Chapter 18 #3
The duke’s tone softened slightly. “I don’t know where she is. I would tell you if I did. I have no reason to harm her,” he said. “Quite frankly, I had hoped you were here to speak of an alliance, not accusations. I still wish to marry Miss Winslow.”
“Never,” Alcott spat. “My sister would sooner throw herself into the Thames.”
“Pity,” the duke murmured. “She would have made a fine duchess.”
“Yes,” Alcott said, “for as long as she managed to stay alive.”
The duke chuckled—a cold, rasping sound. “Coincidence, my lord. Nothing more.”
Luca’s patience fractured. He moved to sit across from the duke. “Tell us about the Ravenhurst Trading Company and about your involvement with the Dawlishes. We know Mr. Dawlish is your son.”
The duke’s amusement vanished. His knuckles whitened on the arm of his chair. “How did you come by that knowledge?”
“I told you,” Luca said. “Our investigation led to them—and to you. You’ve built your empire on suffering and secrets. But I intend to drag every last one of them into the light.”
“If you had done a thorough investigation,” the duke drawled, “you would have known that while I may be the owner of the Ravenhurst Trading Company, my son handles its daily affairs.”
Luca leaned forward in his chair. “You expect us to believe that you—its founder and financier—have no knowledge of what transpires within your own company?”
The duke smirked, his lined face illuminated in the flickering glow of the hearth.
“I don’t care what you believe. It is the truth.
I established the Ravenhurst Trading Company to give my only son stability.
A future. He manages the accounts and oversees the properties.
I, meanwhile, am content to live out my final years in peace. ”
The duke’s words were too rehearsed, too conveniently detached.
“Then it must be a remarkable coincidence,” Luca began, “that your first wife met her end at one of your properties.”
A flicker of irritation crossed the duke’s expression, quickly masked by indifference. “Yes, a dreadful coincidence, indeed,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Now, if that satisfies your curiosity, gentlemen, I should like to retire. I tire of this interrogation.”
Before Luca could reply, a soft voice came from the doorway. “Grandfather?”
Luca turned. A young woman stood there—a slender creature with warm brown hair and a scattering of freckles across her nose. Her wide hazel eyes darted nervously between the duke and the intruders. She couldn’t have been more than twenty.
Luca immediately rose, bowing out of instinct. “Miss.”
The duke lifted a hand, his voice carrying a forced geniality. “Gentlemen, allow me to introduce my granddaughter, Miss Eloise.”
Her gaze lingered on Alcott’s pistol, which gleamed faintly in the firelight. “Is everything all right?” she asked, her tone anxious. “I heard shouting.”
“Yes, my dear,” the duke said, his smile brittle. “These gentlemen were just about to take their leave, weren’t you?”
Alcott exhaled sharply and slid the pistol back into his waistband. “Yes,” he said. “Our business is concluded—for now.”
Luca met the duke’s cold eyes one last time. “All my findings will be published in The London Gazette. We will let the public decide what to believe.”
The duke’s expression turned sly. “Tell me—how much would it take for your silence?”
“Pardon?” Luca asked.
“I’m offering you a chance to reconsider,” the duke said, steepling his fingers. “Everyone has a price. I am an exceedingly wealthy man, and I can’t take my fortune with me when I go.”
Luca’s lip curled in disdain. “I’m afraid my silence cannot be bought.”
“Pity,” the duke murmured, as though Luca’s integrity were a personal inconvenience.
Luca inclined his head slightly. “Goodnight, Your Grace.”
He turned sharply on his heel and Alcott followed, silent and grim, until they stepped out into the frigid night air. The door shut behind them with a solid, echoing thud.
For a long moment, neither man spoke. Finally, Alcott broke the silence. “Do you believe him? That he has no involvement in the Ravenhurst Trading Company?”
Luca let out a bitter laugh. “Not for one moment. Men like the duke do not relinquish control—they manipulate it from the shadows.”
“I agree,” Alcott said. “But how in the blazes do we make him talk?”
Luca stopped beside the coach and turned to stare at the townhouse. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But if Charlotte is still alive, we’re running out of time to find her.”
Alcott bowed his head, his shoulders trembling with barely contained anguish. “I can’t lose her,” he whispered, the words breaking something deep inside Luca.
He stepped closer and laid a steadying hand on his friend’s shoulder. Beneath his palm, he could feel Alcott’s tension—a rigid mix of fear and helplessness that mirrored his own.
“You won’t,” Luca said, forcing conviction into his voice even though uncertainty gnawed at him. “I promise.”
“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep.”
Luca’s hand tightened. “Then I’ll make certain I keep it.”