Austin studied her face, the pink on her cheeks, the way her lips still looked faintly swollen from the meadow. Even though he was angry, he longed to pick her up, pin her against the wall, andkiss her senselessly until she begged him for more, but he did not act on his desire.Not with her.
“If I walk away, she’s ruined.” Deena’s voice shook.
“Then stop with the excuses and write the article. What are you so afraid of?”
“I’m afraid that if I don’t give him what he wants, he’ll find another way. He’ll keep digging until he finds proof. Until he destroys you, me, and Penelope.”
“Ah! So that’s the name of this mysterious friend of yours.”
Deena gasped and clasped her hands over her mouth.
Austin frowned and stepped away from her.
“Your friend means nothing to me, so there’s no point being afraid that you exposed her name.”
“Then why did you keep pushing me to speak about her?”
“Because you gave me nothing! You left me guessing, Dee, from the beginning. It’s exhausting when I’m trying to help you.” Deena lowered her gaze. “How do you know it’s a man that’s blackmailing you?” he continued.
“The writing is not very feminine.”
His jaw clenched when he remembered the letters in his pocket. He pulled them out, grabbed her hand, and placed them both into her open palm. Deena’s skin felt hot against his. She quickly removed her hand away from his grasp.
“I gave this to you,” she said, confused as she folded the first letter and put it aside.
“Yes, you did.”
Deena frowned, unfolded the second piece of paper, and softly read it out loud. “Duke of Windemere.”
She glanced at Austin, who nodded at her to continue.
“I know the secrets that stain your father’s legacy, those countless affairs, and the whispers of mistresses that thetonhas long pretended to forget. But what of your mother’s affairs? A woman in love with another, bearing a son before marriage. The apple, they say, does not fall far from the tree. Or does it? For if you are not truly the son of the late Duke, then who are you? And who is the rightful heir? Are you worthy of the title you cling to so desperately?
“If you are truly illegitimate, the right thing to do would be to step down from your stolen throne. And allow the rightful heir to claim what is his by blood and law. Resist, and I shall ensure the world knows the truth. Your dukedom will crumble, your name will be mud, and the apple will rot where it lies. Yours truly. The man who knows the truth.” Deena bit her lip as she looked at him.
He ignored his growing temptation and the tight feeling in his chest. “You’re a writer, Dee. Feel the paper. Is it not the best quality?”
She frowned as she rubbed the piece of paper between her fingers. “It’s the opposite. It’s the worst paper to write on and quite common in Paris. Why didn’t I recognize it before? In Paris, we call it ‘le gris’ because of its grey color.”
“Do you have any idea who would use this kind of paper?” Austin asked, pretending not to notice how her fingers deftly moved across the page.
“Mostly working-class people. It’s used for receipts because it is affordable.”
That confirmed some of his concerns.
“Why do you ask?” She looked up at him questioningly.
“I originally believed that our blackmailers might be the same person, but the handwriting differs. So, my second opinion is that it is two or more people working together and that they’re not noblemen.”
“But even if any of that is true, are they in Paris or England or both? We cannot tell just because they used the same type of paper.”
“Of course, the paper is common, but it is not common that a Duke would receive more than one similar poorly written letter.”
Deena blinked. “You received more?”
Austin cussed under his breath for revealing more to her. “That’s not important.” Deena looked stung. “I know that paper, Dee. And I know that everything is connected somehow. I will prove it,” he continued confidently.
“We don’t have much time for you to play detective.” She handed the letters back to him.
