Chapter 6

Chapter 6

How was Lydia supposed to know that the man she had tied up was not the real duke?

She was equal parts relieved and mortified as she sat and sipped her tea. Her spine was rigid and uncomfortable as she refused to look the man across from her in the eye. Whatever his opinions were, he could keep them to himself. It was interesting to note that he had not demanded explanation from her, nor did he make any effort to untie the man who was posing to be him.

Lydia just needed to come up with a solid, plausible reason as to why she had done what she had done before the constables showed up. She had knocked him out wholly believing that he was the duke, after all. She had no true plan as to what would happen after she tied him up, but this was nowhere in the realm of consideration.

Kitty had shown up moments after the men had been escorted out by the baronet shortly after. She could not honestly guess which of them was more uncomfortable with that particular arrangement. Until today, Lydia had thought that her sister was the most socially uncomfortable person in all of London, but today she might have been proven wrong.

A tea service sat on the table between them, left by the housekeeper who had declined to take the afternoon off like the rest of the staff. Which was an issue in and of itself given that this new man was giving orders to her household. How was this her reality?

“So, are you truly not going to offer up a single word in your defense?” The duke said, breaking the silence.

Under different circumstances, she might have remarked to herself how lovely of a voice he had. Or, she could have possibly even thought that he was built impressively. But whether he was attractive or not changed absolutely nothing. She still did not want him there.

“And say something that you might twist into some confession of guilt? I think not.” Lydia answered sharply.

The duke chuckled. “Do you think that there was not enough circumstantial evidence to condemn you anyway?” He leaned forward, somewhat closing the distance between their two chairs. “We walked in on you about to blindfold the poor sod.”

Nearly in unison, they turned to look at the man still struggling against the bonds around him. No doubt he was cursing up a blue streak behind that gag. The imposter was practically frothing with rage and indignation.

“His name is Cassian Sinclair,” The real duke, Weston, answered. He had introduced himself before they had sat down to tea together. “He is another one of my cousins. Well, your late husband’s cousins as well technically. Though, this man is more leech than human, so we rarely are inclined to acknowledge him.”

It sounded like there was a story there. It took a great deal of self-control to keep from asking just what he could have meant by such a statement. Instead, Lydia finally picked up the cup of tea from in front of her that had long since gone cold.

Weston boldly winked at the man in ropes, which promptly started the man ranting anew.

“He is a man of no title, naturally. Though, he has always had a rather large chip on his shoulder as a result of that fact. He has always felt entitled to the use of our titles as he saw fit. He found that doors would not open for him otherwise. And, instead of developing a personality or work ethic… he is prone to doing these things. I do apologize for the trouble that he has caused you.”

Weston chuckled and leaned back into his chair.

“Though, I think this is the best dose of reality that he could have possibly hoped for.”

Lydia’s eyes finally lifted to him over the brim of her teacup. “That almost sounds like approval, Your Grace.”

Weston’s gaze cut to her, and she nearly dropped her cup of tea right out of her hands. Those eyes. Darker than the ones that so frequently haunted her dreams, but they were the closest that she had ever been to seeing their likeness.

“Of course it is approval, my lady. Cassian here has needed to be properly put into his place for a long time. I do try to make it a policy to never pick on those weaker than myself, so I was unable to retaliate in a manner which he deserved.”

Lydia could hardly breathe.

Suddenly the room felt ten degrees hotter, and she was uncomfortable in her own skin.

“What I cannot fathom, is how you managed to drag him, chair and all, up those stairs by yourself. Either you are far stronger than you look, or you had an accomplice.”

“Because I am a woman, I am incapable of lifting a man?” Lydia countered automatically, and then instantly wished that she had not.

Weston’s eyes sparked with challenge, and her knees felt weak.

Get a hold of yourself.

“Nothing of the sort, I assure you. I guess I am just attempting to get a clearer picture of events in my mind. I have no doubts whatsoever that my slimy cousin provoked you.”

That was an understatement.

