He sighed again. “How can you know I will make her happy?”
His sister smiled. “Because I can see the way she looks at you, and the way you look at her. Stop lingering here with these dratted papers! Go find her, and ask her to be your wife. My babe will be fortunate indeed to have a brave auntie like Hazel.”
The last of his sister’s words hit him then. “Your babe? Are you…? Lettie! Why did you not say so before? This is wonderful news.”
Her smile deepened. “Yes, it is.” She rose from her chair abruptly in a swish of lavender-colored skirts. “Now, I must get back to my crocheting. I’m trying my hand at a blanket for the babe. Do cease being a stubborn arse and go secure yourself a wife.”
Bemused by the prospect of Lettie becoming someone’s mother, he watched her go, before turning to the documents he had extracted from the strongbox. Hastily, he began to restore them to the box, knowing they could wait, that he had a far more important task at hand.
He was just about to return a small leather-bound journal to the strongbox when he opened it instead, for the journal looked familiar. He was startled to find his name written prominently within, penned in Hazel’s tidy script. Clearly, the journal belonged to her and had been thieved from her chamber at Lark House.
He knew he had no business reading her private musings, but part of him reasoned he could not avoid reading it, for it was a part of his duty. The journal had become integral to the investigation, and it must be examined. Moreover, it appeared to be written in the form of a list. His eyes scanned the lines.
Lucien West, Duke of Arden.
Arrogant.
Forbidding.
Suffering from an abundance of self-confidence.
Strongly objects to being referred to as “Mr. Arden.”
Easily manipulated.
Pompous.
Strong.
Dark hair.
Emerald eyes.
Possessed of an authoritative manner.
Exceedingly rude.
Arrogant.
She had listed “arrogant” twice, and he could not help but to grin when he noted it. That was his Hazel, the woman who had stormed his battlements and overtaken him completely. He could not deny he owned each fault she had written. He could see from the manner in which she had crossed out some of the lines she had been conflicted about him at the time she had constructed the list.
It was, he supposed, an oddly prescient representation of the way he had felt for her as well. Initially, he had been vexed. He had been determined to make her cry off from being his partner in the League. From the beginning, he had been attracted to her, for she was not merely a beautiful woman, she was also capable, fierce, intelligent, bold, and daring.
She was Hazel, uniquely wonderful. Utterly intoxicating. And he had been smitten. But his feelings for her had changed. Oh, how they had altered. As he worked at her side and watched the fascinating firing of her mind, he had been in awe. From the moment his lips had first touched hers, she had owned his heart.
Lucien had just been too damned stupid, prideful, and stubborn to see it.
He eyed the list and thought, forgetting the investigation, as Lettie had urged him. Forgetting everything but Hazel and the way he felt for her. The list was missing a few key points, he realized. Here, at last, was the answer he had been seeking.
He retrieved a pen from Strathmore’s desk, dipping it in ink to add one more item to her list.
The man who wants to marry you.
He eyed the list, then realized, much to his dismay, he had neglected to include the most important item of all, the one which must not be forgotten.
The man who loves you.
There.That would do.
