sure we have a great deal more to speak about, but I truly cannot even fathom it now. I must go and let all this horrible news sink in.”
“But Celeste—” her mother gasped.
Celeste crossed to her and took her hands. “Please, Mama. I really cannot discuss it right now. I will return and we will work it out later. Good afternoon.”
She pressed a brief kiss to her mother’s cheek and the same for her father, and then left the room. Even as she called for her carriage to be brought, she could hear the histrionics of her mother in the parlor. She was meant to hear them. To feel guilty.
But at present all she felt was numb. And she had no idea when any other feeling would return to her body. Nor if she could bear the emotions when they hit her at last.
Chapter 3
Owen stood in Celeste’s parlor two hours later, looking around him at the stark and worn-out room. The furniture was frayed and tired, a hodgepodge of threadbare fabrics and scratched wood that had clearly not been meant to match as a set. A cheap wallpaper had been hung, faded by time, curled at the water-damaged ceiling line, threatening to unfurl itself down to the floor. There was nothing of style to the chamber, nothing that reflected the woman who lived here. It was not quite a hovel, but only just barely.
He hadn’t been allowed entry upon his first visit, just been told where the lady had gone. But the inside matched the out, much to Celeste’s detriment, it seemed. He wrinkled his brow. Erasmus Montgomery was the younger son of the Earl of Leighton. He’d been raised with money and privilege. Certainly by outward appearances he could afford a nicer place than this one for his bride.
Even the third of three.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Gregory,” Celeste said as she entered the parlor.
He pivoted to face her and had to fight not to catch his breath. She was truly beautiful. All curves and softness and bright blue eyes that met his even as her cheeks pinkened with embarrassment. She had been crying, that was evident. His stomach clenched at the sight.
“I believe we settled upon Owen in private, did we not, Celeste?” he asked. She tensed, and he frowned. “Unless you would prefer the formality. I would not ever cross a line against your will.”
Suddenly she was looking at him very closely, indeed. “No, I don’t think you would,” she said softly. She shook her head and turned away to the sideboard. “Celeste is fine, of course, just as we agreed upon earlier today. I was only startled hearing it from your lips.”
She seemed to put a little emphasis on the word lips, but Owen had to have imagined that. He had been instantly and powerfully attracted to her, because no man could look at her and not feel his heart lodge in his throat. But that didn’t mean she returned the attraction. Why would she? He was the man come down to destroy her world. Her future. That she tolerated him was enough, especially since any other option was out of reach. He had a set of values, after all, unspoken rules of his profession.
“May I get you tea?” she asked, glancing back over her shoulder at him. “Or whisky. Is it late enough for whisky?”
He smiled. “It’s late enough somewhere. I think we’ve both earned it.”
She pushed the teapot aside and grabbed for a bottle along the back of the table. Her hands shook as she grabbed for two tumblers, and he moved forward.
“May I?” he asked.
She looked at him again. “I suppose it might be better or half the bottle will end up sloshed all over the room,” she said before she backed away and walked to the fireplace, where he had been standing when she entered the room.
She smiled as he brought her the drink, but then sighed. “I assume you have more questions,” she said at the very same moment he said something similar. They both laughed as she raised her glass to him and then took a sip.
She pulled a face, just as he did. “Oh, that is vile,” she gasped. “My husband…Mr. Montgomery…he was never anything but stingy. I could count on that if nothing else.” When Owen didn’t say anything in response, she shrugged. “You’ll have to write that down later. Suspect found the victim miserly.”
He tilted his head. “You think I believe you to be a suspect in the