The Return of the Duke

by Grace Callaway

  “I ’ave…have no idea why anyone would want to ’urt…hurt me.” It was difficult to remember proper enunciation when discussing such disquieting matters. “I’m not important. And I’ve harmed no one, at least not knowingly.”

  “If the note your father found is to be believed, then an attack would have nothing to do with your actions per se. The danger would have been put into play by your mere birth,” Mr. Kent reasoned. “In other words, you did nothing to cause this, Your Grace.”

  “Excellent logic, darling,” his wife said with clear admiration. “I always said that you were the brains of our operation.”

  Mr. Kent lifted his brows. “And you, I take it, are the brawn?”

  “You have plenty of brawn when it counts,” Tessa said in a flirtatious tone.

  Grinning, her husband chucked her under the chin. “Nice try, sprite. We both know little Bart gets his bloodthirsty streak from his mama.”

  “Being bloodthirsty has its uses. Now, Knighton,” Tessa said in an imperious tone, “ever since you participated in the rescue of my grandpapa, I’ve been in your debt. It’s time to clean the slate. How may Harry and I assist in safeguarding your lady?”

  “We want to help too,” Gabby said in a soft rush. “We cannot just stand by while some villain threatens Fancy, can we, Mr. Garrity?”

  “I suppose not, my love.” There was a hint of irony in Mr. Garrity’s voice. “Well, Knighton? What is your plan?”

  “I’ve assigned guards to Fancy. She won’t go anywhere unless she’s accompanied by them or me,” Knight said grimly. “I also need to look into her origins. To discover who she is and why someone might wish her harm.”

  Icicles prickled over Fancy’s skin. The seriousness of the situation was sinking in. She reached for her champagne glass, once again overflowing with bubbles, and took a fortifying gulp.

  “The note and christening gown Her Grace mentioned,” Mr. Garrity said. “Do you have those items in your possession?”

  Knight inclined his head. “They don’t offer much in the way of clues, however. The note is written on plain parchment, in an indistinct hand…a woman’s, if I had to guess. I can vouch for the quality of the gown—hand-woven silk of the highest grade—but there’s nothing to signify where it was made. There is a bit of embroidery on the gown, a flower that might bear some significance, but that is the only thing to go on.”

  “I would like to have a look at the items,” Tessa said.

  “Me too,” Gabby chimed in. “May we call upon you tomorrow, Fancy? Maybe our fresh eyes will yield something new?”

  “That would be lovely,” Fancy said tremulously. “Thank you.”

  The tapping of a glass signaled that the toasts were about to begin, and for the next little while at least, Fancy was distracted from thoughts of murder and mayhem, her mind on more pleasant things.

  27

  After the breakfast ended and the well-wishers saw the bride and groom off on their wedding trip, a few guests lingered to chat, hosted by the groom’s brother and sister-in-law. Severin took the opportunity to speak with Garrity and Kent whilst their ladies carried on in their own group.

  Having known Garrity for years and fought side by side with both men during the rescue of Tessa Kent’s grandfather, Severin respected and trusted their judgement. Kent and Garrity knew the darker side of life just as he did. The three of them might have had territorial disputes and other minor skirmishes, but as men of honor they shared a sacrosanct code: women and children were to be protected.

  In the past, when the mates of these men were threatened, they had set aside their differences to help one another. Knight knew they would do the same for him. Especially since their wives had taken a liking to Fancy.

  “Her Grace’s origin is the key to all this,” Kent said, his bespectacled gaze thoughtful. “Why would someone want to harm a babe?”

  Severin shared his theory. “Perhaps the babe was born out of wedlock, and the parents needed to get rid of her for fear of scandal.”

  “True,” Kent allowed, “but why dress the babe in such finery? Why leave the babe in a field and not some place like an orphanage or foundling hospital? And I hate to say this, but if someone wanted to be rid of a babe, they could have done so in a more…permanent fashion.”

  Severin nodded starkly. These were questions he’d also mulled over.

  “Don’t forget money and revenge as motives.” Shadowy emotion flickered in Garrity’s dark gaze. “In my experience, those are the most common roots of evil.”

