took her mouth.
They kissed and it felt like forever. It felt like nothing but the briefest of moments. When her tongue traced his lips, he wanted to flip up her skirts and do the same between her legs. He wanted to make her shake and shatter and moan his name. He wanted to make her forget all her fears and uncertainties and pains that plagued her at present.
Only making her come undone would only cause temporary relief. Once it was over, she would have to fret over her hair and whether she should have or shouldn’t have. He might want her, but not if it caused her more worry in the long run.
So he pulled away, difficult…impossible…but he managed it somehow. She rested her head on his shoulder and he held her there, smoothing a hand over her back in comfort.
“You’re nervous about seeing Harriet and meeting Lady Lena,” he said. She nodded against his neck without speaking. He felt her draw in a shaky breath. “Would talking about it help?”
“I fear I would only make myself more nervous,” she admitted. “I fear I would say out loud everything that could go wrong and then I won’t be able to breathe.”
“Then we’ll talk about something else,” he said. “Phillipa had an odd look when I arrived this morning. It makes me think you spoke to her.”
Celeste lifted her face toward him. “I-I did.”
“Then perhaps that would be a good distraction on the ride.”
She worried her lip a moment, brightening the color and making him want to nip it himself. Make her gasp against his mouth.
“I suppose we will have to have it out eventually,” she murmured.
“That doesn’t bode well,” he said.
She sighed and slipped from his arms, moving to the opposite side of the carriage, where she met his gaze. There was strength in that, but also nervousness in how she clenched and unclenched her hands in her lap. In how she fidgeted and tried to find someplace where she would be comfortable in how she faced off against him.
He tried to reserve judgment about what it all meant until she had said her piece.
“Pippa and I had a long conversation about Erasmus just before you arrived,” Celeste admitted. “I wish I could give you more information, more real evidence, but she doesn’t want to tell me why she was nervous about names being in the paper. She’s trying to protect someone, that is very clear, but who? She holds her tongue on that score.”
Owen pursed his lips. “I’ll look more into it. Erasmus Montgomery wasn’t a careful man. If there is evidence to be found, I’ll just have to find it.”
She nodded. “Pippa knows she’s a suspect, just as Abigail does. They’re both too clever not to believe it to be true. But she cannot give me hope that her whereabouts would be accounted for on that night. She was staying at an inn when she arrived in London.”
“The Nightingale House,” Owen said. “Yes, I know.”
“And she says that she was there all night when Owen was murdered. But she was alone. So unless someone noticed her of their own accord and would recall the time or date without confusion, I’m afraid I found nothing of interest for you. Nothing that absolves her of the crime.”
Owen could see she was disappointed in that fact. No, it was more than that.
“Are you angry with yourself?” he asked.
She huffed a breath. “Of course I am! You asked me to do one thing and I failed at it spectacularly. I added nothing of value to the investigation, and after you brought me all this way so I could help.”
“First off, that is not the only reason I brought you here, and I think you know that after what we’ve shared,” he said. “And secondly, you must understand that there isn’t winning or losing when it comes to gathering evidence, Celeste. You’ve given me two further pathways to pursue. Which will move my investigation forward, no matter what the outcome. So I thank you.”
He expected her to smile at that. To find relief in what she’d accomplished. Instead, she turned her face and stared out the carriage window pensively. The tension came off of her in waves, and it was evident that wasn’t just because of the visit to her friends or because of guilt regarding Phillipa.
“Talk to me.”
She jerked her gaze to him. “You can read me so easily, Owen?”
He stared at her a moment, taking in every curve and angle of