Wagers of a Duke's Daughter (The Duchess's Investigative Society Book 3)

by Samantha Holt

  Her cheeks turned pink and she bit her bottom lip. “It’s a habit,” she said softly.

  A habit? Damn it. What did she mean by that? And why in the hell hadn’t he thought to ask her about the flowers? Why was Ashford getting to know all her secrets?

  “Well, it’s an excellent habit. Some women drip themselves in jewels but you do not need such dramatic embellishment. It suits you very well.”

  The pink in her cheeks deepened.

  “Now then—”

  His mother and Mrs. Knighton entered the room that now felt small indeed. He didn’t know whether to be annoyed or grateful. At least Ashford would cease flirting with Demeter.

  “I was just thinking we should call for some tea,” his mother said, settling on the burgundy sofa.

  Demeter’s aunt followed suit after sharing a glance with his mother. Just what exactly was going on today?

  “Aunt Sarah, I really think—”

  The front bell rang and Hammond scurried off to answer it.

  “What now?” Blake was unable to stop himself from declaring.

  He shouldn’t have been surprised when his cousin stepped into the room, his gaze falling immediately on Demeter. A smile crossed his lips too but it made Blake more tense than Ashford’s. It wasn’t predatory as such but the way his gaze fixed firmly upon her, as though she were the only woman in existence, set his nerves on edge.

  “Forgive me,” he declared, “I did not realize you were entertaining today. I only wished to come and consult with you about the ball at Knowle. As you know, it shall be my first and I intend to honor my mother as best as I can, and, well, you knew her best...”

  “I did,” Blake was unable to stop himself from saying. And you knew nothing of her...

  “But I can come back another time...”

  “Nonsense, Foster. You are here now.” Ashford motioned for him to join him and Demeter, ignoring Blake’s pointed look.

  Well, this was wonderful. Apparently he had no say in who visited or who stayed. He might as well leave and he imagined no one would even notice. The two elderly women shared quiet murmurs and the odd laugh while Demeter stood in between Foster and Ashford, looking as though she were watching a rackets match—all wide-eyed and far too pretty. Had Ashford and Foster noticed how kissable her lips looked? Or how long her hair was?

  He shook himself and motioned to Hammond. “It looks as though we shall be needing tea.”

  “Of course, sir.” Hammond remained expressionless but he knew the butler would be surprised. The last time he had hosted a proper ‘at home’ was...

  Well, he couldn’t recall ever doing it. Parties and entertainments were more his style.

  “We were just speaking of Lady Demeter’s love of dogs,” Foster said when he approached. “It seems a shame you cannot own at least one. They are wonderful companions. I have two young pups at the estate and you would quite adore them.”

  She sent a look Blake’s way and he had to remind himself that she knew this charm wasn’t real, that she would not fall for it. A stupid, tiny part of him kept pulling at his mind though.

  But what if she did fall for it? it asked.

  No. She was too clever for that. He, however, was an utter dolt. She’d mentioned the dog thing before but he’d never thought much on it. It seemed it was not just that she liked dogs and was willing to jump in front of angry men to save them but that she really, truly adored dogs. And the flower thing...why had he never asked about that?

  He grimaced as his friend and cousin continued to engage her in conversation. Since when were Ashford and the bumbling Foster better with women than him?

  Chapter Fifteen

  For a surreptitious assignation, this was incredibly dull.

  Well, Demeter supposed it was not entirely dull. She was with Blake after all and she did not imagine any woman would ever complain of being in his company. He had the ability to make anyone feel the center of his focus, despite the fact they were here to watch for his cousin.

  Thus far, the man had not showed and the evening was wearing on. Much longer and she’d fall asleep. Her eyes were heavy, not helped by the fact she had been unable to sleep the previous night, aware their meeting was tonight, and her stomach would not cease somersaulting.

  Blake had been correct about the inn. She might be able to walk into a gaming hell with her head held high but even disguised as a boy, this place made her skin crawl. A rat scurried across her foot the moment she entered the building and she’d been forced to bite back a scream.

  For appearance’s sake, they shared a bottle of whisky, but she threw most of it on the floor, concluding no one would notice a spill on the already sticky floorboards. She’d never really enjoyed whisky despite it being her aunt’s tipple of choice and this liquor left a bitter, burning taste on her tongue. Whatever the owners of this establishment mixed it with, it could not be good.

  As the patrons imbibed more and more alcohol, the volume levels increased and conversing with Blake became nearly impossible. She supposed that was a fine thing considering when he talked she could not remove her gaze from his lips.

  Whilst she had dressed as a boy, he’d adopted a look more suited to the tavern with stubble lining his lips and jaw, an open shirt and a jacket that seemed so at odds with the Blake she knew. The elbows were worn and the lapels slightly frayed. It was strange; she had never seen him dressed any way other than utterly elegant, with every little strand of hair and clothing perfectly in place.

  “Is that jacket yours?” she could not help ask.

  “Yes.”

  “I thought it might belong to a servant.”

  He shifted on his seat. “It’s very old.”

  “Why keep it then?”

  He flashed a quick smile. “For moments exactly like this.”

