Come to Fairford, and seize your treasure.
That cryptic note was so typical of Ambrose. The man had loved nothing so much as creating a bit of drama. It had infuriated Max at the time, but perhaps he understood it now.
The treasure Ambrose had referred to wasn’t Hammond Court. It never had been.
It was Rose.Shewas the treasure, and only a fool walked away from such a precious treasure, a treasure of inestimable worth.
He wasn’t returning to London. Not without Rose. He was going to stay here in Fairford, at Grantham Lodge, and spend every day begging her to forgive him.
Begging her to be his.
Montford was right, as it happened. A man in love does know how to beg.
Beg, he would. If it took the rest of his lifetime to persuade her, then so be it. A lifetime in pursuit of such a lady was a lifetime well spent. He rose to his feet, stomped the snow from his boots, and began to make his way up the hill, back toward his carriage.
First, he had to find her. She’d been at Grantham Lodge only last night. It was still quite early in the morning now, and it also happened to be Christmas Day.
She couldn’t have gotten far. He’d find her, but first, there was something he had to do.
* * *
“Sir Richard isn’t at home, Your Grace.”
Max looked down his nose at Sir Richard Mildmay’s butler. The man was lying, and not at all convincingly. “Not at home? How curious. Youareaware it’s Christmas Day?”
“Er, yes, Your Grace.” The man’s nose gave a nervous twitch. “What I meant to say, Your Grace, is that Sir Richard is not at home to visitors today.”
“Ah, I see. No matter.” He strolled over to an upholstered bench against a wall in the entryway and seated himself with the air of a man who was settling in for a long time. “I’ll wait.”
The butler blinked. “Wait, Your Grace? B-but it’s Christmas Day!”
Max unleashed the sardonic eyebrow. “Yes, I believe we’ve already agreed on that. It would be a pity if I were obliged to miss my Christmas dinner, but I’m afraid my business with Sir Richard is rather urgent and can’t wait.”
The butler gaped at him, his mouth hanging open, but when this tactic didn’t produce the desired effect—namely, Max’s absence—he turned on his heel with a huff. “If you’d be so good as to remain here, Your Grace.”
Oh, he’d remain, all right. He’d sleep in Sir Richard’s entryway, if necessary.
Fortunately, he wasn’t obliged to wait long at all. Within minutes, the butler returned, and with him was Sir Richard Mildmay, looking thunderstruck. “What in the world areyoudoing here, Grantham? It’s Christmas Day, man! Don’t you have a dozen guests expecting their Christmas dinner at Grantham Lodge?”
“I do, yes, and not a single patient one among them. That I’m waiting on a bench in your entryway instead of entertaining them should tell you just how urgent my business is.”
Sir Richard sighed. “Is there even the smallest chance, Grantham, of your leaving here without having your way?”
“Alas, I’m afraid not.” Max gave him a thin smile. “I’m a duke, Sir Richard. I’m far too accustomed to having my way to give it up now.”
“For God’s sake. All right then, Grantham. Let’s get this over with, shall we? I’ve got a perfectly lovely roasted goose waiting for me.”
He waved an impatient hand at Max, who rose from his place on the bench and followed Sir Richard down the hallway to a small study. Sir Richard nodded at a chair and took the seat behind his desk. “Now then, Grantham. You have my attention. What the devil do youwant?”
Why did people keep asking him that? It was perfectly simple. He wanted Rose.
But this entire business had begun with the rift between his father and Ambrose, and that was as good a place to start as any. “Several weeks ago, when you revealed the terms of Ambrose St. Claire’s will to myself and Miss St. Claire, you said something about Ambrose having only ever had the purest of intentions regarding Hammond Court.”
“Yes, I did. As I recall, Your Grace, you scoffed at the idea.”
“And that surprised you, Sir Richard? You know the details of my history with Ambrose. You can’t reasonably have expected me to react in any other way.”
Sir Richard observed him for a moment, then shook his head with a sigh. “No, perhaps not. It was an ugly business, and you got the worst of it.”
