“Didn’t give ’im a chance. I ran off.” Self-pity infused Wick’s voice. “Like a damned mongrel with his tail between his legs.”
“As long as Garrity knows you intend to make your payment on time, he has no reason to intimidate you. You have nothing to fear as long as you follow through on the plan to marry Turbett’s daughter.”
“Nothing to fear… and nothing to live for.” Wick’s voice hitched. “If I have to marry that cold fish—”
“It’s either that or face Garrity. Your choice,” Richard said bluntly. “Now focus because I have something very important to ask you…” He turned, hearing footsteps.
Violet was hurrying down the aisle toward the stage, her golden dress sparkling in the gloom.
Hell and damnation.“What the devil are you doing here?” he said.
“Hello to you, too,” she said pertly. “I told Emma I had a megrim and needed to lie down.” Clambering onto the stage, she passed him, kneeling on his brother’s other side. “Where have you been, Wick? We’ve been so worried…” Her nose wrinkled. “Gadzooks, are you pickled?”
“He got soused and passed out at the gamekeeper’s cottage,” Richard cut in.
“Woodcutter’s,” Wick mumbled.
“Whatever. The point is,” Richard addressed Violet, “he wasn’t here.”
She let out a sigh of relief. “So he’s innocent.”
“Wouldn’t say I’minnocent, Vi”—Wick waggled his brows—“if you know what I mean.”
Richard was tempted to punch his brother in the face. “Stop leering at her, you idiot—and her name is Miss Kent. You’ll address her with respect.”
Violet rose, facing him. “He can call me what he wants. He’s my friend.”
It irked him that she took his brother’s side whenhewas the one defending her honor. “That’s not an excuse for him to treat you shabbily.”
“He’snot.”
“I say he is. For God’s sake, Violet,” he bit out, “I’m looking out for your best interests.”
“Trust me to be the judge of what that may be,” she retorted.
“Did you just call her Violet?” Wick said.
He and Violet turned, saying simultaneously, “Shut up.”
“Fine. But hand me my flask, will you?” Wick said sardonically. “If I must be submitted to this domestic drama, at least let me do it drunk.”
Richard inhaled for patience. Collecting himself, he was about to address Monique’s death, but Violet beat him to it.
“Wick, where’s your ring?” she said.
Wick’s cheekbones reddened. “Er, which one?” he said unconvincingly.
“The bloody signet with your initials,” Richard said. “When was the last time you had it in your possession?”
“Why do you care about my damned ring?”
“Because it was found on a dead woman’s body,” Richard snapped. “Monique de Brouet had your ring clutched in her hand when Violet and I discovered her in the library this morning.”
Wick stared at him. “Monique… she’s dead?”
“Yes, and unless you can explain how she got your ring, you might find yourself the goddamned suspect in her murder,” Richard gritted out.
“I would never hurt her.” Wick sounded dazed. “Never. I… I cared for her.”
