He sputtered after me, crying something about protocol, but after two years with me as mistress, he knew I could not be stopped.
This house… I had nearly forgotten how the memories warred here.
Gabriel’s mouth on my neck, a hand up my skirts as his broad form pressed me against that wall.
His blood trailing down this hall.
A late afternoon spent teaching him to play on that very piano bench.
Pressing myself back against that door as I fought for breath, jostled by frantic servants as they worked to stem my husband’s bleeding.
They each fought for prominence in a way that left my stomach churning.
The part of me that was given to poking bruises paused outside the open dining room door. The table was gone, replaced with something darker in color and lighter in form.
I had shuttered that door in the final months I lived here. Even this hall, the main thoroughfare through the house had been avoided at all costs. But I abandoned this room entirely to his ghost.
I was given to understand that his blood had pooled for so long that it warped the table irreparably. That information had been relayed by the late duke with a tone that left little doubt as to whom he assigned blame for the desecration of the fine mahogany piece.
He had informed me in no uncertain terms that my unwillingness to move, to leave Gabriel, for hours after his passing had ruined a perfectly lovely dining table. One that had to be replaced at great cost.
Never mind that no one else in the family could stomach the sight of it, let alone consume a meal at it. I was responsible.
No one, save Her Grace, mourned overmuch when the late duke passed. Xander, by all measures, was a much better man—and duke—than his father had been.
Finally, I reached the study at the end of the hall and slipped in, shutting the door behind me. It was different. More modern, full of darks and lights that warred for purchase. Xander took after his mother in his interior decorating tastes.
His choice of art, however, was lovely. Where Gabriel’s grandfather’s portrait had once hung, now was a painting of a girl in blue looking out from a gazebo at the bright countryside below. The image was equally full of hope and longing, entirely inappropriate for a study, and completely perfect for this one.
But I could not allow myself to be distracted from my efforts. I had no idea what I was searching for, what I might have missed, but it certainly wasn’t the painting.
I pulled out the notes I’d roughly sketched from my pelisse. No doubt Reeves was peeved I hadn’t handed over the cloak. When I glanced around the room, my eyes landed on the shelf behind the desk.
Ledgers!
I scurried around the desk and fell to my knees. They were organized by year and then by month for years that had overfilled the first book. But there were no more than five years present, certainly nothing that had once belonged to Gabriel.
I could not help but laugh at the last one on the shelf labeled simply “Davina.” She would require her own ledger.
“Can I help you?” A perturbed male voice came from behind me.Drat, hadn’t that door squeaked?
I spun around, clutching my notes in hand. My eyes met Xander’s, his brows quirked in amusement and lips gathered to one side in his trademark expression. It was intended to demonstrate irritation, but his amusement was plain for all to see. His sister was a frequent recipient of the look.
“Xander! How are you this morning?”
“I’m— I had an eventful night. What are you doing?” He gestured toward the seat intended for visitors, before taking the one he called home.
“Oh, you know. I did not get to speak very long with you last night. I wished to see how you were doing.”
“And you could not have done that in the drawing room?” His hands danced while he talked, flitting toward the door. I’d never seen another person speak with their entire body the way Xander did.
“Well, no because...” My investigation was proving slightly more awkward than I’d originally thought.
“Reeves is under the impression that you have overspent your portion, and you are here to beg for pin money. That seems unlikely to me.”
“I...”
“Weren’t you once skilled at manipulating men?”
