She took a deep breath then collapsed onto the sofa.
“Are you all right, Your Grace?” Mr. Martin asked, stepping into the room.
“I’m fine,” she said, shaking her head. “But if he returns?—”
“Don’t worry.” Mr. Martin shook his head. “I’ll never allow him back across the doorstep. But Your Grace? We should probably not tell?—”
“Yes, I agree,” she said at once. “It will be our secret.”
The Duke isn’t the only one who gets to have secrets.
“Your Grace? There is a letter for you.” Mr. Martin stood in the doorway, holding a tray upon which was a thick piece of parchment sealed with a blue wax that Nathan recognized. “I went to mail a letter from the Duchess to her cousin, and this was there for you.”
“Yes, thank you, Martin,” he said, holding out his hand. The butler entered and held the tray out to him, and Nathan took the letter. The moment he felt the paper with its usual thickness and rough texture, his suspicion was confirmed: the letter was from Scotland Yard. He didn’t even need to check the name of the sender which would be fake anyway. They always sent him letters under pseudonyms.
“Very good, thank you,” he said, dismissing the butler, who bowed and stepped out. Nathan sat back down at his desk and broke open the letter. It had been some time since he’d received a letter from his contacts at Scotland Yard.
His eyes scanned over the letter, and he felt his heart begin to beat more wildly.
It’s in code! It’s been a long time since they’ve sent me a letter in code!
That must mean that something serious had happened. Something serious enough that they were willing to ask for help from him.
At least, that’s why he assumed they hadn’t been in touch very often over the last two years. Before he’d become known far and wide as a villain, he had regularly helped out with Scotland Yard’s cases. James had even asked for his help when he had wanted to clean up his duchy. Back then, Nathan had enjoyed a stellar reputation as an upright gentleman.
But that was before he’d started frequenting gaming hells and other denizens of evil. That was before he’d called in debts against all those who had owed his father money, mercilessly making them pay him back even if they didn’t have the money. That was before people thought he was the kind of man who would dishonor a young lady.
Nathan finished reading the letter and then started again. It would take patience and time to decode this one. It had been written in a code he didn’t recognize, and he felt the wheels in his head begin to spin. This had been his favorite part of helping with detective work: figuring out codes, solving riddles, following clues. It reminded him of being a child again, playing games with Ethan or reading the detective stories that he had been obsessed with at that age.
The code had just started coming together, the words and meanings clicking into place, when there was a soft knock at the door.
“Come in,” he grunted.
A moment later, the door opened, and Rosalie came in. He looked up at once, recognizing the smell of the rosewater that she always wore at once as well as the familiar swish of her skirts.
“Good morning,” Rosalie said, sweeping into a curtsy. She hadn’t fully gotten used to their now being of equal rank, and she often forgot herself and curtsied to him.
“Good morning,” he said. She looked particularly beautiful with her pale blonde hair loose around her shoulders and her skin particularly pearlescent in a simple white morning dress. It was difficult not to stare at her indecently, so he quickly diverted his eyes back to the letter on his desk.
“I was wondering if you had seen the invitation to the ball at Reinhart Park that we received tonight?” she asked as she came to stand in front of the desk.
Nathan frowned; it wasn’t his usual habit to read invitations when they arrived. He usually threw them out immediately. But the butler must have given this invitation to Rosalie which made sense. As the woman of the house, she would take care of their social schedule. “No. I haven’t seen it. Were we invited?”
“Yes. And I wanted to check with you that you will be able to attend.”
Nathan ran a hand through his hair. “When is it?”
“Tomorrow night,” she said, and her cheeks grew a little pinker. “You see, it is the first ball we’ve been invited to since our wedding which I think is a good sign: we’ve only been married a week, and already, invitations are coming in. That must mean that thetonhas forgiven us whatever scandal is attached to our wedding.”
“I see.”
“And…” she blushed even more prettily, “we must show that we are united as a couple—as the Duke and Duchess of Carramere. Otherwise, rumors will continue to spread about us.”
For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to attend a ball with Rosalie on his arm: what people would say about them as a couple, how they would comment on their good looks and grace, and how she would feel in his arms as he swept her around the dance floor.
But then he remembered the letter and the code that it contained.
“We cannot go,” he said flatly.
