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“You know why.”
His jaw ticked as he eyed her.
While the tension built in the room and she held his gaze, the puppy circled her legs then jumped onto the sofa and curled up into a ball. He was the sweetest thing in the world and Cillian was the sweetest man for thinking of her and giving her the one thing she’d always wanted.
But there was nothing sweet in the way he looked at her right now. She’d made him well and truly furious.
You’ve done nothing wrong,she reminded herself.
Too often she’d shied away from conflict. She’d run or hidden or tucked her nose behind a knitted blanket. If she ran now, what would happen? She’d be admitting to some sort of guilt and whilst she felt bad for fibbing to Cillian, it all seemed necessary. If they were to prevent Cillian’s old friend from coming near them again, she had to prove Cillian didn’t kill Mary.
And that Mr. Marshall did.
“You shouldn’t have gone there,” he muttered finally.
“I had to.”
“Had to?”
“I needed to see—”
He thrust a finger at her. “Don’t even say it.”
“The portrait of Mary.”
“What portrait of Mary?”
“It was hidden away when the family left but I found it.”
He made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. “You wanted to see the woman your husband killed, no doubt.”
“No!” She moved forward and put a hand to his forearm. “No. Not at all.”
“What did you possibly think could be achieved by seeing such a thing, Ivy?”
“I’m not certain yet, but I think if I investigate, I can figure out—”
“Whether I killed her or not.”
Drawing in an exasperated breath, Ivy put her hands to her hips. “Will you listen to me for two minutes, Cillian?”
His brows rose and she spied the rise and fall of his chest as he took a deep breath. Her feet twitched with the need to pick up the dog and run. Her hands trembled where they clasped her hips and her pulse stomped so fiercely, she felt it in her throat. Never before had she been so bold. Never before had she stood up for herself.
Maybe it would not have been worth it before. Perhaps telling the Ava Worth’s of the world that they were witchy, spiteful, empty-headed ninnies would not have helped matters. But this was one fight she was not going to shy away from.
Their very marriage depended upon it. Her future depended upon it.
“I amtryingto prove your innocence.”
He smirked. “But of course.”
“My sisters and I—we’ve investigated things in the past. Not by choice, exactly,” she admitted, “but my cousins...they have this investigative society and...” She paused. “I’m explaining this badly.”
“An investigative society?”
“It was set up by women for women…” She huffed out a breath, feeling her cheeks warm and seeing his disbelief grow. “Sometimes women need help, and they are not believed, and my cousins took it upon themselves to help said women.”
“I hasten to point out I am not a woman.”
