She wore an undressing gown. It sported a good deal of frothy lace around her neck and at its hem, but it had seen better days. Shapeless but soft, it revealed her form while she sat there with it billowing over the divan’s faded rose toile cushion.
“A fortune was left to a woman named Minerva Hepplewhite, currently resident of London, by the late Duke of Hollinburgh.”
He took satisfaction in how her eyes widened. Then she laughed. “How absurd. This must be a joke. Why would the Duke of Hollinburgh leave me a fortune?”
He shrugged. “Believe me, that is my burning question as well. You must be . . . a good friend? A retainer? . . . A lover?”
Her frown dissolved and a broad smile took its place.
“A lover?” She swept her hand—an exceedingly lovely hand, he noticed—gesturing at the chamber. “Do I look like I have enjoyed the favor of a duke? Did you see a footman in the entryway? A fine carriage in the yard?”
Like that undressing gown, only serviceable furniture populated the library, and none of it was new. This certainly supported what she was saying, for this modest house on Rupert Street would hardly satisfy a duke’s mistress. . . at least, so it seemed.
Still smiling, she caught his gaze with her own. She had a talent for captivating one’s attention with that compelling focus. She appeared to invite him to look into her soul, to learn whether she spoke the truth or not. To discover—everything. He was not immune to the lure. She was a damned attractive woman. Distinctive. Unusual. Her disconcerting self-confidence made her interesting.
“Mr. Radnor, not only was I not this duke’s lover or mistress, but I never even met him.”
And with those words, Chase’s current assignment suddenly became much more difficult.
* * *
A fortune. A duke. Minerva tried to absorb the astonishing revelation.
“There must be some error,” she murmured.
Radnor shook his head. “‘Minerva Hepplewhite’ is not a common name. I found you by putting a notice inThe Times. One of your neighbors came forward and pointed me to you.”
She stood and paced while she accommodated the shock. She all but forgot Radnor stood by the fireplace until she turned to retrace her steps and saw him there. Tall. Dark. Formidable. A strict posture. Perhaps he had been in the military. His somewhat craggy features would look good in uniform and giving commands on the field. His blue eyes alternated between deep pools and icy barriers.
He exuded power and authority. He was the kind of man that tempted a woman to depend on him for protection and care. And, perhaps, much more. Oh, yes, Mr. Radnor’s presence contained that kind of power too. She experienced an urge to believe anything he said merely to obtain his good favor.
“How much is this inheritance?”
“There is a direct legacy of ten thousand.”
She gasped, her eyes wide, then turned away as she absorbed her shock.
“There is also a partnership in an enterprise in which the duke had invested,” he said to her back. “That holds the promise of much, much more.”
For the very first time in her life she worried she would swoon. To learn such a thing, and in such a bizarre manner—
That sobered her. Her mind cleared and her thoughts lined up the events of this night. She turned and eyed him. “Who are you? Why were you the one sent to find me?”
He crooked his elbow on the edge of the mantel and relaxed into a pose of aristocratic nonchalance. “The duke was my uncle. His heir, my cousin, asked me to help the solicitor find the unfamiliar legatees so the estate can be disbursed in a timely way.”
His cousin was the new duke. That made him the grandson of a previous one. She tried to picture him at a society ball, but instead kept seeing him in a Roman centurion’s uniform. From the evidence revealed by his snug trousers, he had the legs to look good in one.
“How did the duke die?”
He did not respond right away, which only heightened her interest.
“His country manor house has a parapet at the roofline behind which one can walk. He often went there at night to take some air. Unfortunately, one night he . . . fell.”
The slight hesitation and the subtle shift in tone sent a shiver up her spine. She conquered the alarm and held her composure. “An accident, then.”
“Most likely.”
“You are not sure?”
