The Unexpected Wife

by Jess Michaels

  The duke pursed his lips and then sighed. “I apologize, Mr. Gregory. I ought not to have been so childish as to hide from you like that. I was embarrassed about being caught staring at Montgomery’s home and I did not act my best. Perhaps you’d like to walk with me a moment and we can talk.”

  Owen recognized the man had not yet answered his question about why he’d been in the park hiding behind trees, but for the moment he set that aside. “Of course, Your Grace. I could use the exercise.”

  They walked into the park as the lamplighters began their early evening work. For a moment, the duke was quiet and Owen didn’t push him to speak. He would when he desired to do so, it seemed. At the moment, he was getting enough from observing the other man’s demeanor. His tight shoulders, his pursed lips.

  Gilmore was troubled.

  “I…I hate myself for not protecting Ophelia,” Gilmore said at last. “My sister.”

  Owen lifted his brows. “Though I don’t have siblings of my own, I can see how troublesome all this could have been for you. But you did protect her. She didn’t marry Montgomery, after all.”

  The duke let out a long sigh. “I suppose not, but she came close enough to make it uncomfortable. I should have been more involved. She’s always been…wild…and I should have been paying closer attention. Then all this mess could have been avoided, all this pain for people I know and care for.”

  “I’m not sure that’s true.”

  Gilmore glanced at him, his eyes wide, as if he were shocked someone would dare disagree with him. Owen had the impression it was rarely done. “What do you mean?”

  “Perhaps it would have been delayed a bit,” Owen said. “But the truth of Montgomery’s duplicity would have come out eventually. It is too big a secret for a man like that to manage forever. The pain would have still come.”

  “I suppose that’s true. But I don’t like being the architect of it regardless.” Gilmore huffed out a breath of frustration. “Dastardly wicked business, this.”

  “I agree.” He was careful about his tone as he asked, “Where is your sister at present?”

  Gilmore jerked his gaze to Owen. “Why do you ask?”

  Owen stopped in the path. “My duty now is to investigate what happened to Montgomery. I have curiosity about all the players in his final days and weeks on this earth.”

  Gilmore shook his head. “My sister isn’t a killer. Even if she wished to be, she wasn’t in Town to do such a thing. As soon as I realized what was afoot, I had her spirited away to my estate in Cornwall. She is far, far away, Mr. Gregory, and will remain there.”

  “She must have been grieved to know the man she thought she loved enough to marry was untrue,” Owen said.

  “She’s young,” Gilmore muttered. “So very young. And she feels deeply. So yes, she is heartbroken, indeed.”

  “I’m sorry for it.”

  Gilmore cleared his throat. “You must think me a great fool for not knowing what was happening in my own house. Especially since the man involved was brother to one of my closest friends. A man I grew up with off and on.”

  Owen nodded. “I admit the question has crossed my mind.”

  There was a long pause before Gilmore spoke again. “What you must understand is that though I had a passing acquaintance to Montgomery when we were children, we were never close. He and Leighton were always at odds and were often kept from each other. When Leighton inherited the title, he cut his brother off and I hadn’t seen the man since an ugly encounter more than three years ago. When I thought of him, which wasn’t often, I always assumed he was simply living his life in London.”

  “But when you discovered your sister was secretly involving herself with someone, didn’t the name tip you off?” Owen pressed.

  “The secret was the problem,” Gilmore said with a heavy sigh. “I knew there was an interested party and that he could not be a man of honor because he was sneaking around, violating the bounds of propriety in order to see Ophelia alone.”

  The way Gilmore’s jaw clenched did not alleviate any of Owen’s suspicions about him. In that moment, the duke looked like he could kill.

  “And that was when you hired me,” Owen said.

  “Yes.” Gilmore shook his head. “God’s teeth, this is nothing but horrific. When you told me it was Erasmus Montgomery and that there were other brides…it became clear that the man was a bigamist. It’s too much. I despise Montgomery with every fiber of my being.”

  “Enough to kill?” Owen asked softly.

