by Burke, Darcy
Arabella wished she could be a member and then recalled that Phoebe had said she was. She would tell Graham that next time she saw him since he kept saying she should be.
Tomorrow. She would see him tomorrow. Alone in the park. It wasn’t a bedroom, but…
No! There would be no kissing or anything else. He might very well tell her that he’d concluded his business with Tibbord, and then their association would be over.
She’d known their relationship was temporary. Not that she’d considered that the other night. She hadn’t considered anything beyond how much she’d wanted him and how wonderful being with him felt.
The sooner she accepted that he would be nothing but a lovely memory—like Miles—the better off she would be.
Chapter 11
After arriving early at Hosenby’s on Monday evening, Graham nursed a tankard of ale as he awaited Osborne’s appearance. He sat at a table against the wall with a clear view of the door, which he watched like a bird of prey. Therefore, the arrival of Ripley and Colton was impossible for him to miss.
The marquess and viscount scanned the room and quickly found Graham. What the bloody hell were they doing here?
They made their way to Graham’s table and didn’t wait to be invited to sit down. “‘Evening, Halstead,” Colton said.
“Good evening. What a surprise to see you here,” Graham said without diluting the irony.
Colton inclined his head toward a serving maid. “We thought you might want moral support.”
Graham didn’t, but he refrained from saying so. He didn’t want to scare Osborne off, and the man had made it clear he wasn’t interested in working with Ripley.
The serving maid brought two more tankards of ale for Graham’s unwanted guests. As was usual, her gaze lingered on Ripley. But then she also looked toward Colton. Graham supposed she’d given him the same manner of interest, but he hadn’t returned it. Ripley and Colton, however, smiled at her. She bounced away with a sly grin.
“Do you ever go out without looking for women?” Graham asked, lifting his ale for a drink.
“I never do anything without looking for women,” Ripley said. “Life would be tragically boring without them. I wondered if you were remotely interested in them until I saw you with—what was her name, Mrs. Devon?” He sipped his ale. “She’s a comely piece. Did you bring her? I don’t recall meeting her, and I did my best to meet all the Cyprians who came to my house the other night.”
“No, I didn’t bring her. You must have just missed her.” Graham prayed he would drop this line of conversation. Or that Osborne would arrive. The latter would be ideal.
“But you left with her,” Ripley said.
Colton leaned forward across the table toward Graham, his red-rimmed eyes alight with interest. “Did you?”
“We departed at the same time. I didn’t leave with her.” Hopefully, no one saw them walking away together. Even if they did, Graham would say they were mistaken.
Ripley turned toward Graham and draped his arm over the back of his chair. “I assumed you had some sort of association with her since you recruited her assistance with locating Osborne and allowed her presence when you spoke with him.”
“Only because it seemed prudent to have help.” Thankfully, Osborne entered at that moment. Even without the mask, the man was completely recognizable thanks to his height and the walking stick. Graham quickly stood. “If you’ll excuse me. While I appreciate the support, it’s best if I speak with Osborne alone.”
“I agree,” Ripley said, making Graham relax slightly. He removed his hand from the chair and looked up at Graham with a measured expression that conveyed seriousness instead of his usual dry wit. “As Colton said, we only wanted to provide moral support—or any other kind of support should you need it.”
“Thank you.” Graham hurried to meet Osborne just inside the door. “Good evening, Mr. Osborne.”
Osborne’s gaze flicked over him. “Good evening. Yes, you are the man I met the other night.”
Graham extended his hand. “Halstead.”
Surprise flashed in Osborne’s dark eyes, and he blinked, perhaps in an effort to mask the emotion. “Your Grace, it’s an honor to meet you.”
“Come, let us find a quiet place to sit. If there is such a thing at a gaming hell.” He smiled blandly and led Osborne to a table in the corner on the opposite side of the common room from Ripley and Colton.
They sat, and Osborne said, “Yes, they can be rather loud, but usually not terribly so, especially if you stay out of the gaming rooms.”
“I’m surprised this is where you’d choose to conduct business,” Graham said. “Haven’t you an office?”
“That’s an expense my employer doesn’t wish to incur. It’s hardly necessary as he only works with a small group of select clientele.”
Graham wondered how he’d managed to become “select” but supposed it was entirely based on the conversation Osborne had overheard Saturday night. “Your employer… When do I get to meet him?”
“That is not how we work, I’m afraid. You meet with me. My employer is focused on investing your money to its best advantage.”
What utter horseshit. Graham had to practically bite his tongue.
A different serving maid deposited two tankards of ale on the table before hurrying on her way.
“Then I’m afraid I won’t be able to invest,” Graham said. It was a huge risk, but he had to meet Tibbord face-to-face. He picked up his tankard and took a drink, hoping to appear careless.
Osborne frowned but didn’t say anything. Graham pressed his advantage—if he had one. “I can’t be the first client to request a meeting with your employer.”
“No.” Osborne’s lips stretched into a tight, humorless smile. “However, that is a privilege reserved for very few.”
“One might argue I’m the epitome of privilege.” For the first time, Graham wielded his title like a hammer. “If your employer won’t meet with a duke, I have to wonder if his investments are sound at all.”
