A Perfect Secret by Donna Hatch Page B

poor.”
    “Describe your wife to me, please?”
    “Short, thin, very pale skin. And lots of red hair.”
    A horribly unromantic description by a supposedly loving husband.
    Cole looked utterly bored. Which meant he was working hard to mask his thoughts. “If she’s been missing for two days, it may be too late for her.”
    Wickburgh opened his mouth in feigned horror, yet his posture remained poised. “Don’t say that, I beg you. I’m not giving up hope.” He thumped his walking stick on the floor as if to convey urgency.
    Christian swallowed a noise of disgust at the false emotion in Wickburgh’s tone and reminded himself he shouldn’t use the blackguard for boxing practice. At the moment, he couldn’t think of a good reason why not.
    Wickburgh continued, “All I ask is that you instruct your tenants to watch for her. I’m offering a reward for her safe return.”
    Christian could no longer tolerate the theatrics. “Surely if she were still alive, she would have returned to you by now. That is, if she wanted to return.”
    Wickburgh turned a cold eye on Christian and looked him over as if he were an impudent boy speaking out of turn in the presence of his betters. Christian resisted the urge to touch the scar on his face put there by Lord Wickburgh’s thugs. Refusing to be baited, Christian folded his arms without comment and stared him down. He wanted nothing more than a repeat of the night they’d fought over Genevieve. Only this time, he’d be the one slipping a knife in between his enemy’s ribs and leaving Wickburgh for dead.
    “Of course she would want to return,” Wickburgh said. “But she may not be capable of finding her way home in her mental state. Someone may have found her and taken her in until they can learn to whom she belongs.”
    “Belongs? Like a piece of jewelry?” Christian challenged.
    The hard, flat eyes bored into him. “I am her husband. She belongs to me.”
    Christian clenched his teeth before he retorted something that would reveal too much. Even before their altercation in Bath, Christian had disliked Wickburgh. There was just something supremely unsettling about the man. Regardless of what Genevieve had done, seeing her unhappy enough to go to such lengths didn’t feel like justice; instead, it battered the ragged edges of his heart. Genevieve seemed vulnerable and fragile. And Wickburgh was clearly to blame.
    Everything about her jilting him had seemed wrong. It was as if he’d stepped into someone else’s story where the plot didn’t match up with his own.
    Cole stared at Christian as if he’d just grown a second head, then he visibly caught himself and resumed his mask of urbane boredom. “I’d be happy to alert my tenants to watch for your wife, Lord Wickburgh, and to pass on your description of her.”
    Calling upon all his powers of control, Christian steadied his voice. “You should prepare yourself for the likelihood that she’s gone forever.”
    Wickburgh glowered, visibly biting back whatever retort he wished to fling at Christian but daren’t speak it in front of an earl. Christian almost wished Cole away so he could have it out with Wickburgh, once and for all.
    Cole stood, clearly dismissing their guest. “Keep us informed of the progress of your search.”
    No doubt aware that his host outranked him, Wickburgh followed suit, swinging his walking stick. “I’m most grateful to you, Lord Tarrington. Please send word if you hear anything.”
    “Of course.”
    Wickburgh bowed to Cole, pointedly ignored Christian, and left carrying the walking stick like a scepter.
    Christian let out his breath in a long exhale. “Scoundrel. I should have killed him when I had the chance.”
    Cole cocked a brow. “That would have been stupid.”
    “He’s straight out of a nightmare.”
    “How long have you known that our river jumper is Lady Wickburgh?”
    Christian hesitated. But Cole already knew Genevieve’s identity. All that remained was convincing Cole