The Dangerous Duke of Dinnisfree

by Julie Johnstone

  Thomas scuttled backward as his dark eyes grew big. He clutched his hand to his chest as his lower lip trembled. Damned Prinny and his penchant for demoralizing anyone he perceives as weaker. “His actions are my fault,” Justin interrupted before the boy cried and got himself in further trouble.

  “How?” Prinny demanded.

  Justin eyeballed the boy with a look he knew conveyed that Thomas better display utter agreement with whatever Justin was about to say. “I instructed him before coming in here to take initiative and not speak unless spoken to first.”

  Thomas’s eyes popped even wider, but he quickly nodded, obviously more than willing to go along with any lie that would save him. In truth, Justin had never said a word to the boy, but it would be their secret. Prinny snorted and flicked a dismissive hand. “Go then and remember from this day to ask before you touch me.”

  The boy nodded and dashed out of the room without a backward glance. Prinny’s mouth pulled into a pleased smile that made Justin want to shake him.

  Prinny may be King of the United Kingdom of Great Britain, Ireland, and Hanover, but he was a drunken, obese disgrace who wielded his power with the care of an impetuous, stubborn child. Given he was on his third drink in five minutes, it was safe to assume becoming the official ruler had not sparked an epiphany to change his ways.

  The thoughts were factual yet traitorous, especially for a man who served as one of six personal spies for Prinny. Unease rippled through Justin, causing him to shift positions. With the thoughts rampant in his head, he wanted distance from the king to sort them out, but there was no distance to be had. Prinny had summoned him last night in the darkest hour, and though no man ruled Justin, not even the king, he had come. He had long ago vowed to put Prinny above all else, and Justin never broke a vow.

  Justin reclined in the high-back leather chair, gaining himself a little bit of space. When people were too close he often felt suffocated. The chair squeaked as he allowed the full weight of his body to settle. A bone-weary tiredness threatened to consume him as his muscles relaxed. Thirty was too damned young to feel this exhausted. But the waters of the canal from Paris to England had been rough, and the horse journey here even harsher with the rain turning the ground to muck.

  Prinny set his glass down and leaned forward, closing the distance Justin had gained. He barely resisted the urge to shove his chair back. Instead, he looked at the king, whose eyes were growing more sunken each time Justin saw him.

  That gaze, seeming almost lost among the folds of flesh, fastened on him. “I’ve created a bit of a problem for myself,” Prinny said in a slurred whisper, though they were the only two men in the shadowy, candlelit room. Two guards stood on alert outside the door, as was customary, but Justin didn’t need them or anyone to help him protect Prinny. All he required were his hands, and in the rare circumstance he needed more aid, he was never without his dagger or his pistol, not even when he slept.

  He drew in a long, silent breath. Prinny was always creating unnecessary problems for himself. “What’s occurred, Your Majesty?” It had to be messy for the king to have called him away from his current assignment in Paris, ferreting out traitors to the Crown.

  Prinny nodded, the layers of skin between his chin and chest folding over one another. “It involves my mistress, Lady Conyngham.”

  Justin clenched his teeth, striving not to show his disgust on his face. He didn’t believe in marriage for several reasons. He’d witnessed firsthand through his parents’ marriage what being wed to a cold, hard man could do to a woman. And despite the fact that he’d once hated the very traits in his father that his mother had fled the marriage and him because of, Justin had understood for quite some years that he possessed the same exact qualities his deceased father had. He would not make a good husband. However, he did believe that if one was fool enough to wed, one should remain faithful and honor one’s vows. He’d seen firsthand the havoc failing to do so could wreak. Prinny’s infidelities left a sour taste in Justin’s mouth and Lady Conyngham—married, as well—was a greedy, deceptive termagant.

  Weary, Justin scrubbed a hand over his face, the two-day beard growth prickling his fingers as they slid downward against the hairs. “Why don’t you simply tell me what’s occurred.”

  Prinny nodded. “Elizabeth is quite angry with me.”