Osborne narrowed his eyes. “Do you actually have money to invest?”
Graham wondered if this would come up. He tensed, feeling as if he were in the midst of a fencing match. “I do.”
“I have to ask, of course.” The pompous smile returned. “The prior duke, who also demanded to meet my employer, was not all that solvent, and from your conversation the other night, it seemed you might be in a similar situation.”
Graham hid his shock at the mention of the prior duke. He hadn’t expected Osborne to mention him, but how could Osborne know if Graham possessed knowledge of Tibbord and his schemes or not? “The prior duke invested with your employer?” he asked in mock surprise. “I was not aware of it.”
“What a coincidence,” Osborne said smoothly, reaching for his tankard. “The duke liked to exert his privilege. I’m afraid he didn’t have much else when he died.” He said this with a mix of pity and disdain.
Graham almost felt sorry for the duke. “I have my own money. When can I meet with your employer? He is welcome to come to Brixton Park. Presumably, he knows where that is if he worked with my predecessor.”
“He does. I will confer with him and send you a notice of the meeting. You must keep this confidential, of course. This is not a service we extend to many.”
“Of course,” Graham agreed, though he intended to tell Arabella in the morning. He could hardly wait. Victory was within their grasp.
Osborne took another drink of ale, then stood. “You’ll hear from me soon.” Picking up his walking stick, which he’d leaned against the table, he departed the hell.
Graham swept up his tankard then went back to his previous table. His backside had barely hit the chair before Ripley said, “Well?”
“Tibbord will meet me at Brixton Park—the date is yet to be determined.”
Ripley grinned. “Excellent.”
Colton lifted his mug. “To… What are we drinking to?”
“To restitution.�
�� Graham tapped his tankard to the other’s and took a long drink.
Ripley set his ale down. “Have you decided what to do if he refuses to return the investment?”
“I can do what I mentioned the other night—seek to have him banished from his usual gaming hells. And any new ones.” Graham didn’t doubt he could make this happen. The owners of the hells wouldn’t want it spread around that they allowed a known swindler among their clientele.
“You could also threaten legal action,” Colton suggested.
Graham acknowledged that anything he did would likely ensure Tibbord publicized the state of the prior duke’s financial affairs. Given what Osborne had said tonight, Tibbord was clearly aware of how desperate the duke had been.
However, Graham refused to be extorted. And if he had to choose between recovering the money or keeping everything secret, he would choose the former. If he got the investment back, he would no longer be destitute, and there would be nothing to expose.
“Or just tell him you’re the Duke of Halstead and you have the means to make his life completely miserable,” Colton said with a snort. “Which you do. You have powerful friends and connections.”
Graham didn’t either, but he supposed he could. He thought of the Duke of Kendal and Satterfield’s invitation to join them at the club. He would do that. Perhaps when he was finished here.
“That seems a rather vague threat,” Graham said.
Colton shrugged. “It might be to some, but if this man is skirting the law, and propriety, then it seems like you might be able to frighten him with ducal bluster. I know it works for the Duke of Holborn. Everyone’s intimidated by him.”
“I’m not.” Ripley smirked as he picked up his tankard.
Colton laughed. “You don’t count.”
Ripley smacked his empty mug on the table. “Where are we off to next, lads?”
“I’m for White’s,” Graham said, intending to establish a connection with Satterfield’s stepson, the Duke of Kendal.
“Forget the stodgy old club,” Colton said. “Come with us.”
Graham could well imagine where they were going, and he wasn’t interested. “Thank you, but I have a prior engagement.”
“I suspect Halstead has a mistress.” Ripley gave him a knowing look.
Not wishing to encourage the man, Graham said nothing and busied himself with drinking his ale.
“The woman he left your house with the other night?” Colton asked. “Sorry I missed meeting her, but I was otherwise engaged.” A gratified smile spread his lips.
Ripley chuckled. “Halstead’s being rather coy. And we’ll leave him to it.”
Graham breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t want to discuss Arabella. She already occupied too much of his mind.
He parted ways with Ripley and Colton, then caught a hack to White’s. So far, tonight had gone quite well, and he could only hope it would continue in that vein. He was grateful not to have to return to Brixton Park, but wished David was here.
Graham regretted keeping his financial problems from his best friend. It would be nice to have someone to talk to. Except he did—Arabella.
Maybe he wanted someone to talk to about her. Graham laughed aloud in the empty hack. That he was perhaps falling in love with the woman his best friend had been supposed to marry was incredibly ironic.
Falling in love.
Was that what was happening to him? No, that wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. Not when he knew they had no future. If she was free of her duty, she’d choose not to wed. She’d choose to be a member of the Spitfire Society, and he couldn’t blame her for that.
Soon, they would go their separate ways, and he would simply be glad for having known her, if only for a short time.
* * *
Anticipation thrummed through Graham as he lunged and parried. The morning was warm, and a faint sheen of sweet dappled his forehead and the back of his neck. He’d removed his coat, but now paused to shed his waistcoat as well. He leaned his sword against a tree and was just stripping the garment away when he heard Biscuit’s familiar bark.
