Page 46 of A Perfect Gentleman

“It sounds worse than it was,” Abby said lightly. “All in all, I only swallowed a bit of nasty water.”

“I’m sure there was a good deal more to it than that.” David gave her a tight smile. “I shall take my leave of you now. You must not tax your strength.” He directed a pleasant nod to her and a lesser inclination of the head to Graeme. “Good day.”

Graeme watched the other man walk away, then pivoted slowly back to his wife. He regarded Abigail for a long moment, then said, “Now . . . why don’t you tell me the real story about yesterday evening?”

The cold composure on his face, so unlike the warmth they had shared last night, took her aback. She had the uneasy feeling she had missed something, taken a wrong turn. “The real story? I already told you—”

“Lies are what you have told me. Or perhaps it’s half-truths. Omissions. But I know you have not told me what you know.” As she opened her mouth to speak, he held up a hand as if calling a halt. “And do not tell me it is none of my business. You are my wife; you say you want to be the mother of my child. Last night I had to pull you out of the Thames. Then I had to whisk you away from the scene of a crime before the police could find you there. I would say that makes it very much my business.”

“Graeme!” His hard tone struck her like a blow. “Surely you don’t think I was doing anything criminal!”

“I don’t know what to think. Clearly you’re involved in something that is worth killing a man over. It would have been two murders if I hadn’t managed to chase you down in time.” He whipped around and walked away, then strode back. “I needn’t ask you the identity of the man you were meeting; I know that.”

“You do?” Abigail gaped. “How?”

“I went to the police this morning. I told them it was I who had gone to meet the fellow, arriving in time to see him shot and his killer flee. They had no trouble believing I was meeting him, you see, since he was my father’s man of business.”

“Oh.” The blood drained from Abigail’s face.

“Yes, the self-same person you were discussing with Mr. Prescott when I entered.”

“I didn’t know his name,” Abby said quietly. “I told you the truth.”

“About that. I want to hear the rest of it. Why were you meeting Milton Baker last night?”

“I told you. He said he had information for me.”

“Information about what?” When Abigail hesitated, Graeme took a long step forward. “Don’t lie to me. Or I promise you, this is the end of our ‘arrangement.’ ”

“Graeme!”

“Don’t you understand? How can I possibly be with you in any way if I cannot trust you? How could I allow you to raise my child? You said you were not like your father, that you are not engaged in underhanded schemes. Yet from the moment I saw you, you have kept things from me, received secret letters, crept out to clandestine meetings in the most unsavory parts of the city. I want the truth. What sort of scheme are you embroiled in? Why did you come back to England?”

“I came back to England for the reason I told you,” Abigail snapped. “Your grandmother wrote me. She suggested I come here; she talked about all the years that had passed and how you must have an heir. I had already been thinking about my life and the changes I wanted—just as I told you. That’s why I returned.”

“How does Milton Baker come into it?”

“He doesn’t have anything to do with my returning. I swear it. After I arrived—in fact, it was the very evening we met again—I found a note lying on the floor of my room. It had no signature. It said that I didn’t know the truth behind my marriage.”

“The truth behind your marriage?” Graeme frowned. “What truth is that?”

“I didn’t know! Obviously this person believed he knew something I didn’t, something I would pay money to find out.”

“And did you?”

“I was going to. That evening you came to see me after your fight with Mr. Prescott, another note was slipped under my door, as you saw. He told me to meet him if I wanted to discover whatever this ‘truth’ was. So I went; that was when you followed me the first time. He was frightened away when he saw you.”

“Instead you met him last night. He sent you another letter?”

“No. He was waiting for me in the hotel corridor near my room.”

“Milton Baker?”

“I presume so. He didn’t tell me his name. I didn’t see his face, either. He came up behind me and grabbed me, and I couldn’t—”

“He attacked you?”

Abigail took a step back, startled at the sudden fire in his eyes. “No—I mean, he wasn’t trying to hurt me. He just hooked his arm around me so I couldn’t turn around and see his face. At the end he turned and ran, and all I saw was his back.”