The Minx Who Met Her Match

by Christi Caldwell

  That reminder was enough to prompt him back to his work and the handful of notes in his hand that had been returned.

  Since Josephine’s revelation of Lord Tennyson’s potential involvement with Lathan Holman, Duncan had attempted—and failed—to make contact with the gentleman. Shoving the tied stack aside for The Times, Duncan skimmed the front page of the gossip column.

  The ton is all abuzz with Lord and Lady T’s first event hosted as husband and wife. That is, since the last ball they’d invited guests to and then abruptly turned away, with no excuses and only questions, two years prior. All the ton well knows that no respectable host and hostess ever cancel an event without reason.

  Without reason…

  Lord T is most likely Lord Tennyson. A newly married member of the peerage.

  That information Josephine had given Duncan, the last words she’d said to him five days ago, had been to aid his case. Help she’d not have ever dared given if she’d been working on behalf of her brother.

  He squeezed his eyes shut.

  Slamming his fist down so hard the folders on his desk jumped, he let fly a healthy stream of curses.

  “I’ve never heard several of those curses before. I like them a good deal. Rather inventive-sounding than the usual ‘bloody hell’ and ‘damn.’”

  Duncan’s eyes flew open. “Charlemagne,” he said dumbly.

  She blinked. “Were you expecting another?”

  “No,” he said tiredly. “Of course not.” There was no other. There wouldn’t ever be another.

  Because you keep people out. Because you found the perfect reason with which to send even Josephine away.

  In the moment, that reason had also been very much a legitimate one. Now, weighing the evidence she’d given him to consider, along with everything else he knew about her, he saw a truth to her charges.

  “What do they mean?”

  His daughter drew him back to the moment. “What?” he asked, seeking to give her the attention she deserved.

  “Bugger and fu—”

  “That’ll be all,” he said quickly. “You shouldn’t use those words.”

  “You did.”

  “That’s different. You’re a young girl.”

  His daughter bristled. “Yes, well, Josephine says anything a man can do, a woman can, too.”

  Those were words that would belong to Josephine Webb.

  Nay, she was a Pratt.

  A weight pressed on his chest, making it agony to breathe.

  His daughter ventured over to his desk. Not so very long ago, she would have kept her distance from him. Just another transformation Josephine had wrought. “You sacked her, didn’t you?”

  “I did.” Afraid his misery would be reflected in his eyes, he looked down at the article on Lord and Lady Tennyson’s ball.

  “Is it because she’s a lady?”

  He startled. “You knew?”

  Charlie released a faintly pitying sigh. “Of course I knew. How could you not? It did not take much to determine she was a lady, Papa.”

  No, it hadn’t. From her flawless, cultured speech, to her fine dresses and porcelain-smooth skin, all signs had indicated that Josephine was a lady, born and bred.

  He’d just not allowed himself to look closely enough.

  The vise about his chest tightened. “And you didn’t think to confide in me, Charlie?”

  Charlie shrugged. “I didn’t think it much mattered who she is. Just that she liked us and we liked her was fine enough. Everyone has their secrets and their reasons for them. We know that, Papa.”

  His heart froze for several beats.

  “I know, Papa,” she said softly. “It wasn’t your fault. What happened with Mama.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut. “Charlemagne,” he whispered hoarsely.

  “It’s not your fault,” she repeated, stepping into his arms.

  Duncan folded her close.

  “But it will be your fault if you don’t go make amends with Josephine.”

  I’d never betray you or your work. Not to my brother and not to anyone.

  “You should apologize.”

  Duncan dusted a palm over his forehead. “I… probably should.”

  “You definitely should,” Charlie corrected. “You didn’t handle it at all well.”

  “I definitely didn’t,” he muttered. All his ease with words and charm had left him long ago. Josephine deserved a man who could be that manner of gentleman… and more. At the very least, she deserved more than an accused murderer.

  An accused murderer. That was how the world had seen him for so long that it was the only way he’d allowed himself to see himself.

