Lucy hadn’t been to her grandfather’s study in months, but, as she walked inside, a single breath was enough to blossom into memories.

Expensive beeswax candles. Smoke. Claret. Newsprint and ink. She didn’t believe that her grandfather haunted Maidenstone, but for a moment it felt like he was there with her — ready to manage his empire from behind the desk or bounce Julia on his knee.

Claxton had already brought the tea cart and left it near the fireplace for her to arrange. The study was far enough away from the main entertaining rooms that her morning meeting with Max and Ferguson was unlikely to be interrupted. But she regretted her choice as the scents and her memories flooded her.

What would her grandfather think of Max? Would he be happy that she was taking a risk, as he’d ordered her to? Or would he be furious that she was considering giving his title to an interloper?

She shook her head. Her grandfather’s feelings on the matter weren’t relevant anymore. The Briarleys had always prioritized the needs of the living over the sensibilities of the dead. And her most pressing need was for Max to accept their engagement.

She didn’t hear Max enter until he spoke. “Miss Briarley,” he said from the door. “May I interrupt your contemplation?”

Lucy turned. The doorway framed him, and the light from the uncovered windows illuminated him better than the lone lamp in his room the previous night. She was struck, again, with how confident he appeared. If he had spent the night lying awake and remembering their kiss, as she had, it didn’t show on his face.

She hoped her own face gave nothing away.

There was power in the width of his stance and the steady, direct way he met her gaze. His lips curved a little in greeting — perhaps hinting at the secret that sat between them, and that too-short kiss.

“You’re not interrupting,” she said, a little too quickly. “This is the time we agreed to.”

He opened his watch and checked it against the clock on the mantel. “Three minutes and twenty-eight seconds to walk here from my room,” he said. “I could walk a few streets in London in less time.”

Lucy laughed. “I’m sorry you’ve had such a long journey through the house. Would you care for tea to refresh yourself?”

“If it pleases you.”

He moved into the room, placing a leather case on the desk before taking an interest in the paintings and hunting trophies that lined her grandfather’s walls. Meanwhile, she unlocked the tea caddy with one of the keys from the chatelaine she kept on a chain at her waist. The collection of keys, along with useful items like a pair of scissors, a vinaigrette, and a thimble, proclaimed that she was in command, at least of the domestic affairs. She’d only worn the chatelaine sporadically since her guests had arrived — Emma had suggested that Lucy leave it off. In theory, Lucy would be less intimidating if she looked more like an innocent debutante.

It was no great mystery to her why she chose to wear it today. She always felt more confident when the objects — mostly gold and silver, although the oldest keys were iron and brass — jangled pleasantly at her side. They reminded her that she could open any door and fix any problem, at least as long as she stayed at Maidenstone.

If she didn’t win, someone else would wear the chatelaine. She would have to leave it somewhere for her successor — she couldn’t bear the thought of putting it into Octavia’s or Callista’s hands herself.

She readied the tea leaves and hot water before placing the lid on the teapot so the leaves could steep. Then she looked up. Max was watching. She couldn’t read the expression on his face.

“You’re quiet this morning,” she said.

He quirked an eyebrow. “How do you know that I’m not always this quiet?”

“You weren’t this quiet when you arrived.”

“It’s all a lot to take in, you know.” His accent was curiously indistinct — London-based, most definitely. He seemed to veer, unconsciously, between the tonier accents of Mayfair and the cant of the East End and the docks.

And yet he stood there, attempting to claim an earldom, like he had not a care in the world.

The audacity of it struck her again. She didn’t particularly care whether his claim was real — she’d make him the earl regardless of the facts, as long as he let her stay at Maidenstone.

Still, she knew virtually nothing about him. It might be wise to understand something of why he’d decided to claim the title.

“Why didn’t you make your identity known while my grandfather was alive?” she asked abruptly.

He laughed. “I thought the questions wouldn’t start until the Duke of Rothwell arrived. Shall I answer even though he will surely ask the same question again?”

“Give me your real answer. You can tell Ferguson whatever you want.”

