Page 46

“Jesus, Royce,” Wyn whispered.

“Shut up,” he ordered, glancing at him and then back at me.

I had not once taken my eyes off him.

“River had teams of people go through everything in that house, then brought in more and did it again. My understanding is, when they left a room, they boarded it up.”

“Which is why many were sealed before the final demolishing.”

“Correct.”

“But? I hear a but.”

He huffed out a breath. “Apparently, there were rooms in the basement, small ones, probably servant quarters, that were never opened and had been sealed by the last occupants of the house.”

“That was done a lot when a house fell into disrepair. Rooms would be quartered off so no one would get hurt.”

He nodded. “So there were at least two, or three, rooms that were never checked, that no one got to, and River told me that there was no hope chest on any list he has.”

“Perhaps it belonged to a servant,” I suggested, thinking that maybe someone in the household had preserved the diary when no one was looking. That would be really interesting. I would have to research who had worked in the house.

“Sasha?” Royce snapped at me. “You had a second question?”

“Oh, yes, if you don’t mind.” I kept my voice low and soft, remaining polite as I’d been taught. There was no telling what an enraged alpha would do, but countless omegas had paid the ultimate price over the years for not using their heads. I needed to do everything I could to keep him talking and calm. It was interesting that Wyn didn’t grasp his own peril. If Royce got angry enough at me that he shifted, Wyn would be as dead as me.

“Speak,” Royce prodded me.

“Why are you in the mix of something that affects the Wilkeses? What does that have to do with the Kimballs?”

“Not the Kimballs, plural, just me, singular.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, recently I’ve had a bit of trouble, and my father has been less than understanding. He can’t fathom gambling debts, as he would never allow himself to have any.”

That seemed smart to me, but I’d never been a gambler myself.

“Now, on more than one occasion, I turned to friends, but lately other business opportunities have presented themselves, first with a friend, Theo Rossellini, and now with River.”

“Not Deacon?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking.

He scoffed. “No doubt, as a lupine, you know the name Deacon Houghton-Crowne, but though his fortune is greater than mine at the moment, it’s not inexhaustible, as his father didn’t name him heir of his estate.”

“Still worth quite a bit,” I said defensively, like he’d touched a nerve.

“Indeed, and with his affiliation to his cousin, and hers, by marriage, to the only cyne in our state… he’s not to be discounted. However, as many times as he’s cleared my debts, he never gives me any extra, and lately I find I’m in desperate need of a cushion.”

“Which Mr. Wilkes is offering.”

“Yes.”

“Got it. Thank you for the clarification.”

Crossing his arms, he stared at me. “Now it’s your turn. Did you, or did you not, find a journal written by one of River’s ancestors?”

I kept my eyes on him.

His eyes narrowed as he stared at me. “If you did, that is his property and needs to be returned to him as alpha and head of his family.”