Page 31 of The Darkness Within Us

“For a job like this, I charge three hundred necos. I require half up front and half upon delivery of the requested information.”

Only now do I remember that I have access to a monthly stipend that has beencut offuntil such a time as my personal purchases have been paid off.I have no means of paying the man.

I have grown far too accustomed to having endless funds at my disposal, clearly.

In an attempt to save face, I say, “Thank you for your time, Mr. Tomaras. I shall send my man to you with your first payment shortly. I am most eager for you to get started. With the new duke in control of the accounts, I shall have to make arrangements to acquire your pay. I will be in touch very soon.”

Ilias doesn’t waver at all at my proclamation. He tips his head. “Your Grace.”

“I trust you can see yourself out?”

“Certainly.”

Mr. Tomaras leaves, and embarrassment heats my cheeks. I had the man come all this way, only to not pay him for the job. Being a broke duchess is humiliating, and I am furious that Eryx has put me in this position.

He’s not even the real duke! He has no claim to my money, but I can’t even hire a man to invalidate him because I first need money. Perhaps that was all part of his plan when he cut off my stipend entirely.

I realize now that all my regular expenditures have to go.

I refuse to cry as I write a letter to Zanita, halting Sandros’s visits for the foreseeable future. I feel so pitiful, a penniless duchess who now can’t afford male companionship.

When I finally return to my bed, I lie completely alone. No Sandros. No release. Just pent-up energy and a name to curse into the dark hours.

Eryx Demos—if that’s even his real name—needs to go.

I suppose there are only two courses of action before me. I can return some of the jewelry and other fine things I’ve purchased, which will be embarrassing and make me look destitute, especially with how I fawned over everything in the stores. I just know word will somehow get back to my sister, and Icannothave that. I can’t even have Kyros pawn something for me, because everyone will assume he stole it and look for a reward from the duke for turning him over.

That means I need to find a way to get the money from Eryx.

Begging is out of the question, and it’s beneath me. I could try to steal it by going through Eryx’s things when no one is watching, but Eryx knows I want the money and is just waiting for me to do something that will allow him to take legal action.

So that leaves trading or blackmail.

If there’s something Eryx wants, I need to learn what it is, get it, and trade it for the money I seek. Or, if he has a secret he wants kept hidden, I need to learn it and force him to pay me for my silence.

It will be tricky, because I can’t use my traditional means of obtaining information. Normally, I just pretend to be vacant and aloof, and men will say all kinds of secrets in front of me. Eryx will never make that mistake with how outwardly antagonistic I’ve been toward him.

Which means I need to resort to spying.

Until I can pay Ilias Tomaras for the job, I’ll have to play the role of investigator myself.

CHAPTER 8

Iforce myself to wait before taking action. Eryx is clearly on high alert after my display with the paperweight. He may have no idea what I’m capable of, but that doesn’t mean he won’t keep a close eye on me, expecting retaliation for the stunt he pulled with the servants. Fortunately, the members of my book club remain on the estate, as well as Kyros. Most of Cook’s staff are gone, and half the stable hands and groundskeepers have been forced to leave. I’ve done what I can to find them all positions elsewhere and offer letters of recommendation, but there’s no denying their lives are forever changed because of the impostor.

Eryx Demos will get his, of that I’m certain. I just have to choose my moments carefully.

Patience and I are old friends. We sat hand in hand as we played Father like a fiddle for years and years, subtly pointing his head where we wanted it, letting him think my ideas were his. I would have been married long before nineteen if he’d been in control. He had no idea that I was reading his correspondences before he ever received or sent them. Never once suspected that letters went missing. Or that he was reading forgeries at times.

I became quite the practiced hand at imitating handwriting and opening sealed letters without leaving a trace of evidence.

I had to bide my time until I found the perfect match: an old, dying man with no heirs.

I hadn’t taken into account the possibility of someone else playing my game, trying to take what was mine by the same means.

Physically, I don’t think I’m in danger. If the pretend duke intended to murder me, he would have done so by now. Unless he, too, is biding his time so my death looks like an accident.

I suppose it will come down to who can play the game best.

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