Ah, Cousin Clutterbuck. Ferdinand was an avaricious weasel, it was true. But he rather doubted his cousin was capable of committing murder merely so he could inherit. He wasn’t willing to rule out the possibility, however.
Trevor winced as he thought of others he had recently clashed with, thinking of only one person. “Just my ward, but our conflicts often lead to circumstances decidedly different than murder.”
“Ah,” Sutton said, his tone knowing, watching Trevor with a smug grin. “I was wondering about the two of you.”
Trevor had kept Sutton’s wife safe at Hunt House during Sutton’s final mission for the Guild. He didn’t think he liked the expression on his friend’s face.
“There is nothing to wonder about,” he blustered.
Because there was, of course. But he wasn’t prepared to discuss it. Not with Sutton and Tierney. Bad enough he’d had to humble himself by revealing so much to Pamela.
Sutton’s levity only increased. “There’s one reason for a man to wear the expression currently on your face. I recognize the signs all too well, old friend.”
Trevor scowled at him. “Go to bloody hell, Sutton.”
“Never say Ridgely has been afflicted by the same ailment you’re suffering, Sutton,” Tierney said, his tone dripping with disdain.
“Love,” Logan Sutton crowed. “Ridgely here is a cove who’s falling in love if I’ve ever seen one.”
Falling in love? Him?
With Virtue?
No. It wasn’t possible. Was he in lust? Decidedly, resoundingly, yes. There was a great deal of that happening on his behalf. His poor cock had never been so thoroughly abused as it had been these last few weeks. But love? He didn’t believe in that tender emotion. Never had. Never would.
“You’re a Bedlamite, Sutton,” he said. “The only thing I’m in love with is my ability to stay on this side ofterra firma. Now, if the pair of you chortling rogues will excuse me, I have other matters to attend to.”
Such as persuading his stubborn, maddening, delicious ward to marry him. But Trevor very wisely kept that to himself. Sutton and Tierney would make a feast of his abject humiliation, he had no doubt.
Sutton and Tierney rose, the latter taking another puff on his cheroot. “Stay safe, Ridgely.”
“I shall try,” he said grimly. “Thank you for your work on my behalf. Do let me know if you hear anything from Bow Street about this Davenham fellow. I’ll contact them myself as well, and if Theodosia has information, I’ll pass it along.”
“Don’t fight it, Ridgely,” Sutton counseled him sagely. “Love is the best bleeding thing that ever happened to me.”
“Go to the devil,” he muttered, and then took his leave.
He was not falling in love with Lady Virtue Walcot.
Not now.
Not ever.
No, indeed. His primary concern was convincing her to become his duchess. And as he took up his own gloves and hat in the entryway of Tierney’s town house, the perfect plan began to form.
* * *
Virtue needed a plan.
She heaved a sigh as she paced the carpets in her room, trying not to look at the wrapped parcel which had been delivered to her chamber earlier along with a note fromhim.
For my future duchess, the missive said, written in his bold, masculine scrawl. Signed simplyRidgely.
“Future duchess indeed,” she muttered to herself.
She’d refused to open the parcel on principle, an action which had cost her greatly since the gift—a shocking token she hadn’t expected to receive—was heavy and sturdy and felt very much like a book. Undeniably like a book.
Ridgely had bought her a book.