“Good morning,” he greeted as Arabella came into the small private clearing. He liked practicing here because the trees and shrubbery obscured him from the surrounding area. It was also the perfect place to meet Arabella without drawing notice.
Particularly when she was dressed as a maid, with her floppy cap and oversized work gown. She looked incredibly nondescript.
But not to him. To him, she was beautiful, her moss-green eyes smartly assessing everyone around her with curiosity and empathy, while her smile lit up the world.
She seemed to falter, stopping short as she saw him, her gaze arresting on his midsection. She was taking in his state of undress. And now he was thinking about her in a state of undress. Perhaps he should at least have left his waistcoat on.
“Good morning,” she said, coming farther into the clearing.
Graham went to take the leash from her hand, then bent to pet Biscuit quite thoroughly. The dog knew him now, not that she’d ever shied away from his attention, and set out licking his wrist and nuzzling his hand. “That’s a good girl,” he cooed, rubbing her belly and chin as she flopped onto her back. Her lids came down halfway, and her tongue lolled to the side.
“She adores you,” Arabella said.
Graham looked up to see her staring down at them. “She’s a smart dog.” He returned his attention to Biscuit, scratching her head. “Aren’t you, Biscuit? Aren’t you the smartest dog?”
She barked in response, then leapt to her feet.
After securing her to the same tree as last time, he went to his coat, where he withdrew a bone wrapped in paper from David’s kitchen. “I brought you a treat.”
Arabella laughed. “Oh, she’s going to be insufferable now.”
Graham shrugged but didn’t apologize. “I think I told you I loved dogs.”
“You didn’t have to tell me. I can see it. Why didn’t you get another after Zeus?”
It had been too painful to contemplate at first. He’d poured all his energy into Uther instead. But now, after spending time with Biscuit, he wondered if it was time. He was going to miss her when he no longer saw Arabella. He ignored the pang of anguish that sucked at his chest.
“I just didn’t. Perhaps I will—after everything is settled.” He had a hard time imagining when that would be. Aside from dealing with the financial disaster, he was still trying to navigate being a duke. It felt overwhelming when he truly stopped to think about it. The tenants at Halstead Manor, his role in the government, the weight of the past and future generations depending on him.
“How did it go last night?”
He was grateful for the question so he could shift his mind. “Very well. I demanded to meet Osborne’s employer before I would commit to making an investment.”
Her eyes widened. “And he agreed?”
“It took some persuasion, but yes.” She grinned, and he couldn’t stop himself from joining her. It felt so good to share this with her. “I invoked my privilege as a duke.”
She giggled. “How noble of you.”
He snorted. “Yes, that’s what we dukes do. He said the previous duke did the same thing.”
She blinked in surprise. “You discussed him?”
“Osborne brought him up. I think he was trying to ascertain what I knew. I pretended as though I was unaware of any investment between him and Tibbord. Osborne also wanted to be sure I actually had money to invest.”
“Which you don’t.”
“Correct, but I said I did.”
“And he believed you because, well, you’re a duke.” She smirked.
He grinned again. “Just so.”
“When will you meet with Tibbord?”
“He hasn’t said—he’s going to send a note informing me of the time. I suppose I will have to rearrange my schedule since Osborne didn’t indicate I would have a say in setting the appointment. He’ll come to Brixton Park.” He re
alized he wanted her to see Brixton Park, the place his ancestor had built and which gave him a sense of pride and connection. Connection to his father and the Kinsleys, who’d come before them, a line of people who’d been forsaken, and Graham would make sure it wasn’t for naught. He would make them all proud.
“I hope you’ll let me know when,” she said.
“Of course. In the meantime, I think you should visit Brixton Park. Your mother wanted to see it, didn’t she?” He didn’t particularly want her mother to come, but he couldn’t very well invite Arabella for a private tour, much as he wanted to.
“She would love that.” She grimaced. “But, she would also take that as a sign that you’re interested in courtship, and she’ll be horribly disappointed when we decide we don’t suit. She’s already been pestering me as to whether you’ll call again. She’s noticed you haven’t been at any of the events we’ve attended.”
No, he’d been busy with hunting Tibbord. “Should I call again? I want to do whatever makes things easier for you.”
Her features softened. “Thank you. I do appreciate your concern. What if you host a small picnic? We can include Phoebe and Jane.”
“We.” It almost sounded as if they were hosting it together. A vision of her as his duchess flashed in his mind. He shoved the image away. “An excellent idea.” He tried to think of friends he could invite, but decided Ripley, and to a lesser extent Colton, would not be acceptable with the ladies in attendance. “Is tomorrow too soon?”
The bridge of her nose wrinkled. “What if Tibbord wants to visit tomorrow?”
“Then I shall come down with an inconvenient injury or illness that will require me to postpone our picnic.” He retrieved his sword and sliced it through the air. “Ready for your fencing lesson?”
“If you think I must.”
He lowered his arm, frowning. “I thought you enjoyed it.”
She shook her head gently, a small smile teasing her lips. “I did. I’m sorry. It’s just… Never mind.” She squared her shoulders and assumed the position he’d taught her, then held out her hand. “My sword, if you please.”