Page 67 of The Lady Plays with Fire

But there was nothing for it. He had to give the play an ending that would undercut the damage he’d set out to do so long ago, as well as whatever devilry that anonymous letter writer had planned.

With his first two fingers, he slipped the damning note from beneath the blotter. Something about it niggled at him, something about the hand or the scrap of foolscap on which it had been written—or perhaps it was merely that he’d looked at it so many times now, it could not help but strike him as familiar.

In truth, the hundredth inspection of it told him nothing more than the first.

“Enough,” he muttered to himself, tucking the note away again. He could not afford to let himself be distracted further.

He had work to do if he meant to win Julia’s doubtful heart.

The quiet tink-tink of his quill against the ink bottle was drowned out by a tap-tap-tap at his study door. He sent a scowl across the room. What now? He had sent Keynes away not a quarter of an hour ago, to find the clerk from Porter’s and discover whom else the fellow had spoken to. And he had told the servants he did not wish to be disturbed.

Determined to ignore the interruption, he dipped his quill again. Once more the knock intruded on his thoughts. Louder, this time. More insistent.

“I should have gone to the cottage,” he groused beneath his breath, then tossed aside the pen and growled out, “Enter.”

The footman who opened the door was visibly reluctant to do so. “Forgive me, my lord. But the gentleman was most insistent about needing to speak with you.”

“Who?”

“Lord Sterling is the name he gave.”

Before Graham could answer, almost before he could remember where he had heard the name before, that gentleman stepped around the harried footman and into the room.

Julia’s brother.

Even without the information Mrs. Hayes had revealed about Julia’s family, he might have guessed the two were related. They had the same dark hair, though his was a shade closer to black, and the same intelligent blue eyes. The same high color streaked across his cheeks as so often appeared in Julia’s.

Though in Sterling’s case, he suspected that the color owed something to the reflection of his red coat.

Graham recalled Mrs. Hayes remarking with some incredulity that her nephew by marriage preferred to be addressed as Captain Addison. Not by everyone, of course. He’d asked the footman to introduce him with his title.

Nonetheless, he had come decked out in his officer’s uniform, complete with gleaming sword.

Graham pushed to his feet. “Sterling.”

“Dunstane,” the other man said, tucking his hat beneath his arm and snapping into a bow. “A word, if you please.”

Graham wasn’t sure he had much choice. With a nod, he dismissed the footman and then waved his arm for Julia’s brother to take a seat.

It was too early in the day for a social call. And far too early to offer his guest anything other than coffee for refreshment. Though perhaps the proprieties could be overlooked on such an occasion.

Sterling looked as if he could use a drink.

For a few moments, however, it seemed as if he intended to refuse even the offer of a chair. At last, he sat down where Graham had indicated, fingering the hilt of his sword. An attempt at intimidation?

Well, Graham didn’t intend to go out as his brother Iain had, in some bloody duel.

Or rather, if he were challenged, he didn’t intend to lose.

Then again, what would victory look like? Killing or maiming Julia’s brother hardly seemed likely to win her hand.

Graham started to return to his seat behind his desk, thought better of it, and came around to take the chair opposite Sterling’s. Better to meet him on equal ground. They were, after all, two men with much in common. Similar in age as well as in circumstance, each one having inherited a title he had not been raised to expect.

And united, he hoped, by a shared concern over what was best for Julia.

“You’ve come because of your sister.”

Sterling’s answering nod was sharp. “Since you did not see fit to come to me.”