“I know what you have done.”
Smythe blanched before his eyes, and Aidan knew he had him cornered. He walked forward into the room, coming to a stop midway to glower at Smythe over his desk.
His father-in-law got to his feet. “I can explain.”
Aidan could not believe his ears. The reprobate wasadmitting it yet thought that Aidan would stand by him. “You can explain! Have you gone mad, sir?”
Smythe raised shaking hands to run them through his graying hair, his blue eyes stark in a face that had lost all color. “I beg of you, there is no need for this to get out. Not yet.”
Aidan again could not believe what he was hearing. The man had no conscience. “I am afraid there is no delaying the news that you killed a man.”
Smythe’s jaw dropped open. “I did what?”
It was then that Aidan heard a rustle behind him.
Turning around, the horror of finding Gwen standing at the terrace doors swept through him in a wave. Seeing her red hair lit from behind, the sun peeking through the clouds for the first time that day, she was a glorious angel, and Aidan realized in that moment that his Venus had stolen his very heart from his chest the very first night he had met her. Which was unfortunate because her face was hard and pale as her expression firmed into a ferocious glare.
“What is he talking about, Papa?” Gwen’s glare never wavered, even as she addressed her words to Smythe.
“I … do not know. Who is it that I am supposed to have killed?”
Aidan swallowed. Losing his temper, and storming in here without a plan, just might be the costliest mistake he had ever made.
Ever.
He was supposed to have handled this with finesse. To ensure Gwen was not heartbroken in the process. To be here to support her when she learned the truth about her father.
All of which was currently a moot point.
He turned away to look at Smythe. There was no honor to how Aidan had reacted to this muddle, so all he could do was proceed with his accusation. One step at a time.
“You killed the Baron of Filminster to secure your inheritance.”
Smythe blinked his intense blue eyes before collapsing into his leather swivel chair. “I … most certainly did no such thing.”
“You just admitted it!”
Smythe’s brows drew together, a heavy scowl marring his face. “I most certainly did not.”
“What were you confessing to, then?”
“Not that! Why do you think I would kill the baron?” Smythe shook his head. “And why would killing him secure my inheritance? I did not even know the man that well.”
Gwen’s skirts rustled as she walked up to Aidan from behind. He was too ashamed to look at her, so he stared resolutely at Smythe, watching him like a hawk that had spotted its next prey. But it was he who was the prey to his bride’s menace.
“When was the baron killed? Was it the night of the coronation?” Gwen’s voice was melodic steel, and Aidan’s chest tightened in response. If he had wrecked their marriage before it had even begun, he would never recover. He raised a hand to rub at the pain in his chest where his heart refused to beat.
“Yes.”
“Then Papa could not have done what you accuse him of.”
Aidan could scarcely breathe as he slowly admitted to himself, as if from a great distance, that he may have made a mistake. It never paid to lose one’s temper. How many times had his own father repeated those words?
“How would you know that?”
“Because last month I contracted a terrible fever. Octavia and Papa were at my side night and day. The day of the coronation was when the doctor informed my father that I might expire before the night was over, and Octavia can attest thathe kept vigil at my bedside all night long until my fever finally broke in the early hours.”
Aidan blinked in horror, struggling to breathe at the awful accusation he had made. His gaze found Smythe’s, who had an expression of sympathy on his face. “It is true, son. I do not know why you think I killed the baron, but I was at Gwendolyn’s side all day and night. I could not bear to walk away lest she die while I was absent. It was such a blessed relief when her fever broke.”
