had told Knighton to leave, and being an independent woman, Bea hadn’t liked that. She had instead invited Knighton to stay at Camden Manor since he was a friend of her brother. Yesterday, he’d made explicit to Bea what he was offering her: a marriage of convenience. Apparently his newly inherited duchy had come with four illegitimate half-siblings, and he needed a duchess to guide them…and to provide him with heirs.
He offered me a ‘partnership,’ Bea had wryly told Fancy in private. One in which he and I would respect each other and work toward shared goals without sentiment being involved. I turned him down.
Fancy knew that, not long ago, Bea might have accepted such a proposition, but Mr. Murray had changed Bea’s views on what a relationship could be. Bea was falling in love with the handsome Scot, who clearly returned her feelings.
This meant that Knighton’s suit was bound for failure. Not that it mattered where Fancy was concerned. After all, a duke wasn’t going to fall for a tinker’s daughter.
Sighing, Fancy gave her pole a testing tug: it was slack and lifeless, much like her hopes.
Obsessing o’er Severin Knight is stupid, she scolded herself. Worse than stupid, it’s selfish. You ought to be thinking o’ Bea’s welfare and not some unattainable cove.
Since the arson, Bea, with Mr. Murray’s assistance, had started investigating suspects. The task wasn’t simple since all of Bea’s potential enemies were powerful men. Fancy had helped where she could, listening to her friend, asking her brothers to keep their eyes and ears open for any threats.
In fact, she’d landed a job in the kitchens of the village inn tomorrow night, and she planned to listen for gossip about Bea there. Years ago, Bea had made the decision to give shelter to those deemed outcasts by society. Her tenants included fallen women and those with physical and other differences, and some of the locals wanted her tenants gone.
But who would go so far as to set fire to Bea’s property?
“That is what you ought to be concerning yourself with,” she muttered to herself. “The safety o’ your bosom chum.”
As if in agreement, the tip of her fishing rod gave a little jerk.
A fish…but it was a cautious one. It gave teasing, indecisive nips at the bait.
“That’s it,” she said under her breath. “Don’t you want to take a nice bite o’ that juicy worm?”
She held the pole as still as she could, but the line went limp. As her hopes began to dwindle, the line burst into life, the powerful yank nearly pulling her off the bank. She jumped up, digging her bare heels into the grass, holding onto the rod with all her might. The fish broke the surface in a gleaming arc…blooming hell, it was the biggest trout she’d ever seen!
Its power matched its size. As she tried to land it, it fought back, thrashing angrily, drenching her with powerful sprays. Droplets dripped into her eyes, but she tightened her grip on the pole. As she and the fish battled on, the ground beneath her feet grew slick and muddy. Inch by inch, she was slipping toward the edge of the bank, but she refused to let go. She pulled, her arms straining, her feet sliding toward the river.
A strong arm hooked her around her waist. “Steady there, I have you.”
She jerked in shock, her back colliding with the very hard form of the Duke of Knighton. His bulging muscles caged her and prevented her from falling into the river. He took over the rod, his hand dwarfing hers. The fish continued to whip against the water, but it was only a matter of time before Knighton emerged victorious.
He landed the giant trout, its majestic body flip-flopping against the bank, splattering water and mud everywhere. Coming to her senses, Fancy pushed at the duke’s arm, and he released her immediately. She went to grab her wooden club, ending the fish’s suffering with a firm thwack.
Panting, she looked up at the duke.
He was staring at her, his expression inscrutable.
All at once, she registered her bedraggled state. She was soaked, her dress a wet clinging mess. Damp tendrils had escaped her braids and hung in her eyes. And, Sweet Jaysus, she was holding a bludgeon covered in fish scales.
Springing up, she set aside the club and tried to put herself to rights.
“If I may.” Knighton undid the carved gold buttons of his charcoal frock coat and moved toward her. Before she could register his intent, he