“Unless her late husband left her something in his will,” Steele said.
“Which he didn’t,” I replied. “The only thing she’s entitled to is the dower house. But with no annual sum to live on, the inheritance is worthless.”
“She was left at Charles’s mercy,” Steele said grimly.
“But what happens now that Charles is dead?” I asked.
He began to pace again, slowly and deliberately. “If Julia’s child is a girl,” Steele said, “the title moves to the next male heir—likely a cousin.”
“Edwin Heller,” I supplied.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “But if the child is a boy, and Charles left no issue, then?—”
“Her son becomes Lord Walsh,” I finished.
He nodded once.
“And all of it would revert to Julia’s son?” I asked. “The estate, the house, the fortune?”
“The title, certainly,” Steele said. “The entailed properties as well. As for personal wealth—only what remains, and only if it hasn’t already been claimed or hidden. But the moment she gives birth to a son, she ceases to be a powerless widow. She becomes the mother of a peer.”
The fire hissed softly in the grate, but I no longer felt its warmth. Steele’s words echoed in my mind, stark and undeniable.The mother of a peer. Not merely a shift in status—an upheaval. A threat. And that would make her a target.
I drew in a slow breath, my fingers curling tightly around the armrest of my chair. “So that’s why she’s in danger.”
Steele’s gaze flicked to mine. He didn’t speak—he didn’t need to.
“She’s gone from an inconvenient widow to the sole guardian of the heir presumptive,” I said slowly, as the pieces clicked into place. “If her child is a boy, she holds the key to everything. And if something were to happen to her before the birth … ”
He gave a single, grave nod. “Then the path clears. The title passes to Heller. And he—unlike a newborn—can sign documents. Control land. Shift assets.”
I swallowed hard, a fresh wave of unease washing over me. “They wouldn’t have to harm the child if Julia didn’t live long enough to deliver him.”
“If the child is never born,” Steele added quietly, “there’s nothing to contest.”
A silence settled between us, heavy as a funeral shroud.
“All this time,” I said, my voice barely more than a whisper, “I thought it was vengeance for funds being stolen. But it wasn’t personal, was it?”
“No,” Steele replied. “It was business.” The word made my skin crawl.
“And business,” I murmured, “kills without blinking.” I looked up at him. “Edwin Heller murdered Charles.”
“And his father before him,” Steele said grimly.
I sat back, the air thinning around me as the truth settled in. “Four deaths. There had to be four—Charles’s father, then Charles himself … ” I hesitated, the next words catching in my throat. “And then Julia and her unborn child.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
“He needed them all gone,” I said at last, my voice unsteady. “Because if even one of them lived, everything would come crashing down around him.”
The enormity of it settled over me like a weight. I took a step toward Steele—not out of anger or bravado, but something far more fragile. I needed something solid to hold on to, someone who wouldn’t flinch in the face of what I now knew.
The air seemed to thrum, heavy with the weight of all that had passed—and all that might still come. Steele didn’t move, but his gaze fixed on mine with unsettling intensity, like a blade held steady in a trembling hand.
Drawn by something I didn’t fully understand, I closed the distance between us.
“Rosalynd.” He reached for me—not roughly, not in possession, but as if compelled. His fingers curled gently around my throat, a caress more electric than threatening. His thumb brushed across my lower lip, feather-light and devastating. I was suddenly aware of my breathing again—too shallow, too fast—as if my body had remembered its own yearning before my mind had caught up.
