Title Sinful Tales of Desirable Ladies

by Lucinda Nelson

  “What happened? I turned around only to see you chasing him.”

  “I followed you in the hopes of talking to you,” the Duke answered, walking with his hands behind his back. “I saw him with the cudgel, and could not help but see he also appeared to be following you. He got close, and that was then I realized he intended to strike you with it.”

  “For what purpose? I do not think I have enemies.”

  “Had I caught him, I certainly would have asked, with force if necessary.” The Duke smiled briefly, then his habitual gloomy cast returned to his face. “He eluded me, however. I suppose I should learn to run faster. I always seem too far behind to catch these miscreants.”

  “Thank you for trying.”

  “I wish you to take care, Miss Wolcott,” His Grace advised, his tone grave. “Do not go out alone again, please. Whoever wishes you harm may yet try again.”

  “I will heed your advice, Your Grace.”

  At her door, the Duke bent to kiss her cheek, and still feeling uncertainty, and no little fear, Teresa permitted it. His gesture was warm and friendly, and even affectionate. Teresa liked it, and almost wished he had kissed her lips, then smiled into his eyes. “Thank you for walking me home.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  Closing the door and leaning her back against it, Teresa again wondered if she could trust him. “He put his life on the line for you,” she muttered to herself. “How can he not be trustworthy?”

  Still fearful that he played some game with her, Teresa could not decide if she should see him again.

  Chapter 10

  Solomon Eli Dunn, the Duke of Thornehill

  “Thomas Wolcott agreed to help me,” Solomon muttered, staring down at the reports on his office desk. “I do not need to see Miss Wolcott anymore.”

  He rested his head in his hands, feeling more guilty and dishonorable than ever. Reminding himself that he liked her enough to keep seeing her, deep down he suspected he could not ever enter into a committed relationship. That is not fair to her. No matter how he tried to plan on letting her keep her suspicions about him and cease all contact, the image of her beautiful face rose into his mind.

  “I like her. I want to see her. And that is turning me into more of a scoundrel than my affairs.”

  In an attempt to shove Miss Wolcott and the dilemma she presented, Solomon tried to focus his attention on the report in front of him. His official business office was in a large warehouse near the shipyards on the Thames. He had never gotten used to the crying of the gulls and the constant scent of fish that permeated the place, and always told himself to find another office that was less malodorous. He had yet to do it.

  “Sol?”

  Looking up, he found Aldric Hammond entering the office. A genuine smile for his old friend rose to his mouth, and he stood up to shake hands. Though he suspected the man of betrayal and thievery, he wholeheartedly hoped he was wrong about Aldric. He hoped he was wrong about both men, in fact, but was forced to play the part of the ignorant victim.

  “Aldric. It is good to see you.”

  “You as well. I read the scandal sheets and I see that you are still up to your old habits.”

  “They are hard to break.”

  Aldric grinned, his blue eyes dancing. “If I were not happily married I might be right there with you, cuckolding those snobbish bastards.”

  “Are we not a pair of those snobbish bastards?”

  “Not I. You and I have titles, but we are more down to earth than those idiots.”

  “I could not help but noticed you were seen talking to Miss Calhoun.”

  “And? You know she is an old friend of mine.”

  “Yes, I remember. Betsy saw her in a place once, a number of years ago. She expressed a desire to meet her.”

  Solomon grinned, sitting back in his chair. “I might be able to arrange it. I do not know where she is staying, however.”

  “If you run into her again, please ask.”

  “I will.”

  “And what’s with this little woman the scandal sheets are making such a fuss about?”

  Solomon glanced away. “I like her Aldric. But she thinks I am a wretch.”

  “You are.” Aldric grinned. “But one of the good ones.”

  Chuckling, Solomon shook his head. “I do not know what to do. I have no desire to hurt her, but you know how I am. I have a terrible fear of commitments.”

  “Your father taught you that,” Aldric commented dryly. “I intend no disrespect, but his cold heart drove your mother to the bottle, then to the grave. I know you did not inherit that along with his wealth, titles and horses.”

  “What if I did? What if I am incapable of love?”

  “The very fact you asked that question indicates to me you are quite capable of it. No fear, Sol, no fear. Just take the lady out, fall in love if you like her that much and marry her. Believe me, marriage to someone you love is quite fulfilling.”

  “Not for my mother,” Solomon replied, frowning. “She adored my father and to what end? She died of a broken heart.”

  “You are not your father, Sol,” Aldric snapped. “Cease believing that you are.”

  Shaking his head, Solomon changed the subject. “Have you spoken to the potential buyer for that property near Kensington?”

  “Yes, indeed. He is ready to buy at our price.”

  “Excellent. That will make us both a very handsome profit.”

  “I worked hard to convince him it was worth that price.”

  “What tipped him into buying?”

  Aldric grinned and rubbed the side of his nose. “The fact that a distant relation of the Prince Regent lives a few doors down. It seems this fellow is hoping for a connection that can get him a position within the Home Secretary’s office.”

