For years he had lived in his older brother’s shadow, but now he finally had the chance to be revered. The time of reckoning was at hand, and where Roger had failed, he would succeed.
And no one, especially some mousy widow, would stand in his way.
* * *
Weston House
London
Lyra joined the duke in the formal dining room the following morning. He held a copy of theTimesbefore him, although he lowered a corner upon her entrance. He stood, but once she had selected a few items from the sideboard—eggs, bacon and toast—and sat down, he offered her a polite bow before resuming his earlier pose, effectively cutting himself off from any possible conversation.
Well…
She could see that he was content returning to his wonderfully aloof self, but perhaps that was for the best. After passing a fitful night of sleep, the milk failing miserably in the face of her reawakened desires, Lyra realized that she had almost made a terrible mistake last evening. She’d nearly allowed her passion to overrule her common sense. Her relationship with Alister must remain professional, and above all, platonic. If anything between them was portrayed as untoward, it would likely come with disastrous results.
As before, Alister seemed to have a rather uncanny ability to read her thoughts, for he spoke up from behind the paper. “I think that employing a female companion would be in order, in light of the circumstances. While you are a widow, we don’t want people to get the wrong impression while I’m here.”
Lyra dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “I wholly agree.”
He flipped down a corner of the paper as if he was surprised at her easy acquiescence. “I don’t suppose you might have anyone in mind? Your mother perhaps?”
She shook her head. “While we are making progress in our relationship, I fear if she were to stay here it would only cause a further riff.”
“I see. I don’t suppose there an elderly aunt that you might appeal to?” he suggested.
She sighed. “I’m afraid not.”
The paper was returned to its original location. “I will see what I can come up with. Until then, we will have to rely on the discretion of the staff.”
Lyra nodded, but of course, with the barrier back up between them, there was no way he could see her.
After finishing off the rest of her breakfast in silence, she finally left the room.
Alister sighed at Lyra’s departure and set aside the paper he’d been pretending to read. The truth was, he hadn’t absorbed a single bloody word the entire time. His body was too in tune with hers to care about what had happened the night before at Lord and Lady so-and-so’s musicale. His blood was humming, for even though she was gone, her delicate, feminine scent remained. It was why he’d decided that a chaperone would not only be helpful to preserve her reputation, but would also keep him firmly in check. To veer from his purpose in being at Weston House would be nothing short of detrimental.
For both of them.
He had a mission, and he would have to continue his reconnaissance soon, for Lord Liverpool would be looking for a report. Unfortunately, his search the night before had been pathetically fruitless, but he’d only scratched the surface of the earl’s study before Lyra had caught him.
“A message just arrived for you, Your Grace.”
Alister shook off any misgivings that might be taking root and accepted the neatly folded letter off of the silver salver the butler handed to him. “Thank you, Barton.”
Barton offered a brief bow and took his leave while Alister broke the wax seal that bore the insignia of the Marquess of Sussex.
I’m afraid I have some rather distressing news. Lady Weston will be notified shortly, if she hasn’t been already, that her widow’s jointure has been frozen, at least until after the trial proceedings. As it is, the new Lord Weston, Richard Coventry, is causing a ruckus about the delay and is insisting that his brother’s death was no accident and that he fully intends to see Lady Weston hanged. At this point, I can only hope Talon can offer us some spark of hope.
—D
Alister clenched the letter in his fist before tossing it into the fire. Any correspondence was dealt with in the same manner, for it was imperative that diplomacy was the matter of the day, but in this case, disgust ruled over it all. Obviously, the new earl was going to be a thorn in their side, but it wouldn’t be the first time Alister, or Drayven, were faced with a challenging case.
But then, Lyra hadn’t been involved before.
* * *
Lyra was sitting in the conservatory with a cup of early afternoon tea when Alister intruded on her solitude. She heard his footsteps coming up behind her, but she didn’t turn around to acknowledge him. She continued to glance out the shining glass windows to the garden behind the house. While all the flowers and shrubs were dormant at this time of year, it was a cloudless afternoon and the sight of the sun after such a dreary couple of days was particularly soothing.
She closed her eyes against the rustle of his clothes and the creak of the wicker chair as he settled himself across from her. “I understand you might have received a message from your solicitor.”