Feigning nonchalance, Lydia sipped her tea. “It was rather simple, actually. My late husband was injured some years back while riding his horse. The physician left a supply of laudanum for when the pain got to be too bad. I simply slipped some into the greedy man’s whiskey.”

Weston shook his head. “If he was unconscious, then he would have been even more difficult to move. Dead weight is infinitely more difficult to maneuver.”

“And you would know that for a fact?”

Weston’s grin widened into something almost, well, she could not explain it. “Do I look as if I struggle lifting things, my lady?”

Lydia’s gaze dropped to the man’s broad chest and the slope of muscle hidden by his well-tailored clothes. Even the cut of his coat seemed unable to disguise the size of his arms. She could not even imagine what sort of life the man had to leave in order to have muscles like that. He could likely lift her with ease.

Memory flickered again.

She needed to get a hold of herself.

Obviously, she had had help, but she was never going to admit to such a thing out loud. She did not know this man, and she certainly had no reason to trust him whatsoever.

Even less reason to be honest with him about how she had enlisted her butler for help. She would never implicate her staff in something nefarious. If this stranger was going to attempt to use it as leverage against her, she would never allow it. They were far too important to her.

“Well, no. I suppose that such a thing would be simple for you…” she muttered, very deliberately not meeting his gaze once more.

“Cassian was a snake when we were children, and he is a snake now. Truthfully, I wondered if he was going to come sniffing around for a piece of the inheritance. Normally he comes crawling on his belly to me for money instead of impersonating my whole identity. Perhaps this will finally teach him his lesson. Though, I doubt it.”

Lydia could only imagine the history that the two of them had together. Yet, even as he spoke about Cassian his words were not cruel.

“And what, exactly, are you planning on doing with said inheritance Your Grace?” Lydia asked though she was afraid of the answer.

Weston slowly turned his focus back to her and it was difficult to withstand the intensity of his focused gaze. “Is this the portion of the meeting where we get down to business? Should we not handle one matter at a time?”

Lydia shook her head. “No, I think that it would be best if we handled these important matters quickly so that there is no time for you to get any delusions in your head about what should happen here.”

Weston’s brow arched. “Oh? Do go on.”

“I understand that because you are the male next of kin that you technically have been listed as the proprietor of this estate. I hope that you will not be the same sort of oily man as your cousin over there where you wish to come in and disrupt the life that we have built here. Least of all during our time of grieving.”

Lydia knew that it was possibly a low blow on her part to bring the widow angle into this, but she was willing to use anything at her disposal if it meant that she was going to get what she needed. “The estate should remain in my hands. At least informally. It is my home, and it is the home of my daughters. All of their familial memories are here, and I intend to finish raising them here. It is my right.”

“Because you are the dowager countess?” Weston asked, his thumb running along his full bottom lip as he questioned her.

“In exchange for your generosity and understanding,” Lydia continued to speak over him. She needed to get her proposition out before he stopped her. She had to at least try . “I will continue to run the estate for you, just as I have for the many years that my husband spent traveling.”

“That is… quite untraditional.” Weston countered.

She could not read his expression. Was he shutting her down? Was this some sort of counter? Was she just wasting her breath? She could not tell.

“So, you mean to kick us out? You mean to take my daughter from me?” Lydia rose from her seat, her voice growing louder with every word.

Weston’s smile faded, but his eyes were still alight. Why?

“Now, now, settle down.”

There was nothing that she hated more than being told to settle down. She did not tolerate being made to feel as if her emotions were anything less than valid. Least of all from a man. Her father had done that her whole life and she had no choice but to obey him. When he basically sold her off to Jacob, she had no choice but to do his bidding. She would not allow such a fate for herself again.

Weston stood, towering over her and she was forced to lift her chin to look up at him. He fumbled over his words for just a moment as she held his gaze. Whatever he was originally going to say, it seemed as if he quickly changed his mind about it.

When he spoke, something inside of her withered. The last small kernel of hope that she had indulged in, perhaps.

“A steward will be placed here to take over everything. The earl’s daughter shall be free to remain here to be raised under the care of a governess. It is simply how these things are done.”