  “Ah. Well done, Aldric, well done.”

  “We sign the papers tomorrow, so I hope you are available.”

  “I have no pressing engagements.”

  Solomon opened a bottle of brandy to celebrate, and poured into two tumblers. Toasting one another, they spoke of other properties they might purchase, then sell at a profit. “I know you do not care much for dealing in the slums, Sol, but there is money to be made in Whitechapel.”

  “In prostitutes? I like my entertainments, but I will not become a pimp.”

  “No, no, of course not. I mean buying plots of land, perhaps build flats on them. Rent them out. The prostitutes need somewhere to live.”

  “Hmm.” Solomon sat back in his chair and rested his hands on his belly. “I have no desire to become an owner of a rat infested lair that I would not kennel my dogs in.”

  “No fear on that score.” Aldric stood, set his glass on Solomon’s desk and pulled a piece of paper from his coat pocket. “Look, I took the liberty of putting together some numbers. Even with maintaining the buildings so the tenants have a decent place to live, at these rents I suggest here, we can easily profit ten thousand pounds a year each.”

  Solomon frowned. “These rents do appear reasonable, given the area. Cheap even.”

  “The most underworked prostitute in Whitechapel can afford these, Sol. We can fill them easily. I even noted a manager’s salary here.”

  “I will hire only fair minded managers,” Solomon warned. “Not anyone who will take advantage of these people.”

  Aldric looked injured. “Of course I agree, Sol. You think I have a heart of steel?”

  Smiling, Solomon shook his head. “No, you are as honorable as I am.”

  I hope. Please, do not be the one stealing from me. “Why do we not take a ride over there tomorrow? After we sign the papers?”

  “I was hoping you would want to.”

  ***

  After making plans to meet Aldric in the morning, Solomon decided to pay a call on Edward Crane, whom he knew would be working out of his home not far from the warehouse. Edward opened his door after Solomon’s knock, and greeted him warmly.

  “Come in, I was planning to drop by
your house later, and bring you my reports. Let me get them.”

  Solomon followed him through the small house with the plain furnishings, absently wondering what Edward did with the wealth he knew Edward had obtained through their shared profits. “You can afford better, Edward,” he commented, striding toward the room Edward used as his office. “Why do you not spend money on yourself?”

  “Eh?” Edward rifled through papers, and handed Solomon a small pile. “Oh, you know me, Sol. After growing up in near poverty, I have a fear of it returning. I tend to hoard the stuff.” His wide smile and rakish blond hair that spilled over his brow made him look ten years younger than his nine and twenty years. “I take care of my mum, too, you know. She needs constant care these days with her terrible joints.”

  “Give her my best.”

  “I will. Say, I have been reading the scandal sheets –”

  Solomon raised his hand with a groan. “Please do not say it, Edward. I have had it up to here with hearing about my exploits.”

  Edward grinned. “All I was going to say was that this Miss Teresa Wolcott sounds like a very nice lady, in spite of her exercising her opinions. If you do not intend to court her, perhaps you might introduce me.”

  Jealousy surged upward into Solomon’s heart, and his rage bloomed. His constant need to keep his emotions from his face prevented Edward from noticing anything amiss. “I am still getting to know her, Edward. But if I have no intention of pursuing her, then, of course, I will make introductions.”

  Edward’s smile faded. “She is not truly unstable – is she?”

  Solomon laughed, his anger easing. “No. She is quite stable. She suffers from a condition that makes it difficult for her to be in crowds.”

  “Oh. I hardly ever attend parties, so if I were to court her, then I see no issue.”

  “Me first,” Solomon growled, only half serious. “Right now I am still interested in her.”

  Edward put his hands up as though in surrender. “Of course, Sol. No offense intended.”

  ***

  Miss Teresa Wolcott

  Alone in her room, Teresa stared at the pile of letters sent by the Duke. A lit lamp stood nearby, illuminating her desk, her wide bed and most of the room. Throughout supper, she had endured Thomas’s intense and angry questions regarding her attacker and how the Duke, by following her, saved her life.

  “We owe much to His Grace,” Amelia admitted. “I expect it is high time I changed my opinion of him.”

  “Did the Duke say what this man looked like?” Thomas demanded, leaning over his supper plate.

  “No,” Teresa replied. “I did not think to ask.”

  “And he was sneaking up behind you with a cudgel?”

  Teresa nodded. “An old woman saw him, then the Duke attacked him, drove him off.”

  Chewing his thumbnail to the quick, Thomas stared off to the side. “I must have a word with His Grace,” he muttered.

  “Are you thinking to see him?” Amelia asked, her tone kind.

  Staring at her plate, Teresa said, “I am not sure. I have to think about it.”

  Nibbling her lower lip, she suddenly blurted, “Can a man and a woman have a close but platonic relationship?”

