Page 42 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke

“Elaborate.”

Robin seemed pleased to do so. “Had a whole bunch hosted at Oslay, though they didn’t stick around for long. He probably didn’t want to start coming up with excuses as to why the manor’s so empty.”

Then the little marquess was well out of reserves, if he’d taken to pawning off household items. “Any idea where he took them?”

Robin shook his head. “Didn’t think it mattered too much. All I cared about was the empty house.”

Though a part of Gabriel was morbidly curious, Robin was correct. Deep beneath his back-alley attitude, there was the makings of a shrewd businessman; someone who knew what to fixate on and what drivel to tune out. “Continue.”

“Getting inside was simple enough,” Robin continued. “There’s this butler guy—Cooke, I think his name is—he came by the rookery hours after Thalia first arrived with a big ol’ basket. Had some of her stuff, favorite snacks—figured if I could find him, I’d have no problem getting inside.”

Gabriel scratched the name quickly onto a piece of paper. Cooke… seemed like another potential ally to his ever-growing list.

“So I went to the servant’s entrance and claimed I had a message for him. And when he came out, I told him I was there for Thalia, that I just needed a secluded way into the manor.” Robin sighed, shifting his position so both legs were now pulled up against his chest. “If I’d asked him to shoot a man, I think he would’ve done it.”

Gabriel ignored the growing prints across his nice, leather chair. “So, you got in. And you found the spending ledger, given how willingly you’ve shown your face.”

Robin smirked, digging into his jacket before producing a tightly-folded clump of papers. He tossed it across Gabriel’s desk, much to the duke’s displeasure—someone desperately needed to teach this boy proper etiquette.

Still, he plucked the papers and unfolded them, impressed at the straightness of the columns, the legibility of the penmanship. If Gabriel hadn’t watched the younger Sutton directly hand these to him, he would’ve thought a proper lord wrote these.

“This is rather impressive work,” Gabriel began. “Especially for someone who’s lived in Whitechapel practically all his life. Who taught you to write like this?”

A slight smile crossed Robin’s face. “Thalia did. Whatever short time I spent at Oslay, she made sure I could do the basics. Then, once I got sent away, she’d mail me paper and writing exercises she wrote herself.”

“Then, your mother was a maid for Thalia’s mother?” Gabriel surmised.

Whatever light had been coaxed out of Robin quickly diminished. “Was… yes, she was. Dear old Father didn’t understand what any sense of the word ‘loyalty’ meant.”

Delicate subject, then. Gabriel’s attention went back to the papers, clearing his throat without another thought towards the Suttons’ family dynamics. “Apologies; we were discussing your discoveries.”

Robin seemed more than happy to change topics. “The ledgers there confirm what we already had guessed. Giles is hemorrhaging money; he’s spent the whole of the late marquess’ inheritance on his wardrobe and… other exotic pleasures.”

Gabriel quickly flipped past a page marked heavily with the same, colorful-sounding business’ name, skin prickling at the little marquess’ growing depravity.

“That’s not even the worst of it, unfortunately.”

Gabriel’s eyes swiveled, practically boring a hole into Robin’s forehead. The younger Sutton reacted accordingly, legs dropping to the floor as his hands grasped the chair’s armrest. “Elaborate,” he hissed, dangerously close to losing his cool.

Robin swallowed, knuckles turning white. “The deeds. The ones Thalia said he burned?” He grimaced, his own flicker of rage sparking across his eyes. He opened his mouth to continue, but closed it just as quickly, visibly biting the inside of his mouth to keep his temper in check.

Instead, Robin slipped his hand back into his pocket and produced what appeared to be a pair of letters, addressed from Oslay Hall to someone at an attorney’s office.

Gabriel snatched the envelopes and pulled out its contents, quickly skimming through the first letter, then the next. His mind raced to pull out what mattered most, collecting all the information together before coming to the startling realization. “These are authentic?”

Robin nodded, visibly smoldering.

Gabriel sat back in his chair, letters crumpling in his fist. “These letters… they speak of the incident in its entirety.”

Again, all Robin could do was nod.

Gabriel exhaled sharply, temper clawing in his chest. The information settled into the pit of his stomach, souring and bubbling alongside his growing anger. He’d willingly written of his unlawful act to a lawyer, and nothing had been done to correct the situation. Deceitful, backhanded tactics—and against all the odds, she hadn’t caved to his pressure.

Images of Thalia’s bandaged wrist flashed through Gabriel’s mind, and he stood abruptly from his desk. “Theoretically, our little marquess could bypass the law and ascertain those deeds, given they were the last asset he could draw upon.”

Robin was quiet for a moment more, mulling the theoretical in his head. “If they were all he had,” he began at last. “But, he doesn’t have them anymore. Why would he fall back on something he doesn’t have?”

Gabriel rolled his neck and stared out of the window, his hands clutched behind his back. “Desperation breeds stupidity. If we make it so it is his only option—hand him the rope, so to speak–”

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