Love Is a Rogue (Wallflowers vs. Rogues #1) - Lenora Bell Page 0,81

servants and poured Ford a brandy. They sat in comfortable chairs by a roaring fire and the duke loosened his cravat.

“It’s an unexpected pleasure to see you, Wright. And it’s wonderful to be back in England.”

“Did you have a good tour?”

“It was . . . thrilling. Glorious. Exhausting. Couldn’t be anything else with a bride like Mina. My brother got into a spot of difficulty and we . . . Mina and I . . . let’s just say it wasn’t much of a tranquil honeymoon. As I said, I’ve been gone too long. I feel as though I’ve been neglecting my estate. How are things at Thornhill? I can’t wait to see the faded old beauty again.”

“That’s what I wanted to speak with you about. The great house is very well—I finished the renovations and even progressed further.”

“Thank you. I was lucky to have your services.”

“The house is in fine repair, but I’m afraid I have some bad news. I discovered something disturbing during my time there. I think your land agent and your solicitor are in league to skim profits away from Thornhill, and possibly your other properties, as well. Several things just didn’t add up while I was there.”

Thorndon sat up straighter and set down his brandy. “That’s a serious accusation. Do you have any proof?”

Ford hadn’t brought the bill of sale with him that he’d pilfered from Gibbons’s desk. “I can present you with proof tomorrow. It’s a bill of sale for timber from your estate. Some of it was to be used on Thornhill, some to be distributed to the tenants for repairs, and some purchased by townsfolk. I calculate that Gibbons only recorded half of what was sold.”

Thorndon tossed back his brandy. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

“I didn’t want my father to be cast into suspicion if the truth came out another way, as he’s responsible for the logging on your estate. I think they took advantage of his injury to sell for their own profit. And I suspect they’ve been in league for years, and not just undercounting the sale of the timber.”

“This is disheartening. Gibbons is a distant relation and I trusted him completely. I’ll launch a full investigation.” He poured more brandy. “And I won’t blame your father. He’s never given me any cause to doubt his absolute integrity. I like and value him and I like you, Wright. You’re a good man.”

“Thank you. So are you.”

“Even though I neglected my estate.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to . . . I heard it loud and clear. As I said, I like you.” Thorndon set down his glass. “But if you’re toying with my sister’s affections, if you’ve hurt her in any way, I’ll cheerfully kill you.”

Ford blinked. The transition from amiable to murderous had been so sudden. “Your sister is in no danger from me.”

Was that true? Ford wasn’t so sure anymore. When they waltzed around the ballroom today he’d indulged in the wild fantasy that they might find a way to conquer the barriers of class that stood between them.

And here was her brother making certain that those barriers were solidly in place.

“Good. Then we understand each other?”

“Completely.” Ford was a good man, but he wasn’t good enough for the duke’s beloved little sister.

Thorndon refilled Ford’s glass. “Let’s drink to Thornhill.”

“To Thornhill.”

A tall, fair-haired man with a pronounced limp walked into the study. “Pour me a glass, Thorny.”

“Rafe, you reprobate,” said Thorndon. “Where have you been? We’ve been halfway across Europe searching for your sorry arse.”

“Here. There.” The duke’s brother waved vaguely with his hand. “Hand over that bottle. I’ve a dreadful feeling that I might be sobering up for the first time in weeks.”

“That’s not an answer, and you know it.” Thorndon poured his brother some brandy. “Rafe, this is Mr. Wright, the son of my lead carpenter at Thornhill.”

“Pleased to meet you, Wright.” Lord Rafe nodded his way. “Beatrice is looking well. Must be in love, silly goose. Women only get that shiny look in their eyes when they have some poor fellow in their sights. Who’s the lucky man?”

Ford shifted in his chair. It was probably time to leave now that he was outnumbered.

“Earl of Mayhew, I think I heard mother say?” said Thorndon.

Ford couldn’t stay silent at that. “She’s not marrying Mayhew.”

Both brothers turned to stare at him.

“Oh?” asked Thorndon, raising one thick, black brow.

“That is, Mayhew’s not fit to marry her,” he clarified. “The man’s a heartless debaucher. I know it