Page 85 of A Perfect Gentleman

“Three accidents in three months?” Molly quirked an eyebrow. “I’ve never known you to be so clumsy and careless before.”

“Very well. Yes, it’s odd. But Graeme wasn’t even on the stairs. Are you going to claim he hired one of the other ladies around me to push me down the stairs? All of this is completely out of the question. No matter how Graeme feels about me, he would not harm his heir. He can’t kill me without killing his own child, as well.”

“Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe it was her.”

“Her? Who—you mean Laura Hinsdale?” Abby gaped at her, then began to laugh, trying to envision the composed, kind, and ladylike woman as an assassin. “If you had met her, you wouldn’t think that. She was very nice and friendly. She helped me. Indeed, she is the one who grabbed my arm and kept me from falling.”

“You’re too trusting; you don’t want to believe bad of anyone. She might have gotten tired of waiting for him; she figured she’d make sure his present countess died so she could step into her place. Or maybe she just hates you for taking him away from her and wants to see you dead. Or the two of them are in it together. With you gone, he’d have money, and he could marry whoever he wants. He can have an heir with this Laura.”

“Stop! Molly, you’re wrong. Graeme would never do anything like this. And I have serious doubts that a proper English lady like Miss Hinsdale is creeping about other people’s houses setting fires, or firing guns at people and pushing them into the river.”

“But—”

“No!” Abby’s eyes flashed. “I mean it, Molly. Stop talking this nonsense . . . to me or anyone. I forbid you to go to David Prescott and fill his ear with these foolish notions. You raised me, and I love you, but I will not keep you with me if you go on spreading poison like this.”

Molly gasped, taking a step backward. “Miss Abby! You canna mean—”

“I do.”

Molly clenched her teeth, obviously biting back the words she would like to say. She gave a short nod. “Very well, ma’am. I’ll say nothing else. If you need nothing here, I will go back downstairs to clean your shoes.”

Abby nodded, flooded with guilt at the woman’s formal words. She had always been “Miss Abby” to Molly, no matter her age or married status. Abby steeled herself against the emotion. She could not bear to listen to Molly’s delusions.

She walked to the window and gazed out at the graceful row of houses across the street. Three accidents in the space of time she had been here were unusual, even suspicious. Despite her words to Molly, she herself had wondered if she had been targeted.

It was not like her to fall asleep so suddenly and soundly as she had the night of the fire. And why would the candle fall off and roll over to the drapes? It would just melt where it stood.

There had been a second shot that night at the river. Had it been aimed at her? Might it have hit her if she had not quickly knelt beside Baker? The person slamming into her and knocking her into the water had not felt like an accident. It had been hard and direct, not a glancing blow. There had been no sound of the runner stumbling.

She was even more certain that the other night on the stairs she had felt a deliberate hand in her back shoving her forward. If one of the other women had stumbled into her, there would have been some noise, an exclamation of distress. Nor had anyone apologized or asked if she was all right.

The problem, of course, with believing that any or all of these things were attempts to murder her was that there was no reason for anyone to kill her. No one would benefit from her death except her cousins, who were far away in New York, and her favorite charities. And her husband.

To anyone who did not know Graeme, he would appear the logical choice of suspect. If Abby were dead, Graeme would have the freedom to marry again, along with the added benefit of whatever she might have willed to him.

But Abby did know Graeme; she knew him well. She was certain Graeme had not tried to harm her. All the logical reasons meant nothing when measured against his character. Graeme would not commit cold-blooded murder no matter how much he disliked someone. She would stake her life on it.

That left only Laura Hinsdale. But the thought of that lady running about shooting at people or knocking them into the river or down a flight of stairs was laughable. Even more absurd was the idea that she had sneaked into the Parr mansion late at night and crept up the stairs into Abby’s bedroom to set her drapes on fire.

Abby liked Laura. Even knowing that she was the woman who held Graeme’s heart, Abby could not help but like her. She had been nice, unaffected, and warm. Far nicer and more down to earth than any of the other ladies she’d met in London.

Abby frowned. Now that was odd. Laura had not been cool and aloof. She had not acted snobbishly. Though her manner had been perfectly polite and ladylike, she had also been friendly and practical. Her behavior was even stranger when one considered that Abby was the wife of the man Laura herself loved. Abby had not known Laura, but Laura would have realized who Abby was as soon as Abby introduced herself.

At the time, Abby had thought her kind, but perhaps she was merely deceitful. Surely Laura must resent Abby, who had married the man Laura loved. Worse, she must know that Graeme had been forced into it. Abby and her father had ruined Laura’s life.

And wasn’t it quite a coincidence that Laura had been at that party, that she’d been right beside Abby on the stairs when she stumbled? Abby frowned, trying to remember exactly how the fall had occurred. She could not remember whether Laura had been next to her the whole time or if she had just suddenly appeared when Abby stumbled. Wasn’t it possible that she had given Abby a push as she stepped down onto the stair beside her?

But why then would she have reached out and grabbed Abby’s arm to keep her from falling? Abby had grabbed the banister; she probably would not have had a worse fall than stumbling to her knees or lurching into the banister. Perhaps, seeing that her plan hadn’t worked, Laura had taken her arm so that Abby would not suspect Laura of being the one who pushed her.

Laura would know that Graeme would turn to her if Abby was out of the way. He still loved Laura—look at the way he had rushed to her today the moment she beckoned. Perhaps the two of them had to discuss their plans.

No. It was impossible. Abby would allow the possibility that Laura might be plotting against her, despite Abby’s initial impression of her, but she simply could not accept that Graeme would try to harm her. If she was so wrong about his character, if he hated her that much, then Abby preferred not to know. She would rather just meet her fate.

chapter 28

Graeme strode impatiently up the street. Blast it. This note couldn’t have come at a worse time. As he and Abby had looked at the accounts, there had been a few moments of closeness, of normalcy. Hope had swelled in him. He had thought that if he could just talk to Abby, if he told her how much he wished everything was the way it had been between them, how he missed her presence, not only in his bed, but everywhere in his life, that she would listen and understand. Perhaps she wished the same thing. They could bridge this gap between them, have a life together with their child.

But just as he was groping for the right words to say, Norton had come in with that note. The sight of Laura’s familiar hand, the stamp she always used on the seal, had astonished him. His first thought had been alarm. Abby would be upset, just like the other night. Worse. He had the uneasy feeling that Abby would find it difficult to believe that he did not routinely receive letters from Laura.