“So she wanted you to leave. Well, we were going to do so until she changed her mind about the whist tournament.”
“At some point, she changed her mind about what she wished to do. Agreeing to whist was a way of keeping us there. She knew Lady Orpington wouldn’t leave if she had a chance for revenge.”
“Lady Middlebury’s mind was not on the game. She was very distracted.” Gwendolyn thought a moment and then said, “Neither was Lady Orpington’s. Do you believe she betrayed you? Could she have been feeling guilty?”
“I don’t know. She always claimed she and the marchioness were childhood friends. I’m usually a better judge of character. But I do know that deciding to play whist was a way of keeping us at Colemore so Lady Middlebury could do away with us once and for all.”
“Instead, we have learned the truth. Will you change your name and become Robert?”
“It doesn’t sound right to me.”
“Or me.” She liked the name Beckett. “London is full of Roberts.” She paused then asked, “What of Chaytor?”
“Next you will ask me if I plan on being the marquess.”
Gwendolyn sat up. He followed suit, his backagainst the wall behind the bed. “You very well could be,” she said seriously.
He winced at her words.
She understood. “That doesn’t make you comfortable, does it?”
Beckett pulled a strand of her hair through his fingers. He liked touching her, she realized. She liked his touch.
Then he said, “It is possible that all of this has a reasonable explanation.”
“And that Lady Middlebury wished to ship you away to the other side of the world out of the kindness of her heart. She knew you had a desire to see a penal colony.”
He shook his head with a quiet laugh at her sarcasm. “Does it make a difference to you how all of this plays out? Whether or not I am the marquess?”
She reached for his hand, lacing her fingers with his. “I’m surprised you ask,” she said.
“I don’t trust easily, Gwendolyn, let alone ‘love.’ It is a new word for me. And yet, you have both my trust and my love.”
“And I value those gifts. I will never abuse them. I love you, Beckett,whomeveryou may be.”
He drew her to him. She rested her head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart.
“I can’t prove I was the marquess,” he said quietly. “Winstead is dead.”
This was news to her. She pushed away from him. “How do you know he is dead?”
“He attempted to murder me in London. Ithad not been my intention to kill him, but it was in my defense.”
A thought struck Gwendolyn. “If she attempted murder once, why did she decide to let you live? Why go to the trouble of transport?”
“That is what I don’t understand,” he confessed. “It is as if she is at cross-purposes.”
“Two different aims,” Gwendolyn agreed.
“Two different people?” he suggested.
They exchanged glances as the possibility of his suggestion took shape. “Who could be her accomplice?” Gwendolyn wondered. “The marquess? Her son? Lady Orpington? The place could be crawling with murderous characters.”
He grinned at her. “You say that with such delight.”
“I told you I could be helpful with your investigation,” she reminded him confidently.
“And you have been.” He leaned over to kiss her brow. Outside the door of their haven, she heard voices. It was the world. She wasn’t ready to face it. He’d heard them, too, because he said, “But now, we need to dress. There is work to be done.”
