Page 23 of The Duke’s Cursed Virgin (Cursed Brides #3)

Chapter Twenty-Two

“ W ait here, my dear. I’m going to see to something, but I won’t take long,” Aunt Mary said upon arriving at a particular shop.

There were no letters from the Duke, and Sophia was relieved. She didn’t know how she’d react around him after knowing his secret.

It wasn’t a secret at all, but he certainly didn’t like talking about it. He’d like it buried, covered up to hide any weaknesses. After all, he was the feared Duke of Wolvesley, a man who merely took his pleasure. He didn’t need anybody. He needed nobody’s pity.

One day, Sophia accompanied her Aunt Mary in the busy streets of London. She was thankful for the diversion.

“All right, Auntie,” she replied with a quick nod, not really minding it.

She liked looking at everything around her, with everyone either at a safe distance or too occupied to notice her.

She glanced around idly. There was nothing interesting to see in this area, until her eyes caught a familiar name.

Across the street was her father’s accountant’s offices. The silver plate declared, Mr. Barlow’s Counting House.

The sight made her heart pound. It didn’t take her much to decide to cross the street toward the place. She believed that she’d find out something about her uncle Anthony there. After all, Mr. Barlow should be handling his accounts now.

Sophia stepped inside and inhaled the mixture of ink and parchment—a scent that lingered in her father’s study. Her skin warmed at the memory.

An older man with spectacles looked up from his desk. His eyes widened, and a smile split his face.

“Lady Sophia?”

“Mr. Barlow,” she said, giving him a little nod. “I apologize for coming here unannounced. I was simply walking around with my aunt and I saw your offices.”

“What can I do for you?” he asked kindly, gesturing for her to sit.

“Oh, just a few answers. I know I’m only a woman and should not be inquiring about my father’s and my uncle’s affairs, but I’m deeply curious.”

“As you should be, My Lady. However, I cannot discuss your uncle’s accounts with you. Do remember that they are now his,” Mr. Barlow reminded her. His face was still kind, but also a little wary.

“Oh, I understand,” she whispered, her hand flying to her forehead and rubbing it.

“Are you not well, My Lady?” he asked, looking worried.

“A little dizzy,” she lied. “I could not sleep well last night, and my aunt woke up early to run some errands and I must be with her. I am now her companion.”

“Ah. Poor dear,” Mr. Barlow said. “May I offer you some tea? You may need something to drink to feel a little better.”

“Yes, please,” she pleaded, rubbing her forehead some more and resting her elbow on his desk.

The accountant stood up and disappeared through a back door. Sophia might have a few minutes alone, and she wanted to use as much of them to her advantage as possible.

She scanned his shelves quickly, even as her pulse thundered in her ears.

You don’t have enough time , the voice in her head screamed, but she tried her best to ignore it.

Her fingers moved as fast as her eyes, sifting through the stacked ledgers. Finally, she found her uncle’s ledger. She flipped it open to numerous numbers—investments, expenses, and various transactions. They all blurred into one, even though the accountant had obviously written them down meticulously.

Sophia scanned more pages, getting frustrated by the second at not finding anything amiss. Then, she heard the sound of footsteps.

Left with no choice, she shoved the ledger back where she found it. She quickly returned to her seat and rested her forehead on her hands. This time, she was truly dizzy.

Mr. Barlow returned with a floral teacup on a white saucer.

“There you go, My Lady,” he said, gently placing the teacup in front of her.

Sophia reached for the teacup gratefully. She sipped from it daintily, using it to compose herself.

“I apologize for earlier, Mr. Barlow. I am merely curious about my father’s affairs. I had never been involved in them, but I want to know they are in good hands.”

“Your uncle has been extremely diligent with his accounts. Your father would be very proud.”

“Do you really think so?” she asked skeptically, disappointed that she could not get anything of import that could be used against her uncle. “What do you think of my uncle?”

The accountant looked taken aback. Sophia wondered if she had employed the wrong tactic.