“You don’t like Ferguson very much, do you?”

She glanced toward the open door. “That’s not an advisable avenue of conversation, especially since he’ll be here at any moment.”

He laughed again — warmer this time. “Your secrets are safe with me.”

“Forgive me if I’m not convinced.”

She couldn’t help being direct with him. He didn’t seem to mind it. If anything, his lips curled in a grin that might have been approval. “Your lack of trust would serve you well on the London streets. I didn’t know country misses were trained so well.”

“I had my season in London. You might be surprised to know that ballrooms aren’t so different from taprooms when it comes to learning not to trust people.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me at all,” he said. “Although I would be very surprised to find you in a taproom near the docks. Someday, you’ll have to tell me how you liked London.”

It was odd, and rather unsettling, to talk to a man who had been a stranger a mere eighteen hours earlier — and to know that, if her plans worked, there would be endless “somedays” for them to learn more about each other. London was usually a safe topic of discussion, the kind of desultory conversation that most people in society performed flawlessly.

But the choices she’d made in London weren’t at all safe — neither safe at the time, nor safe to discuss now.

She would have to tell him about Julia eventually.

Not today, though. She checked the tea. It was still weaker than she liked it, but she needed something to do with her hands. “Do you take milk, sugar, or lemon?” she asked.

“Sugar, when I can afford it,” he said. “Lemon is an extravagance reserved for earls, and I’m not the earl yet.”

“You’re too polite,” she said, dropping a lump of sugar into his cup. “The rest of the guests here haven’t hesitated to eat and drink everything in sight.”

“I’ve learned to be frugal with what will be mine.”

Their hands brushed as he took the cup from her. It was the merest touch of his thumb, barely grazing her skin — but it was enough to remind her of the night before and how he’d held her hand. How he’d pulled her in and kissed her to seal the bargain between them.

She should have spent the night planning how to get him to commit to her. But she’d relived that kiss instead, more than once. She wanted to feel his lips on hers — to let herself enjoy it this time, instead of giving in to the fear that she was making a mistake.

She glanced up into his eyes again. And again, she couldn’t read him. The question — the too bold, too direct question — of what he would do when she was his hovered between them. If she had a bit more courage — or a bit more reckless stupidity — she might have asked it.

But the moment died when Ferguson strolled through the door. And it was only much later that Lucy realized that Max hadn’t answered her question about why he hadn’t claimed the estate earlier.

“Mr. Vale,” Ferguson said. “Did you sleep well in your alleged ancestral home?”

Max shook his head. “It was too strange, your grace. None of my own ancestors slept in that room, of course — it’s too new. But sleeping there was quite…surprising.”

He said it without looking at Lucy, though she knew from the way his voice caressed her that she was the surprise, not the house.

“And is Miss Briarley making nice?” Ferguson asked. “She doesn’t like anyone who tries to take Maidenstone from her.”

This time, Max glanced at her. “I believe I can win her over.”

She gave him a mock scowl. Ferguson laughed. “If you become the earl, you won’t have to settle for a woman you need to win over. They’ll be tripping over themselves for an introduction to you.”

Ferguson’s tone wasn’t quite right. There was something in the sharpness of his gaze that said he was evaluating Max, even if his words were friendly.

If Max sensed Ferguson’s evaluation, he didn’t acknowledge it. “Women like me wherever I go. I’ll grant you, the ladies I’ve known aren’t as particular as debutantes are. But I think I’ll like the challenge of winning over a drawing room full of ladies if Miss Briarley is representative of the rest of them.”

He winked at her — and somehow it was reassuring, even though he was playing the cad. She smiled a little before she thought to stop herself.

And the warning bells chimed. She shouldn’t let herself be charmed by him. Charm could be pleasant — but it could also lead directly to a trap.

Ferguson gave a disbelieving snort. “Miss Briarley is not at all biddable, Mr. Vale.”

“Oh, I never thought she was biddable,” Max drawled. “But I am surprised that you would talk to me about her when you must think I’m an interloper.”

