The Unexpected Wife - Jess Michaels Page 0,52

completed a full circle around the small park, and Gilmore stopped just at the gate where Owen had first seen him. “Then I will say my farewells, Mr. Gregory. Unless you have further inquiries.”

Owen stepped closer. “I realize you never answered my initial question, Your Grace. Why were you here tonight?”

Gilmore glanced up at the house across the street again, and Owen followed his gaze. The duke was looking at the front window of the Montgomery home. With the gathering dusk, the lamps had been lit within, and Owen could see Abigail standing at the window, turned in profile, laughing at something another unseen person in the room had said.

“No reason,” Gilmore said, his voice rougher. “Just idly passing by. Good evening, sir.”

Owen didn’t believe him, but he tipped his head regardless. If Gilmore had his secrets, they didn’t seem directly linked to the murder. Owen had too many of his own entanglements with one of the three Mrs. Montgomerys to question anyone else’s, unless that connection led to information that might help solve his case.

So he said nothing else as Gilmore strode from the park and down the street away from the Montgomery residence and the alluring ladies inside.

Celeste stared at her plate, filled to the brim with delicious venison and perfectly roasted potatoes and carrots. Even though she’d eaten very little that day, she didn’t find herself hungry. Probably because her mind and body were distracted by other things. Like the memory of Owen’s hands and mouth on her, doing such wicked things that—

“And so what did you and Mr. Gregory do this afternoon?” Pippa’s voice pierced through Celeste’s wicked thoughts, and she blinked as she was brought back to the room and her two friends within it.

She swallowed. “Just…drove around a while,” she said, and it wasn’t exactly a lie.

From the head of the table, Abigail arched a brow, and Celeste felt speared in place by the pointed look. “Very interesting. Where did you drive to?”

Celeste cleared her throat and set her fork down. “To the…parks…” she muttered.

Abigail smiled and it softened her expression. “Oh yes, the parks. Any one in particular?”

There was no answer. The name of every park in London fled from Celeste’s mind in that moment, leaving only a blank space. “Er, I…we…it was…”

“Oh dear, you are turning the color of a plum,” Abigail said. “Please don’t feel like you have to hurt yourself coming up with some falsehood. You owe us no explanations and I fear my teasing has gone too far.”

“It’s not a falsehood—”

Abigail arched a brow. “My dear, your hair is different.”

Pippa stared at her. “It is. Oh, it’s very pretty.”

“Thank you,” Celeste muttered, and then covered her face with her hands. “Oh, trust you to be so observant, Abigail.”

“It is what I do,” Abigail said, not at all apologetically. “Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t say a word. But we are friends, I think.”

Celeste lifted her gaze and looked at the two women. “Yes,” she said softly. “We are friends. A strange thought considering what we all went through. Society must assume we would be at each other’s throats.”

Pippa shrugged. “Perhaps, but who cares what they believe? There is no reason in the world for me to be angry at you or Abigail for Ras’s actions. He is the guilty party, not any of us.”

Abigail nodded. “Well put, my dear. We are a sisterhood created by his duplicity. And if my sister were to…say…go out with a gentleman in the afternoon with her hair in one sort of twist and come back in the evening with it in another, I would lean on the table with my elbows and ask her to tell me all about what she was up to today.”

“Oh, dear,” Celeste whispered.

“Not to judge you,” Pippa said swiftly. “I don’t think either of us want to do that.”

“Lord no!” Abigail agreed. “I want to know because this entire situation is untenable and I would like to know that one of us, at least, is getting some kind of amusement out of it. Especially considering our conversation before you left with Mr. Gregory this morning.”

Celeste sighed. There was not going to be any getting around this, it seemed. And even if there was, she found she didn’t want to. What she had experienced was so different than what she’d ever felt before. She needed to talk about it.

“Very well. Owen and I intended to go to a museum, but instead we went back to his home and we…” Her