  Gilmore turned on him and their eyes locked. “I wanted him dead, yes. But I never would have killed him. There were ways to deal with this problem without it being public but murder certainly wasn’t one of them.” He shook his head. “To cause harm to my sister, to my friends…to Abigail and the other wives? I despise it to my very core.”

  Owen examined his companion more closely. He’d learned over the years that there were pieces of evidence that proved and disproved, unadulterated facts that could be measured and shown to others. And then there were the kinds of feelings that he had learned to trust in himself. He’d trained himself to see lies, to see pretended emotions.

  When he looked at Gilmore, he saw nothing disingenuous. He believed the duke. And the fact that the man had brought him along to confront Montgomery the night they found his body also was a point in his favor.

  So although he couldn’t dismiss Gilmore completely, Owen wiped his name from the top of his list of suspects and felt comfortable with doing so. Which meant he could focus on other topics that the man might assist with.

  “Leighton mentioned an earlier love of Montgomery’s. A barmaid? Since you were acquainted with the family, do you recall anything about her?”

  Gilmore nodded. “I think I remember something of the scandal, yes. Our fathers were friends, you know. I’m certain they must have spoken about it. Would you like me to seek out the late duke’s diaries and correspondence and see if I can uncover any facts of that situation?”

  “That would be very helpful, yes,” Owen said.

  “Very good.” They had almost completed a full circle around the small park, and Gilmore stopped just at the gate where Owen had first seen him. “Then I will say my farewells, Mr. Gregory. Unless you have further inquiries.”

  Owen stepped closer. “I realize you never answered my initial question, Your Grace. Why were you here tonight?”

  Gilmore glanced up at the house across the street again, and Owen followed his gaze. The duke was looking at the front window of the Montgomery home. With the gathering dusk, the lamps had been lit within, and Owen could see Abigail standing at the window, turned in profile, laughing at something another unseen person in the room had said.

  “No reason,” Gilmore said, his voice rougher. “Just idly passing by. Good evening, sir.”

  Owen didn’t believe him, but he tipped his head regardless. If Gilmore had his secrets, they didn’t seem directly linked to the murder. Owen had too many of his own entanglements with one of the three Mrs. Montgomerys to question anyone else’s, unless that connection led to information that might help solve his case.

  So he said nothing else as Gilmore strode from the park and down the street away from the Montgomery residence and the alluring ladies inside.

  Celeste stared at her plate, filled to the brim with delicious venison and perfectly roasted potatoes and carrots. Even though she’d eaten very little that day, she didn’t find herself hungry. Probably because her mind and body were distracted by other things. Like the memory of Owen’s hands and mouth on her, doing such wicked things that—

  “And so what did you and Mr. Gregory do this afternoon?” Pippa’s voice pierced through Celeste’s wicked thoughts, and she blinked as she was brought back to the room and her two friends within it.

  She swallowed. “Just…drove around a while,” she said, and it wasn’t exactly a lie.

  From the head of the table, Abigail arched a brow, and Celeste felt speared in place by the poi
nted look. “Very interesting. Where did you drive to?”

  Celeste cleared her throat and set her fork down. “To the…parks…” she muttered.

  Abigail smiled and it softened her expression. “Oh yes, the parks. Any one in particular?”

  There was no answer. The name of every park in London fled from Celeste’s mind in that moment, leaving only a blank space. “Er, I…we…it was…”

  “Oh dear, you are turning the color of a plum,” Abigail said. “Please don’t feel like you have to hurt yourself coming up with some falsehood. You owe us no explanations and I fear my teasing has gone too far.”

  “It’s not a falsehood—”

  Abigail arched a brow. “My dear, your hair is different.”

  Pippa stared at her. “It is. Oh, it’s very pretty.”

  “Thank you,” Celeste muttered, and then covered her face with her hands. “Oh, trust you to be so observant, Abigail.”

  “It is what I do,” Abigail said, not at all apologetically. “Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t say a word. But we are friends, I think.”

