Conrad had considered skipping the meeting, but as the topic concerned an assassination attempt with him as the target, he thought it prudent to stay. When he’d expressed his annoyance that Gigi had failed to mention that the falling statue had been no accident, her parents had stiffened, but she’d simply rolled her eyes.
“Please. You had just suffered a concussion and needed rest, not additional stress. Anyway, I have everything in hand. The constable will be by shortly, and if you are ready to get off your high horse, you are welcome to join.”
Despite his foul mood, Conrad admired Gigi’s spirit and begrudgingly conceded her point. He trusted her, and from what he’d overheard, he was right to. Gigi had stood up to her parents on his behalf: she’d admitted their mutual attraction and called him “caring.” It was not the adjective he would have chosen to describe himself, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. His bond with Gigi was growing stronger day by day, and he no longer had any doubt that they belonged together.
Yet her family remained an obstacle. Conrad was still fuming over the marquess’s characterization of him, although he ought to have expected it. All his life, he’d dealt with snobs who deemed him unworthy. Robert and his other half-brothers had shunned and tormented him because of his mama’s working-class origins. Robert had further instructed the headmaster of Creavey Hall to “rehabilitate”—in other words, to abuse and prey upon—Conrad in whatever fashion the sadistic bastard saw fit.
As a prizefighter, Conrad had fought his way to the top, yet his triumphs and popularity had been accompanied by an awareness that his admirers viewed him as nothing more than a source of entertainment. Even his lovers—Isobel and her ilk—saw him as some exotic beast they wanted a turn riding or a supplier of whatever worldly goods they wanted.
Yet Gigi was different. She cared about him. While they’d butted heads as often as they’d made love, she treated him like a flesh-and-blood man, capable of feeling. She angered and amused, teased and tormented him. Sometimes, he didn’t know if he wanted to fight or fuck her…or do both at once. All he knew was that he wanted her in his life, permanently.
And, hell, he might owe his life to her.
If not for her cry of warning, he might have met his end beneath a pile of rock.
Christ. He was going to have to find some way to deal with the Harringtons. As much as it galled him, to secure Gigi’s hand in marriage, he needed to convince the marquess and marchioness that he was worthy of their daughter. Apparently, his fortune held no swaying power…which left the other card he had to play.
Which I will reveal. When the time is right.
The constable made a clearing sound in his throat. “If I may. I would like to begin by expressing my sincere wishes to Mr. Godwin for a speedy recovery.”
“I’m fine,” Conrad said curtly. “But I will be better when the bastard who did this is apprehended.”
“Understood, sir.” Despite the puffy bags under his eyes, Rawlins’s gaze was keen. “I share your concern. This village has suffered enough mayhem. In recent months, a nefarious gang of thieves and cutthroats called the Corrigans were expelled by the good people of Chuddums. We are still hunting down some of the gang members as well as their remaining stash of stolen goods. The last thing the villagers need is more bad news. Unfortunately, last night’s disaster has led to fresh talk about a curse.”
“Oh no,” Gigi breathed. “Are people blaming Bloody Thom for the falling statue?”
Her sister-in-law reached over, and the two ladies gripped hands.
“Regrettably, that is the rumor,” Rawlins said in somber tones. “The bath is closed for the day while Miss Letty deals with the damage, which leaves many of her genteel guests with free time in Chuddums. Combine their reports of the gala with the villagers’ tales of the curse, and voila. Bloody Thom rises again.”
“This could undo the progress the village has made.”
Xenia Harrington bit her lip, and her husband placed a hand on her shoulder.
“We’ve come so far,” Gigi moaned. “All of Miss Letty’s hard work could come to naught if people believe a murderous ghost is lurking at the spa. Moreover, I know what I saw. The villain was no specter.”
“I am in agreement, my lady, and hope that our interview today will lead us to the real culprit,” the constable said. “Criminals have no place in Chuddums.”
Conrad cut in. “I place my faith in deeds, not words. What are you doing about it?”
“I would like to start with a review of facts.” Rawlins took the challenge in stride. “This morning, my men and I went to surveil the spa, and I believe Lady Georgiana was correct in her belief that this was no accident, but sabotage. We found traces of muddy footsteps on the second-floor gallery—fresh, but not identifiable, I am afraid. However, I discovered more compelling evidence when I examined the statues. They are attached to their respective columns by thin metal bands…all of which have been cut.”
Gigi gasped. “Any one of the statues could have fallen?”
“With a determined push, yes,” Rawlins confirmed. “My theory is that the assailant was not entirely certain where his target would end up. Thus, he needed a variety of options.”
“Diabolical,” Lord Ethan muttered.
“Indeed, my lord. The fact that the assailant chose to deploy Mars strongly supports that Mr. Godwin was the intended target, for he was the one directly in the line of fire.”
“A few days ago, there was another attempt on Mr. Godwin’s life,” Gigi blurted. “It cannot be a coincidence.”
Of course, she would make the connection. After the head injury, Conrad’s grogginess had prevented him from thinking clearly, but he’d awakened this morning with the same conclusion blazing in his head.
Someone wants me dead. Who?
“What’s this?” Rawlins asked.
