Chapter 3 - The Duke’s Shadow
I pulled my cloak tightly around my chest, feeling the thick, unyielding bulk of the ledger pressed against my ribs like a shield.
""I don't help aristocrats wage petty vendettas,"" I said, my voice cutting through the rattle of the carriage wheels. ""I am an independent publisher. I expose criminals who disguise their theft behind charity balls and parliamentary seats. If you think you purchased my editorial discretion by pulling me through a coal chute, you are sorely mistaken, Lord Julian.""
Julian let out a short, quiet laugh that held genuine amusement. ""Lord Julian? Please. My father holds the dukedom; I hold only a collection of bad debts and worse reputations. And I have zero desire to purchase your discretion, Josie. Quite the contrary. I want to give you ammunition.""
""Why?"" I demanded, narrowing my eyes. ""Silas Wathbone is a peer of the realm. Your family has intermarried with the Wathbones for three generations. What game are you playing?""
Julian leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. The humor evaporated from his face, replaced by an icy, chilling clarity.
""Silas Wathbone did not act alone when he stole from that charity,"" Julian said, his words measured and venomous. ""Three years ago, my younger brother, Arthur, discovered a massive ledger of illegal naval contracts. Shell companies purchasing rotten timber and substandard iron for the royal fleet, siphoning treasury millions directly into private vaults. Silas Wathbone was one signatory. The others sit on the King’s Privy Council.""
My breath hitched. ""And what happened to your brother?""
""Arthur drowned in the Thames,"" Julian said without blinking. ""A supposed late-night accident after leaving a gaming hell. Except Arthur never drank spirits, despised gambling, and had three broken ribs before his body ever touched the water.""
The interior of the carriage went utterly silent, save for the rhythmic clatter of iron hooves on wet stone.
I looked at him differently now. The insolent, mocking heir was merely a mask—a deliberate shield worn to deceive the very society he despised. Beneath it was a man carrying the exact same cold, burning thirst for retribution that had consumed me ever since my father died in a debtor's garret.
""You want blood,"" I said quietly.
""I want them publicly stripped of their names, their estates, and their freedom,"" Julian corrected, his eyes locking onto mine with terrifying focus. ""I want them ruined so thoroughly that their own grandchildren will blush at their family name. You have the pen, the courage, and the ledger of London’s darkest secrets. I have the money, the access to their inner circles, and a new printing press waiting for you in an underground vault in Kensington.""
I swallowed the dryness in my throat. ""A press?""
""An American double-cylinder steam press,"" he replied, a razor-thin smile touching his lips. ""It prints four thousand sheets an hour, Josie. You could blanket the entire West End before dawn without ever turning a hand crank.""
My heart hammered against my ribs. A steam press. It was the dream my father had talked about on cold nights, the impossible marvel that would keep the truth running faster than any landlord's writ or bailiff's club.
""There are conditions,"" I said, forcing my professional composure back into place. ""I dictate what gets printed. I verify every fact. I do not run slander, I do not target innocent wives, and I never, under any circumstances, take orders from you.""
""Agreed,"" Julian said without hesitation.
""And one more thing,"" I added, leaning closer so he could see the absolute resolution in my eyes. ""I am not moving into your house as your ward, your mistress, or your dependent. We are business partners, Julian. Nothing more.""
The carriage slowed, turning down a private, iron-gated cobblestone drive lined with towering, ancient willows. The shadow of a massive Georgian manor rose against the midnight sky.
May you like
Julian looked at me, his gaze sweeping from my soot-streaked brow down to my defiant chin, an unreadable ember of fascination smoldering in his dark eyes.
""A business partnership,"" Julian whispered softly, reaching for the door latch as the carriage stopped. ""Let us see how long that boundary survives when the wolves realize who is holding the rifle.""