  Celeste lifted her gaze and looked at the two women. “Yes,” she said softly. “We are friends. A strange thought considering what we all went through. Society must assume we would be at each other’s throats.”

  Pippa shrugged. “Perhaps, but who cares what they believe? There is no reason in the world for me to be angry at you or Abigail for Ras’s actions. He is the guilty party, not any of us.”

  Abigail nodded. “Well put, my dear. We are a sisterhood created by his duplicity. And if my sister were to…say…go out with a gentleman in the afternoon with her hair in one sort of twist and come back in the evening with it in another, I would lean on the table with my elbows and ask her to tell me all about what she was up to today.”

  “Oh, dear,” Celeste whispered.

  “Not to judge you,” Pippa said swiftly. “I don’t think either of us want to do that.”

  “Lord no!” Abigail agreed. “I want to know because this entire situation is untenable and I would like to know that one of us, at least, is getting some kind of amusement out of it. Especially considering our conversation before you left with Mr. Gregory this morning.”

  Celeste sighed. There was not going to be any getting around this, it seemed. And even if there was, she found she didn’t want to. What she had experienced was so different than what she’d ever felt before. She needed to talk about it.

  “Very well. Owen and I intended to go to a museum, but instead we went back to his home and we…” Her cheeks felt so hot she feared she might melt right into the floor without another word. “We did exactly what you think we did. I’m a widow…sort of. I’m allowed to do this kind of thing, aren’t I?”

  “I think you are allowed, widow or not,” Pippa said. “The constraints around a woman’s modesty and pleasure are ways we are kept in line by the worst of men.” She leaned a little closer. “How was it?”

  Abigail was leaning nearer too, and Celeste laughed at their excited, pensive faces. They were truly engrossed. “It was…lovely. Wonderful. I’ve never felt anything like it, truthfully. You know how Erasmus was. When he took me to bed, it was like a chore that had to be fulfilled.”

  Abigail and Pippa exchanged a look, brief but meaningful, and Celeste’s brow wrinkled. “Was it…was it not like that for you with him?”

  There was a long and very uncomfortable silence, and Celeste could see neither of them wanted to be the one to answer first. She folded her arms. “Am I to be the only fool who reveals herself?”

  “Erasmus and I married a long time ago, five years past now,” Abigail began slowly. “And at first he was very attentive. I learned about pleasure and I enjoyed what we shared. It was only after his brother cut him off that things changed. I suppose around the time he began his attempts to find other brides, other fortunes to raid with his lies.”

  Celeste blinked. “But he…wanted you.” Abigail nodded, and Celeste’s gaze slipped to Pippa. “And you?”

  Pippa worried her lip, and Celeste knew the answer before she even spoke. “He was trying to seduce me even before we wed,” she whispered. “And for the first year was extremely…passionate.”

  Celeste’s throat felt like it was closing at this news. “Oh.”

  Abigail pushed her chair closer and caught Celeste’s hand. “It was never real, though. I think that’s very clear, isn’t it? If he made more of an effort to pretend affection or connection to me or to Pippa, it only indicates his level of desperation, not anything about you.”

  Celeste bent her head. “I didn’t want to marry him. I should not care that he wasn’t driven to touch me. I shouldn’t care.”

  “But you do,” Pippa whispered. “And that’s fine.”

  “You shouldn’t judge yourself for it, though,” Abigail added. “After all, you’re saying you and Mr. Gregory were…together today. He is twice the man Ras was and he clearly wants you to distraction.”

  “It’s written all over his face when he looks at you,” Pippa agreed. “I would much rather have that kind of regard from a decent man like him than interest from a lying charlatan like Erasmus Montgomery.”

  The heat to her voice made Celeste look at her a little closer. Owen suspected Pippa still. It was hard not to mark her words as a piece of evidence against her, even if Celeste only wished to be comforted by them.

  “I suppose you’re right,” she said, shoving those difficult thoughts away. “Owen is a far superior man. And he…”

  When she trailed off, Abigail squeezed her hand gently. “Don’t leave us in suspense—Pippa and I need a good romantic tale.”

