Page 2 of A Bride for the Ruthless Duke

Henry’s hand tightened at his side. “That is a cold method of remembering a man.”

“The deceased are beyond being flattered by warmth.”

For a moment Henry looked as if he might answer rashly. He took in Theodore’s face, the desk, the room, and whatever hope had carried him here rearranged itself into caution.

“You may sit,” Theodore said.

Henry obeyed, lowering himself into the chair with the care of a man who had waited long enough to resent the mercy and needed it too badly to refuse. He placed his hat upon his knee, then looked down at it as if it might supply the rest of his courage.

“Say the rest of it,” Theodore said.

Henry’s fingers pressed into the brim. “I have sold what could be sold.”

“Begin with the horses.”

“They are gone.”

“The plate.”

“Gone.”

“The small estate in Kent.”

“Mortgaged past the point where anyone sensible would lend further against it.”

“You have approached family.”

“I have written to cousins,” Henry said, and the words began to run faster now, a current breaking loose after too much restraint. “I have written to my mother’s people. I have written to men who dined at my father’s table and declared, with wine in their hands, that they regarded him as a brother. All refused me but one.”

“And that one?”

“Sent ten pounds and a sermon.”

Theodore’s mouth barely moved. “A poor bargain. I hope the sermon was brief.”

“It was not.”

“Then you were cheated twice.”

Henry gave a short, startled sound that was almost a laugh and almost shame. He seemed to dislike himself for it at once. “I did not come here to be amusing, Your Grace.”

“You are not in danger of success.”

The color in Henry’s face deepened. “The notes come due in three weeks.”

“I am aware.”

“Beyond the notes, there are other debts.”

“How many?”

“Enough.”

“That is not an answer.”

Henry’s gaze lifted, then dropped again to the hat. “Debts to men who do not write letters when a sum goes unpaid. They call instead, in person, and bring a second man to wait in the street.”

Theodore’s fingers stilled on the arm of his chair.