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“He tried to harm the cats, did he not?”
He should lie.
“Yes.”
Ivy remained quiet for a few moments, her breaths drifting across his skin. “Why did he do such a thing?”
“Because...” He exhaled slowly. “Because he hates me. Because he believes—”
A scream and a thud split the air. Cillian leapt from the bed and tore open the door to find Ivy’s bedroom door open and her lady’s maid standing in the doorway. A scratch marred her cheek. She waved a hand into the bedroom.
“Something or someone came through the window!” she warbled.
Ivy emerged from the bedroom, wrapped her arm around the maid and used her sleeve to dab the touch of blood on Muriel’s cheek.
“In my bedroom?” Ivy asked.
Muriel nodded. “I was just checking on you as I know you’ve been struggling to sleep...” Her gaze darted over Cillian’s chest and the maid’s cheeks pinkened. “My lady,” she added.
“Stay here,” Cillian ordered and stepped slowly into the bedroom, fists raised. It took him moments to realize there were no animals or people in the room. Wind whistled through a hole in the window and broken glass caught in the moonlight. He bent to peer at a shape amongst the glass fragments to spy a brick. Tied to it with string was a note.
“The truth will out,” Ivy said from behind him. “Whatever does that mean?”
Chapter Sixteen
“The truth will out,” Muriel murmured as Ivy inched open the study door. “The truth will out.”
“Will you cease repeating that?” Ivy snapped. She took a breath and moderated her tone. “I mean, will youpleasestop?”
“I just want to know what the truth is.”
“As do I. Which is why we are here.”
Muriel glanced up and down the corridor. “If I’m caught snooping I shall lose my job.”
“If you are caught innocently standing in the hallway whilst your mistress is doing the snooping, nothing shall happen,” Ivy assured her.
It didn’t stop the nerves thrumming through her, making her feel a little nauseated. She shouldn’t be doing this—looking through Cillian’s study—but the blasted man had become even more secretive since the brick had been thrown through the window and very nearly hit Muriel. Last night, he had stormed out of the house to go who knew where. She’d scarcely seen him since let alone had a chance to ask him questions.
Ivy didn’t think he’d run to a lover.
She hoped.
Perhaps Cillian was the sort of man to run into the arms of a woman after having a brick thrown through his window with a threatening note attached.
Whatever his reason for scarcely being home, she was determined to get to the truth of the matter. If the man would not be honest with her, then she would have to find things out herself.
Even if it meant snooping.
“You know, I’m lucky that brick did not hit me in the head,” Muriel said from the doorway.
“Yes.”
“I could have died.”
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t.”
The study was small, occupying one corner of the east wing that remained out of direct sunlight, most likely designed deliberately to avoid the books and papers bleaching in the sunlight. There were few nods to comfort, only a small landscape painting of the house in previous decades upon one wall and a crystal decanter with only a sliver of liquor in it. The leather chair behind the desk looked hard and uncomfortable and Ivy suspected it was either new or had rarely been sat in prior to Cillian taking over the house.
