Chapter Fifteen
“Did you approve this shipment manifest yourself, or did Henry handle it?”
Adrian’s steward, Mr Cavendish, shifted uncomfortably in the leather chair opposite the mahogany desk. Morning light slanted through the study windows of the London townhouse, illuminating dust motes and the troubling discrepancies scattered across the ledgers before them.
“Mr Thornby assured me the grain shipment was recorded properly, Your Grace.” Cavendish’s weathered fingers traced the column of figures. “He said you’d both reviewed the accounts last month.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened fractionally. “I reviewed shipping manifests. Not individual cargo recordings.” He tapped the inconsistent entry with his pen. “This shows fifteen tonnes dispatched to Bristol, but the harbour master’s receipt lists twelve. Where are the missing tonnes?”
“I... I couldn’t say, Your Grace.”
“Find out.” Adrian closed the ledger with deliberate precision. “Discreetly. I want documentation for every shipment Henry oversaw in the past six months. Don’t alert him to the audit.”
Cavendish’s eyes widened slightly—understanding the implication—but he merely nodded. “Of course, Your Grace.”
After the steward departed, Adrian remained at his desk, fingers steepled beneath his chin.
The discrepancies were small enough to dismiss as clerical errors.
Yet something nagged at him, an instinct honed through years of managing estates and navigating treacherous social waters.
Surely there was a reasonable explanation.
A miscommunication with suppliers. An accounting mistake.
The study door swung open without preamble. “You look positively murderous,” Henry announced, strolling in with his characteristic insouciance, his smile carrying that familiar blend of warmth and mischief. “Should I be concerned for my safety?”
Adrian leaned back in his chair, forcing his expression into neutrality. “Merely estate business. Nothing that concerns you.”
“Everything regarding Devonshire concerns me.” Henry settled into the chair Cavendish had vacated, stretching his legs with languid ease. “We’re partners, are we not? If there’s trouble—”
“There’s no trouble.” The lie tasted bitter. “A few accounting inconsistencies. Likely nothing more than sloppy penmanship.”
Henry’s blue eyes sharpened almost imperceptibly. “Inconsistencies in which accounts?”
“The Bristol shipping manifests.” Adrian watched his cousin carefully.
“Ah.” Henry waved a dismissive hand. “That wretched supplier. I told you he was unreliable—kept changing the tonnage at the last moment, claimed market fluctuations. I should have supervised the documentation more carefully. My apologies, cousin.”
The explanation was smooth. Plausible. Yet something in Henry’s posture set Adrian’s teeth on edge.
“See that it doesn’t happen again,” Adrian said mildly.
“Naturally.” Henry’s smile returned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Then his expression shifted to something more knowing, more amused. “Now, shall we discuss more interesting matters? Such as why you’ve been stalking about like a caged beast all morning?”
“I don’t stalk.”
“You’ve worn a path in the carpet between your desk and window.” Henry gestured to where Adrian had indeed been standing moments before. “And you have that particular look you get when something has thoroughly unsettled your legendary composure.”
Adrian said nothing, which was apparently confirmation enough.
“Let me guess.” Henry leaned forward conspiratorially. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with your wife, would it? The one you claim to feel nothing for?”
“I never claimed—”
“You’ve been maintaining this absurd pretence that your marriage is purely business.” Henry’s grin turned wolfish. “But I’ve seen the way you watch her when you think no one’s looking. The way you tense whenever she enters a room. So tell me, cousin—what happened?”
Adrian’s fingers curled against the desk. “Nothing happened.”
“Liar.”
The word hung between them, a challenge and an accusation. Adrian met Henry’s gaze steadily, willing himself not to react, not to give anything away.
But Henry had always been perceptive. “You kissed her. Or more than kissed her, judging by that look on your face.”
“This conversation is inappropriate.”
“We’re family. Nothing’s inappropriate.” Henry settled back with obvious satisfaction. “Though I must say, I’m surprised. I thought you’d maintain your icy fa?ade indefinitely. She must be quite something to crack that legendary control of yours.”
“The matter is private.”
“Of course it is.” Henry’s smile took on an edge Adrian couldn’t quite interpret. “Just... be careful, Adrian. Women like Lady Cecilia are dangerous precisely because they make you want to trust them. And trust, as we both know, is the most lethal vulnerability of all.”
