Ernest rose, exited the parlor, and, a minute later, returned with a piece of parchment and a small box containing two quills, a knife, and an ink well. He sat, dipped the quill in the ink, and poised his hand over the page.
“The mystery of Miss Rowe,” the Duke of Warwick said, staring at Eveline, “can be answered in three words. She doesn’t exist.”
“And why,” Ernest added, scribbling quickly, “would a lady choose to lie about her identity? Because her life was in danger.”
“When Miss Rowe,” the Duke of Warwick took up the narrative, “whose true name is Eveline Braddock, arrived in Wiltshire, our residents welcomed her, treating her with kindness and respect.”
“However,” the Duke of Lennox said, his arms tightening around Eveline, “Miss Braddock’s past discovered her hiding here and extorted money and jewelry in exchange for silence and security.”
“I ask,” the Duke of Warwick said, peering over at the parchment, “are these the actions of one our own or a stranger who has come to visit our beautiful town?”
Ernest slashed the quill across the ‘t.’ “You might as well have said, ‘Miss Drummond did it.’”
“Miss Drummond isn’t the only visitor for the season.” The Duke of Warwick struggled to his feet, grunting as he leaned on the cane. “We’re merely narrowing down the suspects.”
“Where are you going?” Ernest asked, folding the paper into thirds.
“That,”—the Duke of Warwick pointed at the parchment—“needs to appear in tomorrow’s newspaper.”
Ernest rose as well, then glanced down at the Duke of Lennox and Eveline. “Are you coming as well?”
The Duke of Warwick limped to Ernest, then tugged the paper from his hand. “There’s no need for the four of us to descend upon the printer at this late hour.”
“Is it safe…” Ernest appeared as though he wished to rip Eveline from the Duke of Lennox’s arms.
“Roxburghe, Miss Webb, and Miss Fernsby-Webb should return from the theater momentarily.” The Duke of Warwick sent a subtle wink toward the Duke of Lennox. “And Mr. Drummond won’t have been summoned yet; however, I expect he’ll arrive within the next few days. We have time to prepare.”
Nodding, Ernest followed the Duke of Warwick across the parlor.
He turned when he reached the doorway, his gaze locking on Eveline. “Swear you will remain in this room until the Duke of Roxburghe and his party arrive.”
“We swear,” the Duke of Lennox said, his hand slipping around Eveline’s waist, “not to move from this exact position.”
“That’s unnecessary,” Ernest replied, his eyes narrowing. “I prefer not to find you on the floor upon my return.”
“How would you like to discover us?” the Duke of Lennox teased, coaxing a deep scarlet color into Ernest’s face.
“Clothed!” Ernest stomped from the room, and a moment later, the front door opened and slammed.
“Mmm,” the Duke of Lennox murmured, nuzzling Eveline’s neck. “I’m not certain I can promise that.”
“What was the other condition?” Eveline gasped as he nipped her throat.
“Condition?” he asked, his lips traveling over her skin.
Eyes half-closing, she wound her arms around his neck. “To propose… you told me there were two stipulations.”
He pulled back, his eyes smoldering with desire. “I want to hear the words. Tell me that you love me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
LEVI OVERTON, DUKE OF LENNOX
Miss Braddock hesitated, and fear seized Levi’s heart, crushing the organ with its agonizing, viselike grip.
She wouldn’t refuse him again, would she?
Fixing him with her blue eyes, her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. “I love you, solely you, Levi Overton, Duke of Lennox, and I have been affected by you since our first dance.”
