“Yes, he was,” both Abigail and Pippa said together.
Ignoring the flare of jealousy that worked through her at that statement, Celeste continued, “He has done nothing but try to set me at ease. He is very intelligent and observant, and I think driven to do his duty.”
“And he’s very handsome,” Abigail said with a tiny smile. “You didn’t add it, but it’s clear you think it.”
Celeste’s eyes went wide. “I—he—” She gathered herself as best she could. “The gentleman is attractive. There is no denying it, for it is fact. I noted it, of course. But it isn’t a factor in this situation, is it? Erasmus was handsome, after all, and it didn’t make him decent or good or true. Mr. Gregory’s looks will not change his ultimate actions.”
Pippa stifled a smile into her cup as she finished her tea before she said, “No need to get ruffled, my dear. As you say, Mr. Gregory will determine the answers in the end.” Her smile fell. “There will likely be no stopping him.”
Abigail sighed. “Yes. Now I’m certain poor Celeste must be exhausted after the last two days on the road. May I show you to your room? We will have plenty of time to get to know each other over supper. And I’d like to discuss anything but the wicked Erasmus Montgomery. We are more than our wayward husband, ladies. We always have been, and by God we will be again.”
There was something about the way Abigail declared it that made Celeste believe it could be true. So as she followed her hostess and Pippa from the room to find her chamber, she chose to go with that feeling. Because it was hope. And hope was what she needed to carry on with whatever would happen next.
Owen hadn’t been surprised to arrive home to a missive from the Duke of Gilmore demanding he join him at his home for supper. He hadn’t even been surprised that the Earl of Leighton was also in attendance when he arrived. The two men, after all, were splitting the bill for his services. Gilmore because Owen had uncovered the truth about Montgomery’s marriages. Leighton because he claimed to wish to discover who had struck his half-brother down.
What he was surprised about was how untroubled the men seemed to be when he joined them in Gilmore’s parlor.
“Mr. Gregory,” Gilmore said as he gestured him into the room with a nod for his butler. “Good to see you again. Would you like a drink?”
“Is that whisky?” Owen asked, as he stared at the drink in the duke’s hand.
“It is. I have property in Scotland and there may or may not be a still on the land. I suppose as a man of the law, you disapprove the smuggling of such contraband?”
“Not at all,” Owen said with a smile. “I’ve always enjoyed a good whisky when I can get it. I’ll have the same.”
As Gilmore poured, Leighton shook his head. “And so what do you think of the threesome of ladies my brother treated so callously?”
Owen took the drink offered to him and sipped it slowly, both to savor the flavor and also to consider what to say next. Leighton’s disgust with Montgomery had been clear from the start. Owen knew the two had not been close—they had different mothers and very different attitudes, and that had clearly put a wedge between them.
But was Erasmus Montgomery’s behavior troublesome enough to the earl that he might snuff out his own kin?
“I’d be more curious about your thoughts, my lord, Your Grace,” Owen said at last.
Gilmore snorted out a laugh. “I’m sure you would, since you obviously still suspect both of us in the bastard’s murder.”
Owen inclined his head apologetically. “This is the duty I have been hired to fulfill. I would be remiss if I didn’t consider all angles. At any rate, you two have likely spent more time with at least the first and second Mrs. Montgomerys.”
“We’re using Christian names, aren’t we? I don’t want to spend every moment we’re talking trying to determine which woman we’re discussing,” Gilmore asked.
“That seems the wisest,” Owen agreed, and tried not to think of the way the name Celeste tasted on his tongue. “What about Abigail?”
Leighton opened his mouth to speak, but Gilmore slammed his glass down on the sideboard before he could speak. “That woman,” he grunted. “All accusation and glares and trying to make me feel guilty about protecting my own flesh and blood. Beautiful as she is, she is mightily unpleasant, and I will be very glad when this is all over and I never have to see that troublesome sprite again.”
The earl stared at his friend a moment. “Are you finished?”
Gilmore grunted and downed the remainder of his drink before he poured another. “Quite.”
Leighton shrugged at Owen as if to apologize for the outburst. “Abigail is the only wife I met before this unpleasantness. Ras married her nearly five years ago, and though my brother and I were strained even then, I found no fault in her.”
“No fault,” Gilmore snorted.
Owen glanced at him from the corner of his eye. As much as he groused and as much as he and Abigail butted heads, there was something in the man’s eyes when he talked about her that indicated he felt something more for the lady than just frustration and disdain. Which was an interesting development, indeed. One he would have to keep an eye on as it could ultimately affect his case.
“If you think so low of the woman, do you suspect her of having a part in the murder?” Owen pressed.
Gilmore’s eyes widened. “No, of course not. The woman may be a fly in the ointment, but she could not be a killer. She wouldn’t do such a thing.”
Owen held his stare for a moment. Gilmore was as passionate about defending Abigail as he seemed to be about his complaints regarding her.
“And what about Phillipa?” Owen pressed, so they wouldn’t become mired down in whatever was in Gilmore’s head. He marked it, of course. He would watch them more carefully together.
“She seems a decent enough lady,” Gilmore said, all his ire gone with the change of subject.
