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“And now?”
“An enemy.”
“I see.”
“That’s all you need to know.”
“Cillian…”
“I have to go. I have things to do.”
“As you always do.” Ivy didn’t keep the irritation from her voice.
“I’m a viscount, Ivy. My life is about duty now.”
She didn’t bother asking him whether he felt any duty toward her. She should really but her one outburst had left her all hot and flustered, and she couldn’t figure out any other form of attack. If the man would not tell her anything, how could she possibly force it from him?
“Cillian…” she tried again.
“I’ll see you at dinner,” he vowed.
“I hope so.”
He swung a regretful look her way and marched out of the doors just as Muriel came down the stairs.
“What was that all about?” Muriel met Ivy halfway down the stairs and changed directions to follow Ivy to the parlor room.
Ivy ignored Muriel’s pestering and demands and retrieved her knitting to take up position upon the windowsill again.
The windowsill where Cillian had nearly kissed her.
The windowsill where everything might have gone so perfectly right had that man not made an appearance.
Now Ivy was going to sit there all day in case he returned. Something about this whole situation made Ivy uneasy. It wasn’t just that Cillian was furious at the man or that she had seen them arguing. It was the way he’d been standing there, waiting for Cillian to approach as though he didn’t care that this huge, furious man was barreling toward him.
How did he get on the land anyway? If he was an enemy of Cillian’s, he wouldn’t have simply been allowed through the gates. Which meant he would have had to have climbed one of the walls to gain access.
Whoever he was, and whatever his reasons for being here, it was disconcerting, and Cillian’s simple answers were not enough. She was his wife and she lived in this house. She deserved to know what was going on.
“Who was that man?” Muriel asked, making a show of plumping the cushions upon the sofa. “His lordship looked furious.”
“You should not have been spying.”
“And you were not?”
“I’m allowed to spy. He’s my husband.” Ivy huffed out a breath. “And I know about as much as you do.”
Muriel paused her plumping and held a cushion close, crushing it into her body. She stood there, shifting from foot to foot and gnawing on her bottom lip until Ivy could ignore her no longer and put aside the blanket that would likely never be finished at this point.
“What is it, Muriel?”
“There are rumors.”
“Rumors?”
“About the viscount.”
Somehow that didn’t surprise her. A man as secretive and as scarred as her husband was bound to be followed by rumors.
