Page 89 of Ashen Torment

I narrow my eyes at him. “He wouldn’t have told us a single word otherwise.”

He turns toward the carriage window. The streets pass, gray, steeped in mud.

“What do you think?” he asks, “Do you believe he told the truth?”

“He was too terrified to try to lie,” I retort, cracking my knuckles to chase away that annoying thought. “And besides... those names appeared in the contract. They weren’t mere capital partners.”

Lucien nods, though his jaw remains tight.

“I’ll go talk to Searle. We must track down this Varlen... and Marquis Lestrade. I’ll take care of the necessary research.”

“Hale has nothing to do with the carriage accident,” I say, letting out a broken laugh. “He possesses neither the wit for such a meticulous plan nor the courage. You saw him tremble.”

“The humiliation of that man delights you, brother.”

I slowly shift my gaze to him.

“The only thing that will truly delight me is finding the killer of our parents.”

He flinches imperceptibly at the word our.

“My mother considered you her own son.”

I let myself fall back against the headrest, my head leaning heavy, eyes half-closing as if I could finally yield for a moment to the exhaustion.

The darkness, for a moment, is almost kind.

The manor is immersed in a silence broken only by the crackle of the hearth in my study. Papers are scattered across the desk: railway proposals, land maps, calculations my grandfather insists I review. I scan the lines with my mind elsewhere, my wrist still tense from the encounter with Hale.

A light knock interrupts the rustle of paper. I look up.

“Enter.”

The door opens and one of the maids steps inside.

“Lord Vasiliev Ashford, lunch has been served.”

I return to the documents without raising my head.

“I have no appetite, Jane. I’ll skip lunch.”

The girl remains motionless for an instant, then takes a step forward.

“Are you certain, sir? You skipped breakfast as well.”

I lift my gaze toward her. The afternoon light illuminates her hair gathered in a braid, though a few stray strands brush her cheek. A shadow of concern crosses her eyes.

I give a brief nod, inviting her to come closer. She hesitates, then takes two small steps. She smells faintly of rose soap.

I stand, my height towers over her effortlessly. I observe her hazel eyes, the freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose, the breath that hitches slightly as she tries to maintain the composure required of her role.

I lift my hand and place a finger under her chin, guiding her face upward. Her breathing catches, a flush rises rapidly to her cheeks.

“L–Lord...?”

My jaw tightens. Annoyance courses through every inch of my skin. I let her go abruptly.

“Leave, Jane. I desire nothing. And do not come to disturb me again.”