  Both Thomas and Amelia stared hard at her, then glanced at one another. “Well, of course,” Thomas said. “I know of many who have had such.”

  “Thomas and I were good friends before we decided to improve the relationship,” Amelia answered, casting a fond glance at her husband. “Had we not chosen to do so, we would still be close friends.”

  “Why do you ask?” Thomas inquired.

  “The Duke and that actress, Miss Calhoun,” Teresa replied slowly. “He says they are friends, but not – intimate.”

  “I can see it,” Thomas went on with a shrug. “He has no need for her body with all his other liaisons and she has no need for his wealth.”

  “Thomas!” Amelia scowled at her husband. “Do not bring such crude talk to the supper table.”

  Now, hours later with Thomas and Amelia in their own room, the house quiet, Teresa picked up the first letter from the Duke, delivered days earlier. Slitting the envelope open with a small knife, Teresa read:

  My dear Miss Wolcott. I hope this finds you well. I had hoped for a dance with you at Dame Rotterdam’s ball last night, but I fear I was detained by an old friend I have not seen in years. There is another ball in seven days, hosted by the Earl and Countess of Eau Claire. I pray that you will accept my invitation to attend as my personal guest. Yours, Thornehill.

  The second letter stated much the same, save there was a line that mentioned her lack of a response to his first letter. The very last, hand delivered by him through Thomas, said: My dear Miss Wolcott. I fear my actions have led you astray. You believe I am toying with you, that you have no place in my heart. Nothing is further from the truth. True, I visited with Rebecca Calhoun that night at Dame Rotterdam’s party, but ours is an honest and plain friendship. Once upon a time, long ago, I thought to ask her to marry me. But while we are friends, and close, we would not make compatible mates. We both know and understand this. I sincerely apologize for leading you to think I have other interests than you, but in truth, there is no other. The Eau Claire ball is in two days, and I hope to attend with you on my arm. Yours, Thornehill.

  Teresa set the last letter in her lap, and stared out over the roof tops from her chair beside the window. Feeling as though she understood the Duke a little more, her suspicions about him were not allayed. “He admitted to me he cannot form close relationships. What if I get close, and he turns and flees? Then I am left with a broken heart.”

  Still unable to fully trust him, knowing his proclivities with other women, Teresa made up her mind. Pulling paper from her desk drawer, picking up her quill ad dipping it into the inkwell, she wrote, “To His Grace, the Duke of Thornehill, I greet you well. Yes, I will attend the ball at the Eau Claire residence with my brother, and perhaps I will see you there. I am putting my faith, my trust in you. I pray you will deal with me honorably, and I thank you again for your timely rescue. Yours, Teresa Wolcott.

  Folding the letter, she sealed it with hot wax and the family crest, then set it aside to send by messenger the following morning. Turning the lamp down low, Teresa undressed and changed into her night gown, then sat at the window again, gazing out into the darkness. Suspecting she would not sleep well that night after the trauma of earlier in the day and the dilemma posed by Thornehill, she had brought a glass of wine to her room with her.

  Sipping it, feeling it relax her muscles and her mind, Teresa wondered who wanted her harmed and why. “The people who do not like me simply do not want to be near me. They do not wish me harm.” Or so she told herself. Expanding her thoughts, she considered and rejected all possible people she knew who may wish to see her dead or maimed.

  While she herself did not earn many true enemies, Teresa’s thoughts roamed to Thomas, whose work did make him enemies. “Am I a target for someone who hates Thomas?” she mused, sipping her wine. “Perhaps someone wishes revenge on Thomas by killing me.”

  Chapter 11

  Solomon Eli Dunn, the Duke of Thornehill

  Solomon read Miss Wolcott’s missive, and instantly recognized her hesitations. “Fear not, my lady,” he murmured, refolding the letter. “You will be safe with me.”

  Feeling better since the moment he realized she thought he was involved with Rebecca, Solomon washed and dressed with care with the help of his valet, Drummond Jackson, whom Solomon had addressed as Jack since the man came to be his valet when Solomon was eighteen years old. In those years, Solomon had come to trust him as he had Evan and Percy. The middle aged servant seldom offered advice, even when asked, and looked after his young master with a powerful devotion.

  “When was the last time you had a day to yourself?” Solomon asked him as Jack dusted any particles from his black coat with a fine brush.

  “Your Grace, I do not remember.”

  “The
n today is yours, Jack. Do something you enjoy.”

  Solomon gazed at him with a quizzical eye. “Just what do you enjoy doing?”

  “Reading, Your Grace.”

  “Then my library is at your disposal. Have fun, I may not be back until late.”

  Jack bowed low. “I will expect you when I see you, Your Grace.”

  Choosing to ride his favorite black stallion rather than take his coach, Solomon trotted through the streets toward the small office he shared with Aldric. There, he and Aldric signed the papers over to the small balding man, who had no idea the Earl of Oakshire’s partner was the Devil Duke himself. The poor man signed hastily, offered up his promissory note and fled.