He fisted his hands and turned to stare out his window.
With the manor set high above the cliffs, the sea stretched for miles. And that view had provided clarity on more than one occasion.
“What’s the status of theFrancesca?”Their latest shipment had been due to arrive this week. Landing the goods on the beach, however, could prove dicey at times.
“She’s holding her position,” Fitz answered. “Winds have been high, but they’ve calmed down. I imagine they’ll bring it in tonight.”
Leopold nodded in approval. By avoiding the docks, they avoided the taxes, but on occasion, nature claimed its own due. Too much fog and the boats risked getting caught up on the rocks. Too much moonlight and their operations were vulnerable to exposure.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.” He paid a handful of locals to act as watchmen. Still… “Tell the team to keep an eye out for anything unusual.”
He was ninety-nine percent confident Crossings had no way of knowing Lady Amelia was at Smuggler’s Manor, but it was that one percent, if ignored, that caught a person off-guard.
If he let it.
Fitz departed to carry out his orders, and for a while afterwards, Leopold remained in his office to read through the audits from a handful of his other investments. Aside from a few small discrepancies, he was generally satisfied.
So why the sinking feeling?
Leopold ran a hand through his hair, annoyed that he’d let it get to him.
That he’d letherget to him. It wasn’t just the damned pendant.
It was her expression when Smuggler’s Manor came into view.
Her disappointment.
With a single sigh, she’d sent him back to that day at Winterhope’s estate, when he’d caught that first glance of her. The feeling of his heart expanding and then instantly deflating.
Leopold was, and would always be, a commoner and a criminal. But though he might be going to hell someday, he’d bedamned if he’d be ashamed of Smuggler’s Manor. If it wasn’t to her liking, then herladyshipcould rot.
But this reminder didn’t stop him from comparing Winter Castle or Lord Helton’s Black Hall to his own manor.
Such structures were built to impress, to show off one’s superior status and wealth, but he’d never seen the value in that sort of posturing. His home served his needs and was plenty comfortable for him, his team, and the few guests he entertained from time to time, so why bother beyond that?
And yet… Even Malum, a duke who’d very deliberately shunned society, had spared no expense when he’d built his club.
The Domus Emporium featured sparkling crystal chandeliers, velvet wallcoverings, hand-carved molding, and luxurious furnishings which managed to be both appealing to the eye and sinfully comfortable. Hell, Leopold figured the floors alone—polished marble covered in handmade oriental rugs that flowed artfully throughout the entire establishment—had cost thousands of pounds.
But it all came together to create what Leopold realized must be a very calculated sort of atmosphere: both decadent and relaxed, the design was rich and thoughtful enough to inspire trust in the Emporium’s typical patrons. To encourage the lowering of both inhibitions and defenses.
Leopold shifted. Everything Malum did was deliberate.
But then footsteps in the foyer outside of his office brought him back to reality.
The Domus Emporium was meant to be seen. Smuggler’s Manor was meant to be invisible.
Just as he’d been when he’d first noticed Lady Amelia.
A few knocks sounded and Leopold hastily bid whoever it was to enter, welcoming a distraction from such unproductive thoughts.
Only… she wasn’t the distraction he needed.
“Are you busy?” Lady Amelia peered inside, but rather than send her away, Leopold found himself rising from his desk.
Like a bloody gentleman.
