That made an odd sort of sense. His mannerisms and carriage. The way he spoke. Dignified and censorious. Haughty, with a note of deference.
She licked her lips again. “Whose butler are, or were, you?”
“I was the butler to the Dentry estate. The personal butler of Lord Dentry.” He gave a small bow, his pistol steady.
Dentry?She scooted around the table, keeping it in between them.
He cocked a brow. “Is something amiss?”
“You are the Dentry butler?” She laughed a little hysterically. “How do you know Gabriel Noble?”
Something passed over his face. “I see.” His voice was measured. Darkness edged by resignation.
“What do you see?” She edged toward the door, bag firmly in one hand, pistol in the other. Her urge to leave the house suddenly outweighing her need for the journal.
The front door clicked open. Terror raced through her. Gabriel was home.
“I see that you know nothing about me,” the man said.
She tried to keep her hysteria at a manageable level as she readied herself to open the door and bolt. “Why would I?”
“Gabriel? Marietta? You won’t believe what I just found.”
Marietta nearly sagged with relief at the sound of Jeremy’s voice, then tensed again as she realized she couldn’t trust him either.
Jeremy’s handsome face came into view. He stopped dead, staring at the butler. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to discover what you two have become involved in.”
“Nothing,” Jeremy said quickly. “You should go back to the country.”
The butler raised a brow. “I think not.”
She reached forward and snatched the journal from him. Both men immediately turned to her.
“I’ll let you two argue it out. Good afternoon.” She inched toward the door again.
“Marietta, why do you have a gun?” Jeremy asked. “Why do you both have guns? What has happened here?”
“Nothing to worry over.” She waved her free hand at him and clutched the journal, stepping back another foot.
“You are not leaving with that book, Miss Winters.” The butler leveled his arm.
She forced her voice to be calm. “I am.”
“Which book?”
The butler hesitated. “A journal that is not hers.”
Jeremy stiffened. “Abigail Winstead’s, then.”
She wanted to scream from the frustration and absurdity, the secrets and lies. “I need it. I will send it to you after my brother is released. I promise.” She clutched the book to her chest but held her pistol steady. “I won’t tell,” she whispered. “I’ll do what I can to say nothing about him. I just want Kenny released.”
Two piercing stares pinned her.
“I just want Kenny released—” Her voice broke.
“What do you mean, you’ll do what you can to say nothing about him?”
