“I don’t know,” Celeste said. Lied, for she knew that was very likely what he would do. It was his duty, after all. “The particulars still don’t make any sense. There might be more to this. Perhaps together we can figure it out.”
Pippa nodded slowly. “I would like to come with you.”
Celeste caught her breath. “You would?”
“Yes. Abigail is our friend, mine as much as yours. And three heads will be better than one.”
“Of course,” Celeste said, though she knew having Pippa there would perhaps limit how she could approach Owen. She would have to remain more professional. She would have to appeal to him without including pleas that had to do with her heart or his.
Perhaps that was better, though. Manipulating their relationship did not feel like the right thing to do, even if she wanted to do anything to save Abigail from her potential fate.
“Let us go now,” Celeste said. “The sooner we do so, the sooner we can figure this out.”
Pippa nodded. “Yes. I’ll fetch my wrap. You’ll gather both books?”
“Yes,” Celeste said, her voice suddenly rough as she stacked the books together.
Pippa said nothing else, but rushed from the room to collect herself. For a moment Celeste stared at the low fire that had begun to go out since the earlier part of the day when Abigail’s servants had set it.
Celeste could burn these books. She could burn up the evidence that might hurt her friend and convince Pippa to forget about it. Only it wouldn’t help, would it? She knew that Owen had already pointed his attention toward Abigail. Book or not, he would continue to follow that through until he knew the truth.
For the first time, she felt like they were working on opposite sides, and it stung her far more than it ever should have. But there were no choices now. She would have to stand before the man she…the man she loved. Because she did love Owen. Perhaps she had loved him from the beginning when he smiled at her and brought peace into her life that was like nothing she’d ever felt before.
She loved him and she would have to tell him what she knew. And then try to convince him that the evidence proved nothing.
Her stomach turned at the thought. But there was no avoiding it, so she stacked the books, steeled herself as best she could, and went to meet Pippa for their journey to the inevitable.
“You have a caller, Mr. Gregory.”
Owen lifted his head from his paperwork. “Who is it, Cookson?” he asked, and found himself hoping it was Celeste. Less than twelve hours since he’d seen her last and he already ached for her.
It was most distracting.
“The Duke of Gilmore, sir,” Cookson said.
Owen nodded as he got to his feet and smoothed his jacket. “Very good. Have him join me.”
The butler departed and returned a moment later with the duke. Once the formal announcements and bows had been made, Cookson left them and Gilmore reached back to partially close the study door.
“Drink?” Owen asked.
Gilmore shook his head. “No. I’m afraid I’m not here for idle conversation. I’ve taken the last few days to look through my father’s correspondence with Leighton’s father, as we discussed in the park.”
Owen nodded. “Yes. You were going to look for the name of Montgomery’s earlier lover. The one he was parted from as a young man.”
“Yes. Though I did find out about a great deal more than just that.”
“Regarding Montgomery?” Owen asked with a tilt of his head.
Gilmore’s lips thinned with disgust. “Indeed. It seems the late earl often complained about his younger son to my father. Montgomery was always up to his elbows in some scheme or another. Easy money, fast women and empty dreams were the man’s driving forces. And he didn’t seem to care who he hurt.”
Owen sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Well, that bad behavior clearly carried on after his father’s death. The kind of man who would so badly use women like Abigail, Phillipa and Celeste doesn’t happen in a vacuum.”
“That is certainly true.” Gilmore’s jaw set, his rage barely contained.
“Did you determine the first woman’s name, though?” Owen pressed.
“I did,” Gilmore said. “Forgive me from straying from the topic. Her name was Rosie Stanton. She worked at the Stag and Serpent, an old tavern in Cheapside that Montgomery used to frequent years ago. He did wish to marry her, it seems, a few years before he was…forced to take Abigail as his bride.” Gilmore’s lips thinned and he muttered, “Forced. As if she were some burden to be borne, as if it was her fault that he had what he wanted snatched away.”
Owen drew back a little at how angry Gilmore sounded. The situation was wrought, of course, but this rage seemed directed more at the cruelty toward Abigail, despite their apparent dislike for each other. “The ladies have been callously mistreated, yes,” he said softly.
Gilmore shook his head. “That is an understatement and we both know it. At any rate, my father encouraged the late earl to nip that desire in the bud, and the lovers were parted.”
“Christ,” Owen said, pacing away and running a hand through his hair. “A fourth woman. Fifth if you count Montgomery’s pursuit of your sister. It seems the man had no limits.”
“When were you going to tell me?”
Gilmore and Owen both turned toward the study door. Celeste stood there, Phillipa behind her. But all Owen could look at was Celeste. Her cheeks were pale and her gray-blue eyes were flashing with anger and upset. At him. It was the first time he’d ever seen those dark emotions directed at him.
“I’m so sorry, sir,” Cookson said as he eased his way past Celeste with a frown. “I did ask her to wait, but she insisted.”
“And very good that I did, for it allowed me a chance to overhear what I assume you never intended to tell me,” Celeste said as she entered the room and set a parcel she was carrying on the sideboard. “That there was yet another woman in Erasmus’s life.”
