Inglewood, to his credit—or perhaps his arrogance—didn’t flinch. But a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. “That’s rather bold talk,” he said, “from a man so eager to be rid of her.”
Dominic’s gaze never wavered. “If I were truly eager to be rid of her, I wouldn’t be threatening a duel over your disgraceful tongue. She is my wife, Inglewood. And that gives me every right—and obligation—to defend her honor.”
Inglewood’s lips curled into a sneer. “She is your wife…for now,” he said, his tone mocking. With a tug on the reins, he wheeled his horse around and rode off, his departure kicking up a trail of dust behind him.
Dorothea looked over at Dominic and said, “That man is vile. Utterly without shame.”
Dominic turned to face her. The tension in his jaw began to ease, and some of the fire in his eyes cooled—but not all of it. His expression softened, but there remained a flicker of fierce protectiveness in his voice.
“Never be alone with Lord Inglewood,” he said, the command beneath the words unmistakable. “I do not trust him.”
Dorothea nodded. “I won’t. I promise.”
He studied her for a moment, as if trying to gauge whether she truly understood the threat Inglewood posed. Then, ever so gently, he placed a hand over hers where it rested on her lap.
“I would never let him touch you,” Dominic assured her, the edge of violence still simmering beneath his calm. “Not while I still draw breath.”
“I know,” she replied.
And she did. The promise in his words wasn’t idle. He meant it, every word, and she should be grateful for such a declaration. But she wanted more. She wanted love, or nothing at all.
18
The moon hung high and bright in the sky, casting a pale silver sheen over the deserted streets. Shadows clung to the edges of buildings like secrets, and Dominic moved among them with practiced ease, his footsteps silent. Each stride brought him closer to Mr. Haverleigh’s townhouse and the answers he was determined to uncover.
He hadn’t come to ask politely. He already knew Haverleigh would never hand over the truth willingly. There was only one sure way to uncover it: find it himself.
Even if it meant breaking the law to uphold what was right.
Fortunately, he was no stranger to such methods. Years as a Bow Street Runner had trained him well. He knew how to pick locks, move without a sound, and leave a room untouched, as though he had never been there at all.
He reached the edge of Haverleigh’s property and slipped through the wrought-iron gate, crouching low as he crossed the gardens. No lamps were lit. The house sat quiet and dark, cloaked in sleep. A check of the lower windows confirmed his hope—the study was unlit, the curtains drawn halfway. Hepressed a hand against the frame and smiled to himself when it gave without resistance.
Foolish man didn’t even secure his window.
With a quiet push, the pane lifted, and Dominic hoisted himself inside. He landed soundlessly on the carpet, the faint scent of tobacco and stale brandy lingering in the air. The study was exactly as he remembered it—heavy furniture, a cluttered desk, and books lining the walls in regimented order. The moonlight spilled through the window behind him, just bright enough to cast the outlines of the room in silver and gray.
He moved to the large mahogany desk at the center and tried the top drawer. Locked. Not surprising.
Dominic crouched and pulled two slender pins from his inner jacket pocket. He inserted the first into the lock, then the second, his head cocked slightly as he listened.Click.The lock gave way.
He tucked the pins away and opened the drawer, careful not to make a sound. Papers rustled as he shifted them aside, sorting quickly through ledgers and correspondence until his fingers caught on something thicker—legal parchment.
Two wills.
One dated ten years prior.
And the second… nearly one year ago.
Dominic’s brows furrowed. Two versions. Two very different dates. If the second was valid and properly executed, it should have been submitted to the probate court—but it hadn’t been.
Which begged the question:why not?
He squinted at the text, but the moonlight was too faint to make out the smaller script. He dared not light a candle; any flicker of flame could alert the household. Better to take them both and examine them elsewhere.
Dominic folded the two documents carefully and slid them into the inner pocket of his coat.
He had just closed the drawer when he froze.
