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Clara shrugged. “You bring out the worst in me?”
His mother gave another cry and then began to flounce toward the door. “Dinner will be delayed.”
“How long?” Clara asked. “I’m famished.”
“An hour at least,” the baroness replied. “With any luck, you will have fallen into a drunken stupor by then.” And then she was gone, slamming the door behind her.
Clara straightened up. “That was both easy and satisfying.”
Jacob quirked a one-sided smile as he patted Clara’s upper back. “Really do help yourself to the excellent wine.” And then he handed Clara his own, nearly full glass. “I’ll be back in forty-five minutes.”
Clara gave him a wink. “Have fun.”
“Fun is not my aim.” His shoulders squared as he prepared himself for the task at hand.
“Right.” Clara took a sip of his wine. “In that case, give your mother hell.”
“In that I can promise to do my absolute best.”
Clara chuckled as she took another sip and then settled into a chair next to the fire. “Your mother has never spared any expense. I shall relish every sip.”
Jacob looked around at the house. His mother had had it redecorated when his father had been on his death bed. Granted it had been eight years, but much of the shine still remained. She must have suspected she’d not be allowed the money after he passed. His father had never been good at putting limits on his mother.
He, however, felt no such compulsion. She had a minimal staff here, enough to keep the place up and he’d not sold it out from under her. She had given birth to him….
Still, in moments like this, he was tempted. She was up to something, and he intended to discover what precisely that was. She wasn’t the only family member who could go searching.
He made his way down the hall and into the morning room where his mother liked to complete all her correspondence.
He pulled up the cover on her writing desk and began to search through the neat stacks of envelopes.
Nothing unusual jumped out at him and so he opened the first drawer and then a second. When he reached the third, he found an open note sitting atop all the other neatly arranged contents. His brow furrowed before he picked it up and opened it.
The letter was completely innocuous at first. But it was the signed name that had every muscle in his body clenching.
Barrow.
He went back and read the note again.
It is done. Wait for word.
Lucius Barrow.
What the ever-loving fuck did that mean? How did Barrow know his mother and what had been done?
Carefully folding the note, he did not place it back in the drawer but instead placed it in his pocket.
Then he searched the rest of the desk before returning to Clara.
The moment he stepped into the room, he took the glass from her hand. “Sorry, Clara. No more tonight.”
She scowled at him. “What? Why?”
His jaw clenched as he leaned close. “She’s got a very suspicious letter from our new favorite solicitor.”
Clara gasped, “No.”
“Listen, we’ll have dinner. Once everyone in the house is in bed, we’re leaving. If we hurry, we can make it to the duke before nightfall tomorrow.”
