The Duke's Obsession (Entangled Scandalous) by Frances Fowlkes Page A

that she now stood on the edge of the lake, toes tapping against the rocks, waiting as the elusive duke tied up his boat and handed his fishing supplies to the servant boy assisting him.
    The duke’s boots crunched over the gravel shore as he came to stand beside her. “I can only assume your findings were quite substantial, given your presence this early in the morning, Miss Farrington.”
    Daphne shoved a loose tendril of hair back into her bonnet. “I fear I do not have good news.”
    The duke gave a grim nod as he joined her. “Regardless of whether it is good or bad, I wish to hear it. If Mr. Burnham has been stealing, I would like to know exactly how much damage he has inflicted on the estate.”
    Daphne started toward the path and sighed. She hated being the bearer of bad news. No one deserved to be betrayed, especially by someone he obviously trusted. But how did one convey that a presumably loyal employee was nothing more than a thief? And a thief of quite a substantial sum at that?
    “Miss Farrington?” he asked, keeping an easy pace beside her. “I assure you I can handle any ill tidings you bear.”
    It was best not to prolong the inevitable. He had, after all, requested her assistance. This was a business transaction, nothing more.
    Why, then, did she feel such an overwhelming urge to protect him from the poor news she carried?
    Daphne took a deep steadying breath. “Very well. If my calculations are correct, and I have no reason to doubt that they are, Mr. Burnham has been skimming off approximately two thousand pounds a year.”
    An absurd amount of money. Two thousand pounds. More than adequate to support a large family comfortably for a year. With servants. And a carriage.
    Which, given some thought, seemed curious. When she had last seen Burnham, his coat had been worn and tattered, his office dank and dilapidated. Nothing about the man or his surroundings bespoke wealth. But then, perhaps he had sported the coat to ward off suspicion that he was a man who could afford, thanks to his cleverly hidden deductions, something much more refined.
    The duke’s brows rose. “Quite a substantial amount indeed.”
    Daphne’s slippers tapped over the paved stone path. “The sum becomes even more impressive when you multiply it by the number of years he has been helping himself to your coffers. I had seven ledgers, Your Grace.”
    “It seems Mr. Burnham has gathered quite a fortune for himself.”
    Daphne glanced at the duke. There was no droop in his lips or hunch to his shoulders. The man appeared physically unaffected by the loss of fourteen thousand pounds…but then he was a duke. A man who, from what she had seen in his account books, earned on average thirty thousand a year on foreign investments alone. Heaven only knew what he brought in from his land and tenants. Fourteen thousand was probably of little consequence to the man. Pin money for a duke.
    Daphne pulled her eyes away and focused them once again on the path leading up to the house. “One wonders what Burnham hopes to do with such a large amount. He has been amassing a fortune over an extensive period of time. Does he wish to invest in the same markets as you? Or is he hoping to purchase something—his own land, perhaps?”
    The duke’s expression darkened. “While all those questions are worthy of attention, at present, I am more concerned with Burnham’s crimes than with his future intentions. I assume you have written down the calculations that will prove all this?”
    “Yes, of course. Though…” Daphne hesitated. Where only seconds before the duke had appeared his usual regal self, his mouth was now drawn, his eyes refusing to meet hers. His usual aristocratic posture gave him an authoritative, if not commanding, air and witnessing him as anything less than a confident duke was disconcerting.
    She had an overwhelming yearning to reach out and comfort him. To trace her finger along his jaw and erase the tension caused by her own