Page 33 of The Wedding-Crashing Duchess

“I never called you unpleasant,” she drew a slow breath. “You think very highly of your ability to occupy my attention.”

“You have spent several mornings reading the newspapers before breakfast, and although you pretend to be interested in society notices, you always turn first to the reports concerning the murdered maid.”

Ronan continued watching her with a closeness that made the question feel personal.

“I have been checking because the constable said there had been no progress. A woman died after I saw someone standing over her, while everyone continues behaving as though the matter is no longer connected to us.”

“It may not be connected to us, although I understand why you cannot dismiss it, and I have already asked Gregory to arrange a meeting with the constable tomorrow.”

Augusta stared at him. “You have?”

“Yes, even if you were mistaken about the man’s identity, you were not mistaken about the body. I would prefer to know why someone carrying a cane like mine was near the place where the woman died.”

“You believe me now?” she said, surprised.

“I have always believed that you saw something, although I did not believe that something was me.”

“Well, I saw your cane.”

Ronan glanced towards the cane resting beside his chair, and although his expression remained calm, his eyes sharpened. “This cane was made for me when I was fifteen; my father commissioned it after the injury to my leg, and the silversmith worked from the raven on our family crest. There should not be another exactly like it.”

“That is what I have been trying to tell you.”

Ronan’s fingers tightened slightly around his glass. “My father ordered only one, and although the design may have been copied, a craftsman would have required either access to the cane or a detailed drawing, because the proportions are not common. I had assumed you saw something similar, yet if you are certain it was the same design, then I have more reason to speak with the constable than I realized.”

Augusta studied his face. “You do not think I imagined it?”

“No, although I think fear can alter details, and I think certainty becomes more dangerous when it is built from a brief glimpse, yet I also think you have repeated the description without changing it.”

“So you do believe me after all,” she said, shaking her head.

“I am trying not to encourage you too much. The last time you were entirely confident, my wedding guests were sent home before luncheon.”

“Your wedding would not have continued even if I had remained silent, because Phillipa did not wish to marry you.”

“Yes, and although I do not blame her, I find it interesting that you continue defending the consequences of your accusation while apologizing for making it.”

“I am capable of regretting the manner in which I acted without regretting that Phillipa escaped a marriage she did not want.”

“And are you equally certain that you did not enter one?”

The question was quiet, and because there was no teasing in it, Augusta felt the answer more deeply than she expected.

“I entered this marriage by choice,” she said, “although I will admit that I did not understand you when I agreed.”

“That does not answer whether you regret it.”

“Perhaps I have not yet decided whether you deserve an answer.”

Ronan held her gaze. Although the silence stretched, it did not feel empty; something unspoken moved between them with enough force that Augusta became conscious of the space separating their chairs.

At last, he said, “Then I will try to earn one, although I should warn you that patience has never been among my most celebrated qualities.”

CHAPTER 9

Gregory arrived to find Ronan standing at the window with one hand resting on the silver head of his cane, while the other held a folded sheet of paper that he did not appear to be reading. He remained in the doorway for a moment before entering, and although Ronan must have heard him, he did not turn.

“You sent for me with such urgency,” Gregory said as he removed his gloves, “yet the servants appear calm, and you seem fine. I can only assume that either the matter is far more serious than it appears.”