Page 24 of The Iron Duke’s Flaming Christmas
Chapter 24
Ian gazed out the window of his study, lost in contemplation of the soft snow falling outside, blanketing the world in white.
His stomach was still churning with emotion from when he had last spoken to Selene—and broken down entirely, confessing his guilt about the day Mary had died. And how he was culpable.
So many emotions were churning inside him that he felt like jumping out of his own skin. He was used to living with the guilt and shame—they were his constant companions. But alongside them, a raw tenderness was there, newly hatched, the glow of it growing and expanding, overtaking them. Tenderness toward her. Selene.
His heart skipped a beat. Before Redford interrupted them, he had been about to confess to her that he thought that he could never love again, but that now, with her, he thought it might actually be possible. His heart filled with relief. Thank God that his friend had chosen that moment to visit—or else he might have actually told her.
You must forget her. You can never marry her—and you cannot keep her as your mistress. You must quash this feeling now, before it grows any stronger. Before it is too late.
Sighing heavily, he turned away from the window, sitting down at his desk. Perhaps work would distract him. He frowned. There was a letter propped against the inkwell, which he hadn’t noticed. He leaned forward, opening it quickly, scanning it.
He stiffened. The letter was addressed to Selene from her father—the butler must have mixed up the mail and given it to him, instead of her. He was just about to close it, when he stopped, his eyes fixed on what the man was saying to his daughter.
He could barely breathe. There were several lines crossed out in it, as if the author of the letter hadn’t thoroughly thought through what he was going to say prior to sitting down to write it, so it was difficult to read, but the writer’s message was still loud and clear.
He was in financial difficulty and asking his daughter for help. The next section outlined, in chilling detail, was about how she might do it—and that this idea had been discussed before.
Further to our discussion, dear daughter, I fear we must forge ahead with the plan to extract the money that I need from the duke. You told me that His Grace has tender feelings toward you and admires you greatly. We can use this to our advantage.
If you tell him that you will reveal his feelings for you to the greater community, he will give you as much as we desire, as he will not wish for them to be revealed, being such a cold, taciturn gentleman, with a reputation to uphold…
Ian swore, tossing the letter onto the ground, his heart slamming in his chest. And then with one foul swoop, he reached out an arm, clearing everything from the desk. Papers scattered, ink spilt, and there was a sharp crash as books and ledgers fell onto the floor.
His stood up, his breath coming thick and fast, barely able to breathe. The rage was so great he felt as though it was strangling him. He swore, staring numbly into the fire, not even seeing the flames flickering and hissing in the grate.
I was starting to believe that I was actually falling in love with her, and she is nothing more than a calculating fortune hunter, intending to blackmail me.
He swore again, walking quickly to the letter on the floor, picking it up. He wanted to screw it up and toss it onto the fire, but he stopped. Quickly, he rang the bell, folding the letter as he waited for the butler.
The butler entered the room, looking slightly startled by the mess strewn on the floor, but he didn’t say anything. Ian handed him the letter.
“This belongs to Miss Bomind,” he rapped. “You delivered it to the wrong person, Parker. Make sure she gets it. And be more mindful next time.”
The butler frowned. “But…” He stopped, inhaling deeply, his eyes flickering nervously as he gazed into Ian’s thunderous face. “Of course, Your Grace. I do apologize. I will deliver it at once.”
Ian nodded. The butler turned to leave the room.
“Oh, and Parker,” growled Ian, “send a maid to clean up this mess.”
The butler nodded, leaving the room.
Ian walked to the window, gazing out again, his heart pounding hard. There was a sour taste in his mouth. He had told her everything about the day he lost Mary—he had poured out his heart to her. He had been so close to falling in love with her that he almost thought he had.
His mouth twisted into a bitter line. This was what happened when he allowed himself to let down his defenses and let someone in. He wouldn’t be making a mistake like that again.
He couldn’t wait to see how she was going to bring up the fact that her father needed money and how he was going to shoot her down, once and for all.
