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Beatrice waved her hand. “That is beside the point. The point is that I want you to do something similar for me.”

“Hm. And why would I do that? Theo is my friend, even if hehasbeen dreadfully neglecting me since he got married. What will you give me in exchange for this service, Miss Haversham?”

Beatrice was relieved that he stayed across the room when he said this, instead of looming over her again.

She was not a woman who dived in headfirst. She had thought a good deal about who to approach for help, and Stephen Walford, the Duke of Blackwood, was the obvious choice.

They already had a connection—she was the dearest friend ofhisdearest friend’s wife, and thathadto count for something—and he was just about the only man who could help.

One thing she had not counted on, however, was how the wretched Duke was making her feel.

She’d thought him handsome at the wedding, in a disinterested sort of way. The manwasgood-looking, tall, and even-featured, with suitably exotic olive skin, shockingly green eyes, and an abundance of thick black hair. He dressed well, appeared strongly built under his expensive clothing, and carried a cool air of confidence and authority that would, naturally, appeal to the more weak-minded of her sex.

Beatrice prided herself on notbeing weak-minded. She had assumed that she could conduct herself with ease here, but their little meeting felt as though it was getting swiftly out of her control.

There was an uncomfortable fluttering in her gut whenever the Duke drifted past her, and she found that meeting those cool, pale green eyes was harder than she had expected. Worse, her tongue kept tying itself into knots, her sharp retorts not coming as quickly as usual, her carefully memorized and rehearsed arguments tangling up like rope in her head.

It is just the weightiness of this matter,she told herself firmly.And because you are alone, of course.

“I have money,” she blurted, and immediately regretted it.

The Duke turned to stare at her, an incredulous smile playing on his lips. “Money?Money? My dear girl, what possible use could I have formoney? Take a look around you. Goodness, I had thought you were a clever little thing. I have more money than I can spend. What would I want with more?”

Heat rushed to her face. Beatrice swiped at her mouth, sure that stray biscuit crumbs were lingering at the corners. That humiliation would simply be too much.

“Alright, then,” she snapped. “What would you like? What would you generally want, in exchange for such a service?”

He leaned against the mantelpiece, fixing her with a wolfish, mirthless grin. “Oh, a great variety of things.”

She pressed her lips together. “Give me an example.”

“I could give you dozens.”

“Just. One.”

He held her gaze for a moment, then chuckled, turning away.

“In a situation like this, I would require a favor,” he said bluntly, sounding almost bored. “A single favor, quite a large one, to be decided upon by me. You would have to do this favor whenever I ask for it. It’s a matter of honor, you see. And, of course, I am not a man to be crossed, so shirking your duty is not recommended.”

She bit her lip hard, tasting copper. “So I would be in your debt, then? I would be forced to wait for you to decide what you want from me, with no ability to say no?”

He shrugged, pushing away from the mantelpiece and swaggering towards her. She felt her insides tighten as he approached, and she hastily distracted herself with another biscuit. She regretted it at once, as he asked her a question the instant the biscuit was in her mouth.

“Those are the terms, Miss Haversham. Could you agree to such an arrangement?”

She attempted a shrug, and then a nod.

He rolled his eyes. “I shall need verbal confirmation, my dear.”

She swallowed hard. “Yes, yes, I agree! I don’t have much choice, anyway.”

“Excellent.”

This time, he crossed to his seat on the other side of the desk, and Beatrice held back a sigh of relief. It was good to have some space between them, and the firm, reassuring weight of the desk.

“Now,” he said briskly, picking up a coin from somewhere and beginning to flip it over his knuckles. “Who is the person that you want me to investigate? What is your plan here?”

“It’s not your concern what my plan is.”