Her voice wavered then, and something in his expression changed.
“He leaves,” she admitted quietly. “Often. And he does not tell me where he goes. He never has.”
Adrian’s grip loosened.
“If he has done something serious,” she asked, barely above a whisper. “You will tell me, will you not?”
“Yes,” he said. “I believe he murdered my brother.”
The words shattered the moment.
Her face drained of color, her body going rigid beneath his hand. He released her at once as she staggered back, clutching the fabric of her nightgown as though it were the only thing holding her upright.
“No,” she breathed. “He… he could not—”
“He was the last man seen with him,” Adrian said, his voice gentler now. “And he threatened him the day he died.”
“This is a serious accusation, Your Grace.”
“Indeed, it is,” he replied, ignoring his body’s sudden urges. “One I do not fling out carelessly, and this is the reason why I have ignored the lateness of the hour. If your husband is responsible, I want to ensure that hewillpay.”
Bridget searched his eyes, and for a moment, he wondered what she saw. He no doubt sounded like a lunatic, so why was she not frightened? Then a thought hit him. Ifhedid not frighten her, then what had her husband done to numb her to such lunacy?
He then turned his back to her to pick up the mess of books and pages on the floor. A soft sob escaped from behind him, and Adrian stopped. Slowly, he turned around, his heart responding strangely to the quiet sound of despair, and felt his anger begin to melt at the sight of Bridget.
The fiery woman he had seen in the foyer was gone. That hard look in her eyes had melted into honeyed pools brimming with tears. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, and she was trembling in her silk robe. Her throat bobbed, and her plump bottom lip quivered as she took in the ruined room, turning in a slow circle.
“Lady Winslow, I must—”
“Donotcall me that,” Bridget demanded in a quivering voice as she looked down at the destruction surrounding her.
Indignation passed through her eyes, and before Adrian could stop himself, he walked through the mess he had left on the floor and gently lifted her chin to make her look at him again. She resisted.
“Is that not your name?” he asked in a gentle tone.
He gave her chin a gentle nudge, but she would not meet his eyes as she shook her head.
“It is,” she begrudgingly admitted. “However, I am too embarrassed to be associated with my husband right now.”
He could hear the hurt in her voice and was taken aback by how it made his own heart ache a little more.
What had this husband of hers done to her?
“Very well. What should I call you then?” he asked.
Her throat bobbed again as her adorable nose and cheeks turned a soft pink.
“Bridget is fine,” she answered, obviously trying very hard to hold in the sob building in her chest.
“Bridget,” he breathed her name, caressing her chin.
Adrian brought his other hand up to her face and cupped her jawline, applying gentle pressure until she finally met his eyes.
“I owe you an apology,” he said. “I let my rage and suspicions get the better of me. I did not mean to frighten you. It is just imperative that I find out what happened to my brother.”
Her brow tensed slightly, but her eyes remained on his as she slightly shook her head.
“It is not you I am afraid of,” she answered in a quivering voice. “It is my husband. My marriage. I have spent the last five years being blind and grateful, as I was taught to be, but tonight I am starting…”