  “You think someone might have taken the babe out of revenge?” Kent asked.

  “Anything is possible,” Garrity said coolly. “It could also be a kidnapping gone wrong. Someone might have taken the babe and perhaps they didn’t receive the ransom they demanded. Or they did, but they didn’t bother returning the babe.”

  “Why leave that note?” Kent pondered aloud. “If some bastard was heartless enough to steal an infant, then surely he wouldn’t pen a missive trying to keep the babe safe.”

  “You are assuming that the point of the note was to protect the babe. But perhaps the real impetus behind the note was to keep the babe away from London so that she was never found. Which brings us back to revenge as a possible motive.”

  Kent stared at his business partner. “Devil and damn, that’s a pessimistic take on the matter.”

  “I call it realistic. One of us has to leave off the rose-colored glasses,” Garrity said wryly.

  Garrity’s hypothesis about kidnapping sparked a thought in Severin.

  “How would one go about seeing if a babe, likely from a wealthy family, went missing in London twenty-two years ago?” Severin asked.

  “Good question.” Kent stroked his chin. “Back then, before the establishment of the police force, I suppose a family with means would hire Bow Street Runners or other investigators to look into the case.”

  “The Charleys might have sounded the alarm that a child had gone missing,” Garrity added.

  Charleys were the night watchmen who had patrolled the streets prior to the establishment of Sir Robert Peel’s policing force. There were still a few around, mostly in wealthier enclaves where the householders could afford to pay the parish fee for additional security.

  “I could have my men locate Charleys who were working at the time,” Severin said. “It won’t be easy, given that it was over two decades ago, but if Fancy was indeed taken from a wealthy family, that would narrow down the neighborhoods at least.”

  “You could concentrate on the Charleys of the most affluent parishes,” Kent agreed. “St. James’s, St. George Hanover Square, and Piccadilly.”

  “Even so, it will be no small task hunting down the old watchmen,” Garrity remarked. “I’ll lend you some of my men.”

  “My brother Ambrose runs an investigative agency,” Kent said, “and he has old contacts who were Bow Street Runners. He could see if any of his cronies recall a case of a missing child fitting our time frame.”

  “I am in your debt, gentlemen,” Severin said.

  He wasn’t someone who accepted help easily. Perhaps because help had been so rarely offered. He would, however, do whatever it took to ensure Fancy’s safety.

  “We shall call it even,” Kent said. “After all, you helped Tessa and I in our time of need.”

  “As much as I would like to accept your marker,” Garrity said, “my wife will not hear of it. Mrs. Garrity has taken a liking to Her Grace, and she has this strange notion that favors amongst friends should come for free.”

  Although Garrity had adopted the tone of a long-suffering husband, Severin didn’t miss the pride in the man’s eyes as he searched out his redheaded wife.

  Across the drawing room, Mrs. Garrity, Fancy, Mrs. Kent, and Viscountess Carlisle occupied a cluster of curricle chairs. The four ladies looked like frolicking nymphs from an oil painting, their pretty heads bent together, their expressions merry. As Severin watched, Viscountess Carlisle said something, and all f
our burst into laughter.

  “What do you think they are giggling about?” he mused.

  “We don’t want to know,” Kent said ruefully. “My sister Violet may be a viscountess and mama of three, but that hasn’t stopped her from being a hoyden. Carlisle indulges her quite shamelessly. That last comment she made was probably outrageous.”

  “You do realize that is not tea they’ve been drinking?” Garrity’s gaze narrowed on his pink-cheeked and, indeed, rather tipsy-looking wife.

  Severin studied his own bride. Fancy was also flushed, her eyes sparkling as she finished a glass of champagne. He thought back to the breakfast…how many glasses had she had? Before his bemused gaze, she whispered something to Mrs. Garrity, and the pair dissolved into a paroxysm of giggles.

  “Gentlemen,” Garrity said. “I do believe it is time for us to collect our wives.”

  “Probably a good idea,” Severin muttered. “If Fancy doesn’t stop now, she will have a megrim on the morrow.”

