Footsteps.
Heavy. Purposeful. Drawing closer.
He scanned the room. There was no furniture large enough to conceal him. Only one option remained. He moved swiftly to the tall, thick drapes near the bookcase and slipped behind them, pressing himself flat against the wall, heart pounding in his ears.
The door creaked open.
“I do not know why you insist on meeting at this godforsaken hour,” Haverleigh grumbled, his boots thudding across the floor.
Another voice followed, low and cautious. “I can’t risk anyone overhearing our conversation.”
Mr. Wells.
Dominic’s breath caught.
Mr. Wells?Hissolicitor?
“What do you think I pay my staff for?” Haverleigh snapped. “They know better than to gossip. Now tell me—what is it you want?”
“I’m not certain Lord Warwicke will accept your offer,” Wells replied, his voice tight. “He’s suspicious. I fear he may act independently.”
Haverleigh gave a bitter laugh. “What’s he going to do? He knows nothing of the law. And he’s certainly not clever enough to suspect you are in my employ.”
“I wouldn’t underestimate him, sir,” Wells murmured.
“No,” Haverleigh growled. “You don’t underestimateme.I want Warwicke pacified. Just get him to accept the five thousand pounds and shut this down.”
A pause.
“I understand,” Wells said quietly.
“Good,” Haverleigh barked. “Now get out. And next time, have the decency to meet at a civilized hour.”
Dominic stood utterly still as the men’s footsteps receded, the study door clicking shut behind them. Silence returned—thick and absolute.
He remained hidden a moment longer, his mind racing.
Mr. Wells had betrayed him.He had been playing both sides. Feeding information to Haverleigh while pretending loyalty to Dominic.
Fury coursed through his veins.
At last, Dominic slipped from behind the drapes, every movement deliberate. The room was once again shrouded in stillness, but something fundamental had shifted.
He climbed through the window and dropped soundlessly into the gardens. Only when he reached the safety of the street did he allow himself to breathe fully.
The chill of the night did little to soothe him.
He had the wills in his possession now.
But more than that—he had confirmation of the rot festering at the heart of this scheme. And the next time he confronted Mr. Wells, it would not be as his client. It would be as hisenemy.
Turning the corner, Dominic caught sight of his coach waiting where he had left it. He climbed inside, closed the door behind him, and barely had time to settle before the carriage jerked forward.
His thoughts churned with every turn of the wheels. The two wills pressed like a weight against his chest, the truth nestled in his coat pocket—truth Mr. Haverleigh had gone to great lengths to bury.
When the coach pulled up in front of his townhouse, Dominic didn’t bother to wait for the footman. He stepped out quickly, taking the front steps two at a time, urgency driving his every movement.
The front door creaked open beneath his hand, and as he stepped into the entryway, the faint glow of candlelight caught his eyes. He looked up and halted at the sight before him.
