And then the kiss. The feeling of her mouth beneath his. The warmth of her breath as she had responded before she even realized what she was doing.
Alexander exhaled slowly and forced himself to straighten.
No.He was not about to stand here like some distracted boy replaying the memory of a kiss while discussing matters of loyalty and business.He pushed the memory aside with quite a lot of effort, forcing his attention back to the present moment.
Alexander inclined his head once. “Very well.”
The faintest trace of tension left Harris’s posture, though it was so subtle that another man might not have noticed it at all.
Alexander reached for the watch resting upon the desk and slipped it into his pocket as he spoke again. “Send him to the study. I shall join him immediately.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Harris turned toward the door.
Alexander’s voice stopped him before he could leave. “Harris.”
The valet paused immediately and turned back. “Yes, Your Grace?”
Alexander hesitated only briefly. “Thank you.”
The words seemed to surprise the man more than Alexander had expected, though Harris recovered quickly enough and inclined his head with quiet respect before leaving the room.
The door closed softly behind him.
Alexander remained where he stood for several seconds, his gaze fixed on the polished wood of the door as the silence of the room settled once more around him.
Trust was an uncomfortable subject when one could not rely entirely on one’s own memories to guide judgment.
He had been told repeatedly over the past days that he was a cautious man by nature. That he approached both business and personal matters with a measured, almost ruthless practicalitythat had earned him a reputation as someone who did not easily grant confidence to others.
Perhaps that caution had been necessary. Perhaps it had protected him. Or perhaps it had also created the sort of resentment that drove a man to commit violence against him.
The thought lingered unpleasantly in his mind as he turned and began walking down the corridor toward his study, his steps measured and steady while the questions circling in his thoughts refused to settle.
The long hallway of Rosewood House stretched before him, the pale morning light spilling across the polished floors. For a moment, he studied it with the same detached awareness that had become far too familiar over the past days.
He knew the house belonged to him. And yet there were unsettling moments when the place felt less like a home and more like a stage on which he had been unexpectedly placed.
His study stood at the end of the corridor, the heavy oak door slightly ajar as though the person inside had been waiting for some time. Alexander paused only briefly before pushing it open and stepping inside.
Mr. Cartwright was already waiting when Alexander entered.
The estate manager rose immediately.
He was an older man, perhaps in his late sixties, with thinning white hair and a narrow, thoughtful face that carried quiet intelligence. His suit was plain but impeccably clean, the fabric worn only in the subtle way that suggested careful use rather than neglect, and his posture held composed dignity.
“Your Grace,” he said warmly.
Alexander closed the door behind him before speaking. “Mr. Cartwright.”
They stepped forward and shook hands.
The man’s grip was firm without being overbearing, a strength that spoke of quiet confidence rather than the need to prove authority. It was a small detail, but Alexander noticed it immediately. A weak handshake often betrayed a weak mind. This one did not.
Alexander gestured toward the chairs near the desk. “Please. Sit.”
Cartwright lowered himself carefully into the seat, resting his cane beside him with the careful movements of someone who respected both the room and the man who owned it. Alexander took the chair opposite him, leaning back slightly as he allowed a moment of silence to settle between them.
He studied the man openly.
