To Desire a Duke: Dangerous Dukes Vol 8

by Wendy Soliman

  Kensley looked mildly affronted. ‘Can’t I make an observation without having his head bitten off?’

  ‘Only if you stop grinning like a lunatic,’ Troy replied briskly, keen to change the subject. He wasn’t ready to examine his feelings for Brione quite yet. She had occupied a growing space in his thoughts since breezing into his life, but his priority was to uncover the identity of the traitor. Beyond that point, he wasn’t prepared to contemplate, deterred originally by a combination of caution and Brione’s clinging devotion to her dead husband. She wouldn’t be able to turn off her feelings just because she had learned the truth.

  Since dancing with her in the moonlight and then holding her here in his library Troy was forced to concede that he desired her with a passion that made clarity of thought near impossible. But he wasn’t about to make that admission. Not to Kensley, and definitely not to Brione.

  ‘If Gilliard isn’t the traitor, whom do you most suspect?’ Kensley’s voice distracted Troy from a very pleasant reverie, and it took an extreme effort of will on his part to return his thoughts to the subject under discussion.

  ‘Frazer told Brione that he would prefer to avoid the expense of a London season, which implies a lack of funds.’

  ‘Or a distaste for society.’

  ‘Even so, it was an odd thing to admit. Craig apparently made a passing reference to having to work for a living too.’

  ‘So does Vaughan. Whoever our traitor is, always assuming it wasn’t Gilliard, he isn’t stupid enough to flaunt the French gold he’s been paid. He probably had it stockpiled somewhere safe in anticipation of Napoleon’s victory, and intended to use it to launch a new life for himself as a gentleman of leisure in France when the time came. Since that didn’t happen, he’s having to readjust and he will have to be very careful. We know that the French are regrouping and they won’t let the man off their hook, so he has to remain in this country, awaiting further orders. If he reneges, he will be of no further use to them and he will either lose his life or the French will expose him.’

  ‘So it would appear.’ Troy stretched his arms above his head and yawned. ‘Anyway, we have stirred the pot and I have a feeling that this matter will be resolved within the next few days. Keep your wits about you. Keep Brione and your Mrs Woodley in your sights when they walk out later. I don’t imagine anything will happen to them here in the grounds, but I am not prepared to take any chances.’

  ‘Your wish is my command, your grace.’

  Troy laughed at Kensley’s formality and shooed him out of his library. ‘Go and find someone else to annoy! We will talk again later.’

  Brione returned to her room in a state of conflict. Her thoughts were no longer dwelling upon Evan’s dishonesty but upon a certain duke’s compelling technique. She wondered what would have happened had Kensley not interrupted them at such a vital point. Wishing that he had not.

  Glad that he had.

  ‘Mr Kensley’s arrival was fortuitous,’ she muttered aloud, wondering in that case why she felt cheated and dissatisfied—and more to the point, why she had been such a compliant victim. Despite everything, she was still in love with her dead husband, needed time to assess the level of his duplicity and understand the reason for it. If she could just speak with Ana…but, of course, that was impossible. Ana would resent her and was hardly likely to tell her the truth, even if their paths did happen to cross.

  She found Gladys in her room, tidying her things and stoking the fire.

  ‘Ah, there you are, madam. You should have rung for me when you were ready to get up.’ She eyed Brione’s hastily donned attire and dishevelled hair without making any comment. ‘Have you had your breakfast?’

  ‘Thank you, but I am not hungry. I have a letter to write and then I shall be going for a walk. I shall need your help to change and make myself look more presentable.’

  ‘Of course, ma’am. The green check would probably be comfortable in this weather.’

  ‘Thank you. That will do perfectly. It won’t take me above a few minutes to write my letter.’

  ‘I’ll run and fetch some hot water then.’

  Brione watched Gladys go, her thoughts still dwelling upon the interlude in the library. She recalled the intensity of Troy’s gaze focused on her face and the intimate touch of his knuckles against her scalp as he wound a strand of escaped hair around his finger in an oddly sensual gesture that had caused her insides to roil and ignited her passions.

