Page 73 of Unbound Duchess

“The devil is in the details, my friend,” Solomon answered, holding up the now dirty glass. “Perhaps you and I should go clean these in the kitchen, and go and fetch a fresh bottle now. That way you won’t forget, or have to worry about it in the morrow.”

Blue’s eyes lit with realization, and his grin returned.

“Excellent idea! I did not even think of the glasses! Yes, yes, we should attend to those now,” he agreed, holding his hand out for them.

Laurence sat his glass in the man’s palm as Solomon draped an arm over Blue’s shoulders, chatting to him quietly as he steered Blue toward the door. Laurence remained perfectly still, hoping the man was still drunk enough not to realize that they were leaving a man behind, and only when Solomon and Blue made it out of the study did he expel his held breath.

Wasting no time, he rounded Benedict’s desk and opened the drawers. He placed the neatly stacked files atop the desk and began to go through them, his frown etching deeper into his face as he found nothing but legitimate accounts.

When the drawers revealed nothing, he moved to the bookshelves, flipping through each tome quickly to see if he could find anything of note hidden within the pages.

Nothing. There was nothing in those books.

Laurence grumbled a curse as he stepped back from the shelves and fisted the cap atop his head in agitation. He had to be missing something. A hidden drawer. A false back to the shelf.

His eyes landed on the window seat to the left of Benedict’s desk. It was just like the one he had in his office in Blackford. Which meant…

Laurence hurried to the seat, swiped off the pillows, and pulled at the lip of the ledge. Sure enough, the seat swung up. Hope flitted through his chest as he picked up one of the oil lamps and peered down into the hiding place. There, in a neat row with the spines facing up, were at least a dozen brown leatherbound books with no titles.

Laurence cast a furtive glance toward the open door, straining his ears to listen for any incoming footsteps. When he saw and heard nothing, he reached down and grabbed the book furthest to the left and opened it. His brows rose as he found not printed words, but handwritten cursive.

Diaries. These were Benedict’s personal diaries. The one in his hand dated back ten years. Laurence began flipping through the pages, looking for the word auction, but his gaze snagged on a different word instead.

Not a word. A name.

I visited cousin Ellen today. My sweet Ellie. She is no longer a child. At fifteen, she is on the lovely cusp of womanhood. A beautiful flower ready to bloom. A flower I so badly want to pluck and have for my own…

Laurence’s brows furrowed as his stomach twisted. He turned through more pages, now looking not for a word anymore, but for his wife’s name. He found several more entries with the same sort of strange obsessive structure, then picked up the next journal.

I expressed my desire to marry sweet Ellie to Mother and Father today. Though I predicted they would balk a little at my intention, I had not expected the beratement they both laid upon me. They called me obsessed. Wrong. But they don’t understand. Sweet Ellie is mine. She was made to be mine.

One by one, he went through them all, finding no evidence of Benedict’s involvement with the auction, but something else entirely. An obsession with Ellen, dating back to when they were children. The last entry he read in the journal, dated two years ago, proved to be the most upsetting one, however.

I cannot bear this any longer. Even with Father and Mother no longer alive to stand in my way, I still face one last blockade. Uncle Robert. He despises me despite my best efforts to prove that I am good, good enough for my sweet Ellie. He will not allow my visits to her anymore, and her absence fills me with agony. I have no choice but to end this torture by whatever means necessary. If he will not give her to me, I shall have to take her from him.

It was the last entry of that book, but as he closed it and made to pick up the next one, he heard footsteps approaching from outside. Laurence hurriedly shoved the diary back into place, closed the hatch, and put the pillows back atop the seat.

“Oh, you,” Blue said, blinking in surprise as he and Solomon walked back into the study, “I had forgotten about you.”

Laurence bowed his head, as if bashful.

“He’s so quiet that one,” Solomon remarked, patting Blue on the back. “It’s easy to forget him. Mark my words, though, he won’t forget you or the kindness you paid to him tonight. Neither of us will.”

Laurence gave a nod, and Blue smiled proudly.

“You lot could work in a house like this one day,” he said, as if trying to be inspirational. “You just got to refine yourselves a bit.”

Laurence almost broke character and laughed. If he was not so disturbed by what he’d discovered, he probably would have.

“Right you are, old boy,” Solomon agreed. “Well, we don’t want to take advantage of your kindness any more than we already have. Suppose we’d best get on our way. Thank you, again, for the brandy.”

“Did you find anything?” Solomon asked once he and Laurence were alone on the street.

“Yes,” Laurence curtly replied, his blood thrumming with worry and rage as they walked briskly toward their waiting carriage two streets over.

“About the auction?” Solomon asked excitedly.

Laurence shook his head as his hands clenched into fists. From his peripheral vision, he caught Solomon’s hopeful expression droop into confusion.