“I’m glad you think so.” Damien settled into the chair opposite without invitation, noting the man’s fidgeting. “I would have thought you’d be expecting me, given your activities related to my duchess’s inheritance.”
Abram’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’m afraid I don’t take your meaning, Your Grace.”
“Then perhaps we should discuss the matter of my wife’s missing funds.” Damien withdrew Eleanor’s financial records, placing them on the desk with deliberate care. “Eight thousand pounds in eighteen months, by my calculations. A considerable sum to simply disappear.”
Abram’s face went ashen as he recognized the documents. “Your Grace, I can explain—”
“I’m certain you can.” Damien’s tone remained conversational despite the ice in his eyes. “Property sales credited for half their actual value, maintenance costs for repairs never completed, mysterious administrative fees that seem to have found their way into someone’s pocket…”
“There must be some mistake,” Abram protested weakly, though his eyes couldn’t meet Damien’s gaze.
“The only mistake was trusting you with Lady Sinclair’s welfare.” Damien leaned forward. “The question now becomes whether you return every stolen penny willingly, or whether I make your thievery a matter of public record.”
Abram’s hands shook as he reached for a handkerchief. “Your Grace, please… you don’t understand. I was an honest man before this began. Twenty years of honorable practice—”
“Before what began, Abram?”
“Before Lord Croft…” Abram’s voice cracked. He buried his face in his hands before looking up with haunted eyes. “He approached me shortly after Mr. Sinclair’s death. He knew things… irregularities in how I’d handled other estates. Minor errors, nothing criminal, but enough to destroy my reputation if revealed.”
Damien’s interest sharpened. “Continue.”
“He said if I cooperated with his plans for Lady Sinclair, he’d ensure my past mistakes remained buried. If I refused, he would see me ruined and expelled from the profession.” Abram wiped his sweating brow. “I had no choice, Your Grace. My practice, my reputation, my family’s future—all of it hung in the balance.”
“What plans for Lady Sinclair?”
Abram’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “To strip away her inheritance piece by piece until she had no choice but to seek ahusband’s protection. When she became desperate enough, he would appear as her savior.”
“The blackguard,” Damien gritted out, pieces clicking into place with horrifying clarity.
Abram’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Lord Croft has been obsessed with Lady Sinclair since her come-out. When she refused his advances yet again after her husband’s death, he devised this scheme to force her hand.”
Damien felt cold fury settle in his chest. Croft hadn’t simply been targeting Eleanor’s business interests—he’d been orchestrating her complete destruction, planning to swoop in as her rescuer when she had nowhere else to turn.
“You systematically destroyed a grieving woman’s security for that predator’s convenience,” Damien said, his voice deadly quiet.
“I had no choice!” Abram gestured wildly with his hands. “And most of the money went to him anyway—payment for his silence about my past errors and funding for his own schemes. I kept barely enough to maintain appearances.”
“You have one month to return every stolen penny with interest,” Damien said finally, rising from his chair. “Every. Last. Penny.”
“Your Grace, that’s impossible!”
Damien laid a chilling stare on the man. “I will give you two months if you agree to report to me everything Croft demands of you.”
“Your Grace, please—two months is insufficient! Eight thousand pounds?” Abram’s voice cracked. “I don’t have that kind of money. My practice is not lucrative enough, and what little I took was immediately passed to Croft as payment for his silence. I’d need to sell everything I own and still couldn’t raise half that sum.”
“Then you’ll work for me until it’s repaid,” Damien said coldly. “Every fee, every commission—it all goes toward your debt.”
“But Your Grace, that could take years! My family will starve!”
Damien studied the man’s genuine terror for a long moment. “Very well. Four thousand pounds—half the stolen amount—to be repaid over eight months. The remainder will be forgiven if you provide useful intelligence about Croft’s operations.”
Abram sagged with relief. “Yes, Your Grace. Anything you require.”
Damien turned and headed toward the door.
“Your Grace!” The man’s panicked voice called. “If you give me one year for the first payment, I can offer you something else you must know. Something terrible.”
Damien paused, his hand on the door. “Speak.”