Michael reached for her. Dara did not wake as he gently stretched out and leaned her into the crook of his arm. She felt good there, right. Hesmiled when, after a few moments, she sighed and nestled in against him.She loves me.He was certain of it.
Tomorrow morning, she would wake and argue with him. She would give all the reasons she must not marry him while knowing she had no choice.
He would tease her, cajole her, and make her his wife.
Then he would deal with the embezzlers. Because Michael knew who the leader was now. The knowledge was devastating. He’d only told one man about Ferrell. One man sworn to secrecy. One man he had trusted because he was so rich, so why would he steal?
Holsworthy. His great-uncle.
Ferrell had believed the stealing had been going on for close to twenty years, perhaps more. Holsworthy had been involved with the War Office back then. He could have set up the scheme at that time. Meanwhile, the world assumed he was shrewd at investments. Actually, was it simple theft?
The question was, why did Holsworthy have Sir Duncan murdered? Why now?
The only answer Michael could imagine was that, just as the lackey had said, Holsworthy had decided to bring everything to an end. He didn’t want anyone alive who could testify to his guilt.
And Michael had to wonder at the horrid actions that had been set in motion. Holsworthy had not been himself when he’d started shouting at Michael in his club. He’d been incensed about the news of Dara—
No, he had been furious that Michael was not falling into line. His heir had rebelled, something Michael had never done. Then again, he’d not had cause to challenge his great-uncle. However, Holsworthy’s shouting, his demands, had been completely out of character. Usually he was more circumspect.
Michael didn’t understand all the whys; however, he was certain of the who. He just couldn’t prove it. Not without Ferrell’s help. He’d even wager that Ferrell’s superior—what was his name? Plummer?—might have come to an untimely end tonight as well. Three murders, of men involved in the same plot, had to appear suspicious to the law. Might there be a chance a judge would listen to Michael’s suspicions?
Otherwise, who would believe Michael against the word of the mighty Holsworthy?
It was also important that Michael keep Dara close. If his uncle had become deranged, he might strike out at her. Certainly there was only one way he could truly deny Michael the title—death.
Whatever Holsworthy’s plans, he was giving Michael a reason to never let Dara go. Not when she was snuggled so sweetly against him.
He dared to brush his lips against her hair, enjoying the wild clover scent that reminded him so much of his home. “Do you believe you could love me?” he asked. “Even just a little?”
Her answer was a soft, sleepy sound. Neither yes nor no.
However, having her in his arms was enough.
Chapter Seventeen
Marry only for the right reasons.
The Rules (according to Dara)
Make yourself happy.
Tweedie’s advice
Dara woke the next morning when Gwendolyn burst into the room holding a valise in one hand and two dresses over her arm.
“Awake, awake, awake!” her sister said gaily.
Rolling over, Dara yawned. She was usually an early riser, except for today. Today she wanted to be a lazybones and hug her pillow—
She lurched up in alarm, suddenly remembering the night before. She was in a bed. She distinctly remembered sitting on the settee. She had fallen asleep there... and then he had moved her.
Fortunately, she was still wearing her muslin gown, which was hopelessly wrinkled, almost beyond repair. Not that she thought Michaelwould lewdly take advantage of her. Still, he had not listened to her, and his gentlemanly high-handedness was vastly annoying. “I wished to sleep on the settee. I told him he could have the bed.”
Gwendolyn had opened the wardrobe with the gowns in hand. Dara noticed that one of the dresses was Gwendolyn’s yellow muslin. Her sister frowned at all the male clothing before turning to Dara and saying, “Why would you wish to sleep on a settee instead of a comfortable bed?”
“Because this ishisbed.” The bed was huge, as it would need to be for a man Michael’s size. The headboard and footboard were cherry, as were the other furnishings in the room. She was glad to see that he, like herself, did not like painted furniture or dainty chairs. The drapes and bedcover were a rich wine color.
Gwendolyn laid the dresses on the bed and started to make room for them among Michael’s clothes. “Well,hisbed looks far better to sleep in than a settee. However, what is important is that you need to climb out of it. You are marrying in a few hours.”
