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I blinked. He was not the first wealthy landowner to believe I could be bought. As far as he was concerned, anything could be bought for the right price. Even the truth. “My lord, if you brought me here to condemn a man for a fee, I’m afraid you’ve hired the wrong criminal investigator.”
Rochefort laughed, flashing perfectly white teeth behind an equally perfect smile. “Goodness, you are something, aren’t you? Youngest to graduate at the top of your class. Your own agency within a year. I see why you were recommended. Rest assured, I do not intend to bribe you to condemn a man. I’m merely attempting to gauge your mettle.”
I raised my teacup to my lips. “I trust I passed?”
“You did, sir. Your integrity is intact. And I do so admire a man with integrity.”
Now the man’s hungry gaze attempted to devour me, and I’d have been lying if I’d said its heat didn’t intrigue me. But I had two rules and kept to them religiously. One, I did not mix business with pleasure, lest both end in disaster. And two, never fuck a lord. In Massalia, the second rule had come into play more often than I cared to admit. I was young, relatively handsome—so I’d been told—with neat blond hair and hazel eyes, and I was unattached. No wife, no suitors, no gossip. Gentlemen’s clubs not so secretly catered to such desires, whereas in the country, such things could deliver a man to mob justice or earn him a beating behind the bike shed.
Rochefort was fifteen years my senior, but as dashing as they came. Frankly, he’d ride me like one of his horses, and I might let him. A trickle of lust brought heat to my face. Minerva was not Massalia. I couldn’t afford any more mistakes.
I smiled thinly and set my tea down on the table. It wouldn’t be long before he attempted to gauge my interest in carnal matters too. I’d have to tread carefully. Men who were used to having their every whim met often misinterpreted the wordno.
“The eviction notice has been served. I’ll return once Mr. Barella has calmed himself. In the meantime, I’d like to see his father’s body.”
Rochefort’s eyebrows lifted. “Truly?”
“A dead body does not lie.”
His foot bounced again. “Hm, grisly business. Is the carriage still here?”
“I asked the driver to wait.”
“Jacapo’s body is at rest at the undertaker’s. They’ll admit you with a missive from me.”
He rang the bell again and organized for a quill and paper to be brought in. While we waited, he got to his feet and posed against the mantelpiece. I could appreciate a male body, probably in the same way Rochefort studied his prize stallions. Riding jodhpurs hugged his thighs and… other parts, which considering the bulge was either well-endowed or half aroused. He’d fuck hard, and considering his position of power, he likely had more experience than me. My fumbled, desperate encounters with men would pale in comparison to his prowess.
I shifted in the chair and tore my gaze away.
At least he hadn’t offered to escort me to the undertakers. I wasn’t sure I’d survive a private carriage ride with him.
“I wasn’t aware you were a Minerva boy?” he said, with a hint of sly curiosity.
“Yes, I grew up here.”
His gaze turned sultry. “Escaped, did you?”
Interesting choice of words. “When I was thirteen, I stole the carriage fare from my father’s savings.”
His eyes widened. “You did?”
“I returned the money, twofold, and never looked back.”
“I was informed just yesterday of how your parents perished in a house fire a few years ago. My condolences.”
Mention of my parents doused any remnants of lust. I fiddled with my shirt cuffs, attempting to straighten them. “Yes, well, I did not attend the funeral.”
“No wife or children to continue your name?” His heavy gaze roamed over me with renewed intrigue.
I smiled thinly and rose to my feet, signaling that my personal life was not up for discussion. “None as yet. I have little time for homemaking.”
“Or feminine wiles.” There was that suggested heat again. He certainly wasn’t subtle.
“Or that.”
With the paper brought in, Rochefort scribbled a note and sealed it with wax while one of his staff returned my coat. The lord followed me to the door and down the steps to the waiting carriage. He opened the door for me, as was polite, and I climbed inside. The seconds ticked on, and by the heavens, he was considering coming along. If he made advances in the carriage, I feared I would not be able to resist, despite my better judgment.
“Viewing a corpse is quite grim,” I said. “Especially if you knew the deceased. Did you know Jacapo, Lord Rochefort?”
