Page 51 of Drowned in the Pleasure of a Devilish Baron
“Of course, don’t mind me, Monsieur Dubois,” Juliet said with a smile.
“Dubois insists the first round has to be tasted,” Felix said, his eyes still on the pretty picture his sister made, tucked into the chair with her healthy little boy. As happy as it made him, it also set his heart aching with longing that it should be Sarah at the table as well, their child in her arms. He forced himself to remain focused on the conversation at hand.
This is my only hope of achieving that dream, and I cannot afford any missteps or lapses in focus
“All of it?” Leonard lifted a brow.
“Yes, monsieur, yes! All!” Dubois’s glare deepened as he pounded a flat hand on the table, startling the baby into opening wide hazel eyes that were soon coaxed shut again by his mother.
“It is tradition,” Felix supplied helpfully.
“Far be it from me to mess with tradition,” Leonard said, his tone only slightly sarcastic. “When will the batch we can sell be ready?”
Dubois lifted his eyes to the ceiling, counting aloud in French. “Two weeks’ time, monsieur. We will be ready. Unless there is a big problem with the first batch, we will have plenty to sell then.”
“A fortnight.” Felix exchanged an excited look with Leonard. “So soon.”
“You will stand to make a tidy profit for this first venture,” Leonard said with a smile.
“And so will Whitfield Wines.” Felix lifted his wine glass. “A toast. To us.”
“To love,” Leonard said, lifting his with a knowing look at Felix and taking Juliet’s hand in his.
“To the future,” Juliet said, her smile warm and hopeful.
“And to wine!” Dubois finished, hoisting his glass up so high, a bit of wine sloshed out the side.
It was later in the evening, with everyone gone and in bed, and the house was quiet once more. Though it was not the quiet that Felix had become so accustomed to in recent months, the echoing quiet of emptiness.
He sat in the drawing room, a small fire in the grate, opening his letters. He was behind, he had not touched a sheet of paper since baby George’s first birthday party. Most of it was dull, routine mail that he expected. He frowned when he got to one. Ripping it open, he found a single sheet inside, with no name signed at the bottom.
Felix Andrews
This is your first and only warning. You are reaching for something that is not yours to have. Stop, or you will be destroyed.
His frown deepened, and he read it again, hoping for more clarification.
There was none to be found. His second read-through bore more questions than answers. What was it he was reaching for that was not his to have? Who would write such a thing and not bother to sign it? He tucked the letter in his pocket and put his head in his hands, considering.
After a moment, he gave up. He was too tired from a long day, a long week, to think on this now. He would go to bed and try again with a clearer head in the morning. As he headed to his room, one thought plagued him.
Who is threatening to destroy me?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Dear Sarah,
How clever of you to have found a way to write to me. I hope this letter makes it back to you quickly.I’m terribly worried about you. Tell me exactly what’s happened. Leonard and I will do anything we can to help, you know that.
Your Friend,Juliet.
Sarah read the note eagerly. She and Nat had devised a system for passing pages back and forth, as it would be incredibly strange for a lady to be seen spending much time, if any at all, in the company of a boy helping in the stables. She had sewn a small pouch from a spare bit of cloth and string, and Nat had hidden it in the back of one of the horse’s stalls, hanging it on a nail beneath an old apron.
It was not difficult for Sarah to stroll casually out to the stables, bringing an apple or a carrot to feed one of their three horses, and easier still to wait for a moment when the stables were empty and she could drop a letter in or retrieve one from the pouch.
Reading the comforting words from her best friend, and knowing that she was just a few miles down the road worrying about her, eased her troubled mind some. Sitting at her desk, she rolled her shoulders back and tapped her pencil against its surface. Then she began to write.
Dear Juliet,
