Page 25 of Temptress in Disguise
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“I bear the guilt all the same.”
Failing his family was Aaron’s biggest fear. His temper, strict rules and blunt manner stemmed from love and deep-rooted anxiety. Aaron had spent so long caring for his kin he didn’t know how to care for himself.
Aramis gripped his brother’s shoulder, a gesture of abiding affection. “Things are different since Christian married. Change is on the horizon. Our ship sails a new course. En route, we’re being urged to exorcise our demons.”
Aaron frowned. He would rather sever his tongue than engage in philosophical babble. “You married for vengeance. How is that progress?”
Yesterday, he might have agreed.
Yesterday, he hadn’t been bewitched by the fae.
“Because in punishing Melissa, I might find the part of me I left in that stinking alley. My skin may have healed, but my heart never recovered.”
Aaron swallowed hard, the pain of the past etched on his face. “Were it not for my promise to you, I would have killed them both.”
“You’d risked too much for us already. I didn’t want you risking your neck. Trust me. With my wife’s help, Melissa will get her comeuppance.” It was a shame Jacob Adams was fodder for the worms. Hopefully, Lucifer had given him a taste of his own medicine.
With his countenance much calmer, Aaron perched on the edge of his desk. “And is this wife of yours biddable? Will she be a constant thorn in your side or a balm to soothe the wounds?”
Aramis found himself lost for words. How did he describe the woman who’d slipped under his skin? A passionless man should deny these odd flutters of intrigue. But what if the lady was right? What if he was hard-headed, not hard-hearted? What if he was too practical, too wilful to accept he was anything but cold?
“Time will tell.” The opportunity to tease Aaron was too tempting to resist. “She’s as formidable as Miss Scrumptious and just as captivating. A man might spend sleepless nights thinking of all the ways he wants her.”
Aaron glanced out of the window at The Burnished Jade. “The devil sent that woman to torment me.”
“Perhaps you should draw the curtains. What the eye doesn’t see, the heart doesn’t grieve over.”
“I hide from no one,” Aaron said with steely defiance. “Least of all, a woman with lofty ideas and no care for her own welfare. Though I can see how the proverb suits your unfortunate circumstance. Where better to place a wife you don’t want than amid the sprawling fields of Little Chelsea?”
He didn’t tell Aaron he hadn’t stopped thinking about his wife since they’d parted hours earlier. He was still thinking about her while watching men lose at the card table later that night. He thought about her when he helped usher the last gamblers out and retired to the drawing room to enjoy a glass of Aaron’s best claret.
If thoughts had the power to alter one’s fate, he was to blame for Daventry’s late-night visit. The agent had not come to offer his felicitations or to gloat that he’d snared another bachelor in his matchmaking trap.
Aramis considered Daventry’s grave expression. “What is it?” His thoughts ran amok. A vision of Naomi’s lifeless body burst into his mind, the image stark and vivid. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I need you to come to Bow Street.”
“Bow Street?” Aramis’ blood ran cold. “What the devil for?”
Daventry brushed a hand through his damp black hair. “I need you to give a statement explaining your whereabouts last night.”
Aaron came striding into the hall. “What is this about?”
Daventry sighed—Daventry never sighed. He was always calm under pressure. “They found the manager of the Belldrake murdered last night, bludgeoned with a heavy object. I had no choice but to deliver her to the police office.”
“Who?” Aaron said.
“My wife.” A shiver ran down Aramis’ spine.
Daventry nodded. “Mrs Chance is the prime suspect.”
ChapterSix
Naomi sat in Sergeant Maitland’s cluttered office, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her mind awash with confusion. She had grabbed the stool and hit Mr Budworth across the arm and back, not the head. The man had fallen to the floor in shock more than in pain. When she left, he was whining like wind through a keyhole.
“By all accounts, you were the last to see Mr Budworth alive.” The grey-haired sergeant sat back in the seat, his chubby hands splayed across his paunch. “Miss Matilda Gray said she heard you arguing with the manager. Said you locked him in his office and threw away the key. What do you have to say about that, Miss Grant?”
