The Duke's Privateer (Devilish Dukes Book 3)

by Amy Jarecki

  “Perhaps a visit to Colworth House is what I need.” Eleanor laughed. “I doubt Danby would ever find me there.”

  They chatted for a time, though when the mantel clock struck midnight, Eleanor gasped. “I didn’t realize it had grown so late. Should you not return to your guests?”

  “Oh, dear. I suppose I cannot ignore them all evening.” Georgiana pushed to her feet. “It has been ever so nice to catch up. Won’t you come for tea soon?”

  “I’d like that very much.”

  After bidding goodbye to her friend, Eleanor made her way to the cloakroom. She had arrived early, taken care of her affairs, and there wasn’t a reason in the world for her to stay a moment longer, especially with Danby lurking about.

  Better yet, Georgiana had asked a footman to ensure Eleanor’s carriage was waiting at the bottom of the mansion’s stairs.

  Earnest hopped down from his perch beside the coachman and opened the door. “Did you enjoy the ball, Miss Kent?”

  “It was lovely to see the duchess so happy,” she said, accepting his assistance to climb aboard.

  Inside, she settled and pulled her cloak snugly about her shoulders. The evening air was rather chilly for summer. But it grew even colder when a dark shadow moved on the bench across from her.

  Before she could scream, the figure hurled himself beside her, slapping a hand over her mouth. And as she jolted, his other arm clamped about her shoulders, making it impossible to move. “Please don’t scream, Eleanor. I mean you no harm.”

  Danby?

  Out of the corner of her eyes, she searched his face, and though it was cloaked in darkness, there was no mistaking the contour of his brow or the scent of cedar and lemongrass she’d noticed when they’d waltzed.

  “Will you promise not to scream?” he whispered.

  Eleanor stopped struggling and gave a single nod. As soon as his grip released, she scooted away from him. “What are you on about? Exactly why are you in my carriage? Moreover, give me one good reason why I should not shriek at the top of my lungs and have my footman thrash you within an inch of your life?” She didn’t care if she was speaking to a duke, the man had violated one of the most consequential rules of etiquette. Gentlemen did not ride in enclosed carriages with unescorted, unwed ladies.

  It. Was. Not. Done!

  Not even a progressive, self-proclaimed spinster like Eleanor rode alone in carriages with a man.

  Danby moved a tad closer, though he didn’t try to touch her again. “To your first question, your guess is as good as mine. To your second, I am here purely by accident.”

  “Accident? Are you in your cups? Can you not distinguish between the Danby coat of arms and the Lisle?”

  He snorted. “My, you are inquisitive, are you not?”

  “Answer me, please.”

  “I am not foxed. After you headed for the women’s withdrawing room with Her Grace, I needed some air, stepped outside, and found myself standing beside your immaculate town coach.”

  “And that gave you leave to climb aboard and make yourself at home? Where were my men, for heaven’s sakes?”

  “They weren’t standing by at the time, of that I am quite certain. I assume they were in the coachman’s waiting room.” Danby tugged up his white gloves and cleared his throat. “To your third question, I doubt your footman is capable of giving me a good thrashing. Unless, of course, your coachman endeavored to hold me down.”

  “You don’t know Earnest.” There was a good reason she had appointed the former foundling as her protector. He once had a reputation for street fighting in St. Giles, where they did not follow any sort of gentlemen’s etiquette.

  “I am a decorated officer in the King’s army, not to mention a patron of Jackson’s Saloon. I assure you, I can handle myself in a brawl.”

  “So you say.”

  “I care not if you believe me.” He brushed a finger across her cheek. “I’m just glad you didn’t scream.”

  “I still coul—”

  Before she could finish the word, his mouth was on hers, unharnessed with an unexpected measure of wildness to his taste. His kiss was raw and unapologetic. His lips hard and strong, and ever so seductive.

  Was it possible for one to simultaneously be irate while experiencing fervid, burning desire? Regardless if her lips were buzzing, her heart pounding, and fire rushed through her blood, it took every ounce of fortitude she possessed to push him away. “You are utterly confounding!”

