I rounded the desk and opened the top drawer. Tossing books and foolscap away, I cleared everything from the secret panel. A couple of taps slid the door open.
“Come back here. You said we needed to talk.”
“Seems as if we’d finishedtalking. I’m getting my documents.”
“Your employment papers are upstairs in my bedchamber. Neither of us will go there, not with Lionel’s sleeping.”
“My trust documents, Duke. The one’s left to me by my father.”
“Mrs. LaCroy, when did you . . . These are from before, when you worked at Hamlin?”
“I never worked here, not before you. Well, that’s not quite right. I worked at Hamlin—decorating it, keeping it immaculate for four years. But I wasn’t employed.”
“How could you be here and not be employed?”
I yanked free my paperwork. The crisp, folded parchment of legal terms and amounts. “Theyarestill here. Markham never found them.”
“Why would he want . . . What does he want? I don’t understand. And I don’t want you quitting. We can forget about this. We should try.”
I waved my trust documents. “Can you truly forget? We’ve been in this quandary of you waffling on terminating me for weeks. I’m happy to quit to have control over me again. It’s liberating.”
“I didn’t know if I could trust you about Lionel. I’ve seen other young women who cared more about the latest parties and mischief than their charges. Then you proved worthy. Annoying and resistant to orders, and beautiful, but very worthy. But what are these papers and how were you at Hamlin and not working here?”
“Repington, you do babble when you are trying to figure things out. Perhaps you need Lionel’s counsel.”
He held out his hand. “Give me these documents, and if I’m quiet will you kiss me again? Now that you no longer work for me, things can be different between us. I’m attracted to you. I’ve hidden it, struggled with it for an eternity.”
He started to pick up his crutch, but I put my hand on his.
“I need you to be at eye level when I say this next piece.”
The duke gripped my hand. “You could kiss me again, but please don’t cry. I really hate—”
“The mistress of Hamlin Hall is not a salaried position.”
His arms wrapped about my waist. His lips savaged my neck with fire. “I suppose she’s compensated in other ways, but I haven’t offered that position, not yet. I love how you don’t mince words. You are direct.”
“You are not listening, Cousin.”
His fingers fell away. “Cousin?”
“Yes. I am Patience Amelia Jordan, daughter of Patsy LaCroy Thomas and Wilhelm Thomas. I am Colin’s widow. These are my trust papers that prove my identity.”
“But she . . . You?”
He took my trust documents and flipped through the pages as if he wanted to tear them. “These . . .”
“Think, Duke. Markham took my son and shipped me away. I fought to return. I snuck into Hamlin through the catacombs, ones I discovered living here for four years, to feed my son. I dressed as a footman to care for my Lionel. That’s how we met. I was the cow. I’d just fed my son.”
He looked down at the papers again. Crafted in Papa’s exquisite hand and certified by his London solicitor, the proof had to be indisputable. But this was the doubting Duke of Repington.
“Not that I believe you, Patience LaCroy, but why hasn’t Mr. Thomas come to see after you? Why did you wait to tell me?”
“It’s Patience Jordan. I haven’t heard from my father in a long time. Markham tore me away from my son after he’d kept us captive for weeks. I didn’t know if you’d be any different.”
“I’m not Markham.”
“Well, that is good, ’cause I swore to cut my tongue out if I ever kissed him.”
