her. No one had ever trusted him like that before.
“Good,” he said, realizing that the word couldn’t possibly convey how he felt. “Good,” he repeated.
She smiled at him. “Go. And do it quick. I’ll handle Joshua.”
Grey glanced back into the room, where Wolfe was still glowering at him through the open doorway. “I don’t like to leave you alone with him, especially after we—”
“His bark is worse than his bite, believe me.” When he eyed her skeptically, thinking of what they both suspected her brother had done, she added, “He won’t hurt me, I promise. In his own gruff way, he loves me.”
That was all he needed to hear. He brushed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Then he hurried off down the stairs.
Chapter Twenty-One
As Grey left the house, without his coat or waistcoat, which were still in the kitchen, Joshua growled, “Wait, where are you going, you damned bastard!” and stomped toward the hall, with his pistol in one hand and his cane in the other.
Though Beatrice was still reeling from all that Grey had told her, she blocked the doorway. “Let him go. You don’t want to murder another duke.”
Uh-oh. She hadn’t meant to blurt out “another duke,” but it was early morning and she wasn’t thinking straight.
“Step aside, Beatrice. I mean to make sure that the scoundrel doesn’t—” He paused to stare at her. “Wait, did you say, another duke?”
Blast. “I . . . um . . . well . . . You obviously misheard me.”
“The hell I did! What duke am I supposed to have murdered?”
She winced. The cat had its paw out of the bag—she might as well pull it out the rest of the way. “Uncle Armie.”
“What?!” As if realizing he still held a pistol in his hand, practically giving her a reason to accuse him, he carefully uncocked it and set it down on a nearby table. “Why would I murder Uncle Armie? I didn’t like the man, but I had no reason to kill him.”
She sighed. His protests sounded genuine, but that didn’t mean he was telling the truth. Perhaps it was time to shake him up enough to get him to admit it. “No reason? He said he would sell the dower house out from under us unless I agreed to be his mistress.”
When the blood drained from her brother’s face, she knew the truth. He had no idea what she was talking about.
“Oh, my God, Beatrice—” he began.
“Never mind,” she said. Now she wished she hadn’t let Grey believe Joshua might be guilty. “It doesn’t matter.”
Joshua continued to gape at her. “Clearly, it does.” Apparently, her words were starting to sink in, for he sagged onto his cane. “So you’re saying that Uncle Armie . . . that he . . . When did our arse of an uncle make such a vile threat?”
In that moment, she knew she could never reveal to Joshua all of what she’d revealed to Grey. Joshua would blame himself for not protecting her through the years, and he couldn’t change the past anyway. He’d had enough pain in his life already without her adding to it.
Best to just keep it to Uncle Armie’s blackmail, which was bad enough. “He made it right before he died,” she said. “I thought you knew.”
Joshua’s eyes were wide with horror. “I had no idea! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I feared what you would do to him if you knew. And since I turned him down, it seemed pointless to mention it.”
“Pointless?” Anger flushed his features. “It damned well wasn’t pointless, because you’re right, I would have killed him if I’d learned of it. And I assure you no one would ever have known I’d done it either, trust me.”
She raised an eyebrow at him.
As he realized what he’d said, he cursed under his breath. “Ah. That’s why you thought I’d killed him.”
“That . . . and the fact that his death happened so soon after he threatened me.”
Joshua scowled. “Now I wish I had murdered the arse. How dared he even think to—” He halted, his hand squeezing the knob of his cane. “Oh, God, duckie, please tell me that he didn’t . . . That he never laid a hand on you in that way.”
“No,” she said firmly. It was the easiest lie she’d ever told. She didn’t like lying, especially not to her brother. But it must be done.
He scrubbed his free hand over his face. “Thank God