  “A steamy tale,” Pippa corrected.

  Celeste laughed. “I will only say that he pleased me more than I could have ever expected. Ever hoped for. He made me feel things…” Her cheeks grew hot again. “I never knew a man’s touch could be like that. Or that I could want it more and more.”

  “So are you two…what is your relationship? Is he a protector? A fiancé?” Pippa asked.

  Celeste worried her lip. “I think we’re just lovers. I cannot imagine trusting my heart to a man. I never did with Erasmus, of course, but I know the fact that you both…did…has hurt you even more.”

  Abigail flinched slightly, and Pippa let out a sigh. “We all have our pasts to grapple with. And futures to try to see clear. And guarding your heart does seem wise.”

  “Very wise,” Abigail agreed. “We must think like men. We can trifle and have our fun, but perhaps not open ourselves to something deeper. And now, perhaps we should speak on something less shocking. Poor Celeste’s cheeks will burn off if she blushes any hotter.”

  “Very well,” Pippa said with a laugh as she raised a wineglass to Celeste.

  Celeste was relieved when they changed the subject. Yet her mind still turned on what had been said. Guarding her heart did seem wise. But was she doing so?

  Or were these constant thoughts of Owen only bound to cause her grief in the end?

  Chapter 15

  Celeste sat before the fire in the sitting room, her needlepoint in hand, halfway through a stitch, and yet her thoughts were anywhere but in the room. Instead her mind was a jumble, both of good and negative thoughts, memories and fears. She had never trusted the future, after all, but now it just felt so foggy.

  “There you are!”

  She glanced up as Pippa entered the chamber, a wide smile on her pretty face. Her curly blond hair was just barely tamed today and ringlets swung around her cheeks.

  “Good morning,” Celeste said.

  “Will it trouble you if I play the pianoforte?” Pippa asked, motioning toward the instrument tucked into the corner of the room.

  “Not at all!” Celeste said. “I’m rubbish at it, I fear, but I love to hear others play.”

  Pippa smiled and took her place, resting her fingers on the keys with a contented sigh before she began to play. It was a rather melancholy song, but Celeste set her needlepoint asid
e and shut her eyes, allowing the music to permeate through her. It was such a relief.

  After a little while, she opened one eye and peeked at Pippa. She had not yet approached her to find out more about her involvement in Erasmus’s death. If she could do nothing else, at least she had to try to keep her promise to Owen.

  The fact that it would give her an excuse to see him was certainly not the reason. Not at all.

  “I was thinking about our conversation last night,” she began carefully.

  Pippa continued to play. “About?”

  “Erasmus.”

  There was a slightly mangled sound to the next few notes Pippa played, but she righted herself swiftly. “Erasmus, Erasmus, Erasmus. We three are certainly more interesting than just our ill-fated unions to one liar of a man. I do look forward to the day we don’t ever have to speak of him again.”

  “As do I. But so much is left unanswered yet.” Celeste shook her head. “Like his murder. And also if there were other women, perhaps even other wives.” A thought crossed her mind and her stomach turned. “What if there are children?”

  Pippa stopped playing abruptly. “None of us had children,” she snapped.

  Celeste’s brows went up at the harsh reaction. She treaded carefully as she continued, choosing her words wisely. “No, none of us three did. But in his desperation, it seems the man was not careful in any way. Why assume he would be with lovers he didn’t marry? There might be children.”

  Pippa began to play again, but her posture had changed. Her notes were more staccato and some were slightly off key. Celeste couldn’t help but mark all these things and pursue their reason if she could.

  “I was also thinking back to when the news of this first broke in the paper,” Celeste continued. “When our names were listed. That seemed to trouble you.”

  Pippa glanced at her over the instrument. “It troubled us all. A death knell to our individual futures, was it not? How could one not react?”

  “You wanted to see the names, if I recall,” Celeste said softly. “Pippa, were you looking for one in particular?”