“Please tell me Trent and Cavanagh have not been keeping a bedside vigil.” The men loved gathering information to taunt him. Had he dreamed of his angel and whispered her name? Had he muttered lascivious comments about the widow?
“I sent them away as soon as I finished my interrogation.”
“And yet you stayed.” He had servants to tend to his ablutions, a doctor to administer medicine and change bandages. Indeed, he would be interested to know who stripped him naked.
“I told you I would care for you and I am not one to break an oath.”
“Did playing nursemaid remind you of the last time I lay bleeding in a bed?”
He would sell his soul—if he had one—to know what she’d been doing in his room while he lay helpless. Where had she slept? Where had she changed her clothes for she wore a simple green dress, not the exquisite gown he’d yanked from her shoulder so he might kiss her scar?
“This time I am the one to blame for your injury,” she said, avoiding his question. “You took a lead ball meant for me.”
“We don’t know that. I have enemies, too.”
He had ruined many a fool at the card table, though he never squandered the money as people presumed. Due to his investments in industry and shipping, hundreds of men had steady work while a few pompous prigs lost a little more than their monthly allowance.
She drew a chair up to the bed and sat down. “Cutler said the ball most likely came from a pocket pistol, shot from a distance of more than twenty feet. If we consider the fact it was dark, it is fair to assume the culprit didn’t care which one of us he hit.”
&
nbsp; “Or fair to assume the shooter was Joshua Steele. The fellow cannot stop his hands from shaking.” Equally, he did not wish to discount the sister. Many people used timidity as a disguise. The chit had certainly shown her temper when conversing with her stepmother. “Did Trent or Cavanagh offer an opinion?”
“Lady Rathbone and her grandson argued during supper. Lord Rathbone stormed out of the booth first, but they both headed for the Grove.”
The Rathbones were not suspects so he could think of only one reason why she might mention them. “You think Lord Rathbone might want to kill the competition?”
Any fool could see the lord was desperate to bed her.
She shrugged. “Anything is possible. It would be rather naive of me to discount any suspects.”
“Even Mr Flannery?”
“Mr Flannery is not a suspect.”
He was near the top of Damian’s list.
“And what of the marquis?” he said with some reservation. Had his father hired someone to dispense with the widow, to further his desire to see Damian wed?
“While he remained in the booth, one or two from his party left before the bell for the cascade.”
“And the Steele siblings?”
“Never made an appearance.”
Was that because they were secretly stalking their prey, waiting for an opportunity to strike? Or had Steele scampered away like a terrified rabbit, fearing his sister might discover the truth?
“Mr Trent followed us as far as Lovers Walk,” she continued, “and then, assuming we required privacy, returned to the piazza. He saw no one else in the vicinity.”
“It seems you have been rather thorough in your questioning.” Pride filled his chest. How odd when he felt nothing but indifference for most people. “Though there is one topic you’ve yet to broach.”
“Oh. And what is that?”
“You’ve mentioned nothing about the incident before the gunshot.” The need to know her thoughts regarding that scorching kiss burned in his chest. The need to explore her mind and her pretty mouth proved overwhelming, too.
She lowered her gaze as a blush stained her cheeks.
“Well?” he prompted when she failed to reply. “You devoured my mouth with a passion one rarely sees in a woman.” The mere memory of the wild melding of mouths sent blood rushing to his cock. With nothing but a few sheets covering his modesty, he wondered when the actress would notice the curtain rising. “Did the sudden release of emotion have something to do with me pressing my lips to your scar?”