Chapter Six

O liver stared at Dorian with the same patient and analytical look he'd worn for the past half hour. "Have you heard the phrase nervous as a cat ?"

Dorian squirmed in his leather chair and answered with an arched eyebrow.

"You could give the proverbial cat lessons in twitchy behavior. Which isn't like you. What has you in a lather?"

Having someone in your life who was so bloody observant could be a real pain in the arse. "I don't know what you mean."

"To steal from the Bard, let me count the ways. You're shifting in your seat approximately every thirty seconds despite that being your favorite chair. After so many years, the cushion has no doubt conformed to the shape of your buttocks in a way that makes you feel like you are being hugged every time you sit. Yet today you are uncomfortable."

Dorian laughed. "That's your evidence? My chair doesn't appear to be hugging my bum in a friendly enough manner? Perhaps it lost its shape while I was abroad."

Oliver held up a finger and shook his head. "Oh, I'm not done. Your right hand has been balled into a fist for the past half hour. Your left hand has been busy. Drumming your fingers along the arm of the chair, rubbing your thigh, scratching your nose. Do you have an itch? Do you need to use a handkerchief? You're twitching like a matron fighting off a case of the vapors."

Dorian rested his head on the back of the chair and heaved a sigh. "Two things. Today I'm meeting with a solicitor to look into Juliet's financial details. A handshake on the Thames is all well and good, but I want documented legal recourse to evict Timothy from my life. The man is a menace. After our conversation with him the other week, I was curious about how often he'd approached Juliet for funds. I'm building documentation to show I've done my part in providing for him, should he try to push this to court."

Oliver nodded in understanding, so Dorian continued. "The numbers don't make sense. There are thousands of pounds unaccounted for. Then, two days after I made that agreement with Timothy, I received a bill claiming a long-standing debt in Juliet's name."

"You think he's out racking up debts in her stead."

"Unless her ghost has decided to visit London after five years to go on a spending spree, yes. I can't prove it, though, because she kept meticulous records… until the last year or two, when money disappeared into thin air."

Oliver settled deeper into his chair. "Ah. And given what happened in that last year or two, the entire situation is now suspect."

"Exactly."

A moment of silence passed, then Oliver said, "You said there were two things on your mind."

Dorian felt his neck grow hot. "Miss Danvers from the bookstore is expected today. Last time we spoke, I didn't handle it well. It seems there are letters from Juliet's lover floating about the library, and Miss Danvers found one."

All levity disappeared from Oliver's expression. "Was it signed? Did it offer any clues about who he is?"

"Clues, yes. A definitive answer, no."

"Where there's one, there could be more. With the curvy brunette sorting your library, she might discover the rest. Since you're back on the marriage mart, a juicy story about your perfect match being a sham would fetch a pretty penny with the gossip rags. She could sell the story easily enough."

A feral sound akin to a growl escaped before he could catch it. Gritting his teeth, Dorian forced a calmer response than his initial reaction. "Your analytical nature will think me mad, but I don't believe Miss Danvers would do that."

Oliver twisted his mouth in a vaguely sympathetic expression, but Dorian knew his friend would ruthlessly level all counterarguments with logic. "Your trust is based on what evidence? Your attraction to her?"

He'd said something similar on the ice, and at the time Dorian had made a feeble attempt to deny his obvious attraction. Now he didn't see the point in lying. "Every instinct I have tells me Miss Danvers will keep mum about anything salacious she finds here." Dorian pressed the heels of his palms against his eye sockets to block the sight of Oliver's pursed lips. "I know. I know what you're thinking. My gut isn't reliable." Yet if he thought about it, the feeling of her hand on his arm returned like a welcome ghost, free of any feelings of foreboding.

"There is some irony in you being willing to trust your intuition regarding a matter where your intuition failed you entirely."

Dorian heaved a sigh. Juliet's affair had taken him so entirely by surprise it ripped the landscape of his life apart in more ways than he could have predicted. He might have grieved that more deeply than her death during those first weeks. And what did that say about him?

Letting his hands fall to his lap, Dorian voiced the most prominent thought from those swirling in his head. "If there are more letters, they need to be found before the books leave the house."

"It sounds like you're going to have some long hours in the library with Miss Danvers. Best to decide now how you're going to handle her before you find yourself in the moment and floundering madly in conversation."

"I don't flounder madly in conversations. I was a diplomat, for Christ's sake."

"Not in the traditional sense of floundering, no. You turn icy and ducal, which everyone mistakes as confidence. Works well in situations where men are making decisions based on assumed cock size, but it won't win you a lady's hand. Admit it—if you go in that library without a plan, your brain will be like a swan frantically paddling to stay afloat."

"Oh, fuck off," Dorian said without any real heat as he got up and stalked to the tea cart. "This has gone cold. Do you want a cup anyway?" Having something in his hands always calmed him, even if it was room-temperature tea. He poured himself a cup.

"No, but I see Cook sent up strawberry tarts. Pass me a few of those, if you don't mind."

Dorian placed a selection of tarts and tiny sandwiches on two plates, then popped a sweet in his mouth. The fresh burst of well-preserved summer exploded on his tongue along with buttery, flaky crust, and it made him moan in appreciation. Cook was exceptionally good at her job.

When he handed Oliver a plate, his friend immediately did the same and made a similar noise. "Lord, can I steal Cook?"

"No." Sipping his cold tea, Dorian sat again. "That woman is a treasure. You can't have her."