  “Me?” His face but inches away from hers, he chuckled, a devilishly alluring laugh. “You are a riddle I believe no man can solve.”

  No, she was not going to ask him to explain. “Pray tell, do you not have a mistress?” After all, his philandering was notorious, second only to Lord Byron.

  “Not presently.”

  There it was. Confirmation of his lacking morals. “Well, regardless of what you may believe, I am not a prospective candidate.”

  “I would have thought no less. After all, you are a well-bred gentlewoman.”

  “Exactly.”

  He brushed a curl away from her cheek, making her flesh sizzle with awareness. “But you must admit you are attracted to me.”

  “Because you have accosted me twice now?” Eleanor scooted as far away from him as the bench allowed, which was not more than two hand’s breadths. “Whether I find you mildly appealing matters not in the slightest.”

  “Mildly?”

  “Please, you know what I mean and do not deny it.”

  Beneath the brim of Danby’s beaver hat, intense eyes pinned her in place. “Why does being attracted to me not matter?”

  “Because you are my client.”

  “So, you would find me more alluring otherwise?”

  Oh, for the love of Moses, the man obviously spent a great deal of time pontificating arguments in the House of Lords. “This.” She rapidly gestured her hand back and forth between them whether or not he could see it. “Will not work.”

  “Do not tell me you’ve never been kissed before. If so, you are born to kissing like a swan is to flight.”

  “You, sir, have pushed me to my limits.” Eleanor sat ramrod straight and did her best to look him in those disconcertingly provocative eyes. “I am an importer of rare objects. And though I’m chairman of a respectable operation, I am convinced you are investigating me in the witch hunt you’re conducting in collusion with the prime minister. And do not dare try to deny it!”

  She slapped her hands together and gripped them with all her strength. “It is exceedingly obvious you don’t care about chinoiserie. You wanted to take Margaret to the Foundling Hospital and leave her to an inevitable demise. And you couldn’t give a whit about my father’s well-being.”

  Danby didn’t reply, though there was no need to do so. With his hesitation, however, the tension swelling in the air was practically enough to make the carriage explode.

  “I—” Before he finished, the carriage jolted to a stop.

  Not waiting for Earnest, Eleanor reached for the latch, but the duke caught her arm and pulled her against him. “I care exceedingly—especially about you, miss,” he whispered, his warm breath skimming her ear just as the door opened.

  Chapter Nine

  Roused by interminable hammering, Sher pulled the pillow over his head and rolled to his side, only to be contorted into the shape of a hairpin by the bedamned, sagging bed.

  “Hang it all, will there be no rest?”

  He threw the pillow aside, donned a banyan and marched to his bedchamber. God’s stones, the space looked as if Napoleon had returned and rolled his cannons inside. “What the devil are you doing?” he demanded from one of the hammer-wielding laborers. “This is supposed to be a renovation, not a demolition!”

  The chap glanced Danby’s way, immediately throwing his shoulders back and standing at attention. “My Lord Duke,” he squeaked, flourishing a ridiculously low bow. “Men, ’tis His Grace, the Duke of Danby.”

  A half dozen laborers stopped working
and bowed their heads as if he were the king. Suddenly realizing he was all but naked, Sher pulled his banyan closed, hiding his chest. Perhaps he should have rang for his valet before he hastened in here. “As you were, men,” he grumbled, assembling his pride before he gestured to the wall. “If one of you might please explain why it is necessary to completely rip apart my walls? I doubt anyone between here and Hyde Park is able to rest with all the hammering.”

  “Beg your pardon, Your Grace, but the walls need to be re-plastered. Lion’s orders.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Not to worry, we’ll be done with the demolition by the end of the day. Then these beauties will be painted a mossy green. I reckon you’re aware of the red silk panels to be installed,” he said and inclined his head. “Except that wall. The four-poster’s headboard will be there and it is to be papered with the hand-painted rolls of fine chinoiserie ordered by Mr. Millward. If you’d like to see them, they’ve just been delivered to the corridor.”

