Theo held back a wince as he spoke. The words were likely the wrong ones, and the spark in her eyes appeared to confirm it.
“Oh?” She folded her arms across her chest. “Then perhaps you should have thought of that when you handed me to the servants upon our arrival.”
“That—"
“I need a husband who will speak to me. Who sees me as more than a name to escort or a duchess to present.”
“I see you.” The words scraped his throat on the way out.
“Then why do I feel invisible?” she asked, her voice trembling at the edges.
Theo held his breath. She didn’t know how much he saw her. How much of his thoughts she occupied and how she unraveled him just by being near.
“I do not know how to be this,” he admitted. “Not with you. You undo every plan I ever made.”
For a moment, she said nothing. Then, gently, she withdrew her hand from his arm.
“I have correspondences to attend to. Thank you for the walk, Duke.”
She turned and walked away.
Theo stood rooted. His fists clenched at his sides.
What do you want from me, April? A truth I cannot give? A version of me I have long buried? Or worse… do you want the man I might become if I let myself feel everything you make me feel?
His hands curled loosely at his sides. He had not expected marriage to be smooth, but he had not expected this either.
Frustration prickled through him like thorns, and for the first time in years, he did not know what to do next. Footsteps approached from behind. Redmond, the butler, cleared his throat quietly and held out a silver tray with a single envelope upon it.
“A missive, Your Grace. It arrived by hand.”
Theo took the envelope and opened it without ceremony. His eyes scanned the short message.
Your Grace,
I have not been able to trace the name Michael Linwood. It may very well be an alias. However, I have confirmed that H.R.’s last known assignment involved uncovering a group of noblemen suspected of selling English intelligence to Russian agents. H.R. was preparing to return to London when his home was attacked in Kent. I shall continue searching.
Your obedient servant,
Mr. Charles Smythe.
Theo folded the letter once and slipped it into his coat.Michael Linwood. Who hides behind that name? Have our paths crossed before?
He reached for the handkerchief tucked in his coat pocket and pressed it between his palms, grounding himself as he took several long, steadying breaths.
Theo considered what he knew. It was not enough. If he was to conclude this investigation and bury the past, he would need to learn more, and quickly.
Whatever it cost.
Twenty-Four
It was astounding how much furniture a manor could hold and how little of it seemed capable of sparking joy. Each room, though tastefully adorned, carried the appearance of permanence, as though no one had dared to challenge its arrangement in decades.
April stood in the center of the library, swatches of velvet and damask draped over one arm, a pencil in her hair, and the beginnings of a headache blooming just behind her eyes.
The room was far too dark, the carpets too thick, and the organization was a travesty. Ancient Greek texts sat beside fencing manuals, German philosophers wedged in with gardening guides, and somehow, a shelf and a half had been sacrificed to botany before abruptly switching gears to hold three mismatched copies ofParadise Lost.
April turned slowly and found Mrs. Maple lingering at the door. “Mrs. Maple, how on earth did the library come to look like this?”
