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“I presume by the act of letting him outside into the garden for a few minutes and then refilling his water and food bowls, if necessary,” Alaric dismissed.
“Mr. Stanley is the same man who stole Finn on your instruction?”
“The very same.”
“You now freely admit to the subterfuge?” she accused.
“I do not believe I have ever denied it.”
She frowned. “Without a key, Mr. Stanley would first have to break into my house to do any of those things.”
James Stanley had been Plymouth’s valet for many years, but he now worked for the surviving five Ruthless Dukes in any capacity they needed him to. As such, in their search for the truth regarding Plymouth’s death, Stanley had shown that he was capable of doing many more illegal activities than simply unlocking and entering a house that was not his own.
“None of your personal belongings will come to harm,” Alaric assured.
“He will still be breaking into my home,” she protested.
“So he will,” he allowed. “But I believe you are more intent on trying to create an argument between the two of us than you are concerned for your privacy.”
“You—”
“Stop it, Grace,” he chided as he tapped a reproving finger against the tip of her nose. “Your dog will be cared for, after which your house will be relocked and your privacy remain unmolested.” Alaric could not help but wonder what might be inside Grace’s home that she didn’t wish Stanley, or anyone else, to see or find.
She drew in a sharp breath. “That sounds as if you intend to keep me here for longer than this one night?”
Alaric gave a rueful smile. “I sincerely doubt that one night together will be enough to sate the hunger I feel for you.” His humor faded. “But first, tomorrow morning, you will write a note to Redding informing him that you have decided to go to Devon and visit your father for a week or so.”
She appeared even more alarmed. “I shall do no such thing.”
He shrugged. “Then Redding will receive a letter written in a facsimile of your handwriting, stating those are your intentions.”
“By the versatile Mr. Stanley, I presume.”
Alaric gave an inclination of his head. “He was once valet to my friend Plymouth, but since his death Stanley has proven to be a man of many more talents.” He searched Grace’s face for any sign of recognition or guilt at the mention of Plymouth’s name, but as far as he could tell, there was none.
She shook her head. “I cannot remain here with you for a week— Wait.” Her expression sharpened. “How do you know my father lives in Devon?”
Alaric shrugged dismissively. “I now know many more things about you than I did a week ago.”
Grace stilled, a look of apprehension darkening her eyes. “How? And what sort of things?”
“Nothing detrimental, I assure you. Your father’s parishioners seem to love and esteem you as highly as they do your father.”
“How can you know that?” she demanded.
“On my instructions, Stanley had one of his associates travel to the village in Devon where you were brought up and where your father still resides.”
She became even more agitated. “You had no right.”
Alaric’s jaw tensed. “I have the right of your lover.”
“No—”
“Yes.”
Grace continued to stare up at him for several long seconds before her gaze moved away from his. “Did this man learn anything else about me?”
This time, there was no mistaking the worry in her gaze for anything else. Grace was definitely hiding something. Although how Alaric was to discover what that something was, he had no idea. Not without Grace’s cooperation in the matter, and her defiant demeanor told him that would not be forthcoming.
