Page 110 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist
“This,” he said, his voice ringing, “this is proof of your fraud, Mr. Harwood. Forged sales in my name and in several other lords’ names as well. Documents that strip this land bare. And worst of all, your use of my wife as a pawn in your game.”
The last words burned his throat, but he spoke them clearly.
Marcus stared at the ledger. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, slowly, he smiled.
“You think you’ve won,” he said softly. “But you know nothing.”
His gaze swept the room, then settled on Tristan. “Do you think I did not prepare for this? Do you think I have no leverage? I have something far greater than your ledger.”
Tristan narrowed his eyes. “Face the facts, Mr. Harwood. You have lost.”
“Oh, but I have not. At least, not yet, my lord. There is still one more card.
“What are you insinuating?”
Marcus took a step closer, and his voice lowered dangerously. “I have proof, Lord Vale. Proof that your legitimacy is not what it seems.”
Tristan froze. “What did you say?”
Marcus’s smile widened. “Your name, your title, your claim to Evermere … I can unravel it. Unless, of course, you sign over what I ask. Give me what I want, and your secret stays buried.”
The room went dead silent. Tristan felt the air press against his chest.
He turned to the duke, waiting for his grandfather’s denial and for his booming voice to cut through the lie. But the duke said nothing. His face was carved stone, his silence louder than Marcus’s words.
For the first time that night, Tristan’s heart faltered.
What?
Chapter 29
The muted morning light spread through the tall windows of the atelier, soft but cold against the bare canvases scattered across the room.
Oh for the love of God.
Eliza sat with a brush in her hand, staring at the canvas before her. The tip trembled as she tried to steady her strokes, but it didn’t work. The anticipation continued to gnaw at her. She took a deep breath and stared at the lines before her.
She didn’t need a critical pair of eyes to tell her that they looked wrong and completely uneven. She pressed harder on the canvas, hoping the motion would ground her and keep her busy, but it only deepened her frustration.
She drew the brush back, staring at the mess of color. She had meant to paint a side of the garden behind the manor, and somehow, all she had managed to do was draw a huge mess of color. The strokes were too sharp and the lines …
Good God, the lines.
A dog could draw better than she was doing at the moment.
Her chest tightened as her eyes took in the scene around her. Would she be able to gain control of herself before her husband returned? The sun was beginning to peek out from the horizon, which meant Tristan’s carriage should be rolling to a halt before the manor anytime soon.
She leaned back, her brush slipping from her hand, and pressed her palms against her lap. A mixture of shame and joy played together in her heart, just like the mess of colors on her canvas. She had managed to find joy. It was still a bit undefined, but she had found it.
And she found it here at Evermere despite Marcus’ manipulations. She could even say her brother’s inadvertent schemes eventually brought her to her happiness.
She should be excited about it. She loved Tristan, and while he hadn’t exactly expressed them in words, a part of her trusted that he felt the same. And that alone was enough for her.
And then, there was the actual problem.
Marcus.
His greed tainted every glance and every kindness she shared with Tristan. He was always there in the background, an overt reminder of what Eliza stood to lose just because of him.
