Page 79 of The Duke's Sinful Bride

“My lord, Lachlan has arrived,” the butler announced with a slight bow.

Killian’s lips twitched, though he didn’t quite smile. “Show him in, Reid.”

Moments later, the door swung open without ceremony, and Lachlan strode in, his tall frame clad in his usual unassuming attire.

He paused dramatically, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Well, if it isn’t His Grace, the great Duke of Braemore, back in London where he belongs! Did ye miss me?”

Killian barely looked up. “What I miss is peace and quiet. Something I never get when ye’re around.”

Lachlan laughed, the sound echoing through the study.

“Still as prickly as ever, eh? Ye’ve been spending too much time in the countryside. Has the fresh air ruined yer sense of humor?”

Killian set his papers aside with a sigh. “What do ye want, Lachlan?”

Lachlan grinned, unbothered by the lack of enthusiasm.

“What do I want? Nay, my dear friend, the question is, what do ye need? I’ve been running all over London for ye, sniffing out leads like a hound on a scent. A little gratitude wouldn’t go amiss.”

Killian finally gave him his full attention, his expression softening slightly. “Fine. Consider my thanks given. Now, sit down and tell me what ye’ve found.”

Lachlan settled into the chair opposite Killian, crossing one leg over the other in a casual manner. “I’ll tell ye this much. I’ve not found anything more from what I reported the last time. The bastard who started the rumors about Fiona is a slippery one. I’ve asked discreetly, poked around, but whoever it is has a knack for covering their tracks. No one’s talking.”

A deep frown etched itself into Killian’s brow. He clenched his jaw, his fingers drumming against the polished wood of the desk.

“I thought by the time I returned from Braemore, we’d have the culprit. I want their name, Lachlan.”

“I know ye do,” Lachlan said, his tone unusually serious. “But these things take time. I’ll keep at it, but I’ll need yer patience. Though I know that’s not exactly yer strong suit.”

Killian’s gaze darkened. “Patience won’t help my sister, Lachlan.”

“Aye, and neither will reckless anger,” Lachlan countered, meeting Killian’s glare with an easy calm.

“But don’t ye worry. I’ll find the bastard, and when I do, ye can have yer way with him.”

Though Lachlan’s words were meant to reassure, Killian made a silent decision in that moment. He wouldn’t leave this task entirely in Lachlan’s hands. Whoever had dared to tarnish Fiona’s name would pay, and he intended to ensure it personally.

As the tension settled, the butler returned, this time holding a silver tray with an envelope atop it.

“An invitation for you, Your Grace. It arrived a week ago.”

Killian took the envelope and broke the wax seal. His brow arched slightly as he read the details—a ball scheduled for the following week. His lips quirked into a rare, faint smile, though it disappeared as quickly as it came. “Thank ye, Reid.”

Once the butler had gone, Lachlan stood, stretching lazily. “Well, I’ve done my duty for today. Try not to miss me too much, my friend.”

“Leave before I change my mind about tolerating ye,” Killian replied dryly, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.

When Lachlan departed, Killian leaned back in his chair, his thoughts drifting to Yvette. He rang the bell to summon a maid, who informed him that his wife was in one of the drawing rooms with Fiona and Maisie.

He made his way there, the echo of his boots against the polished floors the only sound accompanying him. Opening the door, he found Fiona and Yvette deep in conversation, while Maisie dozed on a nearby settee.

Killian cleared his throat, drawing their attention. “Yvette, I need a word with ye.”

Fiona’s gaze lingered on him, curious and expectant, but he didn’t acknowledge her. Yvette hesitated for a moment, then rose gracefully, smoothing her gown. “Of course.”

She followed him to the adjacent drawing room, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern. Once they were alone, Killian turned to face her.

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