Leighton shifted. “I-I did not know her, of course, before this all began. But in the short time we’ve been acquainted, I have found her to be very…very pleasant.”
“What do you think of her traveling to London from Bath, more than a day’s travel, just before your brother’s death?” Owen pressed.
Leighton’s brow furrowed and his fingers gripped a little tighter on his glass. “She has explained it, has she not? She said that she had been trying to reach my brother for months and he had not replied. Her coming was a way to determine his health and well-being.”
Another interesting defense of one of the wives. It seemed each lady had her champion.
“And what about Celeste?” Leighton asked.
“Yes,” Gilmore added. “You spent time with her on the road, you are likely the best source of information regarding her.
Owen shifted, not wanting to reveal his attraction to the men as they had done to him. “I do not suspect her,” he said. “She has a strong alibi for her location during the murder. As for her character, like all the wives she is a strong woman.” He didn’t add he thought her the strongest of them all. That would certainly reveal too much.
“Then it seems there has been little advancement to the case,” Gilmore said with a heavy sigh. “I would surely like for this whole mess to be over.”
“You and me both,” Leighton said. “The scandal is already brewing, there is no way to keep this kind of nightmare from the ears of the ton.”
“Yes, I realize it is not easy,” Owen said.
“What can we do to help?” Leighton asked. “I want a part in this. For my family’s sake, as well as for the sake of my honor.”
“Yes,” Gilmore added. “I would like to contribute more than simply my money.”
Owen set his jaw. Normally he wouldn’t allow anyone to come near his case, let alone two of its prime suspects. But the more he allowed them near, the more closely he could observe them together, with the women and individually.
“Well, I say we all call on the ladies again tomorrow,” he suggested. “And we can cont
inue trying to parse out exactly what to do next.”
“Excellent,” Gilmore said, and both he and Leighton looked relieved by the idea. “And now I see my servant motioning, so that must mean our supper is ready. Gentlemen?”
Owen followed the men into the dining room, and he should have been thinking about his next move. About whatever subtle thing he could do to read these men and their intentions and motives more clearly.
But instead he found himself thinking of Celeste. And wondering what would happen to her when the smoke had cleared and everyone’s lives had moved on.
Chapter 8
Celeste smoothed her skirt for what felt like the tenth time since she’d stopped before the parlor door. Owen was behind it. Mabel had told her that a moment ago, and also that the gentleman was as of yet alone. Her heart throbbed, her hands shook, both against her will, as she opened the door and stepped inside.
He was standing at the fireplace and turned as the door opened. She caught her breath as he smiled, that broad, welcoming expression that popped the dimple in his cheek and made her want to move toward him.
Made her want to repeat that kiss that should never have happened in the first place. She wanted to cling to those solid shoulders and pretend like it wasn’t wanton or foolish or desperate to do so.
“Good morning, Celeste,” he said as he crossed to the room. His hand flexed at his side as if he might want to reach for her, but he had more self-control than she did.
“Good morning.” Oh, how she wished she didn’t sound so breathless. “It is just you, then?”
“The earl and the duke will arrive shortly,” he said with another quick smile. “They can afford to be fashionably late, while I am forever early, I’m afraid. On time is behind schedule for me.”
“I am the same,” she said. “And so I was up with the sun, ready before nine and pacing the halls like a fool while the other ladies slept.”
He tilted his head. “The other ladies. And how did you find them?”
She moved a little closer and clasped her hands together. “Oh, Owen, they were wonderful. Both of them are so lovely. We talked about the situation we find ourselves in, of course. But then at supper we talked about books and music and the state of the world. We have so much in common, and that which is different is interesting, rather than something that pushes us apart.”
Now he did reach for her, and squeezed her hand gently. “I am very glad for it. I admit I was nervous when I left you last night.”
“Why?” she asked, trying not to focus on the weight of his fingers as they tangled through hers.
He tilted his head. “I blew up your life and I brought you here. I feel a keen sense of responsibility for you. From what I knew of the ladies, I believed you might connect and develop a friendship with them both, but there was always the possibility that it could go wrong.”
“And so you laid awake all night, worrying yourself over me like a mother hen?” she asked.
His pupils dilated. “If I lay awake at night, Celeste, it isn’t motherly thoughts that plague my mind.”
She caught her breath, but before anything could escalate in that charged moment, he released her hand and paced away, his smile replaced with a frown as he ran a hand through his hair.
“I…er…I did make some observations that could be useful to you,” she said, trying to bring him back to her in some way.
It worked, for he turned back, but instead of pressing her to share what she’d learned, he glanced at the door. “I think it might be better to share those thoughts later, when we’re alone.”
Just as he finished the sentence, Paisley announced the arrival of the Duke of Gilmore and the Earl of Leighton. By the time they entered and everyone said their good mornings, Abigail and Pippa had also joined the fray. Owen stepped away, but even when he did, it didn’t change the fact that he’d said they would be alone together later.
Celeste thrilled at the thought, even if she didn’t understand how that would work in the slightest. Not that she had time to ponder it. Abigail directed everyone to sit and casual small talk faded away to something more purposeful when the Duke of Gilmore said, “We cannot avoid discussing the murder of Mr. Montgomery, can we?”
