Mrs Boswell’s mouth twisted. “I’m sure it’s not how it looks.”
“Then tell me. How does it look? Because we clearly have company. It’s a half-hour ride to town, which means I must have spent at least two passed out in bed.”
“Someone drugged your brandy,” Gentry said.
Gabriel’s blood turned to ice.
“Someone?” Bile stung his throat. Fury surged like a second heartbeat. “Someone with a death wish. There’s a traitor in this house.”
He tried to rise but froze, remembering he was nakedbeneath the sheets. Mrs Boswell averted her eyes, hovering like a hen.
“Assemble the staff.” He forced the words through the rasp in his throat. “In the drawing room. And fetch me a robe.”
No one moved, except Mrs Boswell, who fetched the silk robe and tossed it onto the bed.
“Who’s going to tell him?” Dalton said.
Mrs Boswell raised her chin. “I’ll tell him. It’s best he hears it from me, but you might want to leave the room.”
Gabriel stilled. “Tell me what?”
She drew a breath. “Lord Rutland is questioning the staff, my lord. He’s in the servants’ dining room. Threatening them all with the full weight of the law.”
A few drops of laudanum, and the whole household was in uproar? “Good God, woman, you summoned my friends because someone tampered with my brandy? I’m quite capable of handling my own affairs.”
She didn’t answer right away, but winced as if called before the magistrate. “No, my lord. I summoned them because Lady Rothley hasn’t been seen since I left her upstairs … three hours ago.”
He blinked, praying he’d misheard.
“Three hours ago?”
Three damn hours.
The words echoed through his mind, tolling like a bell that wouldn’t stop. He stared at Mrs Boswell, waiting for her to retract them. She didn’t.
He was already on his feet, robe barely tied, the floor tilting beneath him. “Where’s her maid? Has anyone searched the house?”
Hang it all. That alone would take a day.
“Lady Rothley was distressed, my lord. She believes you weren’t entirely truthful. That you married her because all your friends have settled, and you felt obliged to do the same.”
Dalton and Gentry stepped back.
Was this some sort of ill-timed joke?
“She knows exactly why we married.” His voice rang with disbelief. She was his wife. His lover. His dearest friend. There could be no doubt. Not after tonight. Not after the way they had touched each other.
“Daisy mentioned you offered for the countess before she married the earl. To save her from the noose. To protect her. A marriage of friendship.” Her words were clipped, her eyes sharp with censure. “Lady Rothley was upset you hadn’t told her. And now that knowledge has tainted any blossoming feelings.”
Gabriel opened his mouth to explain, but every sentence that formed rang with uncomfortable similarity. The same promise. The same protective instinct. With one distinct difference.
He had never wanted Joanna.
He’d wanted Olivia almost from the moment they met.
“It’s not the same. If she’d come to me, I would have told her.” He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “Joanna was a friend in trouble. Nothing more. I love Olivia. From the moment I saw her, it’s always been her.”
If he’d hurt her by not explaining sooner, then the fault was his.
