“Forgery and deceit are hardly rare in matters of inheritance,” he said. “But your aunt’s will was witnessed by two attorneys of the Crown, and your late uncle was meticulous in his paperwork.”
She lifted her chin. “You are certain of that?”
He hesitated just long enough for her to notice. “I am certain there is no obvious flaw. Which only means that the deception, if it exists, is subtle.”
They stared at each other, the tension palpable. The dowagers faint snore coming through the wall.
After a moment, Lydia asked, “What would you do in my place?”
He looked at her, eyes narrowing. “Trust no one, as the letter advises.”
She pursed her lips, then laughed. “Including you?”
He inclined his head. “Especially me.”
She let that linger. In the hush, she could hear the soft sound of her own pulse and the uneven breathing of the man across from her. The letter lay between them like a loaded pistol.
Lydia lifted the vellum to the lamp, letting the light bleed through the page. “I am not afraid,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.
His gaze flicked to her mouth, then to the letter, then back to her eyes. “You should be,” he replied, his voice low, nearly drowned by the silence of the room.
Heat rushed to her face, but she held his gaze. “I have survived worse than penmanship.”
He smiled, a brief warmth that reached his eyesjust enough for her to glimpse the man beneath the surface.
Setting the letter down, she moved to the window and parted the curtain. The street below lay empty, except for the retreating figure of the messenger boy, his cap pushed back on his head. She watched him vanish into the night before turning back to Maximilian, who remained still.
“I refuse to be cowed,” she stated. “If there is a secret, I intend to face it.”
He bowed, mock serious. “As you wish.”
“For the record,” she added, “I do not trust you. Not entirely.”
He met her gaze, the lamp casting a warm light in the blue of his eyes. “Good,” he said, the word feeling significant.
She held the letter over the lamp, allowing the light to reveal watermarks and indentations. “The cousin writes as if they mean to help. But if so, why not come forward? Why all this shadow play and chapel nonsense?”
Maximilian’s eyes tracked her hands. “Because secrets are easier to keep in the dark. And because a message from a stranger can always be denied.”
She studied him, noticing the exhaustion beneath the Duke’s cool exterior—the residue of battlesfought too long. For a moment, a sense of kinship flickered between them.
Lowering the letter, she said, “We are being manipulated.”
He nodded, precise as a chess master conceding a pawn.
A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “There are worse things than an enemy who reveals themselves.”
He smiled back. “Indeed. An enemy disguised as a friend, for one.”
They stood in the lamplight, their faces illuminated in gold and shadow. The space between them was fraught, but honest.
Lydia realized she had moved to stand beside him. Outside, the world remained unchanged, the night still dark and menacing, but inside, the balance had shifted. She leaned her shoulder against his, a small gesture that felt significant.
