of mourning? To gnash my teeth and display some emotional breakdown? Where do I stand anymore?”
“Do you feel sorry he is gone?” Owen asked.
She pivoted to face him and swallowed hard. Would he judge her for what she was about to say? “I’m sorry he was murdered. That is a terrible thing. But I will not miss him, if that is what you mean. We were practically strangers and I resented him every moment he was my husband.” She threw up her hands. “I have no idea about my place in this world now.”
She heard the wavering of her voice, felt the edge of tears sting her eyes. She moved to hide it, but it was too late. Owen had seen through her, and he caught her hand and drew her back toward him before she could escape. She staggered a little
and he caught her elbows, drawing her tighter to his chest to steady her.
She found herself staring up at him, haloed in moonlight, that handsome face not lit with a smile at present, not warm with comfort, but dark with something else. Something that called to the same in her. Made her want things she shouldn’t. Not with a stranger. Not in this horrible, twisted moment in time.
She ought to have pulled away. She didn’t. She stood there as his lips parted and he let out a low, ragged exhale. He wanted her. She knew it in that moment in a way she’d never felt with any other man before. He wanted her even though they’d only just met and he’d come to blow her world to smithereens.
She wanted him too. Perhaps because he was so solid. Perhaps because he didn’t really know her. Perhaps because she just wanted something nice or to steal a moment for herself. Why not? Everything was ruined anyway.
She lifted on her tiptoes, flattening her palms on his chest as she tilted her head and brushed her lips to his. She kissed him as he stood there, perfectly still, then less than perfectly still as his mouth moved just a fraction beneath hers. She felt the power of him. The strength that he held back as he captured her forearms in his hands.
And pushed her away gently.
“I’m sorry, Celeste,” he murmured.
Her heart sank and blood rushed to heat her cheeks as she pulled from his grip. “I should say those words, not you. I ought not to have done that.”
There was a long pause, as if he were contemplating that thought. Then he caught her hands in his, squeezing gently in what she supposed was meant to be a gesture of soothing or support. Instead it just made her want…well, she wanted a great deal more than a truncated kiss.
“Celeste, you are compromised by everything that has happened in the last day and a half.” He sighed. “You aren’t in any position to make decisions when it comes to kissing practical strangers in the moonlight. You might regret doing so soon enough and I wouldn’t want that to be another disappointment you pile on all the others.”
She blinked. Her world had always been filled with men who thought little about what was best for her. Her father had always danced to her mother’s tune. And Erasmus clearly had never had her best interest at heart to put her in this untenable position.
And yet this man, this stranger…he stared down into her eyes and offered her protection. Even from herself.
“I might not have regretted it,” she whispered.
He swallowed and she saw his throat work hard with the motion. His pupils were dilated, and for a moment she thought he might throw caution and reason to the wind and just kiss her all over again. But instead he stepped away, a very long step, indeed.
“We have a long day tomorrow,” he said, his voice rough. “I think it might be best if I take you back inside.”
She nodded even though that wasn’t what felt best at present. Her mind was a cauldron of fear and anger, and his lips against hers had been the only thing to make it stop churning. Only he was making it very clear that this wasn’t what he wished to do.
So she resigned herself to that fact and followed him back into the inn. But she wasn’t going to stop thinking about what could have been. Not for a long time.
Chapter 6
Celeste didn’t know what she had expected of London. She’d seen drawings and paintings of it all her life, she’d dreamed of coming here from the little village and pictured what her life as a city lady would be like. But now that the buildings rose up all on all sides of the wobbling carriage and the people and vehicles bustled around her, she was overwhelmed to say the least. Perhaps it would have been easier had she had a person to talk to about all she was seeing and feeling, but Mabel had never been to London either, and Owen…
Well, Owen had ridden outside all day, thanks to the sunnier weather. Or at least that’s what he’d said that morning when he didn’t join them. He hadn’t talked to her about their kiss, he hadn’t acted as though anything was different between them at all. Perhaps he meant that as a kindness. A way for her not to feel badly about her thwarted attempt.
It didn’t work because now he was back to being a near stranger who had been sent to give her bad news. Her world felt a little…emptier for it.
They pulled through a high iron gate and up to a fine townhouse across from a park. She watched Owen swing down and speak to the footman who approached from the steps. The man nodded and then stepped away.
“Oh, gracious, Mabel,” she whispered as she clung to her maid’s hand. “Here he comes and I have no idea what to expect.”
“Hope for the best,” Mabel whispered. “So far he hasn’t seemed the worst of men.”