  She doubted he ever expected to be eavesdropping on a secret rendezvous. There was another story to the jacket but his smile swiftly dropped, and he nodded in the direction of the door. Three men entered, all fairly well-dressed, with a commanding air to them. One was clearly the leader, striding ahead as though he owned the building, and the tavern keeper gestured frantically for the serving girl to bring them a drink. There was a brief conversation then the three men settled on a large table not far from the front door.

  “Those are the men from the previous meeting. Did you see what they said?”

  Demeter shook her head. Their backs had been to her for too long.

  “Keep an eye on them.”

  She nodded, keeping her hat low over her face. Their position to the right of the bar offered the perfect position for remaining concealed from Mr. Foster when he arrived but it did not help much with viewing what they said. “Y-you know, if you were not here, I would be able to sit closer.”

  “Not a chance.”

  She didn’t argue, especially when a brief tussle broke out nearby, sending a scrawny young man into their table, and Blake snatched the bottle to prevent it from spilling. The man pushed up from the floor, laughed and slapped the fellow who had pushed him on the back.

  “I do not understand men.”

  “We are easy to understand. We just want fine drink, good company and—” He clamped his lips together.

  “And?”

  “And I nearly forgot with whom I was speaking.” He made a motion of sewing his mouth shut. “Besides, women are much more complicated.”

  “Hardly. We only want respect, candor, and...and...”

  “And?”

  “Pockets,” she finished.

  A brow lifted. “Pockets.”

  She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “Do you have any idea how few pockets I own?”

  “It never occurred to me I must admit.” He made a subtle gesture to the men. “What are they saying now?”

  Watching them for a few moments, she grimaced. “That Michael Foster is late and he’s going to be in trouble.”

  “I certainly would not leave these men waiting.”

 
; “They do seem to be trouble,” she agreed, eyeing the leader’s brawny strength and veined arms.

  “And you were playing cards in their establishment,” he reminded her. “Perhaps you shall think twice now before returning.”

  “It’s a quiet establishment because of those men and their reputations. I knew there would be no trouble there.”

  He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why can you not just be a good girl?”

  “A good girl would not be here, helping you,” she pointed out.

  “True.”

  They waited another hour. The men finished their ales, ordered more, growing increasingly agitated.

  “They just keep saying they’ll have to go to him if he does not arrive. I do not think they want to wait much longer.”

  “They are not alone,” Blake muttered.

  “I imagine there are many other places you would like to be tonight.”

  She said this more to remind herself that if he were not here he would likely be in the arms of a beautiful woman tonight. If she did not, she might find herself imagining this going further than one meeting. Jacob Blake was never going to love her and she should remember that.

  He gave a shrug and offered a tilted smile. “It’s not been too terrible actually. The company is rather excellent, after all.”

  She ducked her head, certain she must be blushing. “Shall we leave?” she forced herself to ask when the three men gave up and exited the building.

  Draining the last of his drink, he winced, set the glass down, and nodded. “Yes, there is no sense in waiting any longer.”

  She pushed down the sense of disappointment. He was only using her to find out about his cousin, a fact she should not forget.

  ***

  “I cannot say I would not be annoyed at the boy.” Ashford led the way to their usual table at Boodle’s. He motioned for two drinks, shoved back a chair, and sat with his usual ease.

  Blake tapped his fingers on the table and drained the whisky as soon as it was placed in front of him. He requested another. Far superior to the muck he’d forced down only yesterday.

  Ashford’s brows lifted. “Are you looking for someone?”

  Blake leaned back against the leather chair and forced his attention away from the doorway. “I heard my cousin gained membership here.” He pressed his lips together. “Now I have no chance of avoiding the bastard.”

  “Is he a bastard, though?”

  “Yes, damn it. I just told you he scared a boy witless.”

  “According to Demeter and goodness knows, I do not wish to malign her, but she could have been wrong. I have a suspicion lots of things scare her.”

  Blake shook his head. “You are entirely wrong.”

  Leaning forward, Ashford took a sip of his drink and cradled the crystal glass. “Blake, we all know Iris’s death was hard on you—”

  “Oh, don’t you start.”

  “It’s natural you should be feeling out of sorts. She was the closest thing to a mother you had, and—”

  “Ashford,” Blake warned.

  “She was there when you needed her, when your father was being an utter blackguard to you.” Ashford fixed him with a look that reminded him of that one his mother had given him. He didn’t like it one jot. “Now she is gone, you have no one.”

  “I have you,” he pointed out bitterly. “Though I am not sure I want you right now.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “And I have my mother now, for the first time in my life.” Blake shrugged. “Lord knows what that’s about.”

  “Seems like she’s had an attack of conscience.”

  “I’d rather she stayed away, like before. It was much easier that way.”

  “I’m not certain you mean that.”

  Blake jabbed a finger at the dark, glossy table. “I did not come here to be plagued with—” he waved a hand “—whatever this is. Are we here to drink and relax or not?”

  “Well, I would relax except you look as though you are ready to leap from the table and pounce on the next person who enters.” Ashford narrowed his gaze. “How long has it been since you had a woman?”

  Blake lowered his voice, aware of the other members at nearby tables. “...months.”

