Page 135 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

Normally, this is one of my favorite parts of the hunt; when I am almost there, but there is still enough unknown to keep the thrill alive. Instead, my mind keeps drifting away from the task at hand, counting down the minutes until I can return to my estate in Ashbourne.

Kat

Aroundmidmorning,whileIam reading my Fool’s Circle strategy book with a warm cup of tea, Edvear comes in and bows. “Lady Katherine. The master wishes to see you.”

I will never get used to him calling meLady Katherine. I leave what I am doing and follow him to Rahk’s study.

Rahk is standing with his back to the door, reading a letter he holds. A letter with something else—a remittance of money? My curiosity has me leaning closer to his tall frame. He folds the note, turns upon my entry, and places it in my hands.

Then he walks around his desk, takes a seat, and leans back with his hands linked behind his head while I peruse what I hold. “Is this your fortune that everyone speaks of?”

It is indeed a promissory note. I inspect the amount, and I cannot help my small smile. “This is the monthly allowance from my fortune.”

Rahk lifts one eyebrow. My fortune has impressed even a fae prince, apparently. “How did your father come to be so wealthy?”

“Management of land, from my understanding, though he was only continuing the family legacy. The Vandermores have owned much of the agricultural land in Harbright for generations. It is a distant cousin of mine who manages the estate itself.”

A furrow appears between his brows. He leans forward in his chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin as he stares at the bookshelf across the room. Then his black eyes return to mine. “Do you have a copy of your father’s will?”

I wish I knew the thoughts that turn through his head. He is so beautiful, and he doesn’t even seem to be aware of it. I cannot believe that when I first met him, I didn’t see it myself. It is almost overwhelming to have his attention on me like this.

But I’ve got to answer his question so he doesn’t know I’ve been admiring the way his hair falls over the square plane of his forehead, and the perfection of his wide cheekbones. I clear my throat. “I do not have a copy of the will. Agatha has one, and I would say a servant could get it for you—none of them like Agatha—but she keeps her own personal maid and doesn’t let anyone else near her things. Not even her own daughters. But my cousin, the one who manages the estate, would also have a copy.” The more I talk, the more I forget his beauty and instead grow cautious, trying to keep my stomach from dropping. He wants to know what is his, now that the money ishisand not mine. Perhaps he won’t want my cousin to continue managing the estate. He might want to do that himself.

Rahk holds out a hand to me, and I reluctantly hand over the promissory note and the letter. To my surprise, he only takes the letter. He points to the address on the seal. “Is this your cousin’s address? I would like to write to him for a copy of the will.”

I stand there, still awkwardly holding out the note. “Yes, it is.”

He looks between my face and the note, then back at my face. He does not take it. I purse my lips and set it on his desk.

“Why are you giving that to me?” he asks.

I blink. “Because . . . it’s yours.”

He places two fingers on the slip of paper and slides it to the edge of his desk toward me. “Actually, it’s yours.”

I stare at him stupidly. Did he forget the terms I told him of the will? “No, no, you misunderstand. It was only going to be mine if I remained unmarried until I turned twenty-one. As I am still two weeks away from that deadline and since you have married me, the money is yours.”

A muscle twitches in his throat. He does not reach for the money. “No, it is you who misunderstand me. This is your money. Your inheritance. You are only days away from your birthday—that counts as fulfillment of the requirement. I will not touch it. It is yours and yours alone.”

Then he picks up the promissory note and holds it out to me. His jaw is firm and unyielding.

My mouth falls open. “Master—I—”

His eyes flash at the title. I didn’t mean to use it—it slipped out by habit.

I try again, suddenly unsure if I ought to call himmy lordor Rahk, and end up blurting, “My Rahk—!” My face goes hot with mortification. I swallow hard, straining the tendons in my throat, and repeat clearly, “My lord, Rahk. I couldn’t—that is, I don’t think the will works the way you’re speaking. It is very set to the date, not just near the date. I couldn’t accept this.”

He peers at me over the tent of his fingers. A slight smile tilts his severe mouth at my slip. He quickly hides it and clears his throat. “Kat, what use do you think I have of your money?”

I shake my head, frowning. “Well, just the same as anyone would have . . .?”

He gets up from his desk, walks past me, and shuts the door, wrapping us up in privacy and the soft sound of his steps as he returns to me. He stops very, very close, peering down into my face as I forget to breathe. One of his fingers touches a strand of my hair that has come loose from Mary’s meticulously arranged fake bun. My eyes feel very, very wide as he traces the lock down my temple to my ear, only to continue and gently trail to my jaw. His touch is a flame, soft but unbearably hot.

My thoughts scatter.

“Kat,” he murmurs.

My mouth is open. I shut it abruptly.

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