Dyer averted his gaze. “I’m sure I don’t know.”
“How can that be? You were his secretary, were you not?”
“I was. His lordship was an exacting employer, and he did not suffer inquiries, particularly regarding his intent. Such curiosity was insubordination in his eyes.” The secretary’s chin seemed to quiver a moment before his jaw tensed. “I cannot disagree that this act was singularly ruthless.”
Yet while it was terrible for Tobias, it was wonderful for her. Again, she wondered why Tobias’s father had involved her in any of this. It was one thing to be her guardian, but to see she had an extravagant Season, a large dowry, and now an estate?
“If Lord Overton weds by the twelfth, I will not inherit Horethorne, is that correct?”
Dyer nodded. “The likelihood of him doing so is quite low, however. He would need to marry by special license or perhaps run away to Gretna Green.” He said the last with a smile, then quickly sobered. His neck flushed. “Please forget I said that.”
Fiona wasn’t sure if the man was aware of the rumors about Tobias and Gretna Green but thought he must be. Why else would he react that way? Her mind returned to earlier in the interview. “You were surprised I didn’t know about this. Did his lordship tell you I knew?”
Again, the man hesitated, and his neck remained a faint pink above the crisp white collar of his shirt. “He did.”
When had he planned to tell her? Or had he decided to leave it to his secretary?
She released her hands and gently flexed her fingers to restore feeling. “Is there anything else I need to know?”
“Not at present. Do you have any questions for me?”
“No.” She rose, and he jumped up from his chair. “Thank you, Mr. Dyer. I hope you don’t feel as if this put you in an awkward position. You are only doing your job. Lord Overton—this Lord Overton—will not be upset with you.” If he was, Fiona would kick him. Repeatedly.
“I hope not.”
“He is not like his father.” At least, he tried not to be. She started toward the door, then stopped abruptly. Turning back to face him, she said, “I do have one question. What happens to my dowry if I don’t wed?”
“If you aren’t wed by the age of twenty-five, the funds will go to you.”
“Remind me, please, how much is it?”
“Six thousand pounds.”
Such an enormous sum! And just three years until it could be hers. Her birthday was in less than a week, and she would be twenty-two. Three years, and she could be a financially independent woman with an estate.
“I beg your pardon, but I suppose that was two questions and now I have a third. It is the last, I assure you.”
“Ask as many as you like.”
“Is there any way his lordship can retain Horethorne if he doesn’t wed?”
Dyer’s eye twitched. “I’m afraid not.”
The property was all but gone to him then. Unless he decided to actually kidnap someone to Gretna Green.
“Thank you, Mr. Dyer.” She inclined her head and left the study, her mind swimming with ideas and plans she hadn’t possessed a mere half hour ago. Her life was going to completely change, and she had Tobias’s tragedy to thank for it.
What a terrible, horrible mess.
Tobias stepped into the sitting room outside his bedchamber and froze. A figure lay upon the chaise angled near the fireplace. Quietly moving closer, his gaze moved from the pale green blanket covering the person’s lower half up to the thick dark red braid that seemed to glow in the light of the low fire.
Fiona’s back was to him, but there was no mistaking the hair. Or the gentle slope of her shoulder and the dip of her waist. He let his eyes feast on the curve of her backside. It was impudent of him, but she’d come into his domain. She had to expect he would at least look.
What the devil was she even doing here? Had she come to rekindle last night’s madness? He could not let that happen. His best course of action would be to ignore her and go straight to his bedchamber. Except if someone found her asleep in here…
Hell. It was fortunate no one had discovered her yet.
He had to wake her. Stepping closer, he inhaled the unmistakable scent of lavender. Of Fiona. Of temptation and promise.
“Fiona,” he whispered. When she didn’t stir, he repeated her name but louder. Still no movement.
He reached for her shoulder, his fingertips grazing along her upper arm. “Fiona,” he said more firmly.
She rolled toward him, her eyes closed. A soft sigh escaped her parted lips, and Tobias was nearly overwhelmed with longing. She blinked, her lashes fluttering, before her dark gaze settled on him, narrowed at first and then widening slightly.
“My lord,” she said, pushing up to a sitting position. “I must have dozed off.”
“In my private sitting room. What are you doing in here?”
“I needed to speak with you, and it grew quite late.” She brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. “I couldn’t think of another way to ensure I saw you tonight.”
“Surely whatever you need to discuss can wait until tomorrow.” He tried not to look at her dressing gown, which exposed a V of flesh from her elegant throat to the alluring valley of her breasts. “And surely it didn’t require you come here to wait for me.”
“It absolutely did.” She rose in a graceful movement that caused the blanket to cascade down her leg and drape over the side of the chaise. “I met with Mr. Dyer today, and he gave me some rather startling information.”
The pleasure of watching her clashed with her words, jarring him into a state of dissonance. “Dyer?” Shit. There was only one reason Dyer would speak with her, and yes, it would have surprised the hell out of