***
Selene sat down on the edge of her bed, thinking about Emma’s letter and the request that her dear friend had made. Apparently, her parents were reluctant to let her formally court Captain Redford, as they did not wish their daughter to move so far away to London and knew nothing about her suitor. Emma asked if Selene could ask the duke to intervene on their behalf, vouching for the Captain’s character.
I have not had a chance to ask the duke about it, but I doubt very much he would listen to me. He has made it clear he wants nothing to do with me.
There was a knock at the door. She jumped up, opening it. The butler stood there, his face impassive, handing her a letter. She thanked him, sitting down and opening it.
She scanned it, frowning. It was from her father, but it was very odd, indeed.
There were lines crossed out, in heavy ink, which was not like her father at all. He was a meticulous letter writer who would throw away the letter and start over if he made even the smallest of mistakes. And what he had written in the place of those erased lines looked hurried. She squinted, peering closer at the handwriting. Had he been in a rush? The writing was almost scrawled…
Suddenly, she gasped in horror, as she actually read what he had written. He was asking her to blackmail the duke for money, to use his affection for her against him, and they had discussed doing such a thing before.
Her head began to spin violently with confusion. What was going on?
She threw the letter away, as if there was poison on the page, rather than ink. None of it made any sense at all. She had written to her father once since she had been at Trenton House but had never even hinted that the duke admired her or held affection for her.
Why would she? It would have only worried her father, who was a firm believer in knowing one’s place. He would be horrified at such a notion.
She could barely breathe, staring at the letter where it lay on the floor fearfully, as if it were a spider that might suddenly lurch at her. Her father was a simple, honest man. A man of integrity. He would never, ever suggest she do such an evil thing—it just wasn’t in his nature. A chill entered her heart, as the realization struck her forcibly in the face.
My father did not write that letter. It is simply impossible.
Slowly, she edged toward the letter, picking it up gingerly. Her heart was pounding erratically, and she felt sick to her stomach. She stared at it, forcing herself to read it thoroughly, taking note of every minute detail. When she was finished, she laid it down, feeling as if her heart was made of stone.
Someone had either fabricated that letter entirely, pretending to be her father, or they had made alterations to a letter her father had actually written.
Considering the letter had heavy modifications within it, she thought it was probably the latter. Which meant that someone had intercepted this letter, changing it, to convey something which simply wasn’t true.
They had literally crossed out lines of her father’s writing and added their own lines—they had forged her father’s handwriting, which was why it looked so scrawled and odd.
Someone was trying to frame her. There was no other explanation. They thought that she would blithely do as her father commanded and blackmail the duke for money. Someone wanted her to lose her position here…or else, someone knew about what had happened between her and the duke and didn’t like it. They wanted it to stop.
Selene’s blood ran cold. She was in danger. Someone didn’t want her here…or they didn’t want her involved with the duke.
Abruptly, she stood up, grabbing the letter. She would go to him now and show him the letter and say that she believed someone had altered it with the intention of framing her. He would believe her, wouldn’t he? He must believe her…
Her heart flipped in her chest. Slowly, she sank down onto the edge of the bed.
She just didn’t know if he would believe her. He might think that it was true, and that she had planned to blackmail him just as the letter claimed, and then got cold feet, trying to cover her tracks.
Selene lay down on the bed, curling into a ball, hugging her arms around herself. Her chest was tight with unshed tears as she realized the truth of it. The truth that she had been trying to deny to herself ever since she had comforted him as he spoke of the terrible day he lost his wife.
She was in love with the Iron Duke. Hopelessly, helplessly, in love with him. The love had lodged into her heart with the firmness of an arrow. And it was a hopeless love… for he was still in love with his late wife and always would be.
She knew, with a stab of pain in her heart, that if it were not for Lady Lenore, who needed her, she would pack her trunk and leave Trenton House now. For it was dangerous here in more ways than one. Someone wanted her gone, and she was hopelessly in love with a man who could never marry her, and could never give her his heart anyway, even if it was possible.