Page 84 of Duke of Fire
He shot to his feet, the book falling forgotten to the ground.
“Denton!” The word came out as a roar. “Denton!”
The butler appeared within seconds, his face carefully blank despite the fact that August was shouting loud enough to wake half of London.
“Find the Duchess. Now.”
“Your Grace, I believe?—”
“Is something wrong?”
August spun toward the doorway. Eliza stood at the top of the conservatory steps, wearing a pelisse and bonnet, her lady’s maid hovering behind her. She looked perfectly composed, perfectly innocent, and the sight of her made his blood boil.
She was dressed for an outing. Dressed to leave the house. Dressed to meet him.
“My study.” The words came out clipped and cold. “Now.”
“August, what?—”
“NOW.”
He did not wait for her response. He strode past her, the crumpled letter burning in his fist, and made for his study. He heard her footsteps behind him, heard her dismiss her maid, heard the rustle of her skirts as she followed.
Good. Let her follow. Let her try to explain this.
He reached his study and flung the door open, standing aside just long enough for her to enter before slamming it shut behind them. The sound echoed through the room like a gunshot.
“What on earth has gotten into you?” She yanked off her bonnet and tossed it onto a chair. “You cannot simply order me about like some servant and expect?—”
He threw the letter at her. It hit her chest and fell to the floor.
“Explain that.”
She stared at him for a moment then bent to retrieve the paper. He watched her face as she read, watched for the telltale signs of guilt. A flush, a flinch, anything to confirm what the letter had already made abundantly clear.
But when she looked up, she was not guilty. She was confused.
“Is this some sort of joke?”
“I should ask you that!”
“I have never seen this before in my life.” She read it again, her brows drawing together. “Where did you find it?”
“In your book. The one you left in the conservatory while you prepared to sneak away to meet your lover.”
Her head snapped up. “My what?”
“Do not play innocent with me, Eliza. It is written plainly enough. ‘Meet me at the cabin. Same time.’ You were leaving the house. Dressed for travel. Where were you going?”
“To the milliner’s! I promised Mrs. Everett I would inquire about bulk orders for the children’s winter hats.” She waved the letter at him. “And this—this is not real. Someone is trying to cause trouble.”
“The letter was in your book.”
“So, someone put it there!”
“Who? Who would even know where to find your book? Who has access to this house, to your private things?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Unless, of course, you invited them.”
Her face went white, then red. “You think I am having an affair.”
