Page 99

“What do you think you are doing?” Ambrose demanded. “You gave Emma into my care because you did not want her. I shall not simply hand her back to you now.”

“And good evening to you too, my dear brother-in-law.” Douglas smiled, and the smile did not reach his eyes. They were gray, Ambrose noted, pale and flat as winter water. “We have never had the pleasure of meeting in person. You look rather less beastly than I was led to believe.” His gaze slid to Marina and lingered there. “And this must be the Christmas Witch.”

Marina’s chin rose.

“This is Marina, Duchess of Griffin,” Ambrose said coldly. “And you will not address her in such a manner in her own home.”

Douglas waved a hand, as though brushing away a fly.

“Let us dispense with the formalities. I want my daughter.”

“Well, you cannot have her.”

“Is that so? On whose authority?”

“My solicitor is looking into the matter of guardianship. You cannot abandon a child and then appear without warning to demand her return.”

“I think you will find that I can.” Douglas examined his cuff. “I intend to take her home tonight.”

“No, you will not. I shall take the matter to the Court of Chancery if I must.”

Douglas rolled his eyes.

“You may do so, of course. But imagine the scandal.” He spread his hands, as though painting the words in the air. “The Beast of Griffin and his witch of a wife refuse to return a child to her grieving father. I shall paint you both as villains, and I shall do it beautifully. Who do you suppose society will believe? The two of you, so desperately attempting to repair your reputations with candles and charity balls? Or me, a bereaved father about to marry a beautiful young woman who will give Emma the proper mother she deserves?”

His gaze moved contemptuously to Marina, traveling over her gown, her pearls, her face.

“Rather than a makeshift aunt dragged out of a cottage for the purpose.”

Ambrose did not remember moving. One moment he stood by the door; the next he had crossed the room and seized Douglas by the neckcloth, hauling him up onto his toes. The candle flames shivered.

“You will not⁠—”

“I advise you,” Douglas said, very quietly, “to remove your hands from my person.” He did not struggle. He simply looked up at Ambrose with those pale eyes. “Otherwise, I may withdraw the generous offer I was about to make.”

For a long moment, Ambrose did not move. He could feel Douglas’s pulse beneath his knuckles, quick and light; the man was not nearly as calm as he pretended. It would be so very easy. Then he heard Marina draw a sharp breath behind him, and he thought of Emma asleep upstairs, and he let go.

Douglas straightened his neckcloth with exaggerated care.

“I see that you are desperate to keep Emma,” he said. “Very well. You may do so, provided you make me the trustee of your estate.”

“Trustee?” Ambrose stared at him. “Have you lost your mind?”

“No. I believe I have finally found it.”

Douglas smiled, and this time the smile reached his eyes.

“You will sign over everything you own that is not legally entailed with your title. I understand this house was purchased privately by your great-grandfather, so Griffin Manor is not part of the entail. I should like that too. Your businesses, your investments, every privately held asset, all of it transferred to me, with full control.” He glanced around the little room as though measuring it for new curtains. “I hear you have been having the duchess’s cottage repaired. Perhaps you can live there. You may even keep Emma with you. All you need do is sign.”

“You must be mad.”

“Those are my terms.” Douglas shook his head, as though Ambrose were being tiresome. “You have until sunset tomorrow. If you agree, the girl remains with you. If not, I shall reclaim my daughter, and you may explain yourselves to society as best you can.”

He opened the door. Music spilled in, bright and merry and obscene.

“And now I shall take my leave. Do enjoy the remainder of your Christmas.”

He swept out. The door swung shut behind him, and the music dropped away again to a distant murmur, as though it were playing in another house, for other people.