Page 79 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
What is he doing here?
“Lord Eastfold,” she greeted, her voice calm and polite despite her quickening pulse. “What an unexpected visit.”
Eastfold stepped inside, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her skin prickle.
“Your Grace,” he returned, bowing slightly. “I apologize for the intrusion, but I must speak with you on a matter of utmost importance.”
Beatrice’s brow furrowed, confusion mingling with the growing disquiet in her chest.
“I’m afraid His Grace is not at home at the moment,” she said, motioning for Mr. Jennings to take Eastfold’s hat and coat. “Ifyou’d like to leave a message, I can ensure he receives it upon his return.”
Eastfold waved a dismissive hand. “No, that won’t be necessary. It’s not the Duke I wish to speak with, Your Grace. It’s you.”
Me?
A thousand possibilities flashed through her mind, each more unsettling than the last.
She forced a smile, trying to maintain her composure. “Of course, My Lord. Please, come into the parlor. Shall I ring for tea?”
“No, thank you,” Eastfold replied, following her into the elegantly appointed room. “What I have to say won’t take long.”
Beatrice sat on the sofa, her hands clasped tightly in her lap to hide their trembling. Eastfold remained standing, his imposing figure cutting a striking silhouette against the sunlight streaming through the windows.
He cleared his throat, his gaze never leaving hers. “Your Grace, I must confess, I have made a discovery. A discovery about you and your… shall we say, extracurricular activities.”
Beatrice’s heart stopped, cold dread seeping into her veins.
He can’t possibly know… can he?
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, My Lord,” she said, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to keep it steady.
Eastfold smiled, a slow, predatory curve of his lips. “Oh, but I think you do, Your Grace. Or should I say, Eric Westback?”
The world tilted, the room spinning around her as the blood drained from her face.
No. No, it can’t be. How could he have found out?
“I… I don’t… I’m not…” she stammered, her mind reeling, her carefully constructed world crumbling around her.
Eastfold held up a hand, silencing her denials. “Please, Your Grace. There’s no need to pretend. I have proof.” He reached into his jacket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. “A note from your dealer. Obtained through some… persuasive methods, I admit. But effective nonetheless.”
Beatrice’s eyes widened, fear and anger warring within her. “You blackmailed him,” she accused in a low voice.
Eastfold shrugged, unrepentant. “A necessary evil, I’m afraid. But it was worth it to uncover the truth about the elusive Eric Westback.”
She stood up, her hands clenched at her sides, her heart pounding in her chest. “Get out,” she bit out, her voice shaking with barely suppressed fury. “Get out of my house, and never come back.”
Eastfold laughed, a cold, cruel sound that sent shivers down her spine. “Oh, I don’t think so, Your Grace. You see, I hold all the cards now. I know your secret, and I intend to use it.”
“Use it?” she repeated, confusion and dread mingling in her gut. “What do you mean?”
He stepped closer, his breath hot against her cheek. “I mean, Your Grace, from now on,Iwill be your dealer. I will control the sale and distribution of your work, and you will do as I say. Otherwise, I will reveal your secret to the world, and your days as an artist will be over.”
Beatrice’s heart sank, despair washing over her in icy waves.
He’s right. If the world finds out that Eric Westback is a woman, my credibility will be destroyed. No one will buy my paintings—no one will take me seriously ever again.
“I… I can’t,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the roaring in her ears. “I won’t let you control me—control my art.”
