The Defiant Wife (The Three Mrs #2) - Jess Michaels Page 0,75

fear reprisal from me.”

“You have no interest in such a thing, though?” Owen asked. “You never talk about doing anything to claim revenge.”

“I don’t want it.” Rhys ran a hand through his hair. “My brother and I weren’t close and it was a complicated situation. Even Rosie was a victim, no matter if she helped Erasmus along the way. I certainly don’t want to stir it back up again. I just want to know where she is so that I can keep Kenley and Phillipa safe.”

“I’ll keep searching,” Owen promised. “And keep both you and Pippa apprised of the situation. Though I must say, it would be easier if I could make these reports to you together rather than separately.”

Rhys caught his breath. He would love that, too, just to see Phillipa. Just to breathe the air near her and scent the citrus fragrance of her hair and skin. And there he went again, off on trails of thought that could only bring him heartache.

“Not possible,” he said softly.

Owen leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. His bright eyes held Rhys’s and he shook his head. “Do you think I’m bad at what I do?”

Rhys drew back at the question. “I would be a fool to keep you on my payroll if I did. Certainly I’d be a fool to up your rate to a thousand pounds an hour.” Owen laughed at that quip and Rhys continued, “What makes you ask me such a silly thing? Fishing for compliments doesn’t seem your manner.”

“It isn’t, though I do enjoy a compliment now and then.”

Rhys chuckled. “I’ll endeavor to give more then, to satisfy you.”

“I’d appreciate it. But I’m asking you the question because you clearly think I’m blind,” Owen said, “to not see that your mood is because of Pippa and hers is because of you.”

“Pippa is in a mood?” Rhys asked, and wished he sounded more nonchalant about the answer.

“Yes. She’s distracted and moping in almost equal measure to you.” Owen speared him with a knowing glance. “You two are quite the pair. So why don’t you stop staring into the fire like you’re going to find what you’ve lost in the flames, sit down and have a conversation with me?”

Rhys arched a brow as he reached for his most lord-of-the-manor tone. “How dare you?”

Owen looked less than impressed. “A moment ago I was your employee and you could put me in line with that arched brow, my lord. But right now I’m your friend. And I know I’m your friend because you’ve told me that I am. Your friend isn’t going to fall all over himself just because you’re the sixteenth Earl of Leighton or whatever is so very fancy about your title.”

Rhys stared at Owen and then he sat down as he had been asked. “The tenth earl,” he corrected under his breath.

“Begging your pardon.” Owen tilted his head in a facsimile of a bow. “Please, talk to me. Everyone in your life can see you and Pippa are both suffering and all anyone wants to do is help. Let me be of assistance here and now.”

Rhys rubbed his hands against his thighs. “I almost don’t see a point in talking. Not just to you, but to anyone. While I appreciate the concern from you, Celeste, Abigail and Gilmore, there is nothing any of you can do. What I want is impossible. Phillipa has said as much. Worse is that even though I hate it, I know she’s not wrong.”

Owen lifted his brows. “And why exactly can’t you have what you want?”

“Because of scandal, because of ruin, because of everything there is to lose, because of Erasmus Fucking Montgomery and the fact that he’s my brother and her…almost husband.” Rhys threw his hands up in frustration. “Bloody fucking hell.”

Swearing should have helped. It didn’t.

Owen arched his brow at the uncharacteristic outburst. “Is that all or do you need a few more curses? I can be creative if you need suggestions.”

“No, that will do for now,” Rhys said. “But you must see that there is no point in the discussion, which is why, friend or not, I haven’t entertained the topic with you or Gilmore or anyone else.”

Owen’s expression was inscrutable. Very much the face of him as an investigator, the same face Rhys had stared into many times when Owen was looking into his brother’s murder.

“Tell me something, Lord Leighton,” Owen said, and now his tone was that of an investigator, as well. “This scandal, it