  Sher popped his head out the doorway. Damnation, what was Miss Kent planning? Her sketches had been in pencil, but green walls with red panels and hideous mustard-colored wallpaper? He didn’t give a fig what scenery had been painted on it, the yellow was about as appealing as regurgitated bile.

  “Is something amiss, sir?”

  Sher scratched his head. This was no time to put an end to Miss Kent’s little project. Not when there was yet so much to learn—and he was planning to pay a visit to the viscount this afternoon. Aside from a good night’s sleep, he needed a bath, he needed a shave, and he needed to forget he’d had this conversation. “Carry on.”

  Sher turned the page. “I shall see you soon, and in the meantime, think candidly of me, and believe me ever, Madam.” Sighing, he closed the book. “The end.”

  Sitting in his invalid chair, Viscount Lisle frowned. “No more?” he asked. In the past few weeks, His Lordship had spoken a word or two now and again. Impressive improvement, indeed.

  “I could find another book if you’d like.”

  The elderly man nodded. His color had improved some, though his eyes were still dull and weary.

  Above stairs, Margaret wailed, her cries muffled and barely discernable, though the noise gave Danby cause to reflect. After the ball, he’d purposely stayed away because he couldn’t figure out for the life of him why he’d hidden in Eleanor’s carriage. Perhaps deep down he wanted her to throw herself at him, rip away her bodice, and make passionate love to him right there in the dark, wheeling through London.

  Not that he hadn’t raised a skirt or two in a carriage before.

  Just not a gentlewoman’s skirt.

  In truth, he would have been disappointed if Eleanor had done away with propriety and flung herself into his arms. Getting to know Miss Kent was like unwrapping a package, only to find another inside, and another, and another, each moment growing more anxious to find out what truly lay beneath the layers of beautiful paper.

  Margaret’s wails stopped and the viscount’s chamber filled with silence.

  “Are you enjoying having a baby in the house?”

  Lisle gave a single nod.

  “Having none myself, I’ve tended to stay away from children, aside from my nieces and nephews when they visit for the holidays. I can’t say I understand it, but every time I look at Margaret, my heart twists. Do you know what that’s like?”

  “Eleanor.”

  “Ah, yes. She is spectacular.”

  The viscount looked to the book and frowned.

  “No, no, I would never think of her in that way. Your daughter is truly spectacular—one to put on a pedestal and worship.”

  Noting the time, Sher stood. “’Tis time for me to take my leave. I’ll return soon with another novel I think you’ll enjoy.”

  Once he reached the entry, the butler was waiting with Sher’s hat and gloves at the ready. Sher gave a sardonic chuckle as he took his things. “Anxious for me to go, are you?”

  “Not at all, Your Grace.” The man bowed. “I did, however, hear your footsteps as you descended from above.”

  “I see.” Sher glanced to the staircase. “Is Miss Kent home?”

  “I’m afraid she has not yet returned from her outing.”

  “Unfortunate,” Sher lied. By all means, he would love to spend the afternoon in Eleanor’s presence, but seizing a moment with Weston might be the opportunity he’d been waiting for. “It has not escaped my notice that you and that young footman are engaged in some sort of skullduggery behind your mistress’s back.”

  The man’s thick eyebrows slanted outward and he clapped a hand to his chest as if he were both angered and gravely insulted. “I beg your pardon, sir? I have served Viscount Lisle for five and thirty years and I am taken aback that you might accuse me of not serving them with loyalty and steadfastness.”

  “Oh? Then explain what you meant when you and that footman had your heads together some weeks ago talking about a shipment, some sort of signal, and His Grace nosing about.” Sher donned his hat, studying the butler’s reaction carefully. “If I am not mistaken, I do believe I am the only duke who might be nosing about at the moment.”

  Weston yanked open the door and threw his shoulders back. “I assure you I have no idea to what you are referring. Good day, sir.”

  Before he strode through the door, Sher gave the man a pointed glare. One that said he was neither to be trifled with nor lied to. “If you do anything. Anything at all to tarnish Miss Kent’s reputation, you will answer to me.”

