“Your Grace?”
“Hmm. Set it on the chair.”
“I did.”
“Mmhmm,” he mused, lost in one of his files. He had the answers from Mr. James in this banking statement, but the numbers still didn’t line up correctly. Not the way he needed them to.
A hand touched him. So sudden and so gentle, he barely managed not to drop the paper. Dominic blinked as he turned to see what was happening.
Verity stood there at his elbow with wide eyes. She searched his face for a long moment. “Are you well? Is something wrong?”
“No, not at all.”
Turning to show him the chairs, she gestured to the laden tray of food. Now everything would have gone cold. Soft. Stale. In the other chair was a tea tray. Steam filtered through the teapot.
Only then did Dominic realize his eyes were burning. He set down the paper on the edge of the desk, leaning on it while his other hand rubbed his eyes. How long had he been in here? Grasping his pocketwatch, he found it only an hour before midnight.
“Dear lord,” he muttered under his breath. “That cannot be the time.”
“I’m afraid so.” She turned away for a moment before returning with a steaming cup of tea. “It’s not your preferred, but it was all I could find at this house. Most of the house is asleep. We have an order for coffee coming tomorrow.”
“Comforting.” He accepted the cup. “You were thoughtful.”
She shrugged a shoulder in a most unladylike way. He didn’t mind. It was casual, honest. “I was worried.”
Confusion sparked as he eyed her. “About me in my study?”
“You’ve been in here most of the day,” she pointed out before tentatively asking, “It wasn’t because you met my friend, was it? Isabel?”
“No. Should it?”
“Certainly not. Isabel is very kind. Very generous. She’s the quiet sort, but I have always appreciated her sensitive nature through the years,” Verity said thoughtfully. As she spoke, she watched him before trailing her gaze to the desk. “So what has occupied your time here?”
After taking a sip, Dominic watched her browse the piles thoughtfully. Her fingertips brushed across the documents without moving them. She was composed and thoughtful with a slight furrow to her brow. It was there more often than not, he mused, and wondered what it might feel like to brush it out with his thumb.
The thought made him pause.
“Three estates and farming land,” Verity murmured, never noticing the way he watched her. “Yours, I suppose?”
“Yes.” He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“How fascinating. You know, Cassian had to manage much of this on his own when he took the title. Our father wasn’t particularly well organized and fired his men of business every other year. I think he’s still finding the occasional loan or land. I’ve helped him with some of it, if you ever need another set of eyes or hands on the account books here,” she offered while straightening up.
His shoulders relaxed. “Oh?”
“Yes. Just say the word.” She added before pouring herself a cup of tes. The wrinkle in her brow faded and his gaze dropped to her hands.
Ink. She had ink stains on her fingers. He hadn’t realized she wasn’t wearing her gloves. The sight of her slender fingers caught his attention. He watched the way she moved around the table after setting down her cup, fixing up one pile of letters and then tugging at a drawer.
Within the drawer was a small paperweight that she used to set on one of the piles at the corner of the desk. It was liable to move and be shifted.
Has she been in here before?
Verity eventually realized he was watching her and stopped. “Is something wrong? I thought you might appreciate another weight. You have them on all the other piles.”
“Yes, thank you. I… was merely wondering over your preference for my documents instead of the decorations,” he said after a short delay.
“There aren’t any decorations in here.”
