His chest expanded with an emotion that he was entirely unprepared for; one much more dangerous than gratitude. It was the sensation of being seen from a distance too close to manage, and he found himself leaning forward. The lamp caught her face, and the expression on her face, at this distance, stoppedperforming over. He was close enough to feel the careful set of her breathing, and the moment reached the edge of the thing he was not going to do…
And he stopped.
He snatched himself back, although not far enough.
“Go home,” he said. His voice came out stripped. “Tonight, I cannot?—”
Control myself.
And he did not have the right to cross the line his body was pushing him toward.
She did not say anything, but she rose without argument, returned the cloth to the basin, and drew on her gloves. He watched her composure come back on, in her shoulders, her chin, piece by piece, like armor reassembled.
“Good night, Your Grace.”
“Good night,” he said.
And he let her go.
He stood in the empty room for some time. The cloth she had used was folded at the sideboard’s edge, precisely in the mannerof someone taught to leave things tidy. He looked at it. Then he sat down and thought about Powell.
Reeves arrived the following morning with the report folded in his coat and an urgent expression on his face. “Powell. Debt, my lord. Considerable. Mortgages on both properties, the townhouse, and the Wiltshire estate. Three creditors, two of whom are not known for patience. He’s been managing appearances for two Seasons. The accounts don’t support the presentation.”
“That is all, for now?”
“For now. I can go deeper.” He affirmed.
“Not yet. Continue watching.” Anthony stood and found his coat. “If anything else surfaces, I want to know immediately.”
Lewis opened his own study door, which meant he had been waiting. “You look terrible,” he said.
“Thank you. Powell is in debt. Significantly. Both properties are mortgaged, with multiple creditors. He’s been managing the impression of being well-off for the better part of two Seasons.”
Lewis went still. “You had him looked into.”
“The day after the Cartwright reception.”
“Without speaking to me.”
“If I had, you would have required a fortnight to reach the same conclusion. I was not willing to wait.”
Lewis was quiet for a long moment. “I will look into it further.” Then, carefully, “Is there something I should know?”
“You should know that Powell is substantially in debt and presenting himself otherwise.” Anthony stood. “That is all I have to tell you.”
He was at the door when Lewis said, “I have invited him to dinner tonight.”
Anthony stopped and turned slowly. Lewis met his look with the expression of a man watching carefully and making note of what it revealed.
“Come,” Lewis said.
Anthony considered it precisely as long as it took for the word no to become unreliable. “What time?” he said.
Powell was already seated when Anthony arrived: impeccably presented and with a smile ready. He had the easy quality of a man who expected to be liked and had been consistently correct about it. Gideon appeared at Anthony’s elbow with the cheerful lack of apology of a man included on short notice. “You look dreadful,” he said pleasantly.
“Clarity,” Anthony said, before he could ask.
Gideon glanced toward the far end of the table, where Caroline had appeared in a pale dress with her hair up and a very composed expression—which Anthony knew meant the opposite—then looked back at Anthony.