Page 28 of The Secret of the Three Fates
He couldn’t look at me as he drew in a shallow breath.
“What… man… Mr. Owen?”
“The Viscount of Hawick.”
The words were sharp and I couldn’t decide what was worse—that he’d lied to me, that he thought I’d be upset by his revelation, or worse—that Iwasupset by his revelation. “You’re… Lord Hawick.”
Suddenly the inspector’s insinuations made a great deal more sense. ThatHawick fellowthey assumed was my lover was actually Mr. Owen. The man I had lived with for the last few years.
I fell hard into the armchair, my back against the fabric as I stared at the ceiling.
“Say something, Ruby. Please. I am sorry for keeping it from you. It’s just—”
It’s just you’ve lied to me for over three years.Tears pricked at my eyes as I swallowed down the betrayal. “It’s all right.” It wasn’t. But I supposed it would be in time. Because for all his faults and probably against my better judgment I loved the meddling old man. Whoever he was.
“Oh, Mr. Owen. Do you have any other secrets?”
He let out a strangled sound and shook his head. “No, my love. No. I don’t think I do. Will you forgive me?”
My silence wounded him. I could see it in his eyes as he watched me, hoping that I would say yes. That I’d laugh and think it a lark as I often did. But this was a great deal more important than what he’d had for supper or why he was sending me to Gloucester on an errand. Mr. Owen hadliedabout who he was. Aboutwhathe was. That was a difficult thing to get past.
I stood, my hand bumping into the forgotten glass plate negatives in my pocket. It wasn’t the time to ask him. It might never be the time to ask. I walked over, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “We’ll speak in the morning.” And then I went to my room, closing the door behind me.
It wasn’t the answer he was wanting, but it was the only answer I was capable of giving.
CHAPTERTHIRTEENThe Questionable Efficacy of Locks
ONCEinside my own room, I locked the door between us. A symbolic gesture at best as he had the key to open it from his own side. I simply needed time and space to adjust to what I’d learned today—neither of which I had. It would be all right.It had to be.
I allowed myself precisely thirty minutes of self-pity before I went downstairs to the kitchen to procure a plate for supper, and settled myself back at the dressing table with my notepad and a half bottle of wine. Hours passed while I sketched out what rudimentary information I had. Mariah and Lucy were sisters.
Both died.
Presumably at Manhurst, though that was less certain.
Mr. Owen was aviscount.
I underlined that bit before drinking down the dregs of my wine, licking a droplet from my lower lip.Now thatwas going to take a while to adjust to. My head ached and I finally looked up at the clock. It was half past midnight and I was out of ideas and desperate for someone to talk to—someone I could reasonably guarantee was not lying to me.
I started for the door, picks in hand, when I heard a sound outside. The rustling of feet on carpet then the sound of a latchcatching. Odd. I cracked my own door, cautiously looking out into the darkened hallway in time to see Malachi Lennox walk away from Mr. Owen’s room and disappear down the stairs. What on earth could they have to say to one another? After what Mr. Owen revealed to me hours before—odds were if they were in the same room they were likely to come to blows and I hadn’t heard any commotion through the door.
Alas, another question to add to my notebook when I returned later this evening.Why is Malachi Lennox skulking about?
Shaking the thought away, I hurried down to Ruan’s room, knocking softly on the door. Pressing my ear against the wood panel listening for signs of life on the other side.Mr. Owen is a viscount!The knowledge irked me to no end. I waited impatiently for Ruan to answer.
Nothing.
I tapped again, hoping everyone stayed in their own rooms.
Still no response.
Why wasn’t he opening the door? It wasn’tthatlate. Besides, he seldom slept as the man was used to doctoring cows and cats and half of Cornwall.
I let out an annoyed huff of air and reached into my roll of lockpicks, pulling out the middle-sized one and inserted it into the keyhole, gently fiddling with it until I heard the click, and let myself in.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimness of the room. A low fire was rolling in the hearth, casting the room in a cozy glow. Ruan wasin factasleep. His breath slow and even in the darkness and I was suddenly struck by the intimacy of what I’d done, but I couldn’t be bothered with that. I needed him.
Needed.I wasn’t going to think too much on the meaning of that word.
