She swallowed hard.
For now, her best option was to convince the Duke of Crossings that she truly had nothing to give.
“I don’t have any letters,” she said, her voice steady despite the tremor beneath it.
Crossings didn’t believe her. She could see it in his eyes. And worse, he was probing for something she couldn’t quite grasp—something that felt just out of reach.
Her jaw tightened, but she forced her expression to remain neutral. “As you can see, my mother is not at home…” She did her best to sound polite—but firm. “Perhaps you should call another time.”
His eyes narrowed, but then he dipped his chin. “Perhaps,” he said.
That had been almost too easy.
His gaze lingered, though, sharp and calculating. “I’ll allow that you may need… time to reflect.”
When he put his hands on his knees and rose to stand, Melanie did her best not to look too relieved.
But he wasn’t finished.
“Take some time, my lady, to locate those letters. But not too long.” He hovered over her, before leaning down so he couldspeak directly in her ear, his voice low and heavy with the weight of something ominous. “Because, understand this—I will return.”
Melanie swallowed hard and forced a small nod, but with her knees trembling beneath her skirts, she remained seated.
Holding up a hand, he forestalled any attempt she might have made to stand. “No need to see me out,” he said, almost kindly.
Without waiting for her response, he turned and strode from the room, the door clicking shut behind him—a sound she barely even noticed.
And in the moments that followed, time slipped away. Melanie sat in her mother’s chair, staring at the empty hearth, hardly able to comprehend what had just happened.
There was something in the shadows of her mind, long hidden, threatening to break through… Her father’s voice echoed faintly in her mind. “Hide these, my darling. Keep them safe for me.”
Hide what? Keep what safe?
Her breath hitched as realization began to dawn.
She rose and hurried to her chamber, her footsteps quickening as she reached the corner of the room, a space she’d intentionally ignored for months. And then, without an ounce of hesitation, she began to remove the hatboxes from where they had been arranged in tidy, waist-high piles, with the largest ones on the bottom and the smallest sat on top. Beneath them, untouched since coming to London over a year ago now, was her small writing desk.
With shaky hands, she pulled it free and set it on the bed. The latch gave way easily, the faint creak of the hinge loud in the stillness of the room. And inside, beneath a neat stack of her stationery, was a bundle of letters.
Her hands trembled. The handwriting was unfamiliar, but the ducal seal unmistakable.
Just as her fingers brushed the topmost envelope, a noise came from behind her that had Melanie freezing in place—the ghostly groan of the wooden floorboards under careful footsteps, or else the simple addition of another person’s breath in a confined space.
Whatever it was, Melanie became suddenly aware that she was no longer alone in her bedchamber.
Slowly, she turned, her heart pounding.
The Duke of Crossings stood in the doorway, his smile cold and triumphant.
“There, that was easy enough, wasn’t it?” he said, his tone mocking. “Now…” He held out a gloved hand, his dark eyes lingering on the letters. “Hand them over.”
THE TESTIMONY
Northwoods reined in his horse a few yards away, his gaze pinging between Malum and the other riders. His attempt at swagger was painfully transparent, betrayed by his almost brittle expression.
“Your Grace,” he greeted, tipping his hat with less than his usual flourish. “Quite the gathering you’ve arranged. I didn’t expect such an… impressive audience.”
Malum didn’t reply, instead allowing the silence to stretch.
