Page 96 of The Earl’s Marriage of Convenience

And today would be an excellent day to inform him.

“Show him in,” Edwin said.

He rose instinctively and then reconsidered.

No.

He returned to his seat, settling deliberately behind his desk.

Let Carver stand. Let him wait. Let him feel, however subtly, the shift in position. Today would not be a negotiation. Today would be a correction.

Carver entered with the same bearing he had displayed before—confidence sharpened into arrogance, a smugness that sat poorly upon him and stirred in Edwin a fleeting, uncharitable desire to remove it entirely.

“I assume you have a purpose for your visit,” Edwin said evenly, his tone calm, measured, entirely controlled.

“Always, my lord,” Carver replied, drawing closer. “Though I confess, it has been something of a challenge to determine the appropriate … phrasing for this conversation.”

“I should not trouble yourself overly,” Edwin said, his gaze narrowing slightly. “I suspect brevity will serve you best.”

Carver smiled—thin, anticipatory. “I believe we may come to a most agreeable arrangement,” he said. “Provided, of course, that you are inclined to be … reasonable.”

“I rarely find myself otherwise,” Edwin replied. “Though I imagine your definition of reason may differ from my own.”

Carver stepped closer to the desk. “I require only one thing,” he said. “In exchange, my association with Lady Eliza remains undisclosed.”

Edwin steepled his fingers, his expression almost thoughtful. “Yes,” he said slowly. “I had anticipated something along those lines. And I assume you will request a sum sufficiently large to make your silence worthwhile.” He let the words linger. “Ten thousand? Twenty?”

Carver’s smile widened slightly. “Silence, my lord, is … exceptionally valuable.”

“Yes,” Edwin agreed. “It often is.” He leaned forward, resting his hands upon the desk. “But proof—” A slight pause. “Proof, I find, is rather more valuable still.”

Carver’s expression shifted.

Only slightly, but enough.

“We have secured the appropriate documentation,” Edwin continued, his tone even. “Lady Eliza is, in every recorded and verifiable sense, the daughter of Baron Tonson and his wife. It is entered into the church registry, properly witnessed, properly recorded.” He tilted his head slightly. “And as it happens, no one but you has any reason to question it.”

Carver’s jaw tightened. “Documentation can be … challenged,” he said. “You, my lord, can be challenged.”

The words fell harder this time.

More deliberate.

Edwin did not immediately respond.

Carver took a step closer. “In my experience,” he continued, almost conversationally, “gentlemen are far less inclined to defend … inconvenient truths … when doing so requires them to stand upon a field at dawn.” A pause. “And to answer for them.”

There it was.

Not spoken plainly—

But unmistakable.

A challenge.

Not merely to Edwin’s claim—

But to his honor.