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Edward actually refused to go, which thoroughly quashed all Charlie’s amusement at his head-over-heels tumble into love. Edward handed the letter to him and wished him luck, then retired to make love to his new wife in shameful, callous, blatant disregard of his duty to family. Or so Charlie imagined, as he told Barnes to pack his things.
    So now he was in Bath. Tomorrow he would call on Gerard, discover what sort of trouble his brother was in, and then . . . He had no idea. Chase down the blackmailer, he supposed, since that should provide a link to the truth. Either the villain had proof of his charges and meant to demand something for it, or he didn’t, in which case his actions would all come to nothing when Charlie was declared the rightful duke. Charlie couldn’t decide which seemed more unlikely. Hopefully Gerard had learned something useful, but he had also somehow acquired a wife, according to his letter, and Charlie had seen how marriage changed Edward. It still amazed him that ruthlessly logical and practical Edward had thrown over his family for a woman; Gerard, always more prone to emotion and impulse, was likely to do even worse, if he’d also fallen in love with his bride. And that would leave only Charlie to find the blackmailer, discover the truth about Durham’s long-lost first wife, prove his claim to the dukedom, and save them all from disgrace.
    He caught sight of the leather satchel on the writing desk across the room. In it were all the documents and correspondence from the investigators and the solicitors relating to that damned Durham Dilemma, as well as his father’s confessional letter. He turned his head away, not wanting to look at it. He’d forced himself to bring it all to Bath, but just thinking about it left him angry at his father, irked at his brothers, and deeply, privately, alarmed that his entire life now hung by a thread. If rumors in London—and Edward’s expensive solicitor—could be believed, Durham’s distant cousin Augustus was about to file a competing claim to the dukedom, alleging that Charlie could not prove he was the sole legitimate heir. If the House of Lords upheld that claim, the title and all its trappings would be lost—at best, held in abeyance until proof was found, or at worst, irrevocably awarded to Augustus. Either outcome would effectively ruin him.
    Charlie hoped to high heaven the answer to all their troubles could be found in Bath. And even more, he hoped he was capable of finding it before the House of Lords heard his petition.
    He let his head drop back against the chair and closed his eyes. How ironic that the first time anyone expected great things of him, the stakes were so high. Right now he didn’t want to think of anything beyond his dinner and the glass of wine in his hand. If the lady from downstairs could see him now, she would surely think him the most indolent, useless fellow on earth.
    A smile touched his lips, picturing her defiant expression when she realized he’d heard her disdainful remark. She was sorry he’d overheard, but not sorry at all for saying it. What a prudish bit of skirt. No doubt she had a collection of prayer books and doted on her brood of small dogs. Charlie was accustomed to people making up their minds about him before they ever met him, but for some reason she amused him. It was always so unfortunate when a woman with a mouth like hers turned out to be a judgmental harridan. In fact, if she looked less cross, he might have said she was attractive, but it was hard to call any woman a beauty when she was looking down her nose at him. He wondered if she’d formed her opinion of him from the London gossip sheets or if his infamy had preceded him to Bath.
    He raised his glass in silent toast to her. For tonight at least he would be utterly, happily indolent. And he hoped the thought rankled her deeply.

Chapter 2
    T essa’s luck held for the first couple of days. Only twice did she hear Lord Gresham’s name,