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Soon after Martin rang Ian, the gardens turned into a crime scene, with at least a hundred spectators.
“Martin!” Maggie pushed through the crowd, running as soon as she spotted him. He still sat on the bench he had stumbled to after finding Nicolas, his leg too wrecked to even consider going any farther. She crouched in front of him and framed his face, her clear blue eyes dark with worry. “Are you all right?”
“I have been better.”
“Who—” She swallowed. “Who is it?”
“A guide from the museum.” Martin closed his eyes briefly, horrified again by the senseless death. “He was asking questions about the box.” Because of all the noise, he didn’t hesitate to tell her outright. “He should not have known about it.”
“Someone did—and wasn’t happy with his answers. Oh, Martin.” She sat beside him and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “I wish I’d been here with you.”
“I am relieved that you were not.” He opened his eyes and faced her. “Someone attacked me. Most likely whoever killed him.”
Before he finished speaking, Maggie started running her hands over his arms. “Where are you hurt?”
“Nowhere important. Maggie,” he caught her wrist. “I was knocked to the ground and threatened, nothing more.”
“Your leg—”
“Took a bit of a beating, but will be fine.” Eventually.
“They wanted the box.” It was not a question.
“They did.” He sandwiched her hand, angry that his attacker had spoiled her evening with his greed. “I can’t stay here.”
“Martin.” She searched his face, and he knew she understood he did not mean the manor when tears filled her eyes. “I don’t want you to go.”
“You and Kit will be safer for my absence.”
She let out a sigh, the tears slipping down her cheeks. “I wish I could say you were wrong. You’re going to accept Geoffrey’s offer.”
“It makes the most sense.” He gently wiped at the tears, and held her when she pressed her face against his shoulder. “I will be isolated, with no possible way for an assailant to surprise me.” As long as he did not become too absorbed in his work.
She sniffed, lifting her head. “I guess it would be hard to sneak across an open field. I’m just—I’m so scared for you.”
He gathered her in, wishing Clive had never brought him the bloody box. “So am I, love. So am I.”