Page 31 of One Wicked Secret
“I’ve ruined everything by going to town,” she said.
“No. You dared to do what I couldn’t. We’ll deal with this together, as we should have done in the beginning.”
She managed a smile, though she wanted to tangle her fingers in his ebony hair and push him onto the Persian rug. She would be on him in a heartbeat, kissing him wildly, twining her limbs with his.
“Then we mustn’t waste a single moment. We’ll work day and night, so you can put this terrible business behind you and return to town posthaste.”
He held her gaze, a single frown line creasing his brow.
Had she said something wrong?
Time stretched uncomfortably before he spoke. “Let’s return to the last point you made.” He moved to sit in the chair opposite her. “Based on morbidity, Carver had been dead for two or three hours when we arrived. Either he saw you walking in the woods and found you quickly, or he stumbled upon you later and was killed when he entered the cottage. The real question is: Why didn’t he carry you back to the house?”
She tried to think logically and imagine this had happenedto a stranger, not her. “Perhaps he was afraid to carry me that far, yet he didn’t race to the house for help either.”
Why hadn’t he alerted the servants?
Daniel dragged his hand through his hair and sighed. “We need to question the staff without letting them know Carver is dead or that we found you at his cottage. We need a timeline of his movements that day.”
Again, they took to pondering the information.
Another important question entered her mind. “We need to consider why I’m still alive.” She fought against a wave of nausea. How close had she come to dying? Had the villain loomed over her, the blade hovering an inch from her throat? “Either the killer wanted to frighten Magnus into giving him the journal, or he thinks I know where it’s located.”
It all came back to the same thing.
Without the journal, they were clueless.
“It’s more likely the killer used you to blackmail Magnus,” Daniel said. “He expected your brother to produce the journal, not bury the body and flee the country.”
“Then why hasn’t the murderer targeted you? There’s a record of our marriage. You have friends in London and numerous businesses. Why not blackmail you for information?”
“There have been attempts to sabotage my shipping company: a mystery surrounding a wrecked vessel, stolen cargo, whispers of corrupt officials, but no one has made a direct threat.”
It could be connected to the new Charter Act. “The East India Company may be looking to destroy their competition.” It was known the company used intimidation and bribery to achieve its goals.
He let out a slow breath. “I can’t think about that now, notuntil we’ve found the journal.” He glanced at the shuttered library window as if hearing a noise outside. “I’m not sure if the hired thugs are watching the house but we mustn’t be complacent.”
She looked towards the open library door, a cold sweat prickling her skin. “We shouldn’t linger. I have every right to be here, but what if the villain’s plan was to lure me back to Edenberry?”
Daniel rose and crept to the door. He stood motionless, head tilted, breath held, his impressive shoulders tense with anticipation.
Long seconds passed before he beckoned her closer and whispered, “We’re like sitting ducks here. We’ve spent too long in the house. We will extinguish the lamps and move to the garden. I sense someone outside, but it could be Rothley on the prowl.”
“Won’t we be more exposed outside?”
He reached for her, his hand settling on her elbow, strong and firm. Despite everything, he still acted like her protector. “We’ll go to the hothouse. It’s easy to hide there, and we can watch the garden. I need you to walk me through what happened when you saw your father with the journal.”
She had recounted the event twice last night. “There’s nothing more to tell. I saw him. He put the book in his pocket and started talking about my mother’s roses.”
“Is it possible your father meant for you to find him there?” Daniel paused to listen for unexpected sounds, continuing when met with deathly silence. “Could something he said be a clue to the book’s whereabouts?”
She thought back to the reason she had visited the hothouse. “It was the second anniversary of my mother’sdeath. I liked to pick a Bourbon rose and place it on the memorial stone in the garden.”
“And your father knew this?”
“Yes.”
“Was he surprised to see you?”
