Apparently all his efforts to win Elsbeth’s heart had completely failed. She seemed more willing to protect a murderer’s identity than to preserve her own husband’s life. Nigel let her hand slip from his fingers. He spoke not a word. He simply rose and walked out of the room. He needed to get away from this hell and just paint. It had been too damn long. “Nige,” Charlie called from down the hall. “Don’t you dare touch her,” he said without breaking his stride. He needed to find some canvas to paint on. Hell, even a roughly cut board would do. “Nige! Someone is trying to kill you. What should we do?” What should he do? He wasn’t sure anymore. He’d hosted this blasted house party and put up with having all these blasted guests in his home in order to restore Elsbeth’s reputation. Then, after his hasty marriage, which had caused most to rush back to London, he’d let the few remaining guests stay. He’d known Elsbeth would be uncomfortable dealing with him on an intimate level.
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