“Lord Croft has filed a petition with the ecclesiastical court. He’s challenging the validity of your proxy marriage to Lady Sinclair.” Abram’s words tumbled out in a rush. “He claims the ceremony was improperly executed, that the documentation is fraudulent.”
The room seemed to tilt around Damien. “What?”
“He’s listed himself as co-petitioner, claiming he has evidence that your marriage is a legal fiction designed to circumvent proper inheritance laws.”
Damien’s hands clenched into fists. “How long do we have?”
“Six to eight months before you’re summoned to testify, perhaps longer if the court calendar is crowded. But Your Grace…” Abram swallowed hard. “He’s been gathering evidence, interviewing witnesses, building a case.”
“Can the petition be withdrawn?”
“Not without his signature as co-petitioner. And he’ll never agree.” Abram’s voice dropped lower. “The only way would be tomake the original documents disappear entirely, but that would require tampering with court records. If caught, it would mean transportation to Australia.”
Damien absorbed this devastating news, his mind racing through implications and options. Croft had been playing a longer game than any of them realized—not just targeting Eleanor’s finances but systematically building a legal case to invalidate her protection entirely.
“You will report to Croft that his plans are progressing smoothly,” Damien said with deadly calm. “If you’re tempted to deceive me, remember that a duke’s shield carries considerably more weight than a viscount’s threats—assuming you do nothing further to earn my displeasure.”
As Damien left the office, he felt the pieces of Croft’s scheme crystallizing with chilling clarity. The systematic theft, the legal challenge, the calculated manipulation—all of it pointed to a man who planned years ahead and left nothing to chance.
But Croft had made one crucial miscalculation: he’d underestimated the woman he sought to possess. Eleanor had proven herself far more formidable than any of them had anticipated, and now she had a duke willing to fight just as ruthlessly as her enemy.
The familiar scentof expensive perfume and secrets greeted Damien as he entered the Lyon’s Den. The establishment’s opulent interior felt both welcoming and dangerous—much like its proprietress, who received him in the same crimson salon where they’d met before.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon looked up from her correspondence as he entered, her silver-streaked hair catching the firelight. She woreblack as always, the somber color emphasizing her pale skin and shrewd dark eyes.
“Your Grace,” she said with a slight smile. “Two visits in a fortnight. How delightfully irregular.”
“Croft has filed a petition challenging my marriage,” Damien said without preamble. “He’s claiming the proxy ceremony was fraudulent.”
The Widow’s pen clattered to her desk, her composure cracking for the first time since Damien had known her. “What?” She leaned forward sharply. “When? How?”
“Filed with the ecclesiastical court, apparently weeks ago. Abram just confessed—Croft listed himself as co-petitioner, which means the petition can’t be withdrawn without his consent.” Damien accepted the brandy she hastily poured. “Abram was too terrified to tell me until I confronted him about Eleanor’s missing funds.”
“The missing funds…” Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s voice turned deadly quiet. “That was Croft’s work as well?”
“A two-year campaign to strip away Eleanor’s inheritance piece by piece. Abram was blackmailed into cooperation—sell properties at losses, create false expenses, make her desperate enough to accept any husband’s protection.” Damien’s jaw tightened. “When she refused Croft’s advances after Sinclair’s death, he decided to force her hand.”
The Widow rose and began pacing, her usual elegant composure replaced by sharp calculation. “Bastard. He orchestrates her financial ruin, then swoops in as her savior. When the proxy marriage disrupts his plan, he attacks it legally while positioning himself to benefit from its failure.”
“Precisely. Abram estimates six to eight months before we’re summoned to defend the marriage’s validity.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon stopped pacing, her dark eyes glittering with cold fury. “He’s attempting to unravel years of careful planning.My reputation depends on the success of arrangements like yours.”
“Then I assume you’ll help me destroy him?”
“Oh, my dear duke,” The Widow said with dangerous softness, “I’ll help you obliterate him. What do you know of his current operations?”
“That’s why I’m here. I need surveillance on his activities, particularly anything involving my brother.”
“Already done.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s expression sharpened. “Lord Croft was seen last evening with Mr. Annesley of the ecclesiastical court.”
Damien’s blood chilled. “Annesley? The same man who would oversee any challenge to our marriage?”
“I’m afraid so. My men followed Croft toward Richmond but lost his trail near his residence.” The Widow paused meaningfully. “The same residence where Lady Laura has been staying.”
Damien’s mind raced with the implications. “You mean where she’s been kept?”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon studied Damien’s face with sympathy etched on her expression. “It raises interesting questions about the nature of her relationship with Lord Croft.”