Page 89 of A Perfect Gentleman

Normally Graeme would have protested that nothing was wrong, but today he didn’t bother. “I’ve come to ask a favor of you. Will you escort Abigail to Lydcombe Hall?”

“I beg your pardon?” James paused in the process of opening the door.

“I need you to escort her home and after that, to keep an eye on her and the Hall.”

James simply looked at him for a long moment, then said, “Best come inside. I suspect this will involve a lengthy explanation.” Graeme followed his cousin down the hall, the mastiff padding at their heels. He managed to keep silent until James had closed the door of his study behind them, before he burst out, “Abby is in danger.”

“Danger?” James turned to stare at him. “Bloody hell, Graeme, what the devil are you talking about? Why would Lady Montclair be in danger?”

Graeme could not sit down. He paced around the room, the dog following him. “You remember what I told you about Mr. Baker?”

“Your father’s agent, the man who was shot.”

“Yes. I told you the killer also knocked Abby into the water. I thought at the time that it was probably an accident. But the thing is, a fortnight or so ago, her bedroom drapes caught fire. Fortunately, she woke up and managed to escape, but she could easily have died. I put that down to accident, as well, because . . . well, it seemed absurd to think it was anything but that. But today I discovered that someone tried to push her down the stairs at Lady Middleton’s ball.”

“If it were anyone but you telling me this, I would be certain you were playing some ludicrous prank.”

“I’m not.”

“For pity’s sake, Graeme, sit down before you drive Dem into a state.”

“What?” Graeme glanced down at the dog, who was staring up at him intently and whining. “Oh.” He threw himself down in one of the chairs.

“Now.” James sat down across from him, reaching out to put a soothing hand on the dog’s broad head. “I don’t understand. If your wife is in danger, surely you will go with her to Lydcombe?”

“No.” The twist of Graeme’s lips was more a grimace than a smile. “You see, I am the one she thinks is trying to kill her.”

James’s jaw dropped at this statement. “You? She thinks you are trying to do away with her?” He began to chuckle.

“I’m serious,” Graeme snapped. “She and her Valkyrie of a maid have decided that I want to be free to marry Laura.”

“And is the inimitable Miss Hinsdale part of this plot, as well?”

“Joke all you like.” Graeme sent him a fulminating glance. “My wife wants nothing to do with me. She’s—” The words stuck in his throat. “Abby’s frightened of me.”

James studied him silently. “Well, it would make sense.”

“Thank you for that vote of confidence.”

“If one didn’t know you, of course. Freedom, an inheritance, the woman you love—it would tempt a number of men.”

“Yes, I recall you suggested something similar,” Graeme replied acidly.

“To be fair, I said you would be fortunate if she died in childbirth. I didn’t actually suggest you do away with her.”

“I’m glad I am able to afford you so much amusement.”

“I’m sorry, Graeme. I don’t find your distress amusing. If you want me to, I’ll go, of course.”

“Thank you. Abby won’t be alone. Mother will be there, and Grandmother and of course Mrs. Ponsonby are going along.”

“Egad, you’re asking me to escort the dowager countess, as well?”

Graeme rolled his eyes. “I imagine you’ll be able to bear up.”

“I’m not so sure.”

Graeme ignored him. “I’m sending an extra footman to help guard the house. And I’ve written instructions to have a gardener or groom patrolling the grounds night and day.”