a furtive glance at Joshua. “I’ll keep your brother company.”
“Suit yourself,” Beatrice said. “Though I hope you don’t end up throttling him for being a bloody arse before you get there.”
And with that wholly unladylike remark, she marched off down the drive toward the path through the gardens that led to the ruins.
Grey headed after her. As soon he’d caught up to her and they were out of earshot, he asked, “What was that about?”
No point in hiding the truth. “My brother infuriates me. Gwyn was being nice, and he still couldn’t resist poking holes in her enthusiasm. He does the same to me, all the time. Him and his manly names. They’re dogs. They don’t care what they’re called.”
“You’re certainly taking this dog-naming business seriously.”
“The dogs are just part of what has put me in a temper.” She was more angry about all the sacrifices she’d made for Joshua, all the secrets she’d kept. And for what? He didn’t seem to care whether he got hanged for murder. And she began to wonder why she cared.
Except that she couldn’t help caring. It had been just the two of them looking after each other ever since he’d come back from the war. It annoyed her that he couldn’t see how much that mattered to her.
I know you don’t believe it sometimes, duckie, but nothing is more important to me than your future.
She sighed. Clearly it mattered to him, too. Which made her only more determined to protect him, even if he wouldn’t protect himself.
“Walk faster, will you?” she muttered to Grey.
“Whatever you wish, minx. Why are we in such a hurry, anyway?”
“I need to talk to you. And I need to make sure my brother isn’t privy to it.”
A darkness descended over his features. “I see.”
From then on, he made no remark as she marched down the path toward the spot where she’d determined she could get him alone.
As soon as they reached it, she tugged Grey through what looked at first glance like a thicket of bushes, but what really shielded a path into a large clearing with a stone bench and more.
He glanced around, obviously taking in the carefully constructed arbor on one end, overgrown with pink Ayrshire roses. “What is this place?”
“It was one of Uncle Armie’s first smaller projects created by his landscape fellow.” She shuddered to think what her uncle had probably used it for, but she knew of nowhere else that couldn’t be seen from the path, nowhere else they could talk privately.
“Does your brother know of this spot?”
“No. I wouldn’t know of it if not for helping my uncle sort out the bills for the landscape fellow.” It began to dawn on her what had prompted the question. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason.” The wariness in his eyes belied his words.
“Tell the truth—you’re asking because you believe Joshua stood here,” she hissed. “That he lay in wait for Uncle Armie the night of his death.”
Grey crossed his arms over his chest. “Why would I believe that?”
She stared him down. “At least have the courtesy not to pretend ignorance to my face. I overheard you and Sheridan discussing my brother the day you and I danced privately together.”
As Grey released a coarse oath, Beatrice drew in a long, ragged breath. “You believe that my brother murdered my uncle.”
Chapter Sixteen
Damn it all to hell. She’d known all this time?
To Grey’s relief, at that moment they heard Wolfe and Gwyn talking as they made their slow way down the path past the entrance to the clearing. So he and Beatrice were forced to keep quiet, which gave him time to gather his shattered thoughts.
He should have seen this coming. Initially he’d been afraid that Beatrice might have heard him and Sheridan discussing her brother. But after days had passed and she hadn’t said or implied anything, he’d been lulled into believing his fears were unfounded. He’d simply assumed that her cool manner stemmed from his refusal to consider marrying her. Clearly, he’d been wrong.
As the sound of Wolfe’s and Gwyn’s voices and footfalls receded, he murmured, “I’m sorry, Beatrice. I didn’t mean to—”
“Blame my brother for someone’s accidental death?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Of course you did. Never mind that he served his country—and this estate—admirably. He was a decorated officer before he was wounded. Now he’s practically a hermit and snarls at everyone, so he’s the logical choice for a villain. If one is looking for a villain, which apparently you two