Page 33 of This Laird of Mine

All the evidence pointed to the fact they had married.

“Here it is. Miss Claire Elliot and Lord Kildare, Jules MacIntyre by proxy. And it’s signed by a Mr. James Grayson.”

For a moment, an image flashed through his mind of a red-haired girl standing at the altar, her pale, slim hands at her sides with no one to support her as she married a total stranger. She had every right to be afraid. But suddenly he wanted to know why she had done it.

She’d said she had no choice.

She had no choice but to marry a penniless laird with a dreadful reputation and no notable estate? To any rational human, her behavior would seem mad. Yet he knew her to be quite sane.

So why had she married him?

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” the reverend asked.

Jules couldn’t help himself; he laughed, an angry, self-deprecating sound. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

The reverend studied him with a thoughtful gaze. “Sometimes, when we are searching for certain truths, it is best to start at the beginning.”

The beginning.

It seemed like a wise place to start.

Jules returned to Kirkwood’s office the next day. He already knew part of what the solicitor would tell him—that he had a wife. The knowledge that Claire somehow belonged to him filled him with as much satisfaction as it did fear.

He had no time to reflect on the thought as Kirkwood ushered him into his office. “Congratulations, milord, for you indeed are married.”

Jules accepted the papers Kirkwood held out to him. The marriage documents, no doubt drawn up by Grayson, just as Claire had said. At the bottom of the document he could clearly read Claire’s name, her handwriting neat and fluid, alongside his own bolder hand. Yet he had never signed these documents. Or at least he had not realized what the documents were when he’d trusted Grayson and signed the marriage papers without reading them.

Jules raked his hand through his hair. Anger at Grayson for betraying his trust mixed with sorrow over the man’s death. Grayson had been more like a brother to him than a business associate. How could he have betrayed a kinship that went deeper than blood?

“Have they buried him yet?” Jules asked, once again meeting Kirkwood’s curious gaze.

“Not until tomorrow.”

Jules straightened, recovering his composure. “Then that is when I will pay my respects.” He nodded toward the open ledger on the man’s desk. “Have you uncovered anything unusual in Grayson’s finances?” Jules asked as he took a seat in the chair nearest the desk.

Kirkwood did not sit behind the desk. Instead he perched on the edge, his expression dark. “Yes. It is most disturbing, too.”

“Go on,” Jules encouraged the solicitor when he hesitated.

“There was a rather large deposit to his account twenty-three days ago.”

“How large?” Jules asked.

“Five hundred shillings Scot.” Kirkwood shuffled through the notes on his desk. “Paid to him by your father.”

Jules frowned. “My father? Are you certain?”

The older man nodded. “I traced the transaction back to your father’s solicitor. He paid James Grayson to arrange your marriage to Claire Elliot. It appears he went to great lengths to find you a suitable bride with that first name.”

“How did he accomplish that? And when? He’s been dead for more than three weeks.”

Kirkwood checked the papers before him. “The transaction was recorded two days before his death.”

It took a second for the words to sink in, and when they did, Jules stood, no longer able to contain himself in the chair. He stood there for what felt like an eternity, breathing hard.

“Milord, are you well?” the solicitor asked.

Seven months had passed since his release from gaol. Seven months. Had his father not tormented him enough for one lifetime? Instead of coming to the gaol to release his own son, he had plotted and planned yet another horrific event.