Page 43 of The Duke's Only Desire

“Murderous.” The single word hung on the air between them, as close to a confession as he would ever give her. She knew enough about the night of the fire as it was. She never needed to know the full truth about her role in it. “He petitioned to have the letters patent changed to remove me from the line of inheritance, claiming I was a trained killer who had attacked and murdered John in cold blood to become the heir presumptive, making certain to kill him before his wedding so he would potentially have no heirs of his own to stand in my way.”

“That’s ludicrous,” she breathed out, too stunned to find her voice.

“The Committee agreed. They ignored his inquiry request into John’s death and dismissed his petition for lack of evidence, and I inherited the dukedom.”

“Do you think he’ll ever try something like that again?”

“No,” he assured her, wanting to calm her fears. “He has no more evidence now than before. But he’s never forgiven me for inheriting.”

“Then it’s past time he does.”

He admired her resolve, yet he couldn’t help but warn, “I don’t want you to ever be alone with him again. Make certain Henley or Pearson is with you if he attempts to approach you. Promise me that.”

Her bright eyes widened with alarm, their blue depths reminding him of a storm-tossed sea.

“He won’t physically harm you. That’s not how Malcolm wages war. He’s too cowardly for a direct attack.”

With a harsh exhalation, he picked up Malcolm’s glass and carried it back to the side table, pushing it away as if it were poisoned.

“Besides, he’s not exactly an expert at fighting.” His mouth twisted as he shot her a glance over his shoulder. “There’s a reason he never served anywhere but England during the wars.You could put him in his place with your little fists if he ever tried.”

She didn’t smile at that exaggeration as he’d hoped, only continued to look at him with a concerned countenance.

With his back to her, he paused and let his heavy shoulders sag. The irony wasn’t lost on him that perhaps he was still more like Malcolm than he wanted to admit. “He’s an expert manipulator with no conscience whatsoever. He isn’t above blackmail or leveling threats to get what he wants. He cannot be trusted.”

“Do you think we’ll have to see him often?”

The wariness in her voice was unmistakable. “No. After today’s visit, he’ll never bother us here again.” He returned to the desk and let his attention drop to the piles of account books, lists, and correspondence. Pearson was right, blast him. Since Shay returned from London, he’d been paying attention to all the wrong things. “Halston Hall is three hours away by carriage. Not so close as to be a nuisance—”

“Yet close enough that we can’t wash our hands completely of him.”

We.Another one of those words she tossed out without a second thought that cut him to the quick. “He now knows that the rumors of our marriage are true, and he had the chance to spew his venom.” He flipped closed the books. “He knows he’s no longer welcome here.”

“Was he ever?”

His mouth twisted into an expression somewhere between a grimace and a smile as he collected the loose sheets of papers and stacked them together. “He thought so. Once.” He picked up Pearson’s letter of resignation that he’d tossed onto the desk and mused, “Malcolm is right about one thing, though.”

“Which is?”

“Youarethe Duchess of Malvern, and it’s time everyone knew that.” He called out toward the hallway, “Henley!”

The butler opened the door and stepped inside the room with a deferential nod to both of them. “Your Grace?”

Shay ripped the resignation in two. “Have the sleigh readied.”

Sophie’s face fell. “You’re going out again, then?”

“No.Weare.” He gestured toward the door. “Go put on your coat and boots, Duchess. We’re going to meet the tenants.”