  Justin’s right eye began to twitch. He hoped to hell Prinny hadn’t called him back from an important assignment to settle a dispute with the king’s current mistress. It wouldn’t be the first time, but Justin had sworn to himself after the king’s previous mess with his former mistress that it would damn well be the last. “What seems to be the trouble?” he asked, snagging the decanter off the table.

  “She refused to admit me to her bed,” the king grumbled.

  “As I’m sure you don’t want me to try to persuade Lady Conyngham to open her bedchamber doors for you, what exactly is it that you want from me?” Justin hoped his tone was laced with just enough admonishment that if the king had intended to request his aid, Prinny would rethink the appeal.

  He didn’t particularly care to defy the king outright, but in this instance he would. As he waited for Prinny to answer, he poured two fingers of liquor in the empty glass in front of him and then took a sip of his brandy. The liquor slid down his throat and loosened the tension.

  Prinny twisted the thick ruby-encrusted gold ring on his pinky several times before speaking. “I need you to retrieve some letters for me.”

  Justin set his glass down with a thunk. Surely the king was not such a fool as to write a love letter to his married mistress at a time when he was seeking a divorce. Prinny knew damn well that Queen Caroline had spies about trying to secure proof that he was unfaithful, just as he was accusing her of being. The damnable bill that Prinny had gotten introduced to Parliament to take away Caroline’s rights as Queen Consort and grant him a divorce on the grounds that she was adulterous would be the king’s undoing, exactly as Justin had predicted. And why not? This was the king at his most hypocritical. Yet, it was Justin’s job to protect the king. “Expand,” he managed in a civil tone, despite his disgust.

  Prinny cleared his throat. “Some weeks ago I told Elizabeth I couldn’t be seen in public with her until the divorce hearing was finalized against Caroline. I didn’t want to restrict where I saw her, but I had to do so.” Prinny’s voice slipped into the all-too-familiar whiny tone of a king on the verge of a child’s tantrum.

  “Liverpool insisted you not see her in public?” Justin asked, already knowing the answer was yes, but with Prinny, sometimes a subtle reminder that even kings had to listen to others’ advice could help avoid a fit.

  “I hate the man sometimes,” Prinny snarled. “If he keeps acting like he can tell me what to do, I will have him removed.”

  Justin nodded, even though he knew it would not come to pass. He didn’t agree with everything Lord Liverpool did, but the prime minister had more wisdom in his pinkie than Prinny had in his entire head. “I understand,” he soothed. “Perhaps after the divorce hearing is behind you…” Justin made a mental note to tell Liverpool that a gesture of peace toward Prinny was imperative to pacify the king’s fragile feelings. “The letters?”

  “Yes, yes.” He flapped his hand in the air. “Elizabeth threatened to send the love letters I wrote her to the papers if I refused to show my devotion to her in public.”

  Lady Conyngham was clearly not thinking straight. She should know better than to try to intimidate the king, and she should damn well comprehend that if the letters were printed she would be ruined. “I told you, no more love letters,” Justin clipped. The words came out short and terse despite his best effort to soften his tone. Securing the last batch of letters the king had written to his former mistress had consumed too much time better spent on more important matters.

  Prinny pressed his lips together, an odd strangled noise coming from his throat. “I know.” He shrugged. “She insisted.”

  Justin’s head thr
obbed. The king was a weak and pathetic fool, but that did not change the fact that he was the king. The letters, if made public, would destroy Prinny’s chance of securing a divorce because they’d prove the king’s unfaithfulness, which was exactly what Queen Caroline was trying to do. Rumors of the king’s philandering ways were very different than definitive proof. Justin had half a mind to let the letters be printed. That would certainly settle matters nicely for the queen, but what if they were more than simple letters of adoration?

  “Are they merely love letters?” he asked.

  Prinny shot his gaze to his glass. “I might have disparaged the commoners who’d called Elizabeth a harlot the last time we were in public together. And I might have said I was going to cut off Howick’s balls for making that motion in Parliament to abandon the investigation against the queen.”

  Jesus Christ. Howick was an important member of the Whig party. He, along with his comrades, had the power to turn the already-disgruntled commoners against the king and raise an army to try to topple him from the throne.