  With that, he marched down the steps and climbed into his carriage. Either the man had missed his calling and should be on the stage at the Royal Theater, or Weston was telling the truth. The butler was fiercely loyal, of that, Sher could swear on a Bible. In the same breath, he could also testify as to what he’d heard.

  After having tea with the Duchess of Evesham, Eleanor returned home in a pleasant frame of mind. Until Weston opened the door, his eyes wide, his mouth pulled down in a grimace. Rarely had she seen panic on the butler’s weathered features, but presently it couldn’t be clearer if he were ringing a fire bell.

  “What is it?” she asked, sniffing for smoke while searching over his shoulder for flames. When she found none, her heart flew to her throat. “Oh no! Is Margaret ill?”

  He urged her inside and shut the door. “No, the babe is fine.”

  “Father, then? Has he taken a spill?”

  “The viscount is fine—doing remarkably well. However, the Duke of Danby was here reading to His Lordship whilst you were out.”

  A lead ball sank all the way to Eleanor’s toes. “Oh, dear. What has he done?”

  Weston grew so red in the face, she was afraid he might blow steam out of his ears. “His Grace,” he spat with utmost contempt. “Accused me of being disloyal.”

  “You?” Eleanor’s pulse eased considerably. “Whyever would the duke utter such preposterousness?”

  “I’ve been pacing the floor, trying to figure it out myself and all I can come up with is he must have overheard me speaking to Earnest about the Madeira shipment.”

  Perhaps her heart hadn’t settled as of yet. “Are you jesting? That was ages ago. Why is he bringing it up now?”

  “First of all, you were not here to defend my honor. Danby even asked if you’d returned before he held forth…” Weston explained exactly what happened and how he had replied, nearly spitting out his teeth. “My word, miss, it was all I could do not to plant my boot in his backside as he loftily marched out the door.”

  Clapping a hand to her chest, Eleanor gulped. “Good gracious.”

  “He suspects me and Earnest, thankfully not you.”

  “Do not be so sure. In the past, I crossed paths with that man once or twice per Season, but ever since George’s dinner, Danby seems to have inserted himself into my affairs.” With quick tugs, she wrested the gloves off her fingers. “And it has to stop.”

  “Well said, Miss Eleanor.” Weston’s color had nearly returned to norma
l. “Might I add, a long turn at Kingston Manor would do wonders for all of us—a very long turn indeed.”

  “Perhaps.” She started up the stairs. They hadn’t spent much time at the country estate in years. Eleanor liked London. It was ever so difficult to manage things from afar. “But I am not about to sit idly whilst everything we’ve built over the years is destroyed by that fop of a man!”

  By the time she reached her bedchamber, Eleanor was so angry, she could have burst her spleen. How dare Danby wheedle his way into her house under the guise of helping her father, no less, and verbally attack her butler without first discussing it with her.

  The duke had been raised by a matriarch of the ton, yet he completely divorced himself from the rules of propriety.

  She slapped her gloves atop the toilette. “The man has no scruples.”

  He had hidden in her carriage at the ball. And shamelessly kissed her.

  Unheard of!

  Regardless that his kisses were tantalizing, irresistible, and made her melt into a mindless heap, it was well-known that the Duke of Danby had made an art of seducing women. And henceforth, Eleanor would not allow herself to be tempted and charmed by him—his heavy-lidded gaze, his witty, suggestive remarks, or his unignorable overall presence.

  Fuming with a rapid boil churning through her blood, she marched to the bed, picked up a pillow, and slammed it onto the mattress. “The Sherborn Price has no sense of dignity, no feeling whatsoever!”

  He had never gone hungry.

  He had never been penniless.

  He had never worried about being able to pay his servants their wages, or pay his taxes, or afford a silly gown during his first miserable Season.

  The dandy had been born into one of the wealthiest families in the kingdom. He owned dozens of estates, employed hundreds of servants, had attended the best schools, ate the finest food, and could marry any woman he pleased.

  Gnashing her teeth, Eleanor thrashed the pillow five more times.