“Shall we move to our business, then?” Ferguson asked. “I forgot how skilled you might be at negotiations, coming from the shops as you have.”

It was all polite — but there were dangerous undercurrents. Max narrowed his eyes slightly at the mention of the shops, but he held his tongue.

Lucy never played the peacekeeper, but she couldn’t let this get out of hand. If Ferguson tossed Max out after this meeting, her plan would be ruined. It was better to convince Ferguson as much as possible now, before any of his doubts grew.

“Let’s examine his documents,” she said to Ferguson, handing him his tea. “I don’t want to be left in suspense.”

She couldn’t say, yet, that she thought Max’s claim was valid. But she knew the family tree better than anyone — she could surely smooth over any questions, as long as Ferguson stayed amenable.

Ferguson didn’t make it easy for her to play nice, though. He took the chair behind her grandfather’s desk. She had never seen anyone sit there other than her grandfather — it was another small loss, after a year of losses.

He looked at her as though daring her to say something. She silently took the chair across from him. Max joined her. “My papers are in my business case,” Max said, nodding toward the leather case. “Some are only handwritten copies of church records, but you can send messengers to the churches to verify them.”

Ferguson pulled the papers out of the case. They spent the next hour poring through the documents — family trees, references to births and deaths, property deeds, letters, an old Bible, and other remnants of Max’s ancestors.

By the end, Lucy was impressed — and very close to wondering if his claim was real. If Max was a charlatan, he had done an impeccable job of making his records look accurate. And he’d picked the best possible Briarley to claim descent from — the youngest son of the first earl, who was known to have disappeared under mysterious circumstances in the 1500s. It would be difficult to prove with certainty whether the descent was real — but it would also be difficult to disprove it.

“I must say, the evidence is compelling,” Ferguson finally said. “What do you think, Miss Briarley? You’re the expert on the family lineage.”

She looked down at the documents in front of her. The only problem she noticed in Max’s story was that she was almost certain the youngest son had been married before disappearing. She needed to look at the relevant documents in the parish church — but if that was the case, and if the original wife was still alive when Max’s supposed ancestor had been born, Max’s ancestor would be a bastard. That would put an immediate end to any claim he might make.

But she would investigate that in her own time — and use whatever knowledge she gained to her advantage.

She looked at Ferguson and made a noncommittal noise. “I think it’s possible that he’s the earl. I didn’t believe it yesterday. But his documents fit perfectly with what I know about the family.”

“Then do you think he should remain at Maidenstone?” Ferguson asked.

Lucy shrugged. “I think it’s for the best. But I’m sure he would agree that we shouldn’t announce anything until we’re all more certain how we feel about the matter.”

Ferguson couldn’t know that she was referring to their secret engagement as well — but Max wasn’t stupid. He gave her a sidelong look.

She smiled back at him, daring him to speak.

Max turned to Ferguson. “I don’t want to cause any fuss. But I also don’t want to be bundled back to London so you can bury the claim and all evidence of it.”

Lucy expected Ferguson to pull out his quizzing glass — she thought she saw his hand twitch in that direction. She couldn’t fault his willingness to take this seriously instead of feigning his usual boredom. He looked down at the documents spread out in front of him before looking back to Max.

“This is a damnable mess,” the duke said frankly. “If your claim is valid, Parliament will have to confirm your title. It will take an army of solicitors to determine whether the property follows the male heir or whether it should be left to one of the Briarley heiresses.”

Max held up his hands. “I’m not in any hurry to settle this. As long as you treat me and my sister fairly, I expect you to take all the time you need to investigate.”

Ferguson nodded. “I’ll send a messenger to London to look into the documents there. You and Miss Vale should stay here until he returns. But I agree with Miss Briarley — we shouldn’t rush to announce you as the earl until the claim is confirmed.”

“That suits me,” Max said. “I can amuse myself and stay out of the way of the guests.”

Lucy didn’t like the sound of that. If he stayed out of the way of the guests, he would also be out of her way. She had never been in the position of being a seducer — Chapman had orchestrated their affair, not her. But she wouldn’t be able to set a similar trap for Max unless he was with her frequently.