  Justin ripped his cravat off with one hand, his skin stinging from the harsh slide of the material against his throat. He didn’t want the king to get his divorce, but he’d not go to war to prevent it. “I’ll leave momentarily and retrieve the letters from Lady Conyngham.”

  “It’s not that simple,” Prinny replied, his voice vibrating with tension.

  That strain reached across the space separating Justin from the fool he served, and it enveloped him. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and his muscles grew tight one by one until his entire body hummed with alertness. Nothing was simple to those who chose to make it complicated. Justin lived only in the present, and each of those moments was orderly by his making. Therefore, life was simple. He did not allow things or people to upset him, and as such, he controlled every situation and person, rather than letting occurrences and others control him.

  “Explain the complication, please.”

  “I received an urgent message yesterday that she no longer has the letters.”

  “What do you mean?” he said in an even, measured tone.

  Prinny flinched. “She hid the letters in a secret compartment in her jewelry box, and the box has been stolen.”

  Justin felt the slightest increase in his heartbeat, so he immediately began counting in Japanese. Nine. Ten. His pulse ticked up more. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. His head ached. Damnation, he was tired. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Mayhap he needed to try French or Russian. There had been times he’d had to count through several languages to keep his calm. Unbidden, a memory of his father spanking him for using a crop too harshly on his horse filled Justin’s head. Weak men allow their emotions to rule them, Justin.

  He was not weak. He shoved his memory and his feelings back into the chest where they belonged. The lid slammed and the lock clicked in his head. His heartbeat slowed to match the king’s loud, uneven breaths.

  “It will be fine,” Justin said in a calm, reassuring voice. And it would be. He’d make sure of it. That was his job, after all.

  Prinny’s shoulders sagged with relief, yet he started twisting his ring again. He pulled his gaze to Justin’s face with the slow reluctance of one with more bad news to reveal. “There’s more.”

  Of course there was. There was always more with Prinny. Justin’s emotions rattled in the chest. Being overtired had caused him to slip moments ago, but he’d not falter again. “Tell me and I will handle it.”

  Prinny sighed while nodding. “There was an emerald-and-diamond necklace in the jewelry box, too. I’d hoped the necklace would lessen her anger and make her see that one day all would belong to her.”

  “Go on.”

  Prinny shifted in his seat, the chair groaning with his weight. “It was Caroline’s necklace, the one I gave her as a wedding gift.” Prinny motioned to his neck. “A heart of diamonds—”

  “With a center of the largest emerald ever known to be cut,” Justin finished. He was familiar with the necklace. Everyone was. There was only one place in England where a necklace like that—or for that matter, an expensive jewelry box—could possibly be sold discreetly, and that was the Garden District. “I’ll get the necklace, the box, and the letters back.”

  Prinny’s lip curled back to reveal yellowed teeth. “I want the thief, as well. I’ll see whoever dared to steal from me hanged.”

  Justin’s facial muscles threatened to pull his mouth into a frown. Prinny’s vindictive nature was showing. “Perhaps we should learn who the thief is first. They may not have known they were stealing from you, and—”

  “No.” Prinny spat, spittle flying from his mouth. He swiped a hand across his face. “It matters not. The person stole from me, regardless. I will see the thief hang.”

  Justin simply inclined his head and stood.

  Later.

  He would save that fight for later.

  Arabella had slept fitfully and her morning had been busy with chores around the house, so by the time the afternoon rolled around, she wanted to take a nap, not dress to see Jude.

  But get dressed I must.

  Luckily, Alice was coming to collect Papa to take him to his monthly vingt-et-un card game and supper meeting with his friends. Despite the fact that going anywhere was so difficult for him, Papa insisted on continuing this tradition, and she did understand. She would not want to be stuck in the house all the time if she were him.

  After helping him through his toilette, Arabella trudged to her bedroom to shake the wrinkles out of her only decent dress, a white-and-green striped day gown. As she reached to take the clothing from the wardrobe, her hand brushed the bag the jewelry box was in, and it gave her a start. She stared at the bag, hard. She could have sworn she’d hidden it on the bottom shelf and not the middle shelf where it now sat.