"But if you die, you won't haunt me from the grave if I hire her and live out my days full of strawberry tarts, right?"

"You're ridiculous." Dorian laughed.

"I'll take that as a yes."

As they ate in silence, Dorian was acutely aware of the low sounds drifting through the wall from the rest of the house. The soft drone of servants' voices, a door closing, footsteps on the marble foyer floor. Any minute, a feminine laugh he'd recognize anywhere as hers would enter into the background noise, and he welcomed it. It had been several days since he'd last seen her. While she had been in his home during the last week, he had been out each time. But she was expected today, so he was acutely aware of every person coming and going from the house.

From the door, Hastings cleared his throat. "Your Grace, the solicitor has arrived. I've taken the liberty of ordering a fresh pot of tea. Shall I show him in?"

Saved by the staff. Dorian settled behind the desk so he'd appear ducal and in control of the situation, instead of like a man being henpecked by his best friend over a woman.

Oliver returned his empty plate to the tea cart. "I will leave you to it." He pointed a stern finger at Dorian. "Don't trust someone just because you fancy what's under her skirts. Don't be a ducal swan. Those two things are all you have to do."

Dorian laughed, and some of the tension drained from his shoulders as Oliver left.

The duchy had retained the same law firm since his grandfather's time. When he'd talked to them about Timothy's probable debt-making in Juliet's name, they'd responded with advice to pay the man in order to prevent him making a fuss and creating scandal. Essentially, they'd proven their loyalty to the dukedom over Dorian himself.

And that wouldn't do.

Maintaining the dukedom, with its vast estates and countless employees, could easily take up every moment of his life. He'd done a piss-poor job of dealing with it all while abroad, leaving the bulk of everything to his managers and foremen. He'd stayed on the Continent for a while after Juliet's death, at the insistence of the king. Grief ate up another block of time after he returned home, during which he'd left the dukedom's business in the hands of those already dealing with it.

About two years ago, the heaviness in his chest that he'd carried since losing his wife began to lessen, and he'd stopped living with the sensation of drowning all the damn time. Bit by bit, he resumed his duties. Since then, the days often felt filled to the brim with account books, meetings, and visits to estates to learn what was going on. However, it had given him a chance to reconnect with those he'd left in charge and realize some changes could be made. It was a tedious, time-consuming process to address outdated farming methods, the managers resistant to the newer machinery that could increase productivity as well as the health and safety of laborers, and to weed through people like the lawyers who had access to private information yet whom Dorian wouldn't choose to trust with his secrets.

Sometimes, change was good. With his birthday looming in the months ahead, he'd felt more driven than ever to set the properties on the road to long-term success.

Hastings entered again, with a man following behind. It was the work of a split second to assess the representative this new firm had sent over. Tall, slender, fair hair neatly trimmed along the neckline. The man's jacket fit well but was not flashy.

He stood to greet the newcomer. As the solicitor bowed, the rest of Dorian's first impression fell into place. Everything about the man screamed competence and confidence. The kind of confidence that didn't need to wear fashions from elite tailors when solidly made garments of quality material would do nicely. There was a deference to the man's gaze but no awe or intimidation. Excellent.

Sycophants had no place in business.

"Your Grace. I am Gerard Bellmore, a solicitor with Morris, Haredale, and Wilson. It's a pleasure to meet you," the visitor said.

Dorian motioned for the man to take a seat, then he resumed his own. The chair squeaked under his weight in a familiar, comforting sound. Precious few hours had been spent at this desk in those years after Juliet's death, while he hid from his duty because he felt as if he'd been run over by the emotional equivalent of a night-soil cart.

An apt comparison when everything he'd held dear had been covered in metaphorical shit. Literal shit would have been easier to clean.

Shoving the thoughts away, Dorian jerked his attention back to the matter at hand. He'd never been one to prevaricate. Honesty was simply easier, even if it meant picking and choosing what he shared. Yet every time he thought of Juliet's deception, his usual aplomb became hard-won instead of easy.

"Thank you for meeting with me today, Mr. Bellmore."

"Our firm is honored to be representing Your Grace in whatever manner we can. They sent me because you requested someone with a special knack for numbers and money trails. I would have been an accountant, but my father insisted on the law," Mr. Bellmore said with a charming smile.

"I'm happy to hear it, because I need a bloodhound to find answers regarding a financial matter, and a legal mind to ensure the outcome is fair to the ducal estates."

Mr. Bellmore nodded and removed a pocket-size pad of paper. "Sounds like I'm the man for the job. Where would you like me to begin, Your Grace?"

"My late wife's account ledgers. Specifically, payments she made during the last two years of her life. There are thousands of pounds missing but no notations regarding charities or projects where the money was sent."

"Did the duchess have any pet projects during that time?"

"There was a village school she spoke of rather often during the last year she was alive. Details are hazy, but I remember the village was in Kent. Also, look for anything that might lend legitimacy to recent debts that have come to light. I believe her cousin has been spending in her name, but I cannot prove it. You have your work cut out for you, I'm afraid."

The solicitor raised a brow. "Interesting. This will be a challenge, and I haven't had one of those in too long. Perhaps you could start by telling me about this cousin character."

Anticipation made Dorian smile. Hiring specialized counsel had been the right thing to do. Timothy would be dealt with legally and thoroughly and might even suffer lasting consequences.

Excellent.

"With pleasure. Fresh tea will arrive momentarily. Get comfortable, Mr. Bellmore. We might be here awhile."