“There’s no need to hide in your room,” she said. “You are welcome to join us for dinner going forward. And I shall give you a tour of Maidenstone today. You’ll want to see the property you may inherit.”

“Can’t say I’m excited to meet your guests,” Max responded. “But I would be delighted to see Maidenstone.”

Ferguson finally pulled out his quizzing glass. “You’re taking this all remarkably well, Miss Briarley.”

She gave him a look that she hoped was innocent. “My grandfather would have been happy to know that his title would continue.”

He continued to look at her for a moment. “Mr. Vale, will you excuse us? I want a word with Miss Briarley.”

Max nodded. “Miss Briarley, shall I meet you somewhere after this? A tour sounds like a better way to spend the day than whatever the other men usually do.”

“Shall we meet in the portrait gallery in a quarter of an hour?” she said. “A footman can direct you there.”

Max nodded and walked out, leaving the proof of his inheritance on her grandfather’s desk — more trusting than she might have expected him to be, since some of those documents were irreplaceable. But it also showed that he had no concerns about any examination they might perform on their own.

“Do you really think he’s the earl?” Ferguson asked as soon as Max was gone.

Lucy considered quickly. She needed to convince Ferguson, but she also needed an escape plan in case Max refused to marry her.

“It’s certainly possible,” she said. “But I will want to hear from your messenger before we make a decision.”

“It’s all very convenient that he showed up right now, isn’t it?”

“Very inconvenient, if you ask me,” Lucy said, hoping to strike the right note between annoyance and resignation. “But better now than after the inheritance is settled.”

Ferguson watched her for a long moment. “Your behavior is even more surprising than his. I was half expecting to wake up this morning and find that you’d murdered him in his sleep and disposed of the body.”

Lucy laughed. “You have a dim view of my character.”

“Not dim. Realistic.”

He wasn’t laughing. She stopped smiling. “What do you wish to say to me? I’ll take my leave unless there’s something else you want to discuss.”

“I only want to tell you to be careful,” he said. “We don’t know anything about him, at least not until my messenger can investigate the matter in London. I am also going to ask Lord and Lady Salford to look at his documents. They’re familiar with the antiquities world — they might notice signs of forgeries that I cannot see.”

The earl and countess were attending the party as Ferguson’s friends. Although Lucy had hardly interacted with them, she had noticed that they seemed restless these last few days. Lucy felt a brief bit of worry that they would be too eager to examine the documents, out of boredom if nothing else.

But Max hadn’t shown any nerves while they were looking at his papers. If anything was wrong with them, she doubted it was related to outright forgery.

“That’s a good idea,” she said. “It wouldn’t pay to trust his story too quickly, would it?”

Ferguson paused. Then, in a voice more serious than she’d heard from him before, he said, “I’m sure you’ve realized it would be convenient for you if you became his countess. But I don’t want to see you take unnecessary chances. Especially since we don’t know yet whether he’s trustworthy.”

He almost sounded like he was genuinely concerned for her safety.

She blinked. “I won’t take any risks.”

Ferguson snorted. “I don’t believe you. But if you decide to kill him, do be sure to tell me so I can help you ferry the body out to sea. I wouldn’t want to be related to a known murderess.”

“I’ll be sure not to implicate you,” she said. “If you’ll excuse me, I should give Mr. Vale a tour of the estate. And I’ll look for alcoves that will conceal his body until you can arrange a ship to dispose of him.”

“I hope that’s humor and not a promise,” Ferguson responded.

Lucy shrugged. “I can always use the alcove for you instead.”

The duke’s laughter followed her out the door. A week ago, she would have died for the chance to show him that she was likable. If only she had realized then that he responded better to jokes than he did to all the hard work she’d put into hosting the party.

But he wasn’t the focus of her plans anymore. All that mattered was Max — and making sure he followed through with their possible arrangement.

And if that required employing the seductive tricks that had previously been used on her…well, she wasn’t sure she could do it. But she would not let herself fail.