“Mr. McMichael,” Theo said, surprised. “You are early.”
The solicitor turned. “Your Grace. I trust your business in town was fruitful?”
“It was illuminating. Come.” He gestured toward the hall. “Let us speak in my study.”
They walked together through the hallway, past ancestral portraits and oil lamps casting soft halos of light, and into the paneled quiet of the Duke’s study. Theo gestured for him to sit then moved to pour a small glass of brandy for them both.
“What news?”
Mr. McMichael opened his satchel and drew out a folder of documents, removing his gloves with careful precision. “The property in Kent has been secured. You have full possession as of this morning.”
Theo nodded, setting the brandy down beside the folder. “Excellent. She will be pleased.”
He dipped the pen and signed where McMichael indicated, each stroke neat and deliberate.
“Anything further required of me?”
“Only one thing remains,” McMichael replied as he tucked the documents away. “For Lady Darnell to take up residence. The household has been instructed to begin preparations as soon as she arrives.”
Theo stood and extended his hand. “Then we are finished. My thanks, McMichael.”
They exchanged brief farewells, and the solicitor departed with Redmond at his side. Theo watched them disappear down the hallway then turned back, heart already pulling him elsewhere.
He climbed the stairs, not slowly but not rushing either. The desire to see April again was tempered by the sharp edge of the world outside these walls. Each time he looked at her, he feared it might be the last moment of peace.
He found her in her chambers, the light golden and warm from the hearth, the scent of lavender and soft powder lingering in the air. Her lady’s maid was fastening the last pearl pin in her coiffure, her delicate profile outlined by the firelight.
“Your Grace,” the maid said, seeing him in the doorway.
“Leave us if you please.”
She curtsied and disappeared with a whisper of skirts and a knowing glance.
April turned, her expression softening when she saw him. There was something in her eyes—a calm welcome, a warmth he had never seen turned toward another.
He crossed to her in two steps and pulled her into his arms, breathing her in.
“I missed you,” she said, hands curling against his chest.
He bent and kissed her brow, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. Then he took her hand and led her to the chaise by the window. He sat and drew her gently onto his lap.
“Comfortable?” he asked, one hand resting at her waist.
“Very.” Her voice was no louder than the fire behind them.
They sat in silence a moment, the troubled of the world fading under the intimacy of the room. He smoothed her hair back, one finger lingering at her temple, committing her to memory.
“I’m close,” he said at last.
“Close to what?”
“To uncovering who orchestrated it. My family’s death.”
Her breath caught, but she didn’t interrupt. Her fingers gently circled his, encouraging.
“Linwood worked with a group called the Mercies. Smythe traced his name in old ledgers, and Bow Street is preparing a raid. There is a planned delivery. I’ve given my word I’ll be there.”
She placed her hand over his heart. “Are you certain it’s them?”
