Magnus stood in the study at his estate, staring out the window beyond the park and bosky creek to the expanse of muddied fields and ancient groves. These lands that were part of him were also infused with his own blood and his sweat, and would be passed down to his sons in the future.
He could still feel the calluses on his hands from digging the fence posts in the distance last summer. There was a jagged scar on his thumb from shingling the stable roof. And he was proud to say that there were a dozen more from toiling over these acres.
He had come here, not to admire his own labors, but to remind himself of all the reasons he was marrying Miss Snow. In addition to her wealth, she was also intelligent, pretty, kind and well-mannered. Any man would be fortunate to wed her.
It was a sound decision.
So why couldn’t he push a poor, exasperating, willful and beautiful hoyden from his mind? Why couldn’t he walk his grounds without wondering if she would like them, too, and if they were wild enough to suit her nature? Why couldn’t he cross the threshold of these ancient halls without craving the scent of honeysuckle in the air? And how long would these musings plague him after he married Miss Snow?
Frustrated, he lifted his arm to rake a hand through his hair. Then he stopped himself. What was he doing? He did not fidget. He did not dither. He faced matters head-on.
Then why the devil was he in the country when he should be making arrangements with Mr. Snow?
But Magnus knew the answer.
He was running away from temptation, like a coward.
He had no doubt that Verity knew this, too. She was probably cursing him to high heaven by now. And worse, he had left her with his mother.
There would be hell to pay from both of them when he returned. He actually caught himself grinning at the thought of being railed at by that ill-tempered, violet-eyed wildling.
However, his grin abruptly faded when he imagined facing her again after the liberties he’d taken. A gentleman did not seduce a gently bred woman he had no intention of marrying.
She would have every right to hate him after what he’d done. And yet, he did not regret those stolen moments in the library. They had been the most sublime torture he’d ever experienced.
Expelling a heavy breath, he turned from the window just as his secretary appeared in the doorway.
Victor Milo did not look like the typical gentleman’s secretary with a pallid complexion and drawn features from staring at ledgers all day. Instead, he was stocky like a prizefighter with red hair, a tanned face—surprisingly without any freckles—and ears large enough to sail a ship. All that mattered was that he was good at his job.
Or, at least, he had been.
“You sent for me, sir?”
Magnus went to his desk and lifted the open ledger. “Can you explain this?”
A pair of ears turned from starboard to port as he shook his head after perusing the figures. “I cannot, sir. It appears as though the clerks at your bank have made another error.”
“Another error. In my favor,” he said flatly. “Do you know how ridiculous and corrupt that sounds?” This had happened several times over the course of the last four years. In fact, he’d grown so suspicious that he’d requested two audits on his accounts. “I want a definitive answer this time. Money does not simply appear out of nowhere.”
After all, if it appeared out of nowhere, then it could leave in the same manner. There was no trusting it. No telling what might happen in the future. And he hated having no control over his own fate.
“I’m certain the explanation is perfectly innocent, sir. Perhaps the deposits are a contribution from your brother.”
Mr. Milo was spared a scathing response when the butler appeared in the doorway.
“Beg pardon, Your Grace,” Mr. Hamish said, bearing a silver salver as he entered the room. “An urgent missive has just arrived from London by messenger.”
Frowning, Magnus tore open the letter.
To the Duke of Longhurst,
The man who orchestrated the swindle that killed your father has returned to London.
Signed,
A friend
At once, he lowered the page. “Is the messenger still here?”
“No, sir. He just bid me to deliver it posthaste.”
Magnus stood. Making a swift decision, he tucked the letter into his pocket. “Ready my carriage. I’m returning to London without delay.”
Hamish nodded and left.
Milo closed the ledger and held it with both hands as if glad that the matter of inconsistencies was settled. But Magnus wasn’t done with him yet.
He slipped the ledger out of his secretary’s grasp. “I’m taking this with me. We will discuss my findings in the near future.”
Without another word, he went up to his room to inform his valet.
Strange, but his thoughts were not on the message, the accounts or even the culprit he might finally confront in London. They were distracted by the knowledge that Verity was there, waiting to rail at him.
Begrudgingly, he noticed a lightness to his steps on the climb and a warm ache glowed in the center of his chest. It felt something like longing.
It wasn’t that, of course. A man with a set plan of action ahead of him, a life of duty, would never bother with maudlin sentiment.