“Celeste, you don’t know that he intended to keep this from you,” Phillipa said as she grasped Celeste’s arm and squeezed gently. “You accuse without knowing the facts.”
“Yes, I was unaware of a great many facts,” Celeste said, without removing her gaze from Owen. “When did you intend to tell me about this woman, this Rosie Stanton?”
“Cookson, you may go,” Owen said.
The butler looked very pleased at that order and scurried away. Gilmore cleared his throat. “Perhaps I should also depart.”
“No,” Celeste said, turning her attention to the duke. “Do not trouble yourself, Your Grace. This is not a private conversation.”
Owen stepped forward. “Celeste—”
She took an equal step back. “How long have you known about this woman?”
“A few days,” he admitted.
Her face crumpled slightly, and for a moment she seemed to struggle to find breath. Her voice wavered as she said, “And you kept me in the dark.”
He flinched at the use of those words, identical to what she had confessed was so important to her. “I realize that you feel betrayed,” he began, but she shook her head.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He glanced around the room. Gilmore had become intensely interested in a miniature on his mantel and Phillipa was now pouring herself tea at the sideboard as if it took every ounce of her concentration to do so.
But even if they pretended, this entire conversation was still intimate. It still revealed too much about how close they had become. He shifted with discomfort before he whispered, “Because I didn’t want to hurt you.”
He hoped that would soften her. That she would see his good motives and accept them. Instead her gaze narrowed all the further. “You were supposed to know that I could handle the truth,” she said, her voice shaking. “You were not supposed to protect me with lies like my parents did. Or keep me in the dark like Erasmus.”
He flinched a second time at the use of that phrase. It clearly resonated
with her, sat heavy in her heart. “I’m not like them and you know it.”
“Do I?”
Phillipa stepped up them, cheeks flaming as she caught Celeste’s arm. “Dearest, dearest…perhaps we should go. Perhaps we should wait on what we came to share with Mr. Gregory until you are less…less out of sorts.”
Celeste still didn’t unlock her gaze from Owen’s. He supposed she wanted him to feel how angry she was and he did. But the more important emotion that pulsed from every single part of her was hurt. She was hurt by his hiding some of the truth from her. And he hated it, despite the fact that this case was his own. Despite the fact that he might not owe her what she desired, at least not when it came to his role as an investigator.
“There is no need for us to go, Pippa,” Celeste said, turning her face at last. “I have nothing more of a personal nature to say. I came here to discuss your case, Mr. Gregory, and I would like to do that.”
He pursed his lips. The part of him that loved this woman wanted to take her hand and pull her closer and work out the pain that she felt. The investigator told him this was not the time, nor the place, especially if she had important information to convey.
“What would you like to tell me?” he asked.
She lifted her chin. “Given all this new information about Erasmus’s first…love? Should we call that a first love if it comes from a loveless, feckless man? The label makes it easier, doesn’t it?”
“Celeste,” Phillipa said softly, and took her hand the same way Owen wished he could.
Celeste bent her head. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Do you continue to consider Abigail your strongest suspect in Erasmus’s murder?”
Before Owen could respond, Gilmore stepped away from the fire and crossed half the distance toward them in two long steps. “What?”
Owen ignored the interjection. “Celeste…”
She shrugged. “I saw your notes. The ones on your bedside table.”
Phillipa blushed red as a tomato and hustled away again. But not far enough. Owen glared at the intruders to this conversation as he caught Celeste’s elbow and dragged her away a little farther. He bent his head close to hers, close enough to kiss, even though he had to wonder if those days were over.
“You are angry,” he said. “And I understand where that anger comes from, even if I do not agree that I have betrayed you to the level that you seem to accuse. But Celeste, you cannot come here and…and…blow up my case just because you are upset.”
She lifted her gaze to his, and for a moment the anger fell, the pain remained, but he saw all her feelings toward him too. All the desire they had shared, all the tenderness. She swiftly blinked it all away.
“Why not?” she asked, but he noted she kept her voice lower, too. “Truth is better, I think. I’ve lived so many lies.”
He tugged her a little closer, no longer caring what Phillipa or Gilmore thought of it. The proverbial cat was out of the bag anyway thanks to Celeste’s declaration of where she had found his list of suspects.
“You have not lived a lie with me,” he said, and caught her chin. He tilted it up gently and tried with all his might to show his honor to her. To make her see that he still possessed it. And that he felt so much more for her. But letting her feel it wasn’t enough. “Celeste…I…”
Her eyes went wide, as if she knew where he was steering this ship. “Please don’t,” she said as she stepped away from him. “Not in this moment of all moments. Not when it feels like a way to make me go along.”
She turned and walked away, leaving him staring after her. She knew he was going to say he loved her. And she was right, it hadn’t been the correct moment to do so. Still, it had been there, poised on his tongue to say. That she walked away felt like someone had driven a fist into his chest and come out with his still-beating heart like it was a prize to be won.
She glanced back at him, and for a moment their eyes met. Despite walking away, her expression was not quite so hard now. The hurt he felt at her denial shifted. Hope bloomed. Right now she was angry and betrayed, right now she was focused on the case before them and saving the life of her friend.
