Page 50 of A Wallflower for the Disguised Earl

A sharp knock sounded at the front door. A moment later, MacAulay reappeared, carrying a small silver tray.

“A letter was just delivered by hand, my lord,” MacAulay said, extending the tray toward Julian.

Julian reached for it, but Edmund moved faster. He snatched the thick, cream-colored envelope from the silver platter. There was no name on the front, no direction, or wax seal bearing a recognizable crest. It was completely blank.

“Thank you, MacAulay. That will be all,” Edmund said tightly.

He waited until the butler’s footsteps faded down the hall before tearing the envelope open. He pulled out a single sheet of parchment. The script was neat, elegant, and entirely unfamiliar.

Edmund read the words. His blood turned to ice water.

I find myself wondering if the Earl of Ravenswood has been seen in public lately. I also find myself curious as to whether his brooding, quiet companion bears an unusual resemblance to a certain portrait that hung in the Royal Academy’s last exhibition.

If the companion wishes this fascinating observation to remain entirely private, he will cease his attentions toward Miss Corinna Ashwell at once.

Edmund stopped breathing. He read the neat script a second time, his eyes tracking over the vicious, calculated threat. The Royal Academy portrait. He remembered it clearly, a painting of a young English heir, commissioned by his father years ago, before he had been sent away to France. Someone had recognized his face. Someone knew exactly who he was, and they were using Corinna as the leverage.

“Edmund?” Arabella asked, her voice trembling slightly as she watched the color drain from his face. “What is it?”

Edmund did not answer. He turned around, marched directly to the fireplace, and threw the parchment onto the burning coals.

“Hey!” Julian protested, stepping forward. “What are you doing?”

Edmund watched the edges of the thick paper curl, blacken, and burst into bright orange flames. He did not look away until the elegant, threatening script was entirely reduced to gray ash.

“We have been discovered,” Edmund said, his voice flat and dead.

Julian stopped in his tracks. Arabella let out a horrified gasp.

“What do you mean?” Julian demanded, moving to stand beside Edmund, staring down at the burning embers. “Who was it from?”

“There was no name,” Edmund replied, gripping the marble mantelpiece so tightly his knuckles ached. “The writer asked if the earl has been seen in public, and noted my resemblance to an old Royal Academy portrait.”

Julian let out a harsh breath. He leaned back on his heels, a cynical smile twisting his lips. He reached for the only defense he had ever known: a joke.

“Well, I suppose this means my brief, glorious reign as an English peer is coming to an end,” Julian said, offering a dry, humorless laugh. “I hope they serve decent wine in the debtors’ prison. Perhaps I can paint murals on the cell walls to pay for my keep.”

Edmund turned his head slowly, fixing Julian with a stare of absolute, freezing fury.

“I do not find that funny, Julian,” Edmund snarled, his voice vibrating with barely contained annoyance.

Julian’s false smile vanished instantly. He swallowed hard, looking down at the rug.

Arabella rose quietly, smoothing her skirts. “I will leave you both to speak plainly,” she said, pressing a light hand to Edmund’s arm before crossing to the door. She paused once, glancing back at Julian, before slipping out and pulling it shut behind her.

“The letter contained a condition,” Edmund continued, forcing the words through his locked jaw. “It stated that if I wish the secret to remain private, I must cease my attentions toward Corinna Ashwell immediately.”

“It doesn’t matter who wrote it,” Edmund said, turning his back on the fire. “The threat is real. The masquerade is over. But the confession must come from me. Privately. Before this breaks wide open and the ton tears her family apart.”

Julian nodded slowly, the gravity of the situation finally anchoring him completely. “When?”

“I need a few more days,” Edmund said, running a shaking hand over his face. “I have to find a way to get Corinna alone, away from her sister, away from Cecily. I have to explain it to her myself before the entire city reads about it in the morning papers.”

Julian looked at him, his dark eyes heavy and exhausted. “I agree.”

He paused, taking a slow, steadying breath.

“I also want it to end, Edmund,” he said quietly. The words were not a performance. They were stripped bare, raw and honest. “And not only because of the letter.”