Page 41 of Return of the Viscount
“Good night, my lord,” she called softly.
“Sleep well,” he answered, and shut the door behind him.
She told herself she was relieved.
At dawn, Michael walked the rolling hills of the Appertan estate, needing to exhaust himself each day just to sleep at night. He’d never imagined that being so close to a woman would enthrall him, having thought himself above such weakness. But no, his wife was like a siren to a sailor, luring him in even though it might not end well.
And now she might be in danger, and every protective instinct in him demanded that he spend the nights with her now, but she would only think he wanted to bed her. When he’d stood above her, saw her sleeping peacefully, a great weight had felt like it crushed his chest, filling him with an aching tenderness and worry and a helplessness he wasn’t used to feeling.
She was his; he would protect her with his life. He’d been naïve to think that making himself a husband in name only, from the other side of the world, wouldn’t change him or his life. Her sweet letters had drawn him in, until he couldn’t stop wondering about the real woman behind the words, the one who needed money to protect herself and her people when her brother couldn’t do it. The moment Michael had been ordered to recover in England, he hadn’t protested, not one bit. He’d wanted to meet her, this woman who thought she had all the answers. And she hadn’t disappointed him.
But Cecilia didn’t want him, or the devotion of a husband, and he wasn’t the sort of man to force himself on a woman, regardless of his rights by law.
It might have begun with words on paper, with her kindness toward a lonely soldier. She’d put aside her own pain, and now he knew she did that for everyone she cared for, from family to servants. Her fright at almost dying beneath a shattered bust didn’t matter as much as the poor maid’s fears of being let go. She gave up her chance at a normal young lady’s life to help her brother. And someone might be repaying her kindness by trying to kill her. By not thinking of herself first, didn’t she increase the danger?
She’d had two accidents, so minor that she only mentioned her concerns to Penelope. But the fact that she felt any sort of trepidation made him believe her, for she wasn’t the type of woman to imagine things. He’d almost told her what he knew, then thought better of it. She wouldn’t want his help, and if she forbade him from looking into it, he’d only anger her by going against her wishes. So for now, he would keep silent, helping her behind the scenes, keeping her safe, trying to find out if there was anyone who might wish her harm.
And the first one to question would be her brother.
The people closest to the victim were often the ones involved. And Appertan certainly had the most motive: Cecilia controlled everything he owned. Under his permission, yes, but what if he was beginning to chafe? With the approach of his twenty-first birthday and the withdrawal of his guardianship, perhaps he thought it wouldn’t be so easy to dissuade Cecilia. What if he didn’t give a damn about his responsibilities, his estates—and he’d certainly shown that so far—and simply wanted access to whatever money he could? For all Michael knew, Appertan was not only a drunk but a gambler, as so many young men were. Most would simply ignore the wishes of his sister, but Cecilia was a powerful force—a representative of their father, whom Appertan had disappointed.
But for now, he would question Appertan about other suspects and see what happened. Michael went to the kitchens first, and the respectful cook followed his directions and mixed him up the soldier’s antidote to a night spent drinking. Then he carried the foul-smelling glass to Appertan’s apartment, pushing past the protective valet, who insisted that ten in the morning was far too early to awaken the earl.
Appertan was sprawled across the turned-down bed, his clothing askew, boots placed neatly on the floor—due to the valet, Michael presumed. The room stank of alcohol, and Appertan snored louder than the worst military band.
Michael set down his glass on the bed table, then shook the other man’s shoulder. Appertan didn’t even stop snoring.
“He is a sound sleeper,” said the valet from the dressing-room doorway.
“A bad trait in my line of work.” Michael shook him harder, tempted to toss a pitcher of water in his face.
At last, Appertan frowned and sputtered and stirred, blearily opening one eye, then closing it again. “Go ’way.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I need to talk to you about Cecilia. And I brought you something that will help you recover.”
Appertan tried to drag a pillow over his head as he rolled over, but Michael pulled him back.
“Do you want me to feed you like a child? We need to discuss something important!” He spoke each word with clipped force.
After several more threats from Appertan about expelling Michael from the castle, the young man at last sat up and reluctantly took a sip of the thick liquid.
He gagged. “What the hell—!”
“Plug your nose if you have to, but get it down.”
Appertan choked and gasped until it was all in his stomach, where it only remained for several minutes, until his eyes went wide, and he ran for the chamber pot.
Michael was waiting patiently beside the bed as Appertan collapsed on it.
“You’re trying to kill me!” the earl groaned.
“If I were trying to kill you, you’d be dead. You’re an easy target. I need to talk to you about who might be targeting your sister.”
“It’s all in her head.” Appertan clutched his own and moaned softly.
“EvenIknow she would never imagine something like this. Talk to me. This is important.”
At last, the other man allowed his valet to fluff his pillows, where he reclined with a sigh, crossed his arms over his chest, and glared at Michael. “You really think someone is trying to kill Cecilia? It’s just—preposterous!”