  “But you grew from your life’s experiences…You’ve represented men and women who’d otherwise have been without anyone to speak for them, people who were and are just as deserving of a trial…”

  God, what a bastard he was. She’d not blamed him. She’d met his confession with only a quiet understanding. And how had he repaid that gift?

  He groaned.

  “You’re not the best with women, Papa.” As if to gentle that, his daughter patted his hand.

  He sighed.

  He braced for another onslaught of questions… that didn’t come. Instead, Charlie hitched herself onto the edge of his chair and plucked the underlined copy of The Times from his desk. “Who are they?” she asked.

  The part of him that had spent years keeping her at arm’s length found himself opening his mouth to order her down. His fingers twitched with the need to tug his research from her fingers. “They’re a marquess and marchioness,” he offered instead. “No one I know.” No one he would know personally because of his birthright and the divide Society kept between the nobility and everyone born outside those illustrious ranks. It was why Lord Tennyson had ignored every last letter Duncan had written to him to request a meeting.

  Charlie resumed reading and then looked up when she’d finished. “They’re connected to your case?”

  God, how clever his daughter was. “They are.” It was an admission that not long ago he wouldn’t have made, not even to his daughter. He didn’t share his life or his work with anyone. So much so that he’d forgotten how. Josephine… “I think he might have answers about my client.”

  “But he won’t see you?” she correctly hazarded.

  “No.” The marquess was content to let Lathan Holman swing without providing details about his involvement with the young man.

  “Do you like Miss Webb?” Charlie asked suddenly.

  At that jolting, unexpected question, Duncan’s mind stalled. “Do I…?” He yanked at his sloppy cravat and, catching his daughter’s too clever gaze on those actions, forced his fingers to stop.

  “You both do that a lot.”

  “Do what?” he asked in a desperate bid for more time.

  His daughter smiled. “You repeat things I say. One would expect two grownups to be better with their words. Well, do you? Like her.”

  “I like her… fine enough,” he said gruffly.

  The truth was he liked Josephine far more than fine. He thought of her every moment of the day. He relished the memory of each time she’d challenged him. But he’d far rather speak about the safer topic of Lathan Holman than his feelings for Josephine.

  “You talk to me more now and spend more time with me, and I think it is because of her.”

  His throat worked. Yes, it was, at that. Because, in just a handful of days, she’d changed him. Josephine had called him out for the miserable father he was and urged him to open himself to Charlie. The world. He cleared the emotion from his throat.

  “All you have to do is apologize, Papa,” she said softly, with an innocence only a child was capable of.

  He struggled to make his lips move into a semblance of a smile. “It’s a bit more complicated than that. I don’t think it would much help. It won’t change…” Who Josephine was. A lady of the peerage. And he, a barrister, unable to provide her… anything, and then where would
they be? He would relive history all over again. He gave his head a forceful shake. Nor had she alluded to even wanting a relationship with him. Her worry had first and foremost and always been about securing employment.

  Charlie tugged at his hand. “You were saying it won’t change…?”

  “The fact that one cannot build a relationship on lies.”

  I listened to your secrets, your past, and did not judge you, and yet, you should judge me for my birthright?

  “But she didn’t really lie to you,” his daughter insisted, debating with the skill of the best barrister Duncan had gone up against. “She told you, and she likes you, when you’re really very unfriendly to most people.”

  He sighed. “It is done, Charlie. Some things are far more complicated than an apology and explanation could erase.”

  Charlie lingered. “Is it because of Mother?” It was the question he’d dreaded, the one that had been inevitable. And even having known for years that it was coming, and having prepared all manner of responses, every single thought left his head. He couldn’t make his tongue move to make words.

  “I know they say you killed her, but I know you didn’t. I know you wanted her to stay because of me,” Charlie went on. “I know she left. I know she fell. And I know that I will never blame you for that, Papa.”

