Page 48 of The Iron Duke's Flaming Christmas
She could barely breathe, staring at the letter where it lay on the floor fearfully, as if it were a spider that might suddenly lurch at her. Her father was a simple, honest man. A man of integrity. He would never, ever suggest she do such an evil thing—it just wasn’t in his nature. A chill entered her heart, as the realization struck her forcibly in the face.
My father did not write that letter. It is simply impossible.
Slowly, she edged toward the letter, picking it up gingerly. Her heart was pounding erratically, and she felt sick to her stomach. She stared at it, forcing herself to read it thoroughly, taking note of every minute detail. When she was finished, she laid it down, feeling as if her heart was made of stone.
Someone had either fabricated that letter entirely, pretending to be her father, or they had made alterations to a letter her father had actually written.
Considering the letter had heavy modifications within it, she thought it was probably the latter. Which meant that someone had intercepted this letter, changing it, to convey something which simply wasn’t true.
They had literally crossed out lines of her father’s writing and added their own lines—they had forged her father’s handwriting, which was why it looked so scrawled and odd.
Someone was trying to frame her. There was no other explanation. They thought that she would blithely do as her father commanded and blackmail the duke for money. Someone wanted her to lose her position here…or else, someone knew about what had happened between her and the duke and didn’t like it. They wanted it to stop.
Selene’s blood ran cold. She was in danger. Someone didn’t want her here…or they didn’t want her involved with the duke.
Abruptly, she stood up, grabbing the letter. She would go to him now and show him the letter and say that she believed someone had altered it with the intention of framing her. He would believe her, wouldn’t he? He must believe her…
Her heart flipped in her chest. Slowly, she sank down onto the edge of the bed.
She just didn’t know if he would believe her. He might think that it was true, and that she had planned to blackmail him just as the letter claimed, and then got cold feet, trying to cover her tracks.
Selene lay down on the bed, curling into a ball, hugging her arms around herself. Her chest was tight with unshed tears as she realized the truth of it. The truth that she had been trying to deny to herself ever since she had comforted him as he spoke of the terrible day he lost his wife.
She was in love with the Iron Duke. Hopelessly, helplessly, in love with him. The love had lodged into her heart with the firmness of an arrow. And it was a hopeless love… for he was still in love with his late wife and always would be.
She knew, with a stab of pain in her heart, that if it were not for Lady Lenore, who needed her, she would pack her trunk and leave Trenton House now. For it was dangerous here in more ways than one. Someone wanted her gone, and she was hopelessly in love with a man who could never marry her, and could never give her his heart anyway, even if it was possible.
Chapter 25
Ian strode through the house, his heart pounding hard. Reaching the foyer, he growled at a startled footman, weaving around him, barely breaking his stride as he marched out the front door, approaching the small carriage.
He took a deep, ragged breath. He had seen Mrs. Kittles, Lenore and Selene clambering into the carriage from his study window.
He had no idea where they were going—and besides that, in the last few days there had been a heavy snowstorm, making it impossible to go anywhere. Today it was clear again—but that might change, in the blink of an eye.
“Where are you going?” he demanded, as he reached the carriage door, peering through the window, where they were seated.
Mrs. Kittles looked startled, jumping in her seat. Selene’s eyes widened. His heart contracted instinctively. She looked heartbreakingly beautiful in a red cape, her skin as smooth and pale as milk, chestnut curls framing her face. Hastily, he turned his face away from her, focusing on his daughter.
Lenore was beaming at him. “Papa!” she cried, leaning toward the window, her eyes shining brightly. “We are going to Trenton for the morning! Mrs. Kittles and Miss Bomind have promised to take me to the tearooms for cream cakes!”
Ian turned to Selene, gazing at her coldly. “What is the meaning of this, Miss Bomind? Why did you not seek my permission for this excursion? The storm has barely settled!”
Selene looked stung by his words, flinching as if he had struck her. “I am sorry, Your Grace, but the steward told me that you were not to be disturbed.” She took a deep breath. “It is just a short excursion into the village. Lenore has been restless with being cooped up in the house by the storm, and I saw no harm in it.”
“That is for me to decide, not you, Miss Bomind,” he interjected, with some heat. “The roads are still perilous with ice and snow.”
“Oh, please, Papa!” begged Lenore, her face dropping, and her eyes filling with tears. “Please! It is so boring in the house!”
Ian gazed at his daughter, gripping the carriage door so tightly, his knuckles turned white. There was a deathly silence. Mrs. Kittles looked scared out of her wits. Selene was staring at him, with a pleading expression on her face, but her green eyes flashed with fire, as well.
“It is just for the morning, Your Grace,” she said, in an even voice. “It will be good for my lady.”
He hesitated, gazing at the sky. It was a clear, starling blue, with not a hint of gray clouds forming.
“All right,” he growled. “But make sure that Lenore is back by noon and not a minute later.”
“Oh, thank you, Papa!” Lenore clapped her hands together in glee. “Would you come with us? You could have a cream cake, as well!”
