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A strange spark flared uncomfortably behind her sternum. “I cannot fathom you being wedded to anyone.”
“Because I’m so hideous,” he scoffed.
“Because of how you hold yourself apart. You act as if everyone is out to hurt you. You sneer at the world.”
“The world is an ugly place, Miss Ballard. Full of liars and frauds. Dirty deeds that go unpunished.”
“I didn’t take you for a fire and brimstone type,” she mused, scanning the empty room. She could not disagree with his assessment. Yet the world was also full of wonder. Beautiful paintings. Antique vases that hid in plain sight.
“I’m not,” he said indignantly. “I’m not religious.” Gazing up at the ceiling, he added thoughtfully, “Not anymore. Do you think that has any value?”
He pointed upward. Evaine ran her gaze along the exposed timber beams painted and gilded. Old. Very old. She estimated the coffered ceiling had been installed during that Jacobean renovation he’d mentioned earlier.
“I have never seen anything like architectural artifacts auctioned, but I would assume that if you could tear them out carefully, they would be worth a good deal to the right deep-pocketed American.”
Lord Lucan was already writing down a description in a small notebook he had produced from his pocket. “Good. What about the sconces?”
“They might be worth something. I doubt much. They look newer. Less than a century old is my guess.”
“My father had them installed in the sixties, along with gas lighting. Now everyone is installing electricity,” he said. “Right, then. Not old enough to be of interest. Let’s keep moving.”
He led her to the opposite end of the hall where a pair of carved oak doors led into an elegant dining room.
“The doors might be worth something,” she said, running her fingertips over the carved surface. “These also seem to be original. Around four or five hundred years old.”
“Good catch.” He scribbled that down, too. “I should have brought a lamp. I forgot that Cogswell had boarded up the lower level to prevent vandals from getting in.”
“Is that typically a problem?”
“No. Aside from being isolated, Wolfhaven has a reputation for being haunted.”
“I cannot imagine why,” she deadpanned.
The duke cast her a sidelong glance and came very close to chuckling. It came out as a huff of amusement. A fluttery sensation in her belly caused Evaine to inhale sharply and tear her gaze away. She strode to a window and yanked aside a dusty velvet curtain. The fabric disintegrated in her hand the instant she applied pressure to it, leaving a ragged hole. Through the hole, she could see a burned-out section of the house. The upper floors had collapsed. A pile of rubble dotted with weeds and a single spindly sapling poking through the wreckage.
“What happened?” she asked, staring at it.
“There was a fire. An accident, despite what people in the village will tell you. The same one that claimed Marina’s life and gave me this.” He gestured at his face. “I tried to save her. A grandfather clock fell on me as I ran into the burning building to save her.”
“How noble of you.”
“For all the good it did either of us.” Bitter anger tinged his words. Again, that strange emotion that Evaine didn’t want to name pinched her. He pointed at the long table. “What might this be worth?”
“Excellent question. It’s too large to fit in an ordinary home. But for the right buyer who entertains a lot of guests frequently, and has a taste for old-world elegance, you might be able to get a decent sum of money for it. Limited buying pool. I would estimate…” She bent to examine the carvings. “Solid oak. Probably at least two thousand pounds. Again—for the right buyer. Auction houses specialize in finding buyers for rare items. Combined with the doors, I will bet you could get even more for a matching set. Can I ask you a question?”
“If you must.”
What a grump. “Why not sell the house as-is? Fittings and all. Wouldn’t that be easier than parceling out each individual piece?”
“I can’t,” he said flatly. “I can sell anything that isn’t nailed down, and some things that are, if I can have them removed. But the house itself and the land associated with it are entailed upon my heir.”
“Do you have an heir?”
“No. Nor do I ever intend to. Dismantling this pile of rocks and stripping the place of every last farthing of value is the only satisfaction I will ever have from it.”
He said this with confusing relish. Aristocratic men were rather famously preoccupied with securing their legacy via sons. Why didn’t he?
A gust of wind rattled the windows at that precise moment. Hairs rose on the back of Evaine’s neck. A rattling sound, like bones tapping, raced along the exterior of the building.