  Oh, God. Stark emotion stabbed at his chest and stung his eyes, leaving a glassy sheen of tears. He blinked them back. Wordlessly, he pulled Charlemagne from her seat and into his arms. “I love you,” he said hoarsely.

  “I love you, too, Papa,” she said for the first time in more years than he could remember. She squeezed him back. “I’ve missed spending time with you.”

  “I’ve missed it, too, poppet. I promise I’ll do better.”

  “Just be there,” Charlie said simply. Pushing out of his arms, she went up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “You should go there,” she said when she sank back on her heels. “To the marquess’. If he won’t see you, you should just show up. You should go to them both,” she added. “To Lord Tennyson and Miss Webb.” With that child’s advice, she left.

  Duncan stared after her as wave after wave of emotion rolled through him. He brought shaking palms up to cover his face, feeling the weight of absolution far more intensely than the clearing of his name that had saved his life.

  Chapter 18

  Reinforcements had been called.

  Or in this case, a favorite brother.

  Seated at the window seat, her satchel forgotten at her feet and her notes on her lap, Josephine caught Nolan’s reflection in the glass panel. He hovered in the doorway.

  Alas, since her heart had been broken almost a year ago, he’d struggled to be around her. Regardless, she loved him for trying.

  She took mercy on his uncertain self. “Are you looking for something?”

  Just like that, some of the tension left his frame. She detected the slight upward twist of his lips in the panel. “You,” he acknowledged. “I was looking for you, Jo. Though, given you’ve been attached to that very seat for the past two days, it did not require much of a search.”

  As he approached, Josephine shut her books and tucked them on the opposite side of her. “I’m fine,” she lied when he reached her.

  He frowned. “I didn’t—”

  “You didn’t need to ask. I knew what question was coming.” She swung her legs over the side of the bench until her feet brushed the floor.

  Every night had followed a similar routine—an offer to join her brother and sister-in-law at some dull ton event or other and her gentle rejection and assurances that she was fine.

  Which she wasn’t.

  And blast if a sheen of tears didn’t blur her eyes.

  She angled her head slightly and tried to discreetly swat at them.

  Alas, her brother saw too much.

  “Oh, Jo,” he murmured, sliding onto the small upholstered seat beside her. With the same ease as when he’d soothed away the hurts when she’d been a girl with a scrape, he laid an arm around her shoulders. “I can always kill him.”

  A small laugh escaped her, and she leaned into her elder brother. For as aloof and detached as Henry had always been, Nolan had been as much a friend as a brother. He just didn’t see what he believed he did. Same as Sybil. They correctly gathered her heart was breaking, but they didn’t know the one responsible. “I shall give it a serious thought,” she said with exaggerated somberness.

  They shared a smile and fell silent.

  “He was never worthy of you, Josephine. Any man who cares more about his reputation and scandals—yours, his, or anyone else’s—more than he cares about you is undeserving of your heart.”

  At those far-too-apt words, her heart cracked and bled. Only, the truth of it was, she could not resent Duncan for his decisions. As one born outside the peerage, and with a daughter to care for, he had responsibilities that had to exist beyond her.

  She’d just wanted to be enough for him.

  She closed her eyes, but it was futile. A tear squeezed out. And then another.

  “Oh, Josephine.”

  This time, Nolan didn’t attempt to fill the moment with humor or words of assurances, he simply held her until her tears stopped.

  “I might always encourage Henry to allow you to assist him with his work.”

  She snorted. “Do you believe he’d agree to that?”

  The right corner of his lips lifted in a droll smile. “No.”

  Nor, if she had the opportunity, would she wish to help Henry in his case against Lathan Holman. Working alongside Duncan, she’d come to appreciate the layers of complexity to the charges of guilt and the gentleman’s right to live.

  “It has been five days since you’ve left the townhouse. I’d be remiss if I didn’t encourage you to join Sybil and me.”

  The underfoot sister and sister-in-law to the very-much-in-love husband and wife. It was a glimpse of her future… it was a glimpse of all their futures.