  “Months?” Ashford spluttered. “How many?”

  “Five months, damn it.”

  “Well, no wonder you keep looking at Demeter as though she is the tastiest morsel at the buffet. Though she is quite lovely once you pay attention to her...” He met Blake’s stare and grinned. “Anyway, it is not surprising. Five months has to have been the longest you’ve gone since you’ve come of age.”

  It was. But he didn’t quite know why. He’d anticipated the Season being an end to this drought, blaming a lack of choice. By rights, he could have found himself a lover on the first night of the Season yet he hadn’t. None of the women appealed, somehow.

  “Like I said before, you need a mature relationship. A warm woman to come home to every night.” Ashford said this as though he was several decades older than him rather one year.

  Blake pressed his lips together. “I am not getting married. That’s for old men.” And it led to children, and who knew what would happen then. His father had been terrible. What if he was a bad father too?

  “Trust me, I would never push you into the institution of marriage, but as I said before, a mistress would work quite nicely.”

  “I do not need a mistress,” Blake said firmly. “And I do not need this conversation. I am just fine.”

  Ashford eyed him for a moment then sighed. “You are my friend, Blake. I’m allowed to be concerned about you.”

  Blake let his shoulders drop. He was being a bitter, horrible ass, and Ashford didn’t deserve it. Maybe he was more like his father than he realized. Boodle’s usually provided a warm sanctuary where he could indulge in good food and the finest drink, where he could forget his bare, unloving childhood. His cousin gaining membership made him feel itchy, as though the man had crawled under his skin.

  Or was that Demeter?

  No. It couldn’t be. As lovely as she was, she wasn’t the sort to crawl under a man’s skin and stop them from thinking of anyone else.

  He finished the last drop of whisky and set the glass down. “Forgive me, Ashford, I am not in the mood for drinks it seems. I should probably head home and stew alone.”

  “I’ll at least walk home with you,” Ashford offered, rising with him.

  “There’s really no need.”

  “Blake, you know you cannot tell me what to do any more than I can tell you.”

  Resigned, Blake headed out onto the busy street, Ashford keeping up a brisk pace beside him. As they came to the junction where King’s Palace dominated the skyline, making the houses around it seem insignificant, a blur of mottled gray and beige fur darted across the road, scarcely avoiding being hit. It struck Blake’s leg, forcing both him and the animal to a stop. The creature trembled pathetically, his matted coat and boney frame only just revealing him as a mid-sized dog. It looked up at him, its eyes dark and pathetic.

  Oh Lord.

  Blake crouched and put out a hand by the side of his head. The dog sniffed tentatively then butted his cold nose against his hand. Blake eyed him as he sat patiently. “You weren’t a stray all your life were you?” he murmured.

  “What the devil are you doing?” Ashford demanded, his tone tight. “Don’t touch it for Christ’s sakes.”

  The dog nudged his hand and planted his rear down.

  Standing, he looked at his friend then back at the dog then blew out a breath as the animal remained patiently seated upon the pavement, his expression resigned.

  “Damn it.”

  He scooped the animal up before he could change his mind and the creature sat placidly in his arms as though he was always meant to be there.

  Ashford’s expression grew horrified. “He probably has fleas and goodness knows what else. Put the thing down.”

  “I can’t.�
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  “It’s quite easy—”

  “Demeter likes dogs.”

  Ashford scowled. “I do not see what that has to do with anything.”

  Blake couldn’t quite explain either but all he knew was he could not leave this dog on the streets. “I’m taking him home,” he said firmly.

  Ashford stared at him for a few moments then shook his head. “You are out of your wits, Blake. Utterly and completely out of your wits.”

  He didn’t argue. It might well be true.

  Chapter Sixteen

  There had been many a day when Demeter found herself guilty of picturing Blake walking toward her. Though never actually here, in London. And never with a dog cradled in his arms. Either that kiss was playing tricks on her mind or he was indeed strolling past the park with a scruffy dog tucked against his jacket.

  She slowed her pace, glanced at the carriage awaiting her, and turned sharply the other way. Mr. Bay was likely reading his newspaper and wouldn’t notice she had veered off her usual walking route around the park. She suspected the man reported back to Anton on her and Eleanor’s movements sometimes but given neither she nor Eleanor were the most sociable of creatures. The driver and his groom would not have much to report to her stuffy brother as they escorted her about London.

  Besides, what is the worst he could say? Lady Demeter was seen briefly conversing with a known rake? She’d visited his house only recently—that was far more likely to draw attention—but it had been entirely necessary.

  As was seeing him now. With this dog.

  She frowned to herself and shrugged as she stepped through the wrought iron gates at the entrance to the park. Fine. Perhaps it was not necessary, but should she not check if he needed aid? Maybe the creature was injured and that was why Blake carried him. What sort of an awful person would deny an injured animal aid?

  Not her, to be certain.

  A smile pulled at his lips when he spotted her. He walked with his friend Ashford, who always struck her as charming in a more subtle way to Blake. Tall, well-built, with a permanently amused smile upon his lips, he reminded her of what she imagined a Greek God to look like. All golden hair and angular lines.