The Valet Who Loved Me - Valerie Bowman Page 0,47
forearm to the top of her head.
“Will you tell me why you’re here at least?” he asked.
“Will you tell me why you’re here?” she countered. She gave him a sidelong glance.
They stared at each other again, neither making a move to concede.
“I will tell you if you tell me,” she finally offered.
His gaze remained skeptical as he said, “You promise?”
She nodded. “I promise.”
“Very well.” He lifted her hand from the blanket to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “I promise, too. I know it’s hard to trust, but I will if you will. But we must also promise to ask each other no more questions.”
Marianne took a deep breath. “Very well. You go first.”
He chuckled at that. “Fine.” He searched for the right words for a few moments before saying. “I’m here to catch a criminal.”
She nodded quietly. “I am too. My brother’s murderer.”
It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room for a moment. They both stared at each other as if they’d never seen each other before. Finally, Beau found his voice first. “Why would your brother’s murderer be here? You said he died in the war.”
“He did—and I thought you said we wouldn’t ask any more questions.”
“Yes, but damn it, now I want to know.”
“Are you going to tell me which criminal you’re looking for?”
“No.”
“Then I’m not going to tell you what happened to my brother. I think I’ve said enough.”
Beau’s frown intensified. “How can you find your brother’s murderer at a house party?”
“The same way you can find whatever criminal you’re looking for here, I suppose.”
He glared at her. Why was this woman so stubborn? He’d never met anyone as stubborn as he was. Normally when he was charming, and certainly when he was seductive, he could get most women to tell him whatever he wanted them to. But Marianne was different. She wasn’t about to tell him more. He could tell by the set of her jaw. She was done talking.
“Fine,” he shot back, pulling his arm from her and plumping the pillow angrily behind his head. “I suppose we’ll have to go to our graves not knowing each other surnames.”
She laughed. “I wasn’t thinking about my grave quite yet. I’m not entirely certain what will happen tomorrow at this point.”
He couldn’t help himself. “Do you really think your brother’s killer is here? In this house?”
She glanced down at the sheets and traced her finger in a small circle. “I don’t know,” she allowed.
“But he might be?” Beau continued.
“He might be.”
They settled back into an uneasy silence and after several minutes had passed, Marianne ventured to lay her head on his shoulder. “This is madness, you know.”
“I know,” Beau replied, sighing. He leaned down and kissed her head.
A few more moments of silence passed before Marianne asked, “Do you know Albina, Lady Winfield’s maid?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The next morning, sleepy as usual at least lately, Marianne was pressing one of Lady Wilhelmina’s gowns for the dinner to be held in the dining room that evening. As usual, the young woman and her mother were gossiping about the house party and its guests.
“You could have knocked me over with a feather the other night when Lord Kendall climbed up on that sideboard and yanked off his powdered wig. Imagine, the man pretending to be a servant all this time. It boggles the mind,” Lady Copperpot said.
“I thought it was one of the most romantic things I’ve ever seen,” Lady Wilhelmina replied with a long, dramatic sigh. “One of the most surprising, to be certain.”
“Don’t be a henwit, Wilhelmina,” Lady Copperpot scolded. “There was nothing romantic about it. It was shocking. Scandalous. Revolting, if you ask me.”
Lady Wilhelmina snapped her mouth closed, but not before Marianne saw the hurt in her eyes at her mother’s harsh rebuke.
“I’m just sick that Lord Kendall is apparently taken now. There aren’t many truly eligible bachelors left at the party, and none of them seem particularly suitable for you.” Lady Copperpot frowned and shook her head.
Lady Wilhelmina nodded. “Yes. Apparently, Lord Kendall is betrothed to Miss Wharton. But I do have to wonder if Lord Bellingham is skulking about, pretending to be a servant.”
“What? Why would you say that?” Lady Copperpot asked, her face crumpled in a scowl.
Lady Wilhelmina shrugged. “Well, someone told me there was a rumor that the Duke of Worthington had been pretending to be a groomsman in the stables. Though they say he’s gone now.”
“What!” Lady Copperpot’s face took on a decidedly red hue.
“Yes,”