Page 21 of A Duke to Steal Her

But it was the portrait above the mantelpiece that stopped her cold.

The painting showed a younger duke—perhaps twenty or twenty-one—standing beside a lovely girl with dark hair and laughing eyes. The family resemblance was unmistakable: the strong jaw and proud bearing.

She had to be his sister.

Where is she?

As Emily studied the painting, she noticed that the Duke’s expression held hints of the brooding intensity she knew, while the girl’s face was all warmth and mischief.

She moved closer, studying the inscription at the bottom.

Lord Ambrose Kane and Lady Lavinia Kane, painted on the occasion of Lady Lavinia’s eighteenth birthday, 1813.

“Lavinia,” Emily whispered.

That was the name the Duke had blurted out on the first night they met.

She was not some mistress or perhaps a first love as she’d assumed, but his sister.

Emily’s gaze swept the room and landed on a writing desk tucked beneath the window. Unable to resist, she approached and began opening drawers.

Most were empty, but one yielded a treasure: a slim volume of poetry with an inscription in flowing script.

My dearest brother,

May these verses bring you comfort when the world grows too heavy.

Your loving sister.

What a sweet gesture, Emily thought, touched by the obvious affection between the siblings.

She turned the pages carefully, finding passages marked in what she assumed were the Duke’s hand alongside notes in the margins.

One poem about loss had been heavily underlined, with a single word written beside it in his bold script.

Truth.

Setting the book aside, Emily continued her exploration.

Behind a loose panel in the desk, she discovered a collection of black leather notebooks, their pages filled with neat handwriting. Family records, she realized with excitement, a chronicle of the Kane lineage.

Emily settled into the window seat, late morning light warming her shoulders as she began to read.

The early entries fascinated her: how the first Duke of Nightfell had been granted his title for service to the crown, the buildingof the estate, the careful cultivation of wealth and influence through generations.

When she reached a particular entry, she found herself smiling despite everything.

Our young Master Ambrose scaled the oak in the west garden today and refused to come down until Cook promised him extra pudding,read one entry.His Grace despairs of his heir’s wild ways, but the boy shows remarkable courage for one so young.

“Naturalmente,” Emily muttered with a smirk.

Of course he’d be a stubborn child.

Emily flipped the page to read further, when an exclamation jerked her head up.

“Signorina! You shouldn’t be in here.”

Emily jumped to her feet, clutching the notebook to her chest. An old housekeeper stood in the doorway, her expression stern and disapproving.