“My Lady, I believe you probably know him better than I ever will. He is your family. You grew up with him.”

Except she didn’t grow up with her uncle.

“Of course, Mr. Barlow. I suppose I was merely interested in your opinion.” She punctuated her response with a fake chuckle.

Sophia set the teacup down and saw that she had almost finished the tea. At least, there was that. She was certain that she had convinced Mr. Barlow she was not feeling well. Then again, he did seem like someone who was easily persuaded.

She rose, rubbing her gloved hands together and giving Mr. Barlow a faint smile. “Thank you for the tea, Mr. Barlow. I must return to my aunt, who must be worrying about me now. She is just across the street, but I didn’t tell her where I was going.”

“Of course, My Lady,” the accountant acknowledged. He stood up at about the same time she did. “Allow me to walk you to the door.”

His politeness almost made her feel guiltier. She let him lead the way, playing the dizzy damsel with great skill. She would have to drop the act when she reached her aunt.

When they reached the door, it swung open. The sudden movement made her jolt. Worse, the person barging inside was no other than Anthony Balfour. His eyes immediately landed on his niece. They widened with surprise and then narrowed with what could be suspicion.

Then, his face transformed. Every shift came too quickly for her to contemplate at that moment. His eyes crinkled, the suspicion and annoyance giving way to what looked like amusement.

As was usual, though, the Marquess of Foxmere always had a smile on his face—it was currently pleasant for Mr. Barlow’s benefit.

“My dear niece,” he said in his best diplomatic voice. “What a surprise to see you here at Mr. Barlow’s. I never thought a lady like you would be interested in finances. I’d expect you to be shopping for dresses with your aunt Mary.”

Sophia smiled back at her uncle. If he could play the game, so could she.

With the lightheartedness and frivolity expected of her, she said, “Uncle, I was indeed shopping with Aunt Mary when I saw Mr. Barlow’s sign from across the street and thought that it would be wonderful to visit him. Of course, I’d love to be back to choose a silk dress for the next ball.”

“What a coincidence that you both visited a lonely old man today,” Mr. Barlow commented, chuckling. “At least, the Marquess has an appointment today, which I almost forgot upon seeing the lovely Lady Sophia.”

“It’s quite a coincidence, certainly,” Anthony remarked dryly.

He was still smiling, but his eyes flashed with a menace that was clearly directed at Sophia.

But she would not retreat. She held his gaze, with her chin up. She did not waver, even though her heart was beating fast.

“I won’t keep you from your appointment, Uncle. Good day to you both, Mr. Barlow.” She nodded at the accountant.

Just as she brushed past her uncle, he called to her, “Be careful who you spend your time with, dear niece.”

Trying to hide her trembling hand, she stepped out of the counting house and into the London air.

Out there, she realized that she had been holding her breath. She let it out in shuddering gasps when she had successfully crossed the street. She had taken all the precautions, but bad luck had her meet with her uncle right when and where she was asking about him.

The Marquess was certainly not a fool. The way he looked at her showed that he suspected something. As for Aunt Mary, Sophia was fortunate that the older woman seemed to be still preoccupied with shopping concerns. However, she knew better than to relax around the Dowager Countess. The woman was sharp and observant.

“You’re acting strange, Sophia.”

There it was.

She looked back at the narrowed eyes, practically glaring at her.

“I am? We have been in town for hours, and you have not chosen the lace you want,” Sophia said, knowing that she’d regret her words right after. She laughed nervously.

Aunt Mary gave her one of her looks, one that she was so familiar with—an arched eyebrow, pursed lips.

However, the older woman didn’t press any further, for which Sophia was grateful.

While Sophia felt like her aunt was prepared to believe her even after she revealed that she knew about her mysterious midnight outings, it would not be the same with her uncle.

Anthony Balfour was not someone to be trifled with. She might not have spent much time with him, but she could always tell.

Her uncle was a dangerous man, a different kind of dangerous from the Duke of Wolvesley.