Chapter Twenty-Two
“You’re certain of this?”
Adrian kept his voice level despite the cold fury spreading through his chest. Barrett sat across from him in the study, a stack of documents spread between them like evidence at trial.
“Absolutely certain, Your Grace.” Barrett tapped one particularly damning ledger. “Your cousin has been selling confidential estate information for at least six months. Perhaps longer.”
Adrian’s jaw clenched. “What sort of information?”
“Everything.” Barrett’s expression was grim. “Private letters. Investment strategies. Household purchasing records. Even personal correspondence regarding Lady Cecilia’s... history in Scotland.”
The words landed like physical blows. Adrian forced himself to remain still, to listen, even as rage threatened to crack through his careful control.
“The gossip at the ball.” His voice emerged flat, dead. “About my wife. We can prove that was Henry?”
“Orchestrated and disseminated through Lady Denholm, yes.” Barrett withdrew another document—a letter in Henry’s distinctive hand.
“He fed her the information, knowing she’d spread it through society like wildfire.
The timing was calculated to cause maximum damage to both your reputation and your marriage. ”
Adrian stood abruptly, crossing to the window where morning light cut through in pale slants. His reflection stared back—jaw tight, eyes black with fury barely leashed.
“Why?” The question escaped before he could stop it. “We’re family. I’ve given him position, income, trust—”
“Money, Your Grace.” Barrett’s voice held a note of sympathy. “The estate funds he embezzled? He’s drowning in gambling debts. Has been for years. When you began investigating the financial irregularities, he panicked.”
“So he tried to destroy my marriage to distract me.” Adrian’s hands fisted at his sides. “To destabilise me publicly whilst he covered his tracks.”
“And to maintain his position as your heir, should your marriage fail.” Barrett stood, gathering his documents with careful precision.
“Without an heir of your body, Mr Henry Ravenscar stands to inherit everything. A duchess who successfully produces children would... complicate those plans considerably.”
The full scope of Henry’s treachery crystallised with devastating clarity. Not just theft. Not just betrayal. But calculated sabotage of Adrian’s entire future—his marriage, his future children, his chance at happiness.
“Where is he now?” Adrian’s voice had gone dangerously soft.
“That’s the concerning part, Your Grace.” Barrett’s expression darkened. “Mr Ravenscar hasn’t been seen at the estate or his usual haunts for three days. Since the... incident at the stables.”
Ice slid down Adrian’s spine. “He knows we’re investigating.”
“I believe so, yes.”
Adrian was already moving, striding toward the door with single-minded purpose.
“Thank you, Barrett. Send your full report to Cassian. And Barrett—” He paused at the threshold.
“Be careful. If Henry is desperate enough to attack my wife, he won’t hesitate to eliminate anyone who threatens to expose him. ”
“Understood, Your Grace.”
Adrian found Cecilia in the library, sunlight glinting off her hair as she sat reading by the window. She looked up as he entered, her smile fading immediately as she read his expression.
“Adrian?” She was on her feet instantly. “What’s wrong?”
He crossed to her in three strides, needing her close. “We need to talk.”
“Henry.” The name tasted like ash. “The investigator confirmed everything. He’s been selling estate information—including details about you, about Scotland. He orchestrated the rumours at the ball.”
Her face paled. “Why would he—”
“Money. Gambling debts. And succession.” Adrian’s hands found her shoulders, needing to touch her, to ground himself. “If our marriage failed, if I remained childless, he’d inherit everything. You—a successful duchess, a future mother of my children—you’re an obstacle to his plans.”
“Dear God.” She swayed slightly. Adrian steadied her, pulling her against his chest.
“There’s more.” He pressed his lips to her hair, breathing her in. “He’s disappeared. Hasn’t been seen since the stables. He knows we’re investigating.”
“Then he’ll run.” Hope flickered in her voice. “Leave England, start over somewhere—”
“Or he’ll finish what he started.” Adrian pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “Desperate men do desperate things, Cecilia. And Henry is very, very desperate now.”
Fear flashed across her features before pride replaced it. “Then we face him together. As we promised.”
“Together,” he agreed, even as every protective instinct screamed at him to lock her away somewhere safe until this was over.
A knock at the door interrupted them. Barrett stood in the doorway, his face ashen.
“Your Grace, I apologise for the intrusion, but there’s been a development.”
Dread pooled in Adrian’s stomach. “What development?”
“One of my men—an experienced investigator—has been discreetly tracking your cousin’s movements for the past week, Your Grace.
” Barrett’s voice shook slightly. “He missed his scheduled report this morning. I went to his lodgings myself not an hour past. There were signs of struggle, blood on the floor—but no body to be found.”
The room tilted. Adrian’s arms tightened around Cecilia as the implications crashed over him.
“Henry knows.” The words came out hollow. “He knows everything. And now he’s eliminating anyone who can testify against him.”
“We need to contact the authorities—” Cecilia started.
“No.” Adrian’s voice cracked like a whip. “I want to speak with him first. He is family, after all. I want to give him a chance to explain.”
Barrett cleared his throat. “What are your orders, Your Grace?”
Adrian looked down at Cecilia—her face pale but determined, her green eyes fierce with that Scottish courage he both loved and feared. The woman who’d walked into a trap to find truth. Who’d promised no more secrets.
“Double the guards on the estate.” Adrian’s voice emerged cold, controlled, deadly. “No one enters or leaves without my knowledge. And Barrett—” His eyes met the investigator’s. “Find Henry. Before he finds us.”
But even as he gave the orders, Adrian knew with bone-deep certainty: Henry wasn’t running.
He was coming.