“Who’s the unlucky chit?”
“Alyssia.”
Knox’s second brow joined the first, then understanding dawned. “I see how it is. She went to Dove-Lyon and you per chance met there.”
“Then you know of her situation?”
Knox shrugged. “There are rumors of an indiscretion, but I don’t make a habit of speculating whether there is any truth to them or not. So you found your way back to each other. That’s good, I suppose. What wereyoudoing at the Den?”
Bishop flung his legs off the bed and rested his elbows on his knees. “Handling business for someone.”
“Fate truly is a damnable thing. So is Dove-Lyon, knowing enough to send for me.”
“Won’t argue with you there.”
“It’s almost as if she wants you to reclaim your title.”
Indeed. Even he had to admit, it seemed rather calculating, the way she’d called himYour Grace. Deuced terrifying, in fact. “Perhaps my uncle has earned her displeasure.”
“He wouldn’t be the first,” Knox said with a wry twist of his mouth. “So what will you do about your uncle?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“The moment he discovers your return, your life may be in danger.”
And Alyssia’s. Damn it. He hadn’t thought about anything beyondthe need to win that blasted game.
“You can stay here for the time being,” Knox said, as if reading his mind. “Until you reclaim what’s yours.”
“Your house?”
“Just one of several I own in St. James.” Knox flicked a gaze around the room. “Where else will you settle with your sweet new bride?”
Bishop shook his head, his voice filled with mockery, “You always did have a way of making generosity sound like an insult.”
“I call it practicality. You still have to decide whether you’ll slit your uncle’s throat or unseat him politely.”
“Polite isn’t in my vocabulary when it comes to him.”
Knox’s grin was brief. “Rest, plan, and when you’re ready, go take back what’s yours.”
Bishop leaned forward, eyes half-closed.Take back what’s yours.How simple that sounded.
His gaze snapped back to Knox. “The person involved in the rumors with Alyssia. Who is he?”
Knox’s face darkened. “You don’t know? Cecil Rafferty.”
His mouth moved before his brain. “Who the devil did you say?”
“Couldn’t claim I was surprised, honestly,” Knox drawled. “He always coveted your belongings.”
For a moment, Bishop could only stare.
Rafferty.
The name crawled from memory like rot under stone. His face hardened.
Indeed.
