I scratched the cat behind the ears to soothe him and cooed to him.
“I can’t believe he went right to you,” Maxwell said, rubbing the back of his head. “He doesn’t like anyone. Well, no one but Emmett.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What? Beezle is a sweetheart. Aren’t you, Beezle? Did those mean old men scare you?”
Ambrose snickered, stepping up to have a look at the cat. He reached out to offer a pet, but Beezle stilled, sending him a warning look. In response, Ambrose held up his hands in surrender. “You really have the magic touch, Lucian. You’ve met him before?”
“He came into my room last night,” I confirmed as Beezle yawned, the recent excitement already forgotten.
“I’m sorry,” Maxwell said, shaking his head, “did you name my brother’s cat ‘Beezle?’ He already has a name. It’s Toby.”
“Beezle is definitely not a Toby,” I countered. “That’s not a dignified name for a creature of the night. And anyway, you like Beezle, don’t you, Beezle?”
Beezle purred in response.
Maxwell and Ambrose exchanged amused looks.
“Well, you sure are full of surprises,” Maxwell admitted.
I adjusted Beezle in the crook of my elbow as he contentedly licked at a paw.
“We should get him back to Emmett’s room,” Maxwell said, watching me dote on the cat. “His valet is supposed to leave food out for him. If he’s been out exploring the house, it’s no wonder he’s looking for a meal.”
Ambrose nodded, sighing as he glanced at the closed dining room door. “I suppose I’d better see to Isabel.”
“She doesn’t seem like one who likes to be kept waiting,” I agreed.
Maxwell grinned. “Don’t have too much fun, brother. Do tell Zachariah I said goodbye. I know he has an engagement shortly.”
Ambrose nodded, his face settling into resignation as he marched toward the door.
Maxwell shook his head at me as I continued to stroke Beezle. “Well, this is as good a time as any to have a look around Emmett’s room, at least. Maybe you’ll spot something I didn’t.”
“We shall see,” I agreed.
Beezle mewed with delight.
CHAPTER SIX
“Tidiness isn’t his strong suit, is it?” I asked, nose wrinkling as I stepped into Emmett’s cluttered bedroom. The tables were covered with knick-knacks, and boxes were piled upon the floor, although some were labeled “Paris” or “Grandma Edith” here and there. There were paperweights, empty vases, bookends holding up no books, even a ship assembled within a glass bottle. It had the air of a collector rather than someone anticipating actually making use of said items.
“He doesn’t allow the maids to organize it,” Maxwell said with a shrug as he turned to close the door. “They work around it as best they can.” He stooped down to snatch an envelope from the floor. He turned it over with a frown. “This wasn’t here before. Someone must have left it recently.” He held it up so I could see the name “Emmett” scrawled across the front in a tight, neat script.
Beezle squirmed in my arms, so I released him into the room, where he settled onto a chair to observe our progress.
Maxwell crossed the room to retrieve a letter opener from a desk, although I didn’t know how he found it amongst the sea of baubles. With a sure stroke of the blade, Maxwell freed a letter from the envelope and unfolded it to unveil more of the same handwriting. He cleared his throat as his eyes danced across the page. “Most infuriating Emmett, I’m rather cross with you at the moment. Not a word for weeks and suddenly making demands of me? I received your note, and I refuse your terms. If you would like an audience, you may call on me, but I will not put my reputation in jeopardy by meeting you in the middle of the night in such a secluded locale. I’ve done you a favor, and I detest this secretive business. You know where to find me when you’re ready to behave in a more dignified manner.”
I peered over his shoulder. “Who is it from?”
He lifted the page for me to see that the signature was missing. “I’m not sure.” He hesitated. “Given the conversation we just overheard, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Isabel.”
I nodded slowly, brows knit together as I began to walk the room, eyes sweeping over the haphazard piles. I took the time to sift through Emmett’s desk drawers carefully and studied his bookcases with care while Maxwell combed through his wardrobe. I paused when I noticed a portrait hanging on the wall. There was Flora and a healthier version of the duke, wisps of thin blonde hair still clinging to his scalp, while younger, skinnier versions of Ambrose and Maxwell grinned wide for the painter. The artist had captured their likenesses quite well, and I wasn’t surprised to find that even two or three years ago, Ambrose was already as tall as his father. Between the brothers was a pensive boy, stiff and offering only a hint of a smile. His cheekbones were striking, his lips full like his mother’s. This would be Emmett then, a few years removed. He was good-looking like his brothers, but he seemed uncomfortable in his own skin. My eyes returned to Maxwell, carefree and happy with his family surrounding him. It likely hadn’t been too long after this had been completed that the duke had fallen ill.
I moved on, picking up a music box with gold trim. I had just begun to lift the lid when the door to the room burst open, startling me so that I nearly dropped it, clutching it against my chest in an effort to save it. I glared back at the door to find a similar glower from Zachariah.
“I know you didn’t just leave me to fend for myself with that hell beast.”
Maxwell winced. “If anyone can handle Isabel, it’s you. And anyway, how was I to know she would interrogate you?”