  “The trick, Your Grace, is to take good care of your lady this eve,” Garrity said silkily. “Adieu.”

  He advanced toward his wife, his stride distinctly predatory.

  A wolfish gleam entered Kent’s gaze as well as he headed after his own lady, murmuring under his breath, “Devil and damn, I like weddings.”

  “You don’t ’ave to carry me up the stairs, Knight,” his wife said, giggling. “I can walk.”

  Glancing at his duchess’s languid, rosy features, Severin hid a smile.

  “Since you nearly toppled out of the carriage, I am not taking any chances,” he told her.

  “I tripped,” she said blithely.

  “Over your own feet.”

  “I’m not usually prone to accidents,” she said.

  Then a worried crease formed between her brows, and he knew she was thinking about the bricks and the invisible menace.

  “Nothing is going to happen to you,” he said firmly. “I will take care of you, Fancy. You know that, don’t you?”

  Her forehead smoothed, his declaration—and no doubt the champagne—easing her anxiety.

  “I trust you,” she said with a simplicity that made his chest expand with pride.

  “Put it out of your mind, then,” he said. “We’ll deal with it in the morning.”

  Arriving at her bedchamber, he dismissed her waiting maid. He sat his wife on the edge of the bed. Planting her hands on the mattress behind her, Fancy leaned back, chuckling as he knelt to remove her shoes.

  “Are you my lady’s maid tonight?” she asked.

  Fancy unsubtly batted her lashes at him. She was tipsy all right…but not so drunk that they couldn’t have some fun. Tonight, he wanted to take her mind off the looming threat; he had a plan and would contend with the dark business in the morning. At present, he had his wife to himself, and she was endearingly playful. It had been days since he’d tupped her, his loins burgeoning with the need to claim her once more.

  He slid his hands beneath her golden skirts, up the silk-covered curve of her calf. He felt a pulse of satisfaction at the way her breath hitched, her eyelids lowering as he hooked a finger under her garter, unfastening it. His cock stiffened when she spread her legs wider for him, an invitation to touch her higher up.

  Two could play at flirtation. After days of going without, he wanted to savor his pretty bride.

  He took his time untying her other garter and rolling down her stockings. Then he pulled her to her feet, turning her around so that he could work on the buttons of her gown. She swayed a little as he divested her of the garment. Taking her hands, he placed them on a poster of the bed.

  “Hold on to the bedpost, chérie,” he murmured against her ear. “We don’t want you falling while I get the rest of these layers off, hmm?”

  She shivered against him. “Whate’er you say, Knight.”

  “What an obedient little wife you are.” He untied her petticoats, the layers pooling around her. “By the by, you looked beautiful tonight.”

  Her breath caught as he tugged at a knot in her corset lacing. Holding the strings that controlled her respiration fanned his arousal. She was so exquisitely trusting in his hands. He tugged, then released, her sensual sigh engorging his prick.

  “I’m glad you think so.” She looked over her shoulder at him with her big brown eyes. “I wanted to make you proud.”

  God, she made him hard.

  He chucked the corset aside and cupped her curvy backside, now covered only by a thin linen chemise. She quivered as he squeezed her luscious arse.

  “I am proud of you.” He pushed her chemise up, his touch proprietary. His nostrils flared as he took stock of his lady: her lush hips, indented waist, the firm perfection of her breasts.

  “Even if my speech isn’t perfect?” she gasped out.

  He stilled in the act of playing with her tits which were, indeed, perfect. He took her hands from the bed post and turned her to face him. With her hair still in its elegant coronet, she looked like a debauched princess in her transparent chemise that displayed her budded red nipples and alluring dark thatch. Lust pounded urgently in his veins, but even more pressing was the worry he heard in her voice.

  “Your speech is fine,” he said.

  “I made mistakes,” she said, her expression forlorn. “Even though I tried not to. I’m still ’aving…having trouble with my h’s.”

  Her vulnerability unleashed a wave of tenderness in him. Her cheerful disposition sometimes made him forget how much she was doing to become a proper duchess. All that she was undertaking…for him.