  Dear God, she was a hopeless case! She had only just discovered that the man she had adored and anticipated growing old with had been a cheat and possibly a traitor to his country. Rather than hiding away and licking her wounds in solitude, she felt fresh determination to unmask the traitor streaking through her, yet found herself distracted from that purpose by her desire for a gentleman whom it would be unwise for her to think about in any capacity other than that of Evan’s commanding officer. If Evan did prove to be the guilty party—a possibility that she had previously refused to seriously contemplate out of a misguided sense of loyalty—then her reputation would be tarnished by association and she would deserve to be ostracised.

  Dressed respectably a half-hour later, she handed her sealed letter to Gladys.

  ‘Be so kind as to have this passed to the duke. He will know what it is about.’

  If Gladys’s curiosity was piqued, she was too well trained to let it show and made do with bobbing a curtsey as she opened the door for Brione.

  ‘Have a lovely stroll, ma’am.’

  Brione made her way to Rachel’s room, where she found her friend dressed and ready to venture outside.

  ‘It’s a lovely morning for a walk,’ Brione said as she leaned over to kiss Rachel’s cheek.

  ‘How do you feel today, my dear, now that you have had time to digest the news?’

  ‘Resigned, foolish, far too trusting…all of these things. But I also feel vindicated in some respects.’ Brione frowned as she articulated her feelings, surprised that her heart felt relatively unscathed and the only lasting damage was likely to be to her pride. Was she really that shallow? ‘I always felt to blame for the fact that I couldn’t seem to claim Evan’s complete attention. Now that I know the truth, I feel a great sense of relief not to have been a failure as a wife.’

  ‘That’s the spirit! I am so very glad.’

  The two of them linked arms and left the room together, wandering outside into the keep to be greeted by a warm day with a light breeze and fluffy clouds scudding across a cerulean sky. A large marmalade cat watched them with disinterest from a perch on the first floor walkway that surrounded the keep. Brione wondered how many more unseen eyes might be watching their progress from behind the many windows. She was certain that Troy would have sent either Mr Kensley or a trusted manservant to keep them in sight. She already knew him well enough to accept that he was impossibly protective. Brione found that trait both annoying and oddly comforting. It was a long time since anyone had given serious thought to her wellbeing.

  ‘Where would you like to walk to?’ Rachel asked. There was no one else about, certainly no ladies as the hour was still unfashionably early, and Brione enjoyed the luxury of having the place temporarily to themselves.

  ‘There is something I want to show you.’

  ‘Very well.’

  They strolled along at a leisurely pace, retracing the steps that Brione had taken with the duke the previous evening. It looked very different in daylight, but she found the concealed start to the worn path she and the duke had followed with comparative ease. Rachel asked no questions about Brione’s knowledge of its existence but gasped with delight when they emerged close to the lake at almost exactly the same spot where she had danced with Troy the night before. In her imagination she could still feel his strong arms holding her, sense his breath peppering her face and his dark gaze smouldering with awareness as it locked with her own.

  Brione felt hot and cold all over, but sensing Rachel watching her with open curiosity she took
a deep breath and managed to bring her oscillating emotions under control.

  ‘Quite delightful!’ Rachel exclaimed, watching the water softly rippling, dappled by shafts of sunlight. ‘And so serene.’ Rachel seated herself, smiling when the marmalade cat slunk into view, watching the aquatic fowl with evil intent.

  ‘They are far too clever to let you catch them,’ Brione told the cat, stroking its back, hoping to be rewarded with a purr. But the cat was aloof, as cats so often could be, and stalked away with its rigid tail swishing in irritation. ‘Well, that put me in my place,’ she added, smiling as she watched the retreating feline before seating herself beside Rachel, trying to put from her mind the fact that it was the same bench that she and Troy had shared.

  ‘What do you intend to do now?’ Rachel asked, after a prolonged period of quiet in which they both enjoyed the view.

  ‘Why, help to uncover the identity of the traitor, naturally.’

