Nate put his hands on his hips and cursed out loud.
Bridget remained paralyzed, uncertain about what to do. Why hadn’t she walked away earlier?
Nate turned then, and she saw the shock on his face as he registered her presence. “Bridget, what are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry,” she said, going toward him. “I was about to start walking back to the villa and”—she shook her head—“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to listen.”
Nate ran a hand through his hair. He looked positively miserable, and for a moment, they both remained silent. Bijou, still sensing the tension in the air, remained close to her side. Finally, Bridget said, “I’m sorry about what she said—about Henry.”
“I don’t know why I accused her—I should have left well enough alone. But I was so angry after finding out about…” He squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Now, Henry will be lost to me forever.” He dropped his hand and looked at her with grief in his eyes.
“Then you didn’t mean what you said. You don’t think she’s a killer?”
“I doubt it. Helen is too vain to be threatened by the likes of Madam Bouffant and Abigail. She’d take greater pleasure in stealing their lovers than killing them. No, Helen wants her victims alive. That way, she can enjoy torturing them.”
Bridget swallowed. She wished there was something she could do to help ease his pain, but she knew better than anyone that there was no magic potion that could erase the agony of loss.
Nate glanced at Bridget’s soiled gloves and dress. Then his gaze fell on Bijou’s earth-smudged face and paws. The little terrier, frightenedby the acrimony in the air, had been extraordinarily quiet.
“Have you two been doing some digging?” he asked, coming forward to pet Bijou. Seeing Nate’s friendly smile back on his face, Bijou wagged his tail and moved to greet him. “My, you are a mess.” Nate ruffled Bijou’s fur.
“I’m afraid something awful has happened,” Bridget said. “My father’s grave has been raided. Someone stole the box containing his lock of hair and my mama’s letters,” Bridget choked on the last word.
“What? Why? Who would do such a thing? Did your father have enemies in the town—people he owed money perhaps?”
Bridget shrugged. Had someone asked her that question six months ago, she would have replied,Of course, not! But she wasn’t certain of anything anymore. “The box and the lock of hair aren’t worth money, so I don’t know why someone would want it. Someone must have acted out of malice.” She bit her lip, unable to imagine anyone hating her father. He’d had his faults, but he’d been a good person.
“Malice or love,” Nate said. “Both of those emotions are strong motivators. And malice often follows love.”
“What are you saying?” Bridget asked.
Nate ran a hand over his jaw and frowned in thought. “Your father spent a lot of time in London, didn’t he?”
“Yes, gambling, so I’ve learned.”
“But what if he went for another reason also? What if he had a lover there?”
Bridget recoiled with surprise. She’d never thought about another woman in her father’s life, but of course, it was possible. But who? “And you think his lover came here to dig up his lock of hair?” The idea was absurd.
“Perhaps she’s already here. Mayhap she’s one of the guests. And if her love has turned to malice, for whatever reason, she might have come here to wreak havoc and spend her anger.”
Bridget took a step back. “You think…whoever took my papa’s lock of hair also murdered Madam Bouffant and Abigail?”
“I think it’s possible,” Nate said.
“But who?” Bridget said. “Lady Eamont?” She laughed. “Or Lady Luxton?” She shook her head. “No. It’s impossible.”
“What are you saying? That it’s impossible someone loved your papa?”
Bridget stiffened. “Of course not. But your theory is too far-fetched. Those two women are only capable of self-love. You know that as well as I do. And who else is there? Mrs. Harley and Lady Darby?” She gave another nervous laugh. “It’s utterly preposterous.”
“We have to consider every possibility, no matter how unlikely it seems.”
Bridget frowned. Love or malice.She repeated the words over in her mind, letting them marinate. Could someone at Villa De Lacey have been in love with her papa? And if so…who?
Suddenly, with a sinking in her stomach, it dawned on her.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
