“Partial differential equations,” I say. “Quantitative modeling. Statistical inference.”
“Exactly. And you trade stocks as a hobby. You don’t have time for farmers whining about milk prices and grain tariffs.”
“Actually, I like tariffs.” I tilt my head. “They’re fascinating.”
She shoots up from her chair. “You don’t know the first thing about running an estate!”
I stay seated. “I’ve seen the numbers, Eva. Rohinn’s GDP has been flat for three years, yet exports are down. To me, that suggests Geoffroy was draining the farmers to keep his margins steady.”
“You don’t know that,” she says. “You haven’t seen the books.”
“No. But I’ve modeled the region’s economic profile using public data. I know enough.”
She takes a step toward me. “You really think you’re smarter than everyone, don’t you?”
“Not everyone,” I say. “Just most people.”
Her lips part. Her chest heaves. She’s furious.Or could that be…?If I’m reading the signals right, she either wants to kill me or kiss me.
I must be wrong about the kissing.She just wants to hit me, preferably on the head with something heavy and hard.
The air tightens.
Her being this close, compounded by the perfume she’s wearing, breaches the first defensive line in my brain.
I stand. Now we’re face-to-face.
She tilts her head up. I can see the fine lines at the corners of her eyes. Her skin is flushed. She’s holding herself together by sheer willpower. And all I want?—
No.No, I don’t.
“Tell me the truth,” she hisses. “You don’t actually want the title or the duchy. You just don’t want Millie to have it.”
I meet her eyes. “Millie is my niece. I don’t know her well, but I have nothing against her. What I want is the challenge. I want to fix what Geoffroy broke.”
My last statement does something weird to her. She flinches and sways. A gasp escapes her lips, and her hand flies to the base of her neck and clutches it.
Clearly she’s in complete denial about Geoffroy’s failures. I wonder how limited her intellect must be to make her this blind to Geoffroy’s true nature.
Tone it down, Alex,Mother’s voice rings in my head.
I force myself to apologize. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend your late husband’s memory.”
She blinks then lets out a sharp, dry laugh. “Apology accepted. But you’re wrong to judge the way we ran things so fast. Rohinn is more than a spreadsheet.”
“We?” I peer at her, then it comes to me. “Ah, yes, you took some economics courses, right? Were you involved in running the duchy?”
She hesitates. “No, not really. The estate manager talked Geoffroy into keeping me out of it.”
“I’m sure he had good reasons.”
She sucks in a breath like I slapped her.
The door swings open.
A bald, round-faced man in a dark suit steps out. He has piercing blue eyes and a commanding air about him.
“Your Grace. My lord,” he says. “Come in, please.”
