[The Inconvenient Matches series is comprised entirely of stand alone novels that can be read in any order]
Forced into marriage by duty and obligation, The Duke and Duchess of Rothbury parted ways a week after saying their vows under the explicit u...
Winter threaded a hand through his hair, his eyes scouring the letter again. Hoping he had read it wrong, hoping that he had missed something, somehow.
But no, the words on the page were the same as the first time he had read it.
Alistair Macleod had passed last night in sleep, his funeral arranged for the next morning. Leaving behind one ten-year-old son, meaning Seraphina would be left without protection. Christ. Panic and helplessness rattled through him.
He wanted to help her, but how could he? Short of handing her a thick wad of banknotes so that he knew she was financially secure, there was nothing.
In the letter, his mother urged him to see to the arrangements on behalf of the Sanctuary, but with discretion for Miss Macleod would not welcome charity. And to attend the funeral as a representative of their family for she was far too busy with an emergency at the Sanctuary to be able to make it in time. Which was just as well, because something inside him was howling with the need to be with her, to soothe her grief. To hold her, to have her know that she was safe as long as she was near him.
She had a well-paying position at the Sanctuary, he reasoned with himself, and likely they would provide lodgings.
And yet, his mind kept thinking of all the horrid things that could befall a woman who lived by herself. Thieves, smugglers, men who exploited women, who tricked them with words of love and then sold them to brothels.
Jesus, he was going to go mad.
There was no helping it.
He needed help. And while Rutland would have been his first choice, the man was off with his pregnant wife at their country estate. Damn that inconvenient baby. Who else did he know that had served in the military and might have the kind of contacts he required?
Who, indeed?
Hadn't Carlisle earned a medal of some sort in Belgium? What exactly had been his role in His Majesty's army? Would that man be able to help him? Winter took a snort of amusement at the prospect of his self-involved friend keeping in touch with veteran soldiers. War, it seemed, had managed to change everyone but Carlisle. Nay, that man would likely be more useful if he was looking for Belgian whores and French champagne.
There was surely someone else? There had to be.
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An hour later, Winter found himself sighing in resignation as he climbed the steps to Carlisle's bachelor residence. Desperate times called for desperate, almost pathetic measures. While Winter had been able to think of a friend or two that had served in the military, he could not think of a plausible reason to explain his interest in Miss Macleod, nor could he be sure of their discretion. Carlisle, at the very least, could be trusted to not spread some sort of sordid rumor about the nature of his and Seraphina's relationship.
Everything about Carlisle's home screamed bachelor, from the maroon carpets to the sparse dark furniture decorating the hall, even the lack of flowers in the dark porcelain vases. And the lewd paintings of women in various stages of undress. Winter allowed himself a chuckle. Carlisle could always be depended upon to be so singularly Carlisle.
