“Holding firm for now, but they’re frightened. Croft’s reputation precedes him, and they know what happens to people who cross him.” Walker shifted uncomfortably. “Your Grace, with all due respect, this isn’t a battle I’m equipped to fight. Croft’s playing a different game entirely—one that requires weapons I don’t possess.”
Eleanor dismissed Walker with assurances that she would handle the situation, though privately she felt the familiar weight of responsibility settling on her shoulders like a lead cloak. For years, she’d prided herself on never needing to rely on anyone else’s strength or resources. But now, faced with Croft’s systematic assault on everything she’d built, she wondered if her insistence on self-reliance had become a liability.
She was still pondering her options when Damien appeared in her study doorway in riding attire that emphasized his powerful physique. The sight of him sent the now-familiar flutter of desire through her, made more intense by the memory of their passionate encounter in the carriage three nights ago.
“You look troubled, love,” he said, moving to settle in the chair across from her desk. The casual endearment still sent warmth spiraling through her chest. “Correspondence bringing unwelcome news?”
Eleanor hesitated. Their newfound intimacy had created a fragile trust between them, but years of independence weren’t easily abandoned. Still, the weight of her current predicament made the prospect of sharing the burden almost irresistible.
“Lord Croft is moving against my business interests,” she admitted reluctantly. “He’s systematically targeting the folks I’ve helped—small enterprises mostly. He’s offering to buy out their debts at rates they can’t refuse but will certainly pay for in the long run.”
Damien’s expression hardened immediately. “Bastard. He’s attacking you where he knows you’re most vulnerable—through people you care about.”
“My representative tried to intervene, but he’s outmatched. Croft has resources and methods that Thomas simply can’t counter.” Eleanor’s voice carried the frustration of powerlessness she so rarely experienced. “I’m not certain how to proceed.”
“Let me help.”
The offer was made quietly, without fanfare or posturing. Damien simply stated it as fact, as though her problems had naturally become his own.
Eleanor studied his face, searching for any sign of condescension or the desire to take control that so many men exhibited when faced with women’s independence. Instead, she found only genuine concern and a calm confidence that was reassuring.
“You don’t understand the complexity of the situation,” she began. “These aren’t typical business dealings—”
“Eleanor.” Damien leaned forward, his eyes piercing hers. “I’ve spent three years navigating the criminal underworld of four different countries, tracking money through networks designed to hide illegal activities, and building relationships with people Society would consider thoroughly disreputable. I think I can manage a few dock merchants.”
The poise in his voice gave her pause. “You’re serious.”
“Completely. Croft thinks he’s attacking a duchess who operates through intermediaries. He’s not expecting to encounter a duke who’s willing to get his hands dirty.” Damien’s smile was sharp with anticipation. “Let me be your weapon in this fight, love. I promise you, I’m considerably better equipped for this sort of warfare than your man.”
Eleanor felt something unfamiliar stir in her chest—the temptation to trust, to share the burden she’d carried alone for so long. “Very well,” she said finally. “But if you’re to represent my interests, you must understand that these aren’t mere investments. These are people’s lives, their independence, their futures. I won’t have them sacrificed for the sake of winning against Croft.”
“Understood.” Damien rose, already moving toward the door with purpose. “I’ll have word for you by evening.”
Eleanor spent the remainder of the day in a state of restless anxiety, alternately regretting her decision to involve Damien and marveling at the relief she felt at sharing her burden. When evening arrived without word, she began pacing her study, imagining all the ways his intervention might have gone catastrophically wrong.
It was nearly ten o’clock when the first message arrived—a hastily scrawled note from Mrs. Peterson, who operated a small lending library near London Bridge.
Your Grace,
The gentleman you sent was magnificent! He arrived just as Croft’s men were pressuring me to accept their terms. I’ve never seen anything like it—he was so polite, so proper, but there was something about him that made those ruffians back down immediately. They left without another word, and he assured me my debt would remain exactly as we’d originally arranged.
Please extend my deepest gratitude to your remarkable representative.
Your devoted servant, Mrs. Peterson
Three more messages followed in rapid succession, each telling a similar story of Damien’s intervention. By the timehe finally returned home near midnight, Eleanor had received glowing reports from the folks in her network who’d been threatened by Croft’s advances.
She was waiting for him in the entrance hall when he arrived, her heart racing with a mixture of relief, gratitude, and something deeper—a pride in him that formed a lump in her throat.
“Well?” she asked, though the messages had already told her everything she needed to know.
Damien’s smile was tired but triumphant. “Croft’s men won’t be troubling your people again. At least not directly.”
“How did you—” Eleanor began, then stopped. She could see the exhaustion in the lines around his eyes, the slight dishevelment of his clothing that spoke of a long and challenging day. “You’re tired. Go bathe, and I’ll have Cook prepare something for you.”
“Eleanor.” He caught her hand as she turned to go, lifting it to his lips with a tenderness that made her heart flutter. “Your network—the men and women you’ve helped—they’re remarkable. Strong, determined, refusing to be cowed despite the odds against them. Rather like their benefactress.”
The admiration in his voice, the genuine respect for what she’d built, sent warmth flooding through her chest. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For helping them. For helping me.”