  ‘But—’

  Brione held up a hand to prevent Rachel’s protest. ‘It’s all right. Now that I understand Evan’s character better, I accept that I didn’t know nearly as much about the ideals of the man I married as I thought I did, and I am quite prepared for whatever discoveries the investigation throws up.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be better to let sleeping traitors lie?’

  ‘No. Not for me.’ Brione shook her head decisively. ‘I have to know, and if it was Evan then I shall learn to live with the disgrace—which seems a little unfair given that I was nothing more than a means to an end.’ She sighed. ‘Even so…’

  ‘Whatever do you mean by that?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious? Evan married me because his father wanted him to. He couldn’t tell him that his heart belonged to a Portuguese Catholic. The old gentleman would not have approved. He was quite unwell and frail at the time of our marriage and a setback of that nature might well have been the end of him. Evan was very attached to his father, despite their many disagreements, and would not have taken that risk.’

  ‘It was easier for him to do as his father wanted.’

  Brione gave a small nod and accompanied it with a wry smile. ‘Very likely. And I didn’t exactly discourage his advances, fool that I was.’ Brione threw her head back and sighed. ‘Well, I have learned my lesson and will not be taken in by handsome rogues with silver tongues ever again.’

  ‘Not all men are that devious.’

  Brione sighed. ‘All the ones that I have met appear to be.’

  ‘Give yourself time, my love.’ Rachel patted Brione’s hand. ‘You have yet to come to terms with what you have learned about Evan.’

  ‘True enough. Anyway, hopefully things will soon become clearer.’

  She told Rachel about Conrad and Troy’s reluctant approval of her dropping the name into conversation with the other two suspects.

  ‘I don’t like the idea of you being in danger,’ Rachel said, frowning. ‘The duke shouldn’t have asked it of you.’

  ‘The duke had no choice in the matter. He knows that if he doesn’t support me then I shall simply go ahead on my own.’ Brione sat a little taller, determined not to be discouraged from her task. ‘I think he realises this is the best opportunity he has to make a breakthrough. Whitehall have tasked him with uncovering the identity of the spy, and since the man was attached to his regiment, I suppose he feels a stain on his own reputation, which will not be eradicated until we discover the man’s name.’

  ‘I know you feel justified, but you will be putting yourself in danger.’

  ‘I shall be perfectly safe, don’t worry. The traitor is a canny individual, who has gone undetected for several years, which implies a confidence in his own abilities. He doesn’t take risks, and he won’t attack a guest of the duke’s in his own home. Anyway, either the duke himself or your Mr Kensley will be keeping watch over me.’

  ‘He is not mine.’ But Brione was amused to see Rachel’s cheeks turn pink. ‘We are barely acquainted.’

  ‘Well, I shall not embarrass you by pressing the point. All I will say is that I like him, I thoroughly approve of his good taste in singling you out, and give you my permission to get as well acquainted with him as you please.’

  ‘Brione!’

  Brione smiled. ‘Well, there have to be some advantages to widowhood, don’t there? Anyway, if you are rested, I believe we can walk around the lake and return by a more orthodox route.’

  ‘By all means.’

  The ladies followed a well-worn path, arm in arm, talking about inconsequential matters and taking pleasure in the unexpectedly fine weather. Brione noticed Joseph, the friendly footman, making his way back to the castle in a gig, and raised a hand in greeting, only realising when it was too late that she should not have done so. Joseph gave her a long look, returned the gesture and then drove on.

  ‘He was kind to me when I was acting as your maid,’ Brione explained, ‘and protected me from the wrath of a bullying butler, for which he got himself into trouble. Anyway, hopefully he hasn’t recognised me and simply imagines that I possess a friendly disposition.’

  They had almost reached the main entrance to the castle when they were startled by a horse being ridden at speed coming up behind them. Its rider slowed to a trot and then a walk, and Lieutenant Vaughan raised his hat to them.

  ‘Ladies,’ he said, before riding on.

  ‘Where has he been at such an early hour?’ Brione mused, her suspicions aroused.