But they would circle back to this. He knew it. And the next time he wanted to tell her he loved her, she would hear it. Only then would he know what she felt in return. And that gave him hope despite the rejection. Hope he would cling to until the time was right.
Chapter 20
Celeste fought to rein in some control over her emotions, but her hands were shaking so hard that there was no way the entire room didn’t notice it. Her heart throbbed too, blood rushing loud in her ears.
Owen was about to say he loved her. She knew it the same way she knew she would draw her next breath.
She wanted to feel joy. She had finally admitted, if only to herself, that she felt the same for him. That hadn’t changed, even if his keeping the fact of this other woman secret hurt her.
Only it wasn’t just joy that flooded her. Owen had wanted to say those beautiful words to soothe her. To placate her. As a trick, as a trap. Something to bring her under control, just as her parents had done before. Just as Erasmus had done. Owen did it so she didn’t harm the case he cared so much about.
And because of that, she wasn’t certain that those unspoken words could be true. Love had always been wielded as a weapon in her life. And the idea that it might happen again terrified her.
“We didn’t come here for foolishness,” she managed to choke out, and hated how her voice shook like her hands. She looked around, uncertain where she had set her evidence when she entered the room and her whole world had felt like it was burning.
“On the sideboard,” Pippa said softly.
Celeste smiled in thanks to her friend and crossed back. They had bound the two books with a ribbon and wrapped them in cloth, and now she unwrapped them before she turned back with one in each hand.
“When Mr. Gregory and I visited Lady Lena’s Salon the other day, Lena and I had a conversation about Erasmus’s death. She suggested I read up on some varieties of poison in this book.” She shook the copy Lena had sent toward Owen.
He stepped forward and her heart fluttered. Yet somehow she stayed cool as he took the book. “Harrison’s Poisons and Potions,” he said, and then held her gaze. “You spoke to Lena about this?”
She shrugged. “Not out of betrayal to your case, I assure you.”
“I didn’t assume it was,” he said, and his brow wrinkled. “Celeste, I am happy to know you have friends in this world that you can discuss such painful topics. But I’m not sure what the book means to our investigation. We have already determined that Montgomery died of poisoning.”
“How?” Pippa asked.
Owen glanced at Gilmore. “When the duke and I arrived to confront Montgomery, we found him dead on the parlor floor. A label from a bottle was clutched in his hand and it said arsenic.”
Gilmore shifted. “Terrible thing.”
“But why couldn’t that be suicide?” Celeste pressed.
Pippa snorted. “Ras would never do that. He thought too highly of himself.”
“I tended to agree, having read some of his writings. A man who was so selfish certainly would have written a suicide note absolving himself of his sins and demanding sympathy,” Owen said. “Plus the contents of the decanter had been shattered on the ground, a mess made that told me Montgomery had either struggled with the person who poisoned him or realized that he’d been injured and began to react as he died.”
Celeste flinched. “Did you read much about arsenic poisoning?”
“I’d encountered an arsenic murder a few years ago,” Owen said. “With a similar outcome. A woman had been poisoning her husband bit by bit. The family suspected it and she admitted it immediately.”
“But that was a poisoning bit by bit and the book contains the description of how one would die from arsenic poisoning in a large dose,” Celeste said. “It would have been messy.”
“Death is always messy, Mrs.
Montgomery,” Gilmore said with a frown.
“But this death would have been very messy,” Pippa insisted. “You can read the description yourself.”
Gilmore took the copy of the book from Owen and read it silently. His eyes widened. “I see.”
“Why do you have two copies of the book?” Owen said, picking up the other one.
Pippa shifted and reached for Celeste’s hand. They stood together a moment as Owen flipped the pages to the description of arsenic and its uses and results. He glanced up. “Who wrote this? Who wrote He deserved it?”
“Abigail,” Pippa whispered when Celeste couldn’t. “Or at least it was written in her copy of the book.”
Gilmore slammed the copy he held down on the table, his eyes dark with stormy emotions. “Bollocks! Abigail might be the most irritating woman in this city, but she couldn’t kill a man. She wouldn’t.”
“We don’t believe it either,” Celeste assured him, though she was surprised to find an ally in the duke, since one might have assumed his disdain for Abigail would allow him to believe her capable of more, not less. “But Owen feels differently.”
“And how was this evidence supposed to change my mind?” Owen asked through what sounded like tightly clenched teeth.
Celeste worried her hands before her. “Don’t you think it odd that Abigail would keep such damning evidence right in her personal library? That she would have no issue with Pippa asking to borrow the book at a future time? That she would write a message like that at all?”
“She is too clever,” Gilmore said with determination.
Pippa nodded. “I agree.”
Owen shook his head. “So you three are using the evidence as evidence against the evidence?”
Celeste pursed her lips. “We’re using common sense. The alternative is like something out of a bad play!”
Owen held her gaze for a moment, then turned to the others. “I need another moment with Celeste.”
He motioned her toward the window and she followed, her heart throbbing, for she had no idea what he was going to say. He folded his arms across his chest. His lips were pursed and he looked down at her with what was clearly frustration.
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