The Unexpected Wife - Jess Michaels Page 0,86

me from prison.” He shrugged.

“But nothing else,” Celeste said. “Now that you are in hiding, you cannot have any more money than you did when you got so desperate as to seek out a fourth wife.”

“Well, that’s where Abigail comes in.”

Abigail blinked. “Me?”

“You inserted yourself into this situation,” Erasmus said, and he gripped Celeste tighter as he said it, his fingers biting into her skin, bruising as the gun pressed ever harder into her back. She blinked at tears, both those of pain and those of terror. “You told Gilmore, yes?”

“How do you know that?” Abigail asked, her voice shaking.

“I know everything, my dear. I always know everything. You blew up my plans, you managed to destroy everything. So you are the perfect one to blame for my murder. I believe our intrepid investigator has already turned his sights toward you. The one that Celeste here is spreading her legs for.”

Celeste flinched. “Don’t talk about him.”

“Is he good, Celeste? Does he manage to make you react, you cold, empty harpy? Is he better than me?”

She pivoted to face him as far as he would allow. “He is ten times the man you have ever been on your best day. And he is not a fool.”

“Perhaps not,” Erasmus said with a half-smile. “But he is a slave to evidence. He has plenty. The book about poisons that Abigail had on her shelf? The message that I deserve it that was written in the pages?”

“What?” Abigail gasped.

“Between that and the fact that Abigail was in the house at the time of my death, I think she’ll hang.” He shifted his attention to Abigail. “When you do, my brother will find a letter from me, marked to be sent in the event of my untimely death. The one that reveals that I had a child with Rosie. With Abigail swinging from the gallows, with his entire life falling apart around him, he will wish to quiet any whispers about an illegitimate son. He’ll offer my sweet, mourning true love a fine settlement. And we will run away happily ever after.”

Pippa covered her face. “You abandoned that child. Your son. He is why I came here looking for you, looking for Rachel…er, Rosie. I have been looking out for him these past few months.”

“Very kind of you,” Erasmus said with another of those smirks. “And you could have kept him, but now you’ve all gone and mucked this up right and good. So we’re going to have to go with a different plan.”

“Ras,” Abigail said. “Please…”

“Always liked it when you begged, my dear. That’s why I always made you do it,” Erasmus said. “But it seems that the discovery of yet another lover has driven you to the brink. You’re going to shoot Celeste. And Pippa. In a rage, you know. That rage you hide inside yourself that will finally come out. You’ll attempt to kill Rosie, too.” He glanced toward her. “I’ll shoot an arm, love. Nothing permanent.”

“You’re going to shoot me?” Rosie gasped.

“I must do so to make it look right.” He shook his head. “Think of the future. You survive this vicious attack and my brother will pay you double what he might have otherwise. You and I can go to America, a new life with no other wives. Freedom to do anything. Nothing holding us down.”

“Except for your son,” Pippa said.

Erasmus glanced at her. “We won’t even need him with this new plan. Why take him when we could be truly free?”

“You would abandon our son?” Rosie whispered.

“No one is abandoning anyone.”

They all pivoted toward the door, toward the voice there. Celeste knew it before she even looked. Owen stood there, his own weapon trained on Erasmus. With him was the Earl of Leighton, and he stared at his brother, face entirely drained of color.

“What is this, Ras?” he whispered. “What have you done? My God, what have you done?”

Chapter 23

Owen could hardly breathe, hardly think, as he stared at Celeste, perched precariously on Erasmus Montgomery’s lap with a pistol pressed into her side. And he needed to think. He needed to remain calm even though the woman he loved was threatened.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, never removing his eyes from her, willing her to see that he would protect her.

“No,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, Owen. I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head. “None of that.”

“Very romantic,” Montgomery snapped. “But why don’t we get back to the matter at hand? Rhys, you fool. Why couldn’t you leave bloody well enough