  ‘Business in the village, I expect,’ Rachel said. ‘Either that or he was putting his horse through its paces prior to the race. Don’t let it worry you.’

  But it did worry Brione, and it stayed on her mind for the rest of the morning.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rachel returned to her room in a contemplative frame of mind. She was angry with the duke for allowing Brione to put herself in the path of danger in such a cavalier fashion, but knew that it would have been a waste of her breath to try and convince her not to do it. She wouldn’t dare to take the duke to task either. He was too robust and self-assured to take advice from her—but Mr Kensley was another matter.

  Rachel sat in front of the glass, took off her bonnet, tidied her hair and critically examined her reflection. She had a genuine reason to go in search of Mr Kensley, hoping that he would ally her concerns. But then again, in view of their intimate interlude the previous evening, would it seem as though she had invented a reason to seek him out, cheapening herself in his eyes? Was it true? Was that why she was contemplating going to look for him?

  Rachel sat a little straighter, worried that might actually be closer to the truth. She was attracted to Mr Kensley; there was no denying it. A number of men had attempted to impress her since she cast off her widow’s weeds, but Mr Kensley was the first one whose interest she returned. He was witty and irreverent, and she sensed a quick and incisive brain lurking beneath that indolent façade. More to the point, she had enjoyed his company the previous evening enormously.

  ‘No!’ she told her reflection, thinking again of the dangers her impetuous friend might find herself facing. ‘I am not doing this for my own sake.’

  Thus reassured, she made her way back downstairs and asked a footman if he knew where she could find Mr Kensley. She was directed to the estate office, located in a dim corridor in the east wing, and almost collided with the gentleman she had gone in the hope of finding as he strode towards her, engrossed in the sheaf of papers he was studying.

  ‘Hey, watch where you’re going,’ he said, as his shoulder brushed against Rachel’s. Then he looked up, realised who he had almost knocked from her feet and his entire demeanour changed. ‘I do apologise, Mrs Woodley,’ he said, putting out a hand to steady her. ‘I didn’t realise it was you. Are you hurt?’

  ‘Not in the least.’

  ‘It is ordinarily just estate workers who occupy this part of the castle, which is no excuse at all for my bad manners.’

  ‘I actually came in the hope of finding you. They told me you would b
e here.’ She glanced at the papers in his hand. ‘But I can see that you are busy.’

  ‘Never too busy for you.’

  He took her elbow and guided her back into the main wing of the castle, ushering her into a room Rachel hadn’t stepped foot in before. She looked around with interest, delighted by her surroundings. This room had been designed with a lady in mind. There was an escritoire beneath the window, furnishings with floral covers arranged around the fireplace, and several shelves filled with novels. Pretty watercolours adorned the walls, which Rachel suspected had been painted by someone who had once lived in this castle. A particularly good likeness of a marmalade cat put her in mind of the one she and Brione had seen earlier. Perhaps this fine fellow was one of his ancestors.

  ‘The duke’s mother’s work. This was her private sitting room,’ Mr Kensley told her, watching her as she examined the pictures. ‘Nothing’s been changed since she died. I think Troy is keeping it for his eventual duchess’s use.’

  He motioned to one of the chairs in front of the empty fireplace and she sat herself down, anxiously pleating her fingers in her lap. The room wasn’t small but Mr Kensley effortlessly dominated it with his imposing physique. His ease made her feel disadvantaged. She sensed that Mr Kensley enjoyed her company but knew for a fact that he was fiercely and devotedly loyal to the duke, so likely to take any criticism of his behaviour as a personal affront.

  She had avoided looking at him but was obliged to do so when he perched on the edge of the chair directly opposite hers, glanced at her clenched fingers and smiled. The smile in question was drenched in warmth, his gaze heavy-lidded and seductive as he subjected her person to a slow appraisal. Rachel felt trapped by the appreciation in his gaze and couldn’t have looked away if her life had depended upon it. Her thoughts wandered in an entirely inappropriate direction and she had trouble recalling what it was that she had wanted to speak to him about.