“Thank you for the dance, Your Grace,” she said, her voice calm, distant.
He regarded her a moment longer than necessary—long enough for her pulse to quicken once more. “You are welcome, Miss Tremaine.”
She inclined her head. “If you will all excuse me, I believe I should fetch something to drink.”
She left before anyone could answer. The prickling at the back of her neck told her, however, that the Duke’s gaze followed her every step.
For the life of her, she could not understand why.
Chapter Three
“Your butler does not like me, you know. I hope you are aware of that. The man despises my very existence.”
Lucas resisted the urge to sigh, removing his spectacles and setting them upon the mahogany desk before him. Frederick Wells came bounding in, clutching his leather satchel, and claimed the very edge of the sofa a few feet away. He opened the satchel at once and began extracting papers in a flurry.
“Good day to you too,” Lucas drawled, loud enough to carry.
“Good day, Your Grace. Did I not say good day?”
Unlike Lucas, Frederick wore his spectacles at all hours. Sometimes Lucas wondered if he truly needed them, or if he simply enjoyed the affectation of pushing them up his nose every few seconds.
“You did not,” Lucas said dryly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“It is never a pleasure to be here, Your Grace. I prefer my own office—it has far less natural light.”
“And that is a virtue, is it?”
“Of course.” Frederick pushed up his spectacles again. “The light is distracting. I can scarcely think in this room.”
“Goodness only knows how you survived the journey here, given your perilous exposure to daylight.”
“I took a carriage,” he replied solemnly. “Barely survived the ordeal.”
Ordinarily, Lucas found Frederick’s eccentricities amusing. As his solicitor, the man visited often enough to provide regular entertainment. Today, however, Lucas was not in a humour to be entertained.
It had been three days since the ball, and he had accomplished nothing of worth. His thoughts were too restless—too drawn, despite himself, toward the Tremaine family. He remained unconvinced by Lord Trenton’s insistence that his health was improving and found himself tempted to call upon them. It would, after all, be polite to pay his respects to Lady Trenton, whom he had missed that evening… and of course Miss Tremaine would be there.
He pushed that thought away. Distraction had already cost him three days of work, and the neglected ledger before him was evidence enough of his poor focus.
“Allow me to come straight to the point, Your Grace,” Frederick said suddenly, springing to his feet. “I have discovered something of the utmost importance, and you must hear it at once.”
He spread several papers across the desk, pointing agitatedly. They were covered in figures.
“What precisely am I meant to be seeing?” Lucas asked, picking up a sheet and scanning it without comprehension.
“Surely you recall the documents found in your father’s study?”
Lucas nodded, unease stirring in his chest. He had not stepped inside that room since inheriting the dukedom. After sending the contents to Frederick for review, he had left it untouched.
“Painstaking work, Your Grace, I assure you,” Frederick went on. “But I have uncovered something most alarming. These documents suggest that the late duke of Beaushire entered into a private investment shortly before his death.”
“And that alarms you because?”
“Because, as you can see here,”—Frederick seized another page and jabbed at the bottom with his finger—“he withdrew at the very last moment. Only weeks before his death! Do you not see what this implies?”
Lucas felt his earlier flicker of indulgence fading rapidly, replaced by that sinking feeling that he was not going to like whatever Frederick was getting at.
“Enlighten me.”