  Her breath caught in her chest as she looked between the two shelves. No, she gave her head a little shake. Her memory of where she’d put the box must be wrong. And no wonder with everything clamoring in her head.

  Pushing aside the worry, she took the box out of the bag. The embedded jewels shimmered, even in the dull light of her room. The box was heavy and made largely of wood inlaid with gold. Rubies, diamonds, and emeralds lined the outer edge of the lid, and there was a small spot for a key. She tried to open the box, but it was locked. She raised it in the air and shook it, gasping when something clanked around inside. Her hands trembled as she lowered it. Heaven above, she hoped she had not inadvertently taken a piece of Lady Conyngham’s jewelry! But surely, the lady would not have demanded the box be thrown out with jewelry still in it. Unless she forgot… Arabella’s stomach did a queasy flip.

  Maybe Jude would know how to open the lock. And if there was jewelry in it, he could get it out and take it back to Lady Conyngham without her realizing it had been gone. Arabella turned the box over and studied it from every angle. The craftsmanship was beautiful with stunning carvings that looked very much like flowers swirling around one another. The box appeared to only have one compartment, but she couldn’t know for sure until it was opened. Not that it mattered. She’d not be keeping it. She dressed quickly, bade her father and Alice good-bye, as the caretaker had arrived while Arabella was preparing, and set out to see Jude.

  It took her over an hour to walk from her home to Golden Square. She’d been a child the first time she’d ever been to London’s art district. She’d accompanied her mother, who’d been a seamstress as well, to deliver a gown she’d sewn for an Italian actress, Eleanora Servi, who had lived at number four, Golden Square. The woman had been the mistress of a duke, who had kept a residence at number five. Arabella remembered being in awe of the beautiful square with its magnificent garden in the center of the lovely townhomes. Mother had whispered in her ear to close her mouth and told her that if she thought the square was exquisite now, she should have seen it when the aristocracy had still lived there. Of course, the ton had long ago moved on to more prestigious streets.

  The
square had long ago lost its luster, but there was something intriguing and freeing about the place. The rules of etiquette that dictated Society did not seem to apply here. People were less stuffy, less formal. Chaperones were nowhere to be seen, and ladies drove carriages themselves without so much as a groom. She’d never witnessed a single person bow or curtsy to anyone, and the women were just as raucous as the men. It was grand! She’d been here several times in the last two years to deliver dresses that she or Madame Chauvin had created. The dresses were not for actresses, though; they were for the demireps who worked for Madame Sullyard. Arabella pressed a hand to her still-queasy stomach as she entered the square. Soon she’d be one of those women of questionable reputation.

  The sounds of pianos and harps floated through the air to accompany the underlying buzz of gruff men’s voices singing songs. She passed by a statue and could see the townhomes in the distance. Most had their windows open, likely to hear the music or to allow the sounds from the instrument within the home to float into the square to join the chorus. Groups of men stood around, either singing or chatting and smoking pipes that filled the space with the heavy scent of tobacco.

  Her palms started to sweat as she made her way toward Jude’s house. She slid her gaze to Madame Sullyard’s establishment and stared at a russet-headed man whose back was to her. He stood outside speaking to Madame Sullyard, which in itself was very odd. Arabella had never seen Madame Sullyard leave her establishment, and she’d heard a rumor that it was because the lady had a strange fear of the outside world.

  Arabella had excellent vision, and she could see even from the distance that Madame Sullyard did not look happy at all. She had a fierce frown on her face, but she nodded at whatever the gentleman had said. Arabella hesitated behind the tree as she observed the man. His beautifully cut coat accentuated his broad shoulders. She would bet he was an aristocrat from the dark, bottle green material of the cloth. It was either superfine or kerseymere. Very expensive, either way. As she stood staring, the gentleman turned toward her as if he sensed her gaze on him. That was ridiculous. Yet, he raised his eyebrows and a faint smile pulled at his lips. Her breath whooshed from her lungs.