  He cupped her cheek. “You’re doing a smashing job, sweeting.”

  “Mr. Stanton doesn’t think so.” She wrinkled her nose, adding candidly, “He’s tearing out what’s left of ’is…his hair trying to get me to say my h’s properly.”

  It struck Severin that Fancy didn’t usually complain to him about…well, anything. It was probably the champagne loosening her inhibitions. He wanted her to know that, tipsy or not, she didn’t have to hide how she felt from him.

  “Tell me more,” he encouraged. “Maybe I can help.”

  “I don’t think you can,” she mumbled.

  “Try me.” After a pause, he added, “I had to polish up my own speech, you know.”

  “You did?”

  Her surprised look reminded him that he’d glossed over the details of his past.

  “’Ad to, luv, didn’t I?” he said in the Cockney accents of his youth. “Wanted to be a nob, so I ’ad to learn to walk and talk like one.”

  “’Ow…how did you learn?”

  Gazing into her wide, curious eyes, he hesitated. He wasn’t sure he wanted to tell his wife that it had been Imogen who’d coached him. Back then, he couldn’t afford elocution lessons, so he’d learned by aping Imogen and her family. Day in and day out, he had listened to the Hammonds and privately rehearsed their accents and manner of speech. When he practiced with Imogen, she’d giggled, calling him her Knight-in-training and giving him pointers on how to further polish his accent.

  But Imogen had no place in his marital bower, and he didn’t want Fancy to be distracted by his past. In truth, he had no problem concentrating on the present, not when his nearly naked wife was gazing at him with her soft doe’s eyes.

  “I practiced.” He stroked her downy cheek. “It takes time.”

  Fancy blew out a breath, her rosy lips rounding in a pout that made his cock strain with longing.

  “That’s the problem,” she said. “I only ’ave…have a week until Princess Adelaide’s soiree.”

  Ignoring his arousal, he said, “Tell me how I can help, chérie.”

  “I don’t know that you can. I think…I think there’s something wrong with my mouth.”

  “There is absolutely nothing wrong with your mouth,” he said with conviction.

  In fact, he was about to explode watching her tongue wet those perfect, plump lips.

  “Well, something ain’t working. Mr. Stanton keeps telling
me to keep my jaw loose, to breathe the sound from the back o’ my throat, and I ’ave…have no idea what he means,” she said mournfully.

  A proper gentleman would console his wife. Perhaps utter a few soft words of encouragement. He would definitely not have the depraved thoughts that Severin was having.

  Truth be told, he had been entertaining the idea and waiting for the right time to introduce this particular variation on the theme to his wife. Now was probably not the right time but… He struggled briefly with his lust.

  To hell with being a gentleman, he thought.

  “I think I can help you with that, sweeting,” he said.

  She tilted her head. “How?”

  Anticipation sizzled up his spine. He kept his expression bland.

  “Take off your chemise, and I’ll show you.”

  Fancy blinked at her husband. “I ’ave to be naked for this lesson?”

  He arched his brows. “Do you want my help or not?”

  She did want help, and the truth was she wouldn’t mind something else either. Now that her flux was over, she was eager to resume her marital activities. She had enough liquid courage left in her to reach for her chemise and pull it over her head.

  She looked up into her husband’s eyes. What she saw in his smoldering gaze was more intoxicating than any beverage. Her heart thumped giddily.

  “Nicely done,” he said.

  His calm, almost cool reply heightened her excitement. Grabbing a pillow from the bed, he tossed it onto the floor in front of him.

  “Now kneel, sweetheart,” he said.

  Her pulse raced. Was he in earnest? His expression said that he was. They’d never done anything like this before, and the idea of being on her knees, naked at the feet of her fully clothed husband, stirred the darker shadows of her desire. There were faint crinkles around his eyes, a sensual slant to his mouth that suggested they were playing a game. A new, sophisticated sort of game that a duke could apparently play with his duchess.

  With the danger lurking in her life, Fancy experienced a wild need to lose herself in the fantasy Knight was offering. To surrender her worries and fears for the night. To not think about anything but the pleasure she felt in his arms.