“He did!”
“I’m sure he did. I’ll see what I can learn about a Victoria who owns a brothel.”
“He truly did stop, William.”
I could not explain why it was so essential to me that he believed me, that he understood. Perhaps I did not wish him to think me so naive. Perhaps it was the undertone of pity that had joined the note of irritation at my insistence. My marriage was not something to be pitied.
He caught my hand in his, thumb tracing my knuckles. “No, you’re right. No man in his right mind would visit a brothel when you were waiting at home.” His eyes and voice had softened.
I swallowed thickly, pushing down sentiments that were entirely inappropriate for the setting. Honestly, lusting after a man while digging through my deceased husband’s ledgers, searching for his killer. What had gotten into me?
I settled for a simple, “Thank you.”
“Of course. It’s the truth. Are there any other names you can recall?”
My gaze cast to the side of the desk as if the answer was to be found there. In fairness, William’s eyes were unbearably distracting. Naming the color was quickly becoming my favorite pastime.
That was when I caught sight of the invitation for last week’s masquerade, not yet properly disposed of. The masquerade at Wayland’s, named after its proprietor. A man Gabriel occasionally had dealings with.
And my former lover.
My stomach twisted into a knot in rebellion at the thought. I could feel my lips moving, attempting to say the name, to add him to the list. But no sound came out.
“Celine?”
Still unable to give voice to that name, I tugged my hand free, grabbed the invitation, and handed it to him silently.
“Oh, love, no. He’s aboveboard.”
“Now. He’s aboveboard now. He began building after receiving funds in 1809. The same year Gabriel was killed.”
“He’s a friend. I know him. He would never.”
“He was my lover for two years. Do you think I wish for it to be him? It’s entirely likely that Gabriel’s death was the result of some sort of gambling dispute. Michael is the king of gambling in this town.”
“He was?” William asked, his voice soft.
“Was what?”
“Your lover.”
My eyes found his, and I saw something unreadable in them. “That is the part you found to be of import?”
“Yes—no—right. No, that is not the important part. I apologize. I was just… I don’t like to think him capable of it. But you’re correct. He should be on the list.”
“I think, perhaps, we should be finished for the day.” Even I could hear the hollow, tinny quality to my voice. It was fitting when mixed with the metallic tang filling my mouth.
“Right, yes, of course. I… I am sorry. I was distracted by the excitement of a good mystery, and I forgot myself. I forgot that it was real and he was real and that this would all be so very painful for you. That was badly done.” His hand caught mine once again. He peered up at me from beneath his brow, his eyes a soft cornflower blue and full of concern.
“It’s not your fault. I just, with the masquerade and my ridiculous plan… And then last night… And today I saw Mama and Gabriel, and now this. I am just… I am just a bit overwrought.”
He rose, his free hand finding my chin and tipping it up so my eyes met his, concern still etched in their downturned corners.
“You have nothing to apologize for, love.”
“I was convinced you murdered my husband. I followed you for a week in an ill-fitting maid’s uniform. I went so far as to spy on you during private moments.”
He cocked his head to the side with a smile in acknowledgment. “You have a few things to apologize for. Not this though. I’ve mucked this up quite thoroughly to be honest. I intended for there to be a great deal more kissing and a great deal less paperwork. I… you— I get quite nervous in your presence. And I do and say the wrong thing. But I’m good at this.” He gestured at the pages strewn about my desk. “Can’t say the wrong thing to ledgers and contracts.”