“No, he’s certainly not that,” Celeste murmured back, thinking of the faint taste of sherry on his lips when she kissed him.
The door to the carriage opened and Owen ducked his head in, giving them both a brief smile. “I wanted to be the one to escort you ladies from the carriage so that I could tell you more about where we are.”
There was something…nervous about his demeanor as he spoke, and Celeste’s hands began to shake as a response. “And where are we?”
“This is Montgomery’s London home,” he explained, and held her gaze steadily as if he could support her through this. “The one he shared with his first wife.”
“Abigail,” she whispered. Somehow she breathed when it felt like she was being dunked under water. “Are you telling me we’re about to call on one of the other wives?”
Owen had already decided that Celeste had a strength like steel that made her steady, but now he was seeing it in action. Her fear, her anxiety, was clear all over her face, but her voice was calm. Her back was straight. She was ready to face a gauntlet if need be. He certainly hoped that would not be the case.
If it were, he intended to face it with her.
“Do I look well?” she asked, glancing first to him, then to Mabel, then back again.
“Beautiful,” Mabel said.
He swallowed hard, for that was a loaded question if there ever was one. “I assure you, not a person could find fault with your appearance.”
She let her breath come out softly. “That’s the best I can hope for. I’m ready.”
She held out a trembling hand and he caught it, squeezing it gently before he helped her from the rig, then did the same for Mabel. Celeste smoothed her skirts as she looked up at the house. She pressed her lips tight with displeasure.
“It’s very pretty,” she said softly. “Especially in comparison to my hovel.”
Owen tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. He tried not to think of the previous night when her body had leaned into his. At how her eyes had shone like diamonds when she stared into his face in the moonlight. How soft her lips were, even briefly.
“The man was an arse,” he choked out. “Don’t forget it.”
A flutter of a smile was his reward. “I won’t. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”
The door opened as they crested the stairs and a stern-looking butler appeared from the house. “Mr. Gregory,” he said. “They are waiting for you.”
“Very good,” Owen said. “Thank you, Paisley.”
The butler inclined his head, even as he shot a glance at Celeste. She shifted against Owen’s side and when he looked at her, her cheeks were bright pink. How he wished he could spare her this humiliation. But Montgomery had set this in motion for a long time. It had to play out if any of these women were to come to the other side of it.
Mabel was directed away to have a cup of tea in the servants’ hall. Celeste sent her maid one forlorn look, but she didn’t argue as they followed Paisley down the hall and he stopped at a parlor door, which he opened and stepped into, blocking the view of the interior of the room. “Mrs. Montgomery, Mr. Gregory is here with…with…”
“Mrs. Montgomery,” came a soft, gentle voice from within. “We mustn’t mince words, dear Paisley. Mr. Gregory is here with the third Mrs. Montgomery. Please show them in.”
&nbs
p; The butler stepped aside, and Owen allowed Celeste through the door first. She caught her breath and so did he. Abigail Montgomery stood before the sideboard, sleek dark hair pulled back from her face and equally dark eyes sweeping over Celeste as she made her entrance. She was not alone in the room. The second Mrs. Montgomery, Phillipa, stood at the fireplace, blonde curls straining to break free from her own chignon and green eyes flitting over Celeste.
Before the settee were two gentlemen, Owen’s employers. Erasmus Montgomery’s older brother, the Earl of Leighton, and the man who had set this entire nightmare off, the Duke of Gilmore.
Owen leaned in to Celeste, feeling her warmth, and God help him, he wished he could sweep her up and carry her away from all this. He didn’t.
“You’ll be fine,” he breathed, and felt her press into him a little closer before she broke free. He hoped that would be true. He hoped it could be true because Celeste didn’t deserve more heartache than she had already encountered.
But there was no way for him to protect her now.
“G-good afternoon,” Celeste murmured, her gaze flitting from one face to the next because she wasn’t certain where to look in this room full of strangers, whether they be potential enemies or friends.
But the dark-haired lady at the sideboard didn’t hesitate. She rushed across the room, hands outstretched in greeting. “Mrs. Montgomery.” Then she glanced at the other woman, who was already coming across the room. “This is going to get very confusing, isn’t it? I am Abigail Montgomery. Missus the first.”
“Phillipa,” said the blonde as she reached Celeste’s side and gave her a sad but kind smile. “The second. But call me Pippa, everyone does.”
“Celeste, the third,” Celeste sighed. Suddenly her exhaustion felt overwhelming, perhaps because she saw it mirrored on the expressions of the other two women. Only they would know how all this felt. Only they could have an inkling the fear, the humiliation and the regret of it all.
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