Page 61 of Project Duchess
Moving to Wolfe’s side, Gwyn said flirtatiously, “You really should go look at the well, sir. It’s rather amazing.”
Keeping his gaze trained on Grey, Wolfe said, “Another time perhaps. Beatrice and I are going home.”
Beatrice set her shoulders. “But we haven’t had our picnic. Why, Grey hasn’t even seen the ruins yet!”
“I don’t care about any damned picnic!” Wolfe cried, then stiffened when both Gwyn and Beatrice scowled at him. “I’ll take you on a picnic another time, duckie,” he went on sullenly. “And Lady Gwyn can show His Grace the ruins.”
Gwyn looked from Wolfe to Beatrice, whose face had gone pale. “I think Grey can find the ruins all by himself. They weren’t that impressive anyway.” She offered her hand to Beatrice. “Let’s return to the house, shall we? Mama is probably tired of dealing with the dressmaker and ready to continue our come-out lessons.”
Wolfe stepped between Gwyn and his sister. “She doesn’t need lessons from your lot. She can find a husband on her own, right here in Lincolnshire.”
Gwyn looked as if she might answer, but Beatrice stepped around her brother to join her friend and said, “What if I don’twanta husband from Lincolnshire? This is not your choice to make. No matter what you think, I could use their help in making a decent match.” Beatrice slid her hand in Gwyn’s arm. “Come, let’s go find your mother. I am more than eager to continue preparing for my debut in London.”
As the two women flounced off, neither casting Grey even a backward glance, Wolfe looked momentarily unsettled, as if he hadn’t anticipated this turn of events. Grey hadn’t either, so he understood exactly how the major felt.
Nonetheless, he would take advantage of the ladies’ exit. “Perhapsyoushould show me the ruins, sir,” he drawled.
Wolfe looked nonplussed. Then he snapped, “I’m afraid you’ll have to tour them yourself. I put off important matters so we could go on this little expedition.” With the merest bow of his head, he added, “Good day to you, Your Grace. And remember what I told you: Leave my sister be.”
Grey wished to counter with a warning to the same effect—that Wolfe should leaveGwynalone. But Gwyn had a mind of her own. If she wanted the major, Grey’s interference—hell, Sheridan’s interference—would only make her want the man more.
So he let Wolfe walk away without making a similar threat. There was no point. As Sheridan had said, Gwyn knew better than to choose a man like Wolfe.
A man who might be a murderer. It bothered Grey that Wolfe had refused to go near the site of his uncle Armie’s death. Perhaps Grey should view the spot himself, see if he could find anything Sheridan had missed.
But when he searched the area, Grey found nothing of significance. So he headed back to the manor, part of him wondering if he might see Beatrice. His pulse quickened at the thought, damn it.
Why did she do this to him? No woman in society had even raised his temperature, yet some country chit made his blood heat and his mouth water? It made no sense. Even in his wild days of wine, women, and song, he’d always managed to enjoy himself without losing control. Or yearning to see any woman more often.
Yet he couldn’t deny his disappointment at discovering that Beatrice had left Gwyn and his mother not long after she’d arrived back at the hall. He turned to asking about Sheridan, but his half brother hadn’t returned to the hall yet. So after changing his clothes for dinner, Grey waited for him in the study. And was rewarded for his diligence when Sheridan appeared a couple of hours later.
“Where the devil have you been?” Grey couldn’t help asking.
Sheridan glowered at him. “You were supposed to keep Joshua out of my way so I could do some exploring. But as I was searching the river, he appeared on the bridge. I had to hide from him.” He looked irate. “Hide,mind you! I never hide from anyone.”
“Aren’t you fortunate?” Grey had spent half his life hiding—from his aunt’s and uncle’s machinations, from women who wanted to snag him as a husband . . . from himself.
“What the devil isthatsupposed to mean?” Sheridan asked.
“Nothing. Anyway, today’s expedition didn’t turn out quite as planned.”
Sheridan rolled his eyes. “Obviously. But I discovered something important all the same.” He went to pour himself some brandy. “After I left the area, I decided to see what the gossips in Sanforth might have to say about Joshua. And that’s when I learned that Uncle Armie was planning to sell the dower house. Right out from under Joshua’s feet.”
A chill ran down Grey’s spine. “Not just Joshua’s. His sister’s, too.”
Looking suddenly uncomfortable, Sheridan downed some brandy. “It was well known in town that Uncle Armie wanted to sell the dower house to help pay his debts. And supposedly Joshua knew it, too. So the murder might have had nothing to do with the dukedom. Joshua might simply have decided to kill Uncle Armie to keep the man from selling his home.”
“Possibly,” Grey said grimly. “Though that theory doesn’t explain your father’s death.”
“Actually, it might.” Sheridan stared down into his glass. “I’d forgotten about it, but at some point after we took up residence here, Father mentioned that if worse came to worst we could always sell the dower house.”
Grey suddenly found it hard to breathe. “Could Wolfe—or even Beatrice—have overheard Maurice?”
Sheridan shrugged. “I honestly have no idea. But if Joshua did, whether from her or from town gossip—”
“Then it gives him a motive for wanting both men dead.”
Grey’s heart sank. It gave Beatrice a motive as well. And though he still couldn’t see her riding out to murder two men, she,not Wolfe, had known of the little hiding place not far from where their uncle Armie had died.
