Masters of the Game (Sutherland Book 4)

I | Darcy

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PART 1

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MAY 1812

If one should question, one should seek an answer.

This author has always been curious about one institution, one that has survived for decades with no help from the outside. How they do so is never the question, for women are as capable as men.

How they run the Kingdom of Sutherland from inside their walls, however, is a question that begs an answer.

Rumors, they will say, for there is no evidence that Belcourt runs Sutherland. How can they when we have the king?

But this author knows people.

And every truth starts with a question.

What is Belcourt?

Or should I say—Who is Belcourt?

"What do you think, child?" Ellise asked, folding the copy of the Sutherland Post. She rolled her head to the side when the little human beside her merely garbled sounds in response.

The child's auburn hair was an utter mess, the small ribbon that was once clipped on top of her head was now dangling at the ends of the strands. Her hazel eyes were glimmering with amused curiosity as she held herself up on all fours on the floor.

Ellise blinked at her niece, wondering what the little creature was thinking.

"What are you doing on the floor?" the voice asked from somewhere above her. She rolled on her back and found Robert Dior, Marquess of Chester, looking down on her.

"Playing," she replied, rolling on her knees. The swift motion caused her niece to squeal, and she frowned.

"Is she laughing?" Dior asked, coming down on his feet to peer down at the child.

"She must be. Her mouth is stretched to a smile," she replied, handing the paper to him. "Did you see the post?"

He took the paper and rolled it with his hands. "Yes," he replied, extending the rolled paper toward Alannah. The child reached for it and with her stout fingers, grabbed the end. Dior then slowly stood, carefully raising the rolled paper to guide the little girl to her feet. "Can she walk?" he asked.

"If she does, she has been fooling me," Ellise replied, rising to her feet. "She does nothing but crawl." Then she paused, frowning as the girl stood.

Alannah fell back on the floor, rolling to her side with another squeal.

"Is she crying?" Dior asked, peering down at the child.

"I see no tears. She must be faking it," Ellise said, checking if her niece was hurt. "That is how she manipulates my brother."

Her niece rolled back on fours and crawled toward Dior. He walked to the nearest settee and settled down. Looking around her small office, he said, "Are you not moving into Blackwood's villa?"

"No. I found the proximity of my bedchamber here far less taxing," she replied, walking to sit in the opposite chair, the one near the window. She crossed her leg over the other and stared at him.

It would not be fair to many handsome men to claim that Robert Dior was more gorgeous. He was not. His dark hair and dark eyes were more menacing than dashing. His tall and muscular built more intimidating than erotically attractive.