  And I want so much more than that.

  She wanted the partnership Sybil and Nolan enjoyed, the one that she’d found all too briefly with Duncan.

  Josephine caught the inside of her cheek between her teeth. Damn him and his stubbornness.

  “I thank you for the offer, but I’m going to remain behind.”

  Nolan dropped a kiss atop her curls, much the way he had when she’d been a girl. “I cannot say that I don’t envy you more than a little,” he said wistfully.

  His and Sybil’s attempts at expanding their business ventures had resulted in the pair becoming something of a social fixture amongst the ton so that they might establish connections that had been otherwise lacking because of Nolan’s previous reputation as a wastrel.

  She patted his hand. “I’m certain you shall have a splendid time,” she lied.

  He snorted. “You’re a terrible liar.”

  Actually, with her recent subterfuge and the mystery life she’d lived as Duncan’s clerk, Josephine had proven far more skilled than Nolan—or anyone else—would have credited.

  She managed her first real smile since her heart had been broken five days earlier. “Goodnight, Nolan.”

  “Splendid time,” he muttered under his breath as he took his leave. “At least it is the Marquess of Tennyson’s affair. For that reason alone, there’s a potential it could be interesting.”

  Josephine froze on the bench. The Marquess of…?

  “Lord Tennyson,” she whispered. Stop. Duncan doesn’t want your assistance. He couldn’t have been any clearer… And yet, there was the possibility that she could find out information that might help him and Lathan Holman. And in the end, she found she cared a good deal about Duncan’s pride. She scrambled to her feet. “What did you say?” she shouted as her brother stepped from the room. She raced across the room and collided with Nolan just as he returned.

  She grunted and went reeling back, but her brother steadied her.

  “Josephine?” he asked, a thread of worry in his voice.
“Whatever is the—?”

  “Where did you say you’re going? To the Marquess of Tennyson’s?”

  “Yes.” His expression darkened. “How do you know Lord Tennyson?”

  She opened her mouth.

  “I’ll kill him,” he gritted out.

  “Oh, hush. I don’t know him.”

  “You know of him, though.”

  “Everyone knows of the marquess, Nolan.” Which wasn’t untrue. Her brother, however, needn’t know the reason for Josephine’s particular interest.

  “It’s no longer that kind of affair, Josephine,” he called as she bolted down the hall. “Whatever you think the event might be, I assure you it’s not… Not that I’d allow you to attend if it was one of his previously interesting events.”

  “I’ll be along shortly,” she yelled back.

  An hour later, Josephine stood at the end of the receiving line of Lord and Lady Tennyson’s ballroom and craned around her brother and sister-in-law for a glimpse of the potential witness to Lathan Holman’s crime against the Crown. That’s when she saw them. They were a striking couple. Both golden-haired, tall, and slender, they had the look of two immortals who’d been paired by the gods.

  By the adoring way in which the gentleman’s gaze remained locked on his wife, Society’s reports that Tennyson had been thoroughly transformed proved correct. And yet…

  Josephine peered closely, noting the glances the marquess stole of the assembly line. The ballroom. His weren’t the bored, diffident eyes of most gentlemen. Did she merely imagine the sharpness of a stare that took in everything and everyone? A stare better suited to one in the Home Office?

  Of a sudden, that gaze locked on her.

  There was the faintest narrowing of his golden lashes. He was a man sizing up everyone—including her.

  And then he shifted his attention elsewhere.

  It was not, however, the Marquess of Tennyson whom Josephine had a desire to speak with. After going through the pleasantries of the receiving line, Josephine lingered at the side of the ballroom, eyeing the striking hostess. She had been a fellow student at Mrs. Belden’s Finishing School, and Josephine had heard tales of the young woman’s escapades, but they had never met. She, not unlike many of the other students at that miserable finishing school, had longed for the friendship of the girl—then the woman—who lived as a legend.