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“Well, do it again, damn it. I can’t risk letting this happen again.”
Shah lifted his gaze to the skies and didn’t disguise a heavy sigh. “I will not find out anything new, but I will question everyone again.”
“I should have hired a man who would do my bidding without question,” Cillian muttered.
“And I should have gone to work for a man who would trust my instincts,” Shah shot back.
Cillian mashed his teeth together as he eyed his friend. “Stubborn old goat.”
“Bullheaded bloody fool.”
They glared at each other for a few moments until Cillian saw the creases appear around his old friend’s eyes. He gave in and laughed.
Shah chuckled and lifted both hands in surrender. “I’ll do as you ask but I fear there’ll be nothing new to be discovered.”
“Please do. For her.” He jerked his head toward the entrance way. “I’d hate to go to her and tell her we didn’t do our damndest to try to discover the culprit.”
Shah’s eyes twinkled as he grinned. “Oh, yes. I will make sure your wife knows you did all you could for her.” He nodded to the stables. “Now why do you not go and comfort your sweet wife. No doubt she needs a warm embrace or a shoulder to cry on.”
It was hardly a scandalous suggestion, but Cillian shot the steward a sharp look anyway which only made the man’s grin widen as he backed away. If anyone understood Cillian’s aversion to getting close to people, it was Shah. Both of them were what could be considered the solitary type, only finding camaraderie through soldiering. Now they were both no good for war, their only battle was to figure out a place in a world that didn’t want either of them.
Telling himself he wasn’t letting himself be ordered about by his own steward, Cillian headed into the stables and came to Ivy’s side. “How are they?”
She wrapped her arms about herself, her gaze remaining on the cats who were curled in perfect circles next to one another. “Fine so far. Their breathing seems normal.” She glanced briefly at him. “I do not wish to speak too soon, but I think they must not have ingested enough, if any.”
“We were lucky you have such a keen sense of smell.”
Ivy pressed her lips together and he spied the wobble of her chin. “Who would do such a thing? They do no one any harm and will probably make fine mousers.”
Slowly, he eased an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, and he forced himself to not breathe a sigh of relief. She didn’t hate him. Not yet anyway. Any more incidents of him snapping at her or running around and he might not be so lucky.
“Thank you for your help,” she murmured.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You wrangled three cats and have the scratches to prove it.” Ivy stroked a finger briefly along his hand then folded her arms about herself again.
“It was nothing.”
She put her head to his chest, and he tightened his hold on her. She smelled of flowers and soap. His heart clenched.
Whatever he did next, he had to make sure nothing like this happened again.
Chapter Eleven
It was either knit or cry, Ivy concluded.
Since crying would make her red and blotchy and probably not help in any way, she had already knitted several rows from her position perched upon the windowsill where the best light was on what was going to be a huge blanket at this rate.
Muriel was busy doing her actual duties rather than playing friend to her, the housekeeper was in an awful mood, and she’d overheard the butler muttering something about looking after new money as being beneath him.
Really, she should sack the man. She doubted Cillian would have anything to say on the matter.
Of course, she’d have to find the man first.
The worst part of it all was Cillian’s constant disappearances. How he could go from being so strong and comforting and giving her the slightest inkling that actually, yes, they might turn this into something warmer than a marriage of convenience to simply vanishing, was beyond her.
What if he was with another woman?
