Chapter Five

“T his is the letter that I found.” Hart slid it across the desk.

Lucy nibbled at a slice of cheese as she peered down at the letter. He watched her take tiny bites, savoring the salty parmesan. She was engrossed in the words on the page as she next reached for a strawberry from the platter of food that sat on the desk between them. He couldn’t pull his gaze away from her lips as she took a bite of the ripe red fruit. A tiny dribble of juice escaped, and her tongue darted out to lick it from the corner of her mouth. He bit back a groan. His groin tightened. God, it had been too long since he had a woman’s lips around him. He tore his gaze from her mouth and tried to wait patiently while she finished reading the letter.

Lucy’s head popped up. “What’s this?” She tapped her finger on the bottom corner of the page. “I don’t recognize this symbol.”

“I don’t know. It is the same symbol from the wax stamp that was among my father’s correspondence kit.” He reached into the top drawer to his right and pulled out the gold-plated stamp. Flipping it to show Lucy the seal. “It’s not something I recognize, and it’s not the ducal seal.” He laid his right hand out so she could see the crest on the top of his ring.

Lucy’s brow furrowed. One finger reached out and drew a path along the scars on the back of his hand, light as a feather, to the cuff of his shirt. “Do they still hurt?”

He was too startled by the soft touch to pull back.

He shook his head. “No, not there. But the ones along my shoulder and upper arm have tightened the skin so much that when I move it certain ways, it hurts quite a bit. I fear my range of motion in the right arm will never be the same.”

She pulled her hand back and picked up the seal from the table. “It must mean something if your father also used the same symbol to stamp letters. I think we should start by sorting that large pile of correspondence by just the ones that have this stamp.”

Glad that she was not going to keep asking about his injuries, Hart pulled his hand back, then took a section of the stack next to him and handed her a portion. Lucy was right; the stamp had to mean something. Why hadn’t he thought to look for more letters with it? He delved into the stack and began flipping through to look for the mysterious symbol. There were many letters stamped in the bottom right corner with the stamp, and the pile between him and Lucy began to grow.

“Eat something,” Lucy said.

He glanced up.

She raised her head from the page she was reading. “Eat something. Don’t think I’m not paying attention.”

Without breaking eye contact, he reached over for a piece of bread and took a large bite, chewing with exaggerated movements for her benefit. He meant to tease her for being so managing but was surprised to find that he was hungry. He polished off the roll. Picking up another, he layered it with a piece of ham this time. Hart caught Lucy’s smile as she lowered her gaze to the page once again.

He hadn’t much of an appetite for anything except perhaps liquor the past year. His apathy for the business of living had kept him in a stasis of sorts. He glanced at the woman across the table from him. Lucy’s impertinent highhandedness was just what he needed to pull him back to the land of the living.

They worked in silence for a while, sorting the pile of letters into two; letters with the stamp and those without. Hart began to read through the ones that had the stamp. Some were just newsy, filled with the type of conversation in which old friends catch up. Some were more purposeful, letters arguing about the merits of various bills up for a vote in the Lords. All were from men Hart knew to be friends of his father. Names he recognized, men he knew.

He picked up another letter. It was an ardent note about a bill to support pensions for widows of servicemen. Hart traced the large loopy signature of Lord Galey. Galey had been a good man. One who had tried to follow his conscience and paid the price with his life. How had their meeting been discovered? Hart frowned down at the symbol stamped next to Galey’s signature. The how didn’t matter as much as the why. Why had his father and brother been murdered? He must know the truth. He had already paid such a heavy price; it couldn’t be for naught.

“These are all from the same six men,” Lucy commented.

“Yes, these were my father’s friends. But none of these men would want to kill him. They were all like family, almost like uncles to me and my brother.”

“But what of the unsigned letter, the angry one that contained the threats of retribution if he pulled out of the deal? Logically, because of the stamp, it should be one of these men.”

Hart nodded. “But which one? And what deal? It had to be about money. Only money could kill a friendship.”

“I agree. I would suggest looking through your ledgers from that year or the previous one. See what, if anything, your father had invested in outside of the normal running of the estate.” Lucy stood. “Well, I must go. I should have been home an hour ago to accompany Trudy to the milliner shop. She will be wondering where I am.”

Hart rose from his seat as well. “Fredrick will accompany you home.”

“Not necess—”

He held up a hand. “It is necessary for my peace of mind. You shouldn’t be out walking alone.”

“What I was going to say is that it is not necessary because my maid, Helen, is here. Please have Townson fetch her from the kitchen. I am perfectly aware that I cannot walk around London unchaperoned.” Lucy crossed her arms across her chest and shot him a glare.

The movement pushed her breasts up, stretching the fabric of her dress tight across them. Hart watched them rise and fall as she let out a disgruntled huff. What was the matter with him? He should not be thinking about her breasts or the smooth skin of her throat, or her full pink lips.

He cleared his throat. “Um, yes, of course.” He crossed the room to ring the bell.

The light floral smell of her perfume filled his nose as he passed her. Her presence filled his senses, bringing them back to life. He wanted to pull her against him and feel the curves of her figure, burying his nose in her hair, find out the taste of her skin. Good Lord, it had been far too long since he had a woman if just being in the proximity of one had him lusting inappropriately over Lucy.

The door opened. Townson appeared in the threshold. “How can I be of help, Your Grace?”

“Can you send Helen upstairs please. Miss Middleton is ready to leave.”

“Certainly. Are you finished with the food tray?”

“No, he is still eating.” Lucy interjected. She turned to him and winked. “Now be a good boy and finish it all.”

Her laughter filled the room as he sputtered. Brat. Before he could say anything at all she sashayed out the room.