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Something was dreadfully wrong. John only had to catch one look at Celeste’s face, rushing past him out of the guest chamber, to be certain about that. Whatever had been left in him of the giddy mood their interlude on the balcony had caused - she loved him she loved him she loved him - evaporated in an instant.
And Celeste clearly had no intention of stopping to explain what the hell was going on.
“Celeste?” He took two quick steps to follow her. “What did you find?”
She just kept marching, like Nemesis on a war path. “I have some business to take care of.”
Oh no. No no no. One big lunge and he had a hold of her arm. Whatever she had found, she was about to rush headlong into doing something very, very foolish. He couldn’t let her do it. Not without an explanation. “Celeste, what was in there?”
“Unhand me at once!” For a woman of her stature, she was remarkably strong and nearly managed to rip her arm free from his hold. He quickly took hold of her other wrist, and only then noticed the letter and the photographs she was clutching, but had no time to dwell on the thought, as even finding her second arm caught didn’t make her cease her struggle. Quite the reverse. If looks could kill, he would have dropped dead on the spot. “John, let. Me. Go!”
„As soon as you tell me what the hell you think you are doing.” He gritted his teeth. Any moment, some servant, drawn by their voices, could stumble upon them. He took a deep breath to calm himself. “Celeste, we’re a team, remember? Talk to me. Please.”
“He killed my sister!” she spat. “To hide his own dirty secret! Is that answer enough for you?”
“Who killed your sister?”
“Lord Huntsbury! He took care of his ‘American problem’! What else could that possibly mean?” She was nearly howling, her face patchy with rage, her entire body trembling. John knew that mixture of wrath and desperation and grief all too well. Which was exactly the reason why he would be damned before he let her go. Instead, he opted to give her a gentle shake. He didn’t want to treat her roughly, but he couldn’t have her rush headlong into disaster, either.
“Celeste, think on this a moment. You can’t simply charge into the crowd and accuse Lord Huntsbury of murder, not unless you happen to have found a written confession.” He tried to catch her gaze, but she kept looking over her shoulder, still trying to jerk her arms from his grasp every so often. “I know you’re upset. He will pay, I swear to you. But it’s in no one’s interest if we lose our heads now.”
“Oh no, but I’d very much like that bastard to lose his head! And now let me go, or I’ll scream!”
“Celeste, listen to me. You know I’m on your side. You-”
"If you were really on my side, you wouldn’t waste time like his!” A shudder went through her at that, and as if some threshold had been crossed, her strength seemed to wane, and she stopped struggling against him. Her eyes glistened in the electric light. “He murdered her, John,” she whispered. “She somehow found out that he had an affair and was paying the woman off and for that, he got her out of the way.”
It was a lucky coincidence that Celeste had finally calmed herself by then; in his shock, John’s hold got so slack that she could have easily freed herself from it. “Huntsbury did what?“
“Here.” She moved the hand holding the letter and the photographs. “Take them. I promise I won’t run.” She was still shaking, hugging herself as soon as he had let go of her wrists and instead taken the documents from her. For a moment, he very nearly dropped them to gather her into his arms, holding her until it was all better, but she was right: they didn’t have time to waste.
It took him only a few seconds to skim the contents of the letter, and then he looked at the pictures, which showed Lord Huntsbury, happy with a woman that definitely wasn’t the Marchioness. Other pictures showed the same woman with a baby in her arms. Oh Lord Huntsbury, you idiot. He read the letter again, pressing his lips together to keep himself from cursing.
“That does sound as if we should have a word with Lord Huntsbury.” He sought Celeste’s eye. “Or better yet, take it to the police before he finds out that we know about this.”
She shook her head as if in a trance. “We don’t know whether he has the police in his pocket. And we can’t let him disappear and destroy evidence tonight.”
At least she was starting to think again. He took that as a good sign. It wasn’t as if he could blame her; the Lord alone knew how much he wanted the man to suffer for what Amelia’s murder had done to Francis, his parents and to her. “We will have to involve the police at some point, Celeste. I hate having to admit it, but we can’t play judge, jury and executioner.”
Struggling for countenance, she took a breath and met his gaze. “What do you suggest?”