The warning carried weight beyond mere words. Adrian thought of Lady Nicole, of the scandal that had nearly destroyed him, of the lessons he’d learned about deception and betrayal. “I’m always careful,” he said quietly.
“Are you?” Henry stood, adjusting his coat. “Because from where I’m standing, you look like a man who’s already lost the battle. You just haven’t admitted it yet.”
He left before Adrian could respond, the door clicking shut with quiet finality.
Adrian remained at his desk, jaw clenched, trying to dismiss both the lingering suspicions about the ledgers and the far more troubling truths in Henry’s observations.
Because his cousin was right—something had changed between him and Cecilia.
Something that both terrified and exhilarated him in equal measure.
The memory of her in his arms, the taste of her lips, the desperate hunger in her eyes...
He needed air. Distance. Clarity. Adrian pushed back from his desk and strode from the study, his destination already decided.
The weather had turned warm, summer asserting itself despite autumn’s approach.
By the time Adrian reached the estate lake, the sun hung high and merciless, making his formal attire feel suffocating.
The lake lay hidden beyond a grove of ancient willows, its surface mirror-smooth and inviting.
Adrian had discovered this spot as a boy, had claimed it as his private sanctuary whenever the weight of duty and expectation became too crushing to bear.
He dismounted, already loosening his cravat, anticipating the shock of cool water against overheated skin.
Then he saw her.
Cecilia sat beneath the largest willow, half-hidden by trailing branches, a book open in her lap.
She’d removed her Spencer jacket, and her simple muslin day dress looked almost ethereal in the dappled light.
Her red hair caught the sun like living flame, and she appeared so absorbed in her reading that she didn’t notice his approach.
She looked up. Their eyes met across the sun-drenched grass, and the air between them seemed to thicken, charged with everything unspoken from that night in the library.
“Your Grace.” She closed her book, spine straight, voice carefully neutral. “I didn’t expect you.”
“Well.” He remained where he was, acutely aware of his dishevelled state—coat slung over his saddle, shirt collar open, hair windswept from the ride. “This is my lake, after all.”
Her chin lifted fractionally. “I wasn’t aware the lake had exclusive ownership. The grounds belong to both of us now, do they not?”
“Legally, perhaps.” He moved closer despite his better judgement. “In practice, I’ve claimed this spot for nearly twenty years.”
“Then I apologise for the intrusion.” She began gathering her things. “I’ll leave you to your solitude.”
“Stay.” The word emerged more command than request. Cecilia stilled, her eyes meeting his with a flash of something—surprise, perhaps, or wariness.
“I came to swim,” Adrian continued, forcing casualness into his tone.
“The heat is unbearable, and the water is cold enough to clear one’s head. You needn’t flee on my account.”
“I’m not fleeing.” But her hands trembled slightly as she set down her book.
“Looked like it the other night.”
“No. You ordered me to leave. There’s a difference.”
The accuracy of her observation rankled. Adrian shrugged out of his waistcoat, then began working the buttons of his shirt. “I’m going to swim. You may stay or go as you please.”
He felt her gaze on him as he stripped to his breeches, acutely conscious of how exposed he was in more ways than merely physical. The afternoon sun beat against his bare shoulders, and the vulnerability of being watched, being seen, made his muscles tense.
“You’ll catch a chill,” Cecilia said, though her voice had gone slightly breathless.
“The water is refreshing, not freezing.” Adrian waded in, gasping slightly as coolness enveloped heated skin.
He dove under, letting the lake’s embrace wash away the morning’s tensions.
When he surfaced, Cecilia stood at the water’s edge, book abandoned, watching him with an expression he couldn’t quite read.
“It does look inviting…” she admitted, her eyes tracking the water droplets sliding down his chest.
“Then join me.” He grinned—an actual grin that made him look years younger. “Unless you’re afraid.”
“Of you? Please.” But her cheeks flushed deliciously. “I’m simply concerned about propriety.”
“Propriety.” Adrian laughed, the sound echoing across the water. He swam closer, close enough to see the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat. “Since when are you concerned with propriety, wife?”
Cecilia’s hands moved to the buttons of her dress.
“What are you doing?” Adrian’s voice had gone rough.
“Accepting your invitation.” She slipped off her shoes, then her stockings.
She stepped into the water wearing only her chemise, and Adrian forgot how to breathe.