‘Letter? I do not recall...’ he lied but quickly retracted his statement when the Duke stepped closer.
‘Oh, that letter!’ He chuckled nervously, eyes darting around the room. ‘I had no idea you wanted it for the new owner of Skye. If you had mentioned that, I would have told you.’
‘It was Lord Edward I corresponded with regarding the property’s sale,’ he admitted hastily. ‘I even recommended Gibbs to him... It is unfortunate that I was so misled by his character.’ He turned, almost pleadingly, to the Duke.
Grace’s gaze flicked towards the Duke, and for a fleeting moment, their eyes met. There it was. Confirmation.
Lord Edward was the mastermind behind the smuggling operation. However, it did not yet prove—beyond doubt—that he was the murderer.
Grace was certain he had to be, but certainty was not enough. She needed undeniable proof.
And to find it, she was determined to uncover the true owner of that pocket watch.
‘Had I known, I would never have suggested him,’ Charles stammered. ‘But, of course, I expected Lord Edward to conduct proper due diligence before...’ He trailed off awkwardly.
‘If you will excuse me, Your Grace, my friends are beckoning.’ He bowed repeatedly, backing away awkwardly until he bumped into a matron and had to bow again, floundering in a flurry of apologies.
Grace suppressed a chuckle, but when her eyes met the Duke’s and she saw the amusement in them, they both broke into a shared mirth.
At that moment, Lady Elizabeth approached, raising an eyebrow at her brother as she introduced Captain Kirkham—a plain man though the silver at his temples, lent him a distinguished air. To Grace’s surprise, he seemed particularly eager to make her acquaintance.
Before she knew it, he had secured the first dance with her.
Flattered, as she had not expected to dance at all, Grace was soon caught up in a whirl of gentlemen seeking introductions. Within moments, her dance card was full.
She enjoyed her dance with Captain Kirkham. He was humorous and charming, making her laugh more than once. A widower with two young children, Grace found herself genuinely liking him.
Yet, despite the joy of dancing, she could not ignore the Duke glowering at her from across the room. She tried her best to ignore him.
However, the evening took another unfortunate turn when Lord Edward, no doubt by design, claimed the supper dance. Grace found herself forced to endure his company during the meal. Though she kept her composure, she felt uneasy in his presence.
Relieved to part ways with him after supper, she sought out her next partner. But the evening quickly turned sour.
One by one, her dance partners made sudden excuses to leave early due to ‘emergencies.’
At first, Grace thought nothing of it. But when the third partner did the same, a cold dread crept in.
She scanned the room, catching ladies whispering behind their fans. Were they speaking about her?
Feeling suddenly exposed, she checked on Heather, relieved to see her sister smiling. Meanwhile, Mrs Merriweather was deep in conversation with a group of matrons, and Lady Elizabeth stood by the chaperone chairs, unaware of Grace’s distress.
A suffocating sense of unease settled in her chest.
In need of air, she stepped onto the terrace, hoping for a moment of privacy.
She did not realise that Lord Edward had followed her.
‘Miss Skye,’ he said smoothly, his voice laced with amusement, ‘it seems as though you are trying to avoid me. But I am not one to be easily deterred by a little feminine coyness.’
Her stomach twisted in trepidation.
She forced a weak smile. ‘I was feeling a little stifled and came here for air, but I am ready to return inside now.’
She stepped towards the doors.
Lord Edward blocked her path.
‘I have been trying to get you alone for some time,’ he continued, his voice darkening.