Abigail rolled her eyes. “Trust in you to make things unpleasant.”
“What is unpleasant, madam, is ignoring a difficulty just because it’s not easy,” he snapped in return.
For a moment the two of them glared at each other, then Abigail folded her arms. “I don’t think anyone believes we can ignore anything, Your Grace,” she said. “Though in truth, I don’t know what part you have to play here. Pippa, Celeste and I are affected by Ras’s lies because we are the victims of them. Lord Leighton, as well, will be directly damaged by the scandal that will come.”
“Has already come,” the earl said.
Abigail ignored him. “But why, exactly, do you insist on remaining part of this tale of woe and ruin? Is it only the enjoyment you receive from watching us all fall?”
Celeste nearly choked at the pointed accusation and the fact that the duke’s cheeks were flaring a dark red. But Abigail seemed unafraid, despite the fact that the man had power and could likely squash her like a bug if he desired. Celeste couldn’t help feeling envious of how certain Abigail was in that moment. How unaffected.
“I involve myself because the man was trying to make a victim out of my sister,” he said through what sounded like clenched teeth. “And because I know I set in motion a series of events that will cause pain and ruin both to my friend, the Earl of Leighton, and to you ladies. So I feel a responsibility to help resolve the issue in whatever way I can.”
Abigail drew back at that statement. “Oh,” she said.
Leighton raised a hand. “You two can argue about how little you think of each other later. We have a limited amount of time to spend as a group, and I think we’d better use it by discussing the very scandal you are debating.”
Celeste glanced at him. “How bad is it?” she asked softly.
Leighton exchanged a look with Gilmore and then sighed. “I brought this morning’s paper.” He pulled it from his inner pocket and smoothed it on the table between them. “The story is on the second page. Not on a gossip sheet, not a blind item…it is listed as fact and details are given.”
Celeste leaned in and read aloud where he indicated. “The Honorable Erasmus Montgomery, brother to the Earl of Leighton, was recently murdered. Speculation is that the nature of his untimely death could be due to his questionable actions. Montgomery was discovered to be a bigamist.”
She lifted her gaze and stared at Owen. “It lists our names. It lists the names of our families and where they live.”
“Names? Let me see,” Pippa gasped, and edged in a little. The way she snatched the paper to read the horrible black-and-white truth herself made Celeste look a little closer.
But her own emotions overwhelmed her before she could glean much about Pippa’s thoughts. Celeste got up and paced away to the window. She stared outside as the group behind her began to talk all at once. The words faded into a mindless noise behind her, and that left her with only her thoughts buzzing in her mind.
Erasmus’s death had given her…hope, as morbid as that was. Coming to London, she had pictured that she might be able to make a life here. A small life, perhaps, but a life of her own at last.
But the whispers that had likely been filtering through higher society since Erasmus’s murder would now become screams in all corners of London thanks to the news going public. Her name was now associated, maiden or married. And she might never be accepted in any way, not in high company nor low.
She realized someone was saying her name. It pierced through her desperate fog. She turned and found the group staring at her. Owen had stood and moved a step in her direction, but it was Abigail who was saying her name.
“Celeste?” she repeated, and this time it didn’t sound like it was coming from under water.
“I-I need a
moment—” she stammered, and stumbled for the door. Abigail said her name again, but she ignored it. After all, there was nothing anyone could say now that could change the truth…or the future.
Owen watched Celeste stagger from the room, and his heart ached in his chest to see her in such pain. To not be able to soothe it, even though he so desperately, foolishly wanted to do just that.
Abigail scrambled to follow, but he held up a hand. “Let me.”
The room at large stared at him and he shifted beneath their now-focused regard. He was showing his hand. Revealing himself in a way he didn’t do. He’d trained himself not to do it over the years when he worked on a case.
But something in Celeste broke all that. In that moment, at least, he didn’t care what they saw or what they thought. She was more important.
He scowled at the questioning faces and stalked from the room, twisting and turning through the halls, looking for her in each open room. At last he came to the back of the house and a large drawing room there. She wasn’t inside, but he saw the door that connected to the terrace was open within. He slipped through it and there she was, standing with her fists gripped on the stone wall of the balcony, face turned toward the sunlight, eyes closed.
When he got closer, he realized a tear slid down her cheek, and he caught his breath as he reached for her. “Celeste.”
She opened her eyes but kept her face upturned and away from his. “You don’t owe me tenderness, you know,” she whispered in a broken tone. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“I’m not counting debt,” he said as he turned her gently. She looked up into his face for a moment and then rested her forehead against his chest. He folded his arms around her and held her.
They stood there for a lifetime, with her breath coming short, her hands clenching and unclenching against his chest, him smoothing her hair. At last she seemed to calm herself and she lifted her face to his again.
The last time she’d done this, she’d kissed him. He’d been able to rein in control over himself then. Now he wasn’t certain he could do the same. He wanted so desperately to offer her nothing more than comfort. He didn’t want to let the deeper, darker desires he felt for her overtake his moment. But when he moved to pull away, to distance himself from her, she tugged him closer.
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