Page 92 of The Mistletoe Countess
He covered her hand with his, holding her fingers against his chest. “You are a part of who I am, and I should want my life no other way.”
Her gaze roamed his face, pausing on his eye. “Then, if I am such a part of you, tell me what happened to your eye. Your lip is slightly swollen too.”
He trailed kisses down her neck again, attempting to derail her curiosity.
“My dear Lord Astley.” She framed his face with her hands and pulled his attention back up, those eyes an unyielding force. “I feel certain you want my undivided attention right now. So give me the benefit of your doubts and tell me what happened.”
His throat constricted at the notion of her faithful companionship, her love. He unpinned more of her hair and ran his fingers through it until her eyes flickered closed in response, giving him time to find his voice. “I don’t want you to worry.”
“I’ll worry more from having to conjure up my own scenarios, which will invariably be much worse than the truth.”
He grinned and brushed back some of the loose tendrils from her face. “I was attacked in London.”
“Attacked? At night?” Her eyes widened. “Of course it was at night. Much easier to conceal an attack.” Her gaze—alive and curious—searched his. “Was it a fog-fingered night? The most likely candidate.”
“Yes and only a few hours after my rather revealing meeting with Mr. Parks.”
“I knew it.” She patted the front of his shirt, rocking back on his lap. “There is something underhanded going on, and if this didn’t confirm it, the men who chased me on horseback yesterday certainly do.”
Frederick’s entire body surged to alert. He took her by the shoulders. “What did you say?”
“It was all such a surprise.” She’d loosened one of his shirt buttons as if she hadn’t just sent his heart careening toward terror. “Two men in black came after me from the forest during my ride, almost out of nowhere it seems, but of course they had to come fromsomewhere.At any rate, they chased me across the field, and my first thought was to find other people so there would be witnesses, you see.”
All the internal warmth from their earlier kisses chilled. Men chasing her? At Havensbrooke? He covered her fidgeting hand with his own to remove the added distraction. “Tell me everything that happened, Grace. Every detail so that we can share it when the inspector arrives.”
“You’ve secured an inspector! Very clever of you, Frederick. I do believe this case is getting much too unwieldy for us amateurs.” She snuggled in closer to him as if she hadn’t completely shaken him from any peace.
He wrapped his arms around her, holding her against him, offering thanksgiving for her safety. “Grace, I won’t leave you again, not even for an hour, until this situation is resolved.” He pulled back. “You may be strong, but I’m not certain I’m strong enough to see someone hurt you.”
“You are incredibly dashing when you’re worried about me.”
He shook his head, smile reluctant at best. “Then I must appear as the very model of a jaunty rogue.” He sobered, tipping her chin up with his finger and thumb. “We must take care. This situation has become more dangerous than even you can imagine.”
“I will take care, I promise.” She brushed back hair from his forehead and offered a consolatory smile. “But I don’t think anything could ever bethatdangerous.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
As Grace readied for dinner, she tugged another letter from the box belonging to Frederick’s grandparents, grinning at the recollection of their sweet adoration for one another. Oh, she hoped she and Frederick would create such a tender romance. They’d gotten off to a fantastic start. She skimmed a finger over her lips at the thought of their most recent romantic interlude. All afternoon.
She sighed. What a perfectly delightful man!
As her fingers skimmed over the papers, she touched paper of a different texture tucked at the back of the box. Newer. Not worn from time.
How curious.
Carefully, she removed the sheets and unfolded them. At the top of the first page, she read the words:
I, Edward Richard Phineas Percy, the sixth Earl of Astley, being of sound mind and mortal body, do make my last will and testament. I revoke all previous wills in my name.
Grace’s fingers clenched reflexively against the paper. The date by Edward’s signature at the bottom of the page marked only one week before he died. She skimmed over the document, not fully understanding some of it, but what she did comprehend was that this will left everything to Frederick alone, bequeathing nothing to Celia or even Lady Moriah.
Grace met her own reflection in the mirror. “We have a motive.”
But for whom? Celia or Lady Moriah? Or some third player in the game?
Grace turned to the next page, and a shiver slipped up her arms from her fingertips.
Two lines from a shaky hand marked the page:
