“May I inquire the purpose of your visit, Your Grace?”
Surely, he’s here to collect a debt. But why come in person?
His eyes gleamed with quiet mischief. “I have business with Lady Gooldwer. I would like a private audience with her.”
Blanche stiffened. “Does this concern my father’s debts?”
Heath’s lips twitched, entertained. “It does, in a manner of speaking.”
A vague answer.Typical.
Her heart raced, though she would sooner perish than let him notice. If his visit concerned finances, it could mean trouble. And if her mother were left to handle the matter, disaster was inevitable.
“My mother is unwell,” she said evenly. “She cannot receive visitors.”
Heath tilted his head, assessing her. “How tragic.”
She narrowed her gaze. “However, I am well-informed of my father’s affairs. If this matter is urgent, perhaps you should speak to me in her stead.”
Something flickered in his expression—curiosity, perhaps amusement.
The Duke’s smirk deepened. “You have a dangerous habit of asking the right questions, Lady Blanche Waldron.”
“And you have a frustrating habit of answering them poorly, Your Grace.”
His chuckle was quiet, entertained. “Then perhaps we should strike a bargain—you grant me my audience, and I may offer you proper answers in return.”
Blanche held his gaze. He was charming—too charming—but she wasn’t a fool. The Duke of Woodrey wasn’t here for pleasantries.
And I need to find out why.
His gaze lingered on Blanche as he took a deliberate step closer, the corners of his lips curling in a knowing smirk.
“You needn’t worry, my lady. You shall not remain in the dark for long.”
Blanche met his stare without flinching. “How very generous of you.”
His amusement deepened. “I had heard that ladies of good breeding are typically more gracious to their guests.”
She tilted her head, expression unreadable. “If graciousness means nodding along and accepting orders without question, I am afraid you’ll find me quite the disappointment, Your Grace.”
He chuckled, gaze flickering over her with open intrigue. “I rather suspected as much.”
Before she could respond, a commotion sounded down the corridor—hurried footsteps, rustling fabric, and the frantic yapping of three pugs. Moments later, Lady Gooldwer appeared, breathless, her gown slightly askew, hairpins barely holding her curls together.
“Oh, Your Grace!” she exclaimed, smoothing her skirts hastily. “I—I did not realize we had such esteemed company.”
Blanche blinked, suppressing the urge to sigh. Of course, her mother had overheard the Duke’s voice and had dressed in a rush to present herself.
Lady Gooldwer, despite her hasty efforts, still looked somewhat disheveled, though the pugs at her feet remained blissfully unaware of the chaos they had caused.
She turned to the Duke, eyes bright with curiosity. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”
His smirk remained. “I had hoped for a private audience with you, my lady.”
A thrill of excitement lit up her mother’s features. “Oh, but of course! A private audience—how positively thrilling.” She gestured toward the study door, straightening her posture as best she could. “Come, Your Grace. Let us speak at once.”
With a flourish, she led the Duke toward the study, offering Blanche a triumphant glance before shutting the door behind them.
