Page 84 of A Perfect Gentleman

“The best wife a man could ask for!”

Abby smiled faintly. “Still, one he did not ask for. He’ll never be with the woman he truly loves.”

“Not as long as you’re alive,” Molly said darkly.

Abby’s head snapped up, and she stared at the other woman. “Molly! What a terrible thing to say!”

Her maid crossed her arms. “Aye, it’s terrible. But it’s a worse thing for a man to do away with his wife so he can have another.”

“That’s ridiculous. Molly, you must not say such things. Graeme would never—”

“Would he not?” Molly leaned forward to look straight into Abby’s face. “I’ve held my tongue because I know how you feel about him. I didn’t want you to be hurt any more than you already are. But I canna stand aside and say nothing when your life is in danger.”

“Molly! Is this what you told David? Is that why he kept asking me if I was all right?”

“Aye, and I won’t apologize for it.” Molly’s chin jutted out. “Someone ought to know what’s going on here.”

“Nothing’s going on here. I cannot imagine why you have—”

“Can you not? That’s only because you’re blinded by your love for the man.”

“I don’t love him. I will admit that I could, that I—that I like him very much, that I hoped for—”

“Love, like, hope, whatever you want to call it. The fact is, you refuse to see what’s staring you in the face. You’ve almost died three times since you came here.”

“No. What are you talking about? That man pushed me into the river, but it certainly wasn’t Graeme. I don’t think he even meant to kill me. He was after Mr. Baker, and he ran into me as he was running away.”

“What about the fire in your room?”

“Molly!” Abby stared, astonished. “That was an accident. I nodded off while I was reading, and I left a candle burning.”

“You find nothing strange in your falling asleep like that? I have never known you to do so.”

“It’s not usual, but I’ve been much sleepier lately. You know that.”

“So when you sat down to read, you set that candle on the other side of the table from you, right beside the drapes?”

“No, of course not. It must have fallen off and rolled. Even if you were right, and someone set that fire purposely, it couldn’t have been Graeme. He wasn’t even here.”

“Yes, it very conveniently happened on the one night when he had an alibi. A man like that wouldn’t have to do his own dirty work. He’d hire someone else to do it and make sure he was somewhere else. And he wasn’t anywhere else, anyway. He came in not half an hour later. He could have sneaked in earlier, set it, and left again, coming back when it was all over. He thought he’d come in and play the grieving husband. He didn’t count on you waking up and ringing for me.”

“And what, pray tell, was the reason he rescued me from the river? Why would he even be there?”

“Maybe he thought he’d play the hero, look like he tried to rescue you, only there were too many people there, and they helped save you.”

“Why would he shoot Mr. Baker?”

“Have you thought maybe he wasn’t aiming at that man, that he meant to shoot you and missed his mark?”

“No, I haven’t. I haven’t thought about any of this because it’s absurd. If you have to come up with these complicated explanations, it means it’s very unlikely. You don’t like Graeme; you’ve never liked him. So you’re imagining something wicked where there’s nothing.”

“I’m not imagining that you’ve nearly died three times.”

“Three? Those are just two—two accidents.”

“What about your falling on the stairs the other day?”

“At the party? But that’s—” She stopped, remembering the push against her back. “Someone merely stumbled into me.”