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Was it Vanessa the duke saw when he scrutinized Ariana so thoroughly? Did he wish it were Vanessa he was punishing, breaking …
Possessing as his wife?
If all the stories Baxter had told Ariana were true, it was irrational jealousy over Vanessa that had driven Trenton Kingsley to madness, to torment … to murder.
Ariana shuddered at the thought.
For two hours her conflicting impulses warred, tearing her apart. Numbness was her body’s method of self-protection, her message that she could no longer sustain this heightened level of emotional turmoil. Besides, the issue was a moot one. No matter which emerged victorious—be it her reason, her conscience, her instincts, or her attraction—the end result was the same. The Queen had issued a decree. So, like it or not, on the 5th of August, Ariana would become Mrs. Trenton Kingsley.
The bedroom door eased open, and then closed just as quietly. “You’re ready for me now, my lady.” It was a statement, rather than a question, and Theresa crossed the room to sit beside Ariana on the bed.
Ariana turned slowly to face her. “You knew.”
“Yes.” Theresa smoothed tousled wisps of coppery hair from Ariana’s flushed cheeks. “You’ve been alone long enough. I knew you were ready to share your thoughts with me.”
“That’s not what I meant.” This time Ariana was giving her friend no quarter. “You knew about the Queen’s edict.”
Theresa paused. “No.”
“But you knew Trenton Kingsley was her messenger?”
“I knew he was your future.”
Ariana gripped Theresa’s hands. “But you told me yourself he was a murderer!”
“No,” Theresa countered again. “I only said that it appeared that way. And that appearances—”
“Are often wrong,” Ariana finished for her. “He didn’t kill Vanessa?”
“I wasn’t there that night, my lady.” Theresa’s fingers tightened around Ariana’s. “What do you think?”
Their eyes met.
“I think and feel too many things to recount,” Ariana whispered. “Anger, betrayal, hurt, humiliation …” A small pause.
“Attraction?”
“Yes.”
“And fear?”
Ariana blinked. Trenton had asked that very question of her in the maze, and her answer had surprised them both. Regardless, it had been true then; it was true now. She looked Theresa squarely in the eye. “Fear? No. The duke has made no move to hurt me.”
“One could argue that marriage to a murderer would incite fear,” Theresa pointed out. “And yet you feel none. Does that not tell you something?”
“That I am a fool?”
“That you doubt the duke’s guilt.”
“I don’t know if I doubt his guilt. … I simply see another side of him.”
“There are many sides to a man, just as there are many sides to a story. Each of them is part truth and part illusion. It is up to us to discern the difference.”
Ariana absorbed Theresa’s words quietly. “You’re talking about more than Trenton Kingsley’s character now. You’re talking about his involvement in Vanessa’s death.”
“Am I?”
“But I’ve heard the story a thousand times, Theresa. From Baxter, yes, but also from hushed conversations among the servants, an occasional slip from Baxter’s colleagues—”
