“And why should I believe you? For all I know, you could be inventing this entire tale.”
It was evident that her patience had cracked slightly by the inflection in her voice. “To what end? What would I gain by fabricating theft? I care for this household. For the people whodepend on you. And whether you believe it or not, I care what happens to you.”
The room fell silent.
After a long moment, Richard reached for the documents, and he studied the numbers again. He didn’t want to believe her, but deep down, he could see it. The evidence was damning. And it pointed to betrayal from someone he had once considered above reproach.
He dropped the papers to the desk and let out a slow breath. “You better be right. If you are wrong…” His words trailed off.
“I’m not,” she replied. “I’m sorry. I truly am.”
And for the first time, Richard found he believed her.
He hung his head. The truth had struck like a blow to the chest, knocking the breath from his lungs. He knew now what he must do—there was no avoiding it—but the knowledge hollowed him. He had placed his faith in the wrong man, and the betrayal stung more bitterly than he cared to admit.
As he grappled with the enormity of it, he felt the gentle pressure of a hand resting lightly on his sleeve. Miss Theodosia stood beside him, her touch steady and unflinching.
“It will be all right,” she said, her voice a balm against the storm gathering within him.
“How could I have been so blind? So utterly stupid?” he asked, his voice rough with emotion.
He expected censure, or worse—pity. But when he looked into her face, there was only warmth, only understanding. Her eyes held none of the judgment he feared.
“You must not blame yourself,” she responded.
His lips curled into a bitter line. “Then who should I blame?”
A flicker of wry amusement touched her mouth. “I would start with Mr. Benson.”
Her attempt at humor was met with silence. He didn’t havethe heart to return the smile, though he recognized the effort behind it. Not now. Not when everything he had believed about his business, his instincts, had been turned on its head.
Her fingers tightened slightly on his arm. “You are a good man. Honorable. Trusting someone does not make you a fool. What happened is not your doing.”
He looked down at her hand that was still resting against his sleeve. Every nerve seemed to come alive beneath her touch. He should chide her for being too familiar. But he couldn’t. He didn’t want to. Her touch was the only thing anchoring him to the moment, keeping him from unraveling completely.
“I should have seen it,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. “I should have known.”
“It is not wrong to place your faith in someone,” Miss Theodosia said. “You trusted me enough to allow me into your home as Olivia’s companion—and again when you asked for my help with your accounts.”
Richard winced. Her words were meant to console, to reassure. But instead, they pierced him with guilt. It wasn’t as simple as she believed. He hadn’t truly trusted her—not fully. Not with the gnawing suspicion that she still concealed the truth about Mr. Smith. And she, in turn, had no idea that she had been summoned to London under false pretenses. Her position in his household had been orchestrated, not offered in good faith.
He should tell her.
No.
He couldn’t. Not yet.
If she knew, if she left now, they would lose their only advantage. The trail to Mr. Smith was already faint; without her, it would vanish altogether. His silence, however distasteful, was necessary.
A faint breeze stirred through the window, carrying the softscent of lavender to his senses. It clung to her—subtle, clean, and distinct. He inhaled deeply. It was her. Unmistakably her. He wanted to draw it deeper into his lungs, to remember it, to remember this—whatever this was.
Her voice pulled him back. “What are you going to do now?”
He looked at her. The question was practical, but her tone was not. He felt a powerful urge to take a step closer, to close the space between them. To cup her face in his hand and?—
Good gads! What was he thinking?
He could not afford distractions, least of all this one. Kissing her would be madness. Dangerous, entangling madness.
