He swallowed hard. He would wait—he had no choice. “I’ll escort you to the edge of the gardens.”
As they stepped onto the path on Tempest property, she asked the same damn question that had been haunting Luke for weeks now. “Why didn’t they kill Arthur?”
Luke sighed. “I asked him that very thing. I wanted to believe he’d struck a bargain with them in exchange for his life, but rather than give me any sort of explanation, he flew into a rage—as much of a rage as a man in his condition could.”
“Was he imprisoned when you found him?”
“He was in a hut, being…tended to—”
“By a woman,” Naomi finished for him. She was coming to understand Gil’s baser tendencies all too well.
“But there was no guard. He was not tied up.” All he’d wanted was a damn explanation. He’d not been suspicious until Gil had responded by lashing back at him. “I have no evidence of anything, but the way he refused to answer any of my questions… He was uncooperative, defensive, and he kept insisting that he couldn’t remember what had happened. Though, it very well could be the fever.” Luke hated that he was even thinking these things.
They were nearing the outer trees of the garden and she slowed almost to a halt.
“He will have to make an explanation to the War Office, won’t he? After they read your report?”
“I’ve yet to send it in.” He forced himself to relax his jaw. “If he responds to them in the same manner he answered to me…”
Naomi was nodding slowly. He could see in her eyes that she followed his train of thought. Gil was ill. Very ill.
“Hell, Naomi. If he’s guilty, he deserves everything they throw at him. Men died. Good men. But if he isn’t, I don’t want him dying in prison.” It was possible Gil would spend what remained of his life defending himself.
“And your upcoming mission?”
“Is to flush out the traitor.”
The house had come into view and both of them halted. When she turned, however, she didn’t draw away from him but took hold of both his hands. “I think that Arthur Gilcrest is very lucky to have you for a friend.”
Luke stared down at their hands. Her cream-colored gloves contrasted vividly against his black ones. “If I find evidence of his guilt, I’ll have no choice but to report it.”
She squeezed his fingers and nodded.
Her daughter awaited her inside. Luke hated to tell her goodbye, but she was always going to be a mother first. He could only esteem her more for this.
And yet he wasn’t ready to relinquish her.
“Will you meet me again tomorrow? At the bridge?”
“Of course.”
“So, this is why my wife is not overjoyed at my return.” The snarl in Gil’s voice cut across the lawn in a startling accusation. Rather than release Naomi’s hands, allowing her to step away guiltily, Luke held her fast and slowly turned to meet Gil’s stare.
They had done nothing wrong.
His old friend, however, seemed to believe differently.
Chapter Twenty-One
Naomi had not imagined the black look she’d seen on Arthur’s face the day before. She had not imagined it because she was looking into it again. It was almost as though the devil himself had stepped inside and taken over the person she’d thought she knew.
“Luke is a friend,” she responded in a calm voice, hoping to diffuse Arthur’s charge. It wasn’t that he was completely wrong. She had lain with Luke last November. But she’d believed Arthur to be dead.
“Luke, is it? Not Major Cockfield? Or even Lord Lucas?” If anything, his face contorted into an even sharper rage.
Luke released only one of her hands and turned both of them to face Arthur, who approached with surprising speed, considering he was leaning heavily on his cane.
“Luke has been kind to both of us,” Naomi insisted.
