that body. “I also need you to discover if any of the servants spoke with this Patrick Renton on or about the fifteenth of December, either on the estate grounds or even in the neighboring village. He would have been dressed like a gentleman, but a bit rough.”
“Aye. Anythin’ specific?”
I closed my eyes against a wave of pain as the ties of my stays briefly tightened as she struggled with the tangled ribbons before loosening. “Find out if they mentioned the abbey crypt or the tunnel to him.”
“Aye. Mayhap one o’ those silly maids who mentioned the ghostly monk.”
I sank down on the bench before the dressing table as she draped my wrapper over my shoulders against the chill. “Have you uncovered anything else about this ‘apparition’ in a monk’s robe?”
“Only that more than one o’ them have seen him.” She frowned down at my hair as she began to pull pins from it. “And despite their insistence to the contrary, it’s more than likely a man playin’ some sort o’ jest. Probably one o’ the male servants.”
I suspected she was right, for Lord Edward had all but admitted to it. But was that all there was to it? A simple jest? Or was there something more at play?
I asked Gage his opinion as we lay together in bed a short time later. The dose of laudanum Bree had given me had blunted the pain, but I still wasn’t sufficiently healed as to rest my head on his shoulder as I would have liked. So I reclined on my left side next to him, my fingers gently playing with those of his right hand.
He lifted his opposite arm, bending his elbow to tuck his hand behind his head as he searched the shadows above us. “I suppose it’s possible that there’s more to it than simply mischief, though I can’t begin to guess what.” I could feel the tension from the evening’s revelations thrumming through him.
“What did you think of Lord John’s confession about Mr. Renton’s real reason for coming here?”
“Well, I found it more credible than that malarkey about a debt of honor, but it certainly wasn’t easier to swallow.”
Though he didn’t say the words specifically, I could sense his simmering anger. That a woman should have been treated in such a way—and by a gentleman, no less—was an affront to his own heightened sense of honor. He was far from naive. He had seen and experienced some of the worst of man, particularly during his time fighting in the Greek War for Independence. And he unquestionably was aware of the depravity and debauchery that some noblemen perpetuated on those of lesser rank they were supposed to protect. But that did not mean it was any easier to accept each time he encountered it. His integrity, decency, and compassion were some of the reasons why I loved him.
Feeling a swelling of affection, I ran my fingers up the skin of his arm, trying to offer him what comfort I could. “It’s no wonder he didn’t want his sister to know about it.”
“Yes. Lady Helmswick does not strike me as the sort of woman who would wish another to rid herself of her child simply because her husband was the father.”
I felt my breath catch in my throat at the words, pressing my hand against the swell of my stomach.
Sensing my movement, Gage turned his head on his pillow to look at me, the hollows of his eyes little more than smudges in the darkness. “That can’t have been easy for you to hear.”
“No,” I admitted softly. “It’s not something I gave a great deal of thought to before. But now that I’m expecting . . .” I inhaled a swift breath, trying to suppress the emotion threatening at the back of my eyes. Gage rolled toward me, and I slid my left hand up along the sheets to touch his jaw, feeling the rough bristles of hair sprouting there. “I’m so glad you are the man you are, and that I didn’t let my fear keep me from you.”
He smiled and then leaned forward to press his warm lips to my forehead.
“How did I get so fortunate?” I asked to no one in particular as gratitude swelled through me. How different my life would be if Sir Anthony hadn’t died. I could be expecting his child—one made out of duty and fear, rather than love and conviction.
“Because you are who you are,” he replied, in a conscious echo of