sort himself, so your mother figured she’d best find me a husband and quick.”
Grey looked as if she’d sucked the wind right out of his sails. “So you weren’t concerned about it.”
“Well, yes. But it’s not as if I could do anything.” She cocked her head. “I certainly wouldn’t have tried to murder anyone in a futile attempt to prevent it.” She shook her head. “You actually thought I would . . . kill your stepfather over such a thing.”
“It crossed my mind.” He ran his fingers through his hair distractedly. “But no. Not really.” His gaze shot to her. “Your brother is another matter entirely, however.”
“He would never have murdered Uncle Maurice,” she said stoutly.
“But you’re not so certain about his murdering your uncle Armie.”
So they were back to that, were they? Her hands grew clammy. “H-He wouldn’t have done it over that, to be sure.”
The moment the words left her mouth, she could have cursed her quick tongue.
Especially when Grey’s eyes focused on her with great intensity. “Not over that? Then over what, pray tell?”
Her stomach sank. She should have known from his questions this afternoon that he wouldn’t let his suspicions slide. Especially after her parting words in the clearing.
Not sure what to do or say, she headed back toward the kitchen. “My supper is getting cold.”
He followed her, his presence looming behind her like a thundercloud. “By all means, don’t let me keep you from supper. It’s not as if we’re discussing anything important.”
As she entered the kitchen, she asked, “Have you eaten? There’s still some beef stew, and I think—”
“Leave it.” Taking her arm, Grey pulled her around to face him. “This afternoon you said you didn’t know if Joshua killed your uncle Armie. But if he did, what reason do you think he’d have for doing it?”
“I’d rather not go into it,” she murmured, though his threatening visage made it clear he wouldn’t let that go. “Why does it matter, anyway? Uncle Armie was an arse and now he’s gone.”
“It matters because Sheridan thinks your brother is after the dukedom—that he killed both your uncles and is plotting to kill Sheridan and Heywood so he can become duke himself.”
She gaped at him, but clearly he was serious. “Joshua doesn’t care about the dukedom. He doesn’t care about much of anything these days, except for his stupid trips to Leicester . . . and perhaps protecting me.”
“Perhaps?” He relaxed his grip on her arm and softened his tone. “Trust me, he definitely cares about protecting you. He made that painfully clear this afternoon.”
A pox on her brother. “Did he say something to you? Oh, Lord, what did he tell you? I suppose he warned you away from me.”
“He threatened to call me out if I didn’t leave you be.”
“What?” Pulling free of him, she balled her hands into fists. “I will thrash that devil myself. How dare he suggest a duel, after the way Papa died?”
Grey lifted an eyebrow. “You can’t blame him, considering what you and I were doing in that clearing. Any fool could have seen through our excuses. And your brother is no fool. Not to mention that he seems determined to protect you from any man who—”
He halted, a look of horror spreading over his features. “So that’s what you meant when you said he wouldn’t kill over the sale of the dower house. Because you know there’s only one thing he would kill over. You. Keeping you safe.”
She turned away, unable to bear his expression. He knew. Or rather, he suspected the truth.
And all at once, her years of embarrassment and shame came flooding back.
Chapter Eighteen
“Bastard!” Grey growled.
Beatrice shot him a wary glance. “Who? My brother?”
“No. Your uncle Armie.”
When Grey saw the color drain from her, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. He felt rooted to the floor. What kind of monster did . . . what that arse must have done to her to make her brother wish to murder him?
Thorn’s remark came back to him once more. I suspect that Miss Wolfe is more worldly wise than you think.
Grey should have put it together when the servants were talking about the man’s peccadilloes, but he hadn’t thought the fellow would . . . “Please tell me your uncle Armie didn’t take your innocence.”
“What? No!” A blush stained her cheeks. “I mean, he did, but not in the way you mean. He just stripped it from me word by filthy word.” She moved to the stove and started filling a