Chapter 22 #2
“You said you wanted to question the guide once again. I was not aware you’d questioned him a first time.”
He slanted her a peeved look. The bloody woman was too observant for her own good. Or perhaps, his good would be more apt a statement. “An opportunity presented itself when you sent your telegram.”
A look of concentration came over her face, as if she tried to determine when that would have taken place.
“At the time, he claimed to have delivered your so-called companion to the train station.”
“Yes, I know. I told you that much.”
“I wanted to ask him how it was, if that was the case, she wound up dead.“
“I see. That was very clever thinking, sir.”
As he watched, she took a swallow of brandy, then licked her plump lips, eyeing him with an expectant expression. “And? What did the guide have to say for himself?”
“He was nowhere to be found. He had not been seen for days, and by the look of his cottage, had packed in a hurry before leaving. I spoke with the magistrate briefly. He informed me he’d questioned the neighbors and found no one who had witnessed his departure.”
“No one? He slunk off? That would imply guilt, would it not? Perhaps he is a member of the band of jewel thieves.” She sipped more brandy.
Sterling shook his head and eyed the ceiling. Jewel thieves. She seemed particularly attached to the inane notion. “Annabelle, there is no ring or band or whatever you’ve termed it, of jewel thieves.”
Her blue eyes flashed with defiance. “You cannot be certain of that. If only I had retrieved the diamond—”
“Shard of glass,” he muttered, before drinking more brandy.
She went on as if he hadn’t interrupted. “No doubt the villains have removed it from the kiln by now.”
“No doubt. And if not, more’s a pity. As of today, whoever wandered into the kilns to terrorize you will find his route inside sealed off.” He’d commissioned rough doors with heavy locks to be installed before departing yesterday.
“I see.”
“May I continue?”
“By all means.”
“Contrary to your theory, I found no evidence linking Mr. Blackwell to a ring of thieves.” Although the man did have decent furnishings that bespoke of a regular income. “I did, however, find certain items which I believe he took from your maid. Items that, no doubt, belonged to you.”
She sucked in a breath. “Such as?”
“A kidskin, woman’s billfold etched with the letters A and M—empty. A silver brush and comb, similarly engraved. They will arrive later, via courier.”
“That thieving toad,” she fumed, then her eyes lit. “As the guide did have my things…”
“Then it stands to reason he was the man responsible for what happened to Lucy. My guess is, he learned that her body had washed to shore, and rather than risk facing a murder and larceny charge, fled.”
She gazed at him in wide-eyed admiration. “You solved Lucy’s murder, sir. That was fast work. I suppose….I suppose that means you have no further objection to my leaving?”
Annoyance pricked him.
Before he could respond, she went on, scrubbing one hand over her thigh. “Although I may as well await my chaperone at this point.” The sullen lilt to her tone, as if he had broached the notion of her leaving, served to lessen his pique.
“We can’t be certain the guide was the killer. Not to mention, I still suspect his complicity with the men who held you at gunpoint.”
“Oh. Good point.”
He gave her a long look. “There’s something else we need to discuss.”
“What is that?”
Never taking his eyes off her, he lounged back in his chair and, one-handed, unbuttoned his waistcoat.
Annabelle’s unblinking gaze followed his fingers as if transfixed by the sight. When her lips parted on a soft inhale, it was all he could do not to erupt from the chair and haul her into his arms for a thorough kiss.
Gritting his teeth against the fierce urge, he fished inside his breast pocket, withdrew the folded parchment he’d placed there yesterday, and leaned forward to hand it to her.
“What is this?” Annabelle asked, unfolding the paper.
Sterling did not answer. He regarded her as she scanned the page.
After a moment, she lowered the paper. “I do not understand. What is this?” she repeated.
Deliberately, he arched one challenging brow and finished his brandy. “You're an intelligent woman, Annabelle. You tell me.”
She sipped more brandy, as if buying time.
Perhaps he should not have given her a full portion. At this rate, she would be in her altitudes.
“It looks like a marriage certificate. But that is what I do not understand. It bears both of our names—a-and…tomorrow's date.”
He inclined his head. “In that case, I’d say the document is self-explanatory, wouldn't you?”
She set the nearly empty snifter on the side table between them with a resounding click and surged to her feet.
“Sir, you are being deliberately obtuse. Yes, I comprehend the words. But as we are not betrothed, and as we are most definitely not getting married, I must ask if this is some sort of joke at my expense?”
“It is not a joke,” he said very steadily.
“Then, is it your way of once again accusing me of trying to entrap you?”
He framed his reply with care. “Annabelle, you may or may not have set out to entrap me. At this point, I’m willing to concede that was not your intent.”
“Thank you ever so much.” Blatant sarcasm underscored every word.
“Regardless. The repercussions of your uninvited stay here add up to one unalterable fact: You are compromised.”
“I disagree. Nothing has happened to compromise me.”
Her obstinacy was beginning to annoy him. “Strictly speaking, that is not true. Or have you forgotten your experiment on the rooftop?”
She tsked. “Nothing of import has happened between us, my lord.” She lowered her voice. “More to the point, no one but us knows of the small incident on the rooftop.” She lifted her chin before adding in an accusatory tone, “Or the kiln.”
“No one else needs to know. I know.”
Her hands fisted at her sides. “Drat and double drat. Lady Caroline was right about you, sir. You are too exacting for your own good. You would entrap yourself into marriage to me, a woman you detest, to satisfy a debt of honor which no one demands be paid?”