Apollo glared. “You know nothing at all about chickens.”
“Don’t I?” Montgomery smiled winsomely as he slathered butter on his new piece of toast. “If you think that, then perhaps you really ought not to be taking my advice on poultry, hmm?”
Well, and that was the question, wasn’t it? Apollo thought as he took a bitter sip of coffee. Should he be trusting the duke with anything at all?
He glanced again at his cousin, blithely drinking his tea. George had said that Vance hadn’t been in William’s employ four years ago. But that didn’t mean William couldn’t have known Vance at the time of the murders. And, of course, George might’ve simply lied. Perhaps father and son had acted together. After all, it was to George’s benefit as well should Apollo be hanged.
Apollo shook his head, taking a bite of coddled eggs. If only he had concrete evidence against his uncle.
That decided him.
He had to take another chance at his uncle’s study—tonight.
APOLLO WAS IN her rooms again when Lily returned that night. She should have been outraged at his presumption, but all she felt was happiness tinged with sadness.
She doubted that they’d last much beyond this house party. He’d find the murderer and justice and return to his life, she was sure of it. Apollo had a sort of calm resolve that she’d seen before in men who got what they wanted. He was born to be an earl and he would be someday.
An actress had no place in such a life.
As the days of the party passed, so too did their time together.
“You look pensive,” he said quietly, holding his hand out from where he lay on the bed. He wore only his shirt and breeches.
She went to him without protest. Why pretend when they really had so little time left together?
He gathered her against him, her back to his front, and began plucking the pins from her coiffure. “Have I told you how much I admire your hair?”
“It’s just plain brown,” she murmured.
“Plain, lovely brown,” he replied, raising a lock he’d freed to his face.
“Are you smelling my hair?” she asked in amusement.
“Yes.”
“Silly man,” she said lightly.
“Smitten man,” he corrected, spreading her hair over her shoulders. “I’ve been watching you today.”
“In between escorting Miss Royle about the garden?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him.
“Yes. I’d rather it’d been you, but that wouldn’t’ve been prudent.” He frowned down at the strands of her hair caught between his fingers. “Or, perhaps, safe.”
She stilled. “What do you mean?”
“My uncle commented that I looked like my grandfather today, and then later Montgomery said some rather unwise words to my cousin.”
She turned all the way so she could see his face clearly. There was a small dent between his brows. “They’ve discovered who you are?”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Maybe not. My uncle suspects, I think, but only that. As for my cousin…” He trailed away, shaking his head. “That I simply don’t know.”
“You need to be careful,” she said, placing her hand on his chest. “Your uncle killed before to prevent you gaining your title. There’s nothing to stop him doing so again.”
“I can take care of myself,” he said, smiling indulgently down at her.
“Don’t be a fool,” she whispered urgently. “No man can withstand a bullet.”
His smile slipped from his face. “You’re right.” He kissed her forehead. “Now tell me why Ross is troubling you.”