Besides, he was most likely going to put her father in gaol once he finally had his confession. And that would put an end to everything that never should have happened in the first place.
Verity didn’t waste any time. The instant she finished reading her father’s letter, she leaped up from the window seat and scratched out a missive to send to Anna.
Slipping on a pair of shoes, she plucked the chestnut spencer from where it was draped over the back of a chair and dashed out the door, shoving her arms into the sleeves as she went.
“Miss Hartley, really,” Geraldine Warring tutted with disapproval as they nearly collided in the hallway. “And you’re not even dressed. Are you really going to visit your caller in that disheveled state?”
She stopped midsleeve. “I have a caller?”
“Indeed. Miss Snow is waiting in the parlor. Dressed appropriately, I might add,” she groused even as she stepped forward and tugged the form-fitted sleeve up Verity’s arm . Then she situated her collar before reaching up to tuck a wayward lock of hair in place. “I am sure your mother would not wish for you to be unkempt in public. Roxana was always admired wherever she went.”
“I had forgotten that you and my mother were friends,” Verity said thoughtfully, seeing a different, kinder side to the dowager for the first time. She wondered what the two of them were like before everything was lost to a swindler’s scheme. Had they gossiped together? Laughed over tea and cake in the parlor?
Geraldine lowered her hands and retreated a step. A wistful sadness crept over her gaze before she looked down to tug on the cuffs of her sleeves. “That was long ago. And you shouldn’t keep your guest waiting.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Duly dismissed, Verity issued a hasty curtsy and walked toward the stairs. She passed Lady Broadbent as she was coming out of her own chamber and sent a cheerful “Good morning, my lady” to her.
Pausing on the landing to button her spencer, Verity heard the dowager say, “I do not know what you find so appealing in her, Mother. There’s something altogether too untamed in her nature.”
“Perhaps, she reminds me of myself when I was younger,” the countess said. “Or, perhaps, she reminds me of my daughter who once went sea bathing without a stitch of clothes.”
She scoffed. “I was a child. And besides, you let my brother go sea bathing without clothes. I didn’t think it was fair that I had to wear that dreadful costume.”
“What about that chariot race when you were eighteen, hmm?”
Verity stilled on her last button, grinning from ear to ear as she strained to listen to more scandalous exploits.
“Hush, Mother. Someone will hear you. And besides, I was . . .”
“You were a bit untamed, too. All the best of us are, my dear.”
“I was nothing of the sort.”
“When you get to be my age, you’ll appreciate it more.” Lady Broadbent sighed. “And I had so hoped that the trait would continue on in the family.”
Family! The reminder caused Verity to hasten down the remaining steps. She entered the parlor at a run, startling Anna.
“Gracious, Verity! You gave me a fright. Why are you in such a rush?”
“Have you sent your letter, yet? The one to”—she had sense enough to lower her voice—“Mr. Dashing?”
Her friend squinted in confusion, her head tilting to one side. “I was about to this very morning. Why?”
“If he truly does have eyes and ears all over the city, I might require his assistance in finding my father,” she said and proceeded to explain the situation, stressing the potential danger that could be awaiting her father. “Therefore, I must urge him not to do this.”
Without hesitation, Anna reached into her reticule and withdrew the letter. Standing, she crossed the parlor toward the slender desk by the window as she spoke. “I’ll add a note at the bottom and request that he send his answer—if he is even able to discover something—as soon as possible. Oh dear.” She paused with the quill in hand.
“You don’t have to do this.” Verity came to her side at once. “In fact, it was wrong of me to ask it of you.”
“Don’t be silly. I want to do this. It’s only that I don’t know what address to give him. After all, we may be waiting for some time and we cannot stand about in the park all day.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Perhaps, it would be better not to—” She stopped as Anna scratched the nib across the page.
“Too late. I’ve given him my father’s address. Though, he likely already knows it, regardless.”
Verity laid a hand over hers. “Are you certain?”
“I am more than certain,” she said with a firm nod and an upward tilt to the corner of her mouth. “And perhaps this means that I will finally meet Mr. Dashing face-to-face.”
When the ink dried, she folded and sealed the letter again. Then, together, they went to the Temple of Muses to slip it into the designated book.
They waited for the better part of the day and Verity nearly gave up hope. But just as they were considering a return to the bookstore to see if the letter had even been collected, a knock fell on the door.
It was the messenger with the news that her father was staying at the Ox & Lamb. And Verity knew exactly what she had to do.