Dominic would prefer Irving board the ship and die on the crossing, but Moseley’s solution had a certain elegance.
“I also deal in facts, Mr Moseley. What is it you require?”
Moseley removed a leather portfolio from his desk drawer. “A word to your contact on the Secret Committee. Place this before Chairman Sterling and express a few quiet concerns. Any contract signed in India will become little more than waste paper.”
Dominic reached for the portfolio but did not open it. He regarded it a moment, allowing silence to suggest hesitation. In truth, Moseley had handed him exactly what he needed. Even so, interference in Crown business carried its own dangers.
“Agree to this, and I’ll tell you what connects Miss Harland’s mother and yours.”
Dominic shifted in the chair, firming his grip on the portfolio. “Very well. I’ll ensure the right people see these documents, but will deny all involvement if asked.”
Moseley nodded. From his coat, he withdrew a letter and slid it across the desk. The edges were frayed, the paper foxed. “I keep everything, Mr Hawke. In my business, you never know when it may prove useful. It’s yours now.”
The letter was dated a decade ago, written in his mother’s elegant hand. The tone was desperate. He could almost hearthe strain in her voice, see the shadows beneath her eyes, feel the weight of the debt.
The ring at his throat felt heavier, and he silently cursed his father to the devil.
“She sought a loan,” Moseley said. “She preferred my terms to those of the lord who’d made life unbearable. Unfortunately, she died before I could reply.”
His heart pounded so hard it rang in his ears.
“She never named this lord?”
Moseley gestured to the letter. “Everything I know is in there.”
“But you mentioned Miss Harland’s mother.”
“She came to me for a loan to silence a blackmailer. A lord who made her life unbearable.” He paused, watching Dominic as the words settled. “Unfortunately, she had no means to keep up the payments. I run a business, Mr Hawke. Not a charitable foundation.”
Moseley made his skin crawl.
But then the rogue handed him a boon.
“It’s likely a coincidence,” Moseley continued, unperturbed. “But it shouldn’t be difficult to investigate. Look for those who befriended Lord Harland and your father. Men who had access to both households. I can supply a few names for a price.”
Dominic inwardly sighed. “I doubt it’s one I’m willing to pay.”
Moseley grinned. “It’s always good to test the boundaries. Besides, those men will likely be enjoying the delights at Shadowmere tomorrow.” His smile thinned. “Evil men often return to the scene of their crimes.”
Dominic’s fingers tightened on the arm of the chair. Not because he might have poured wine for the fiend who’d harmed his mother. But because the villain was still out there.A faceless man who vanished in a crowd. And if he had killed Harland to keep his secret, he might turn his attention to Daphne.
She woke to the memory of Dominic’s mouth on hers, his hand a teasing glide between her thighs. A sweet ache lingered in her chest. The stars had faded, but his presence remained. The bed beside her might be cold, but a part of him was there with her. Touching a place inside her she was too afraid to name.
She shook herself.
Such thoughts were dangerous.
They ruined debutantes during their first season, made fools of the innocent, filled weak hearts with hope.
She couldn’t afford to dream. Even if his mouth was heavenly and he sometimes said tender things. She would earn her keep, not live at a man’s pleasure.
She threw back the sheets and climbed out of bed, rubbing her arms against the morning chill. There was work to be done. The timing could not be better. Guests would pile through the doors tomorrow, revellers gathering for the Autumn Masque.
Her mocking snort broke the stillness.
Guests. They did not come by generous invitation.
The Masque was not a party, but a display of Dominic’s control. He had nearly drowned in weakness once. He would not do so again.
