One dark eyebrow rose above the edge of the silk scarf. “Do you?”
“You have chosen a complete stranger—someone you know nothing about—to handle your private financial affairs. I could easily alter your account books. I could steal from you or expose your business dealings to your rivals. Why would you take such a risk?”
The Duke was silent for a moment, his head tilted slightly as though he were studying her despite the blindfold. Then he laughed—that same rusty sound she remembered from their last encounter.
“You want to teach village children,” he said. “Which means you must either be reasonably educated or completely delusional. I am inclined to believe the former, given your evident appreciation for my philosophy collection.”
He paused, and his smile took on a sharper edge.
“As for the possibility that you might expose my affairs or steal from me—I am not concerned. You have a sister at home, do you not?”
Joan felt ice slide down her spine. He had sent people to look into her. He was no fool
“Something tells me,” the Duke continued, his voice still pleasant but with an underlying hardness that made her skin prickle, “that you would not want anything… unpleasant to befall her. I have a great many resources at my disposal, Miss Sinclair. I can be a very generous friend. But I can also be a rather terrible enemy.”
The casual cruelty in his words struck her like a physical blow. Joan stared at him, seeing for the first time why the villagers spoke of him with such fear. This was not just a reclusive nobleman. This was a man who wielded his power without mercy.
What have I gotten myself into?she thought.
The Duke must have sensed her hesitation because his expression softened slightly. “I am a fair man, Miss Sinclair. As long as you are honest with me—as long as you do the work I ask of you with integrity—we will have a smooth transaction. I simply require your assistance for approximately one month.”
Joan swallowed hard. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to get as far from this dangerous man as possible.
But then she thought of Percival’s earnest face. Of Timothy Andersen’s bitter resignation. Of all the children in the village who would never have the chance to read or write or better themselves.
She thought of Victoria, languishing at Fairfax Manor with nothing to occupy her mind except her heartbreak.
“Very well, Your Grace,” she said, forcing her voice to remain steady. “I agree to your terms. But I have one condition of my own.”
She moved closer to his desk, planting her hands on the polished surface and leaning forward to ensure he could hear her clearly.
“You must not have any indecent thoughts about me,” she said firmly. “This is to be a purely professional arrangement. Nothing more.”
The Duke’s mouth curved into a slow, wicked smile. “You are quite audacious, Miss Sinclair.”
“I am serious, Your Grace. I will not?—”
“Let us not beat about the bush,” he interrupted smoothly. “If you wish to confess that you find me attractive, you need not be so coy about it. I understand that men like me tend to sweep ladies off their feet. However, I must inform you that I have standards.”
Joan’s hands clenched into fists on the desk. The overwhelming urge to punch him directly in his smug, face surged through her with shocking intensity.
Before she could give in to that urge—or formulate a suitably cutting response—the Duke clapped his hands together once.
Jenkins appeared immediately, as though he had been waiting just outside the door. In his arms he carried a stack of leather-bound ledgers, which he set carefully on the desk between Joan and the Duke.
“The quarterly accounts, Your Grace,” Jenkins said with a bow.
“Excellent. Jenkins, please have the maids bring tea.”
“I prefer water,” Joan said.
The Duke’s smile widened. “The tea is not for you, Miss Sinclair.”
Joan gritted her teeth so hard her jaw ached. She remained silent, not trusting herself to speak without saying something she would regret.
Jenkins departed, and Joan pulled one of the ledgers toward her, opening it with rather more force than necessary. The pages were filled with neat columns of figures—income and expenditures for the estate, carefully recorded in an elegant hand.
She bent over the book, determined to ignore the Duke’s presence and focus on the task at hand. But it was difficult to concentrate when she could feel his attention fixed on her, even through the silk scarf.
