The devil's private bride

THE FIRST SIGN OF TROUBLE

"I don't know you," Camille said, keeping her distance despite his unthreatening, almost courtly manner.

"No, but you likely know part of my history, if you've spent any time around Isabella Blackwood's family this past year and a half." Old, complicated grief under the polish. "I was involved with Isabella. Years ago. Before her husband died. The affair that nearly wrecked the family's reputation, back when Daniel Blackwood was alive to use it as leverage against her silence."

Her professional instincts sharpened. "Why tell me this?"

"Because I have information your uncle might find interesting." Something calculating slid into his voice. "Isabella knew about Daniel's fraud considerably earlier than she's admitted. I know, because I warned her myself, years before her supposed reckoning. She chose silence anyway, to protect our affair, and let two families suffer longer than necessary as a direct result."

"That's not new. She confessed to knowing and staying silent. It's public record."

"She confessed to knowing," he corrected, sharper now. "Not to profiting from it. I have documentation, Ms. Kane, that she quietly moved a considerable sum out of the family's accounts in the months before Daniel's fraud collapsed — money that should have been part of the fund's original assets, had she disclosed it instead of protecting her own security alongside her secret."

She absorbed this, her instincts warring with a growing suspicion about the man delivering it. "Why come to me instead of the authorities, if you have real documentation?"

"Because I'd like something in return." The courtly demeanor cracked, something colder underneath. "I've spent decades watching this family's fortunes rise and fall without acknowledgment for the role I played in nearly exposing Daniel's crimes decades before Adrian finally did. I'd like restitution of my own. Financial. And private."

"You're asking me to help you blackmail Isabella Blackwood."

"I'm asking you to help me finally receive what I'm owed," he corrected, almost offended. "You, of all people, should understand watching a family delay what rightfully belongs to someone else. I'm simply asking for your professional help documenting Isabella's concealment. What happens after that documentation exists is between Isabella and myself."

She studied him, weighing the genuine professional value of the allegation against the obvious agenda driving it. "I need to think about this."

"Of course." He handed her a card, composure restored. "I wouldn't think too long, Ms. Kane. And I wouldn't mention this to Marcus Blackwood before you've considered where your loyalties actually lie."

He left, and she stood alone on the darkening street, turning the implications over — a genuine allegation wrapped around a personal vendetta, delivered by a man whose motives looked a lot less like justice than a long-delayed payday.