Lord Ashford was not as overtly rakish as Blake but there was no doubting between the pair of them, they had broken many a heart. Today, however, his smile looked more bemused than amused when they came to a stop in front of her.
“The poor dear,” she cooed. “What is wrong with him? Is he injured?” She ran a hand over the bedraggled dog and the animal closed his eyes in contentment. “He’s a lovely dog.”
“He’s a mutt,” said Ashford.
“He has breeding,” she countered. “He just needs a wash.”
“I found him not far from here,” Blake told her, jerking his head down the road. “I’m taking him home.”
The dog licked her hand tentatively. “He’s lovely. Is he well?”
“Apart from starved, he seems fine.”
“Poor, poor dear.” She fussed the dog some more, smiling when he butted her hand when she stopped. “He was definitely someone’s once.”
“That’s what I said.”
Blake threw a look at Ashford who shrugged and muttered, “He’s flea-ridden.”
“I think he’ll look lovely once he’s cleaned up. Just be sure to have him bathed in lemon and rosemary. That will get rid of any fleas.”
“And burn your jacket. And your trousers,” Ashford muttered. “And never come near me again.”
Blake ignored his friend. “I thought he could be yours.”
“M-mine?” She blinked a few times, looked to Ashford who had a resigned expression, then to Blake and finally the dog. “I cannot have a dog remember? Aunt Sarah would never allow it.”
“Well, he can stay at my house but he can be officially yours. You can visit whenever you wish and I shall bring him to the park for walks with you.”
Swinging her gaze between the two men and the dog, Demeter fought to find a response. Her throat tightened and tears burned the back of her eyes, clouding her vision. She couldn’t cry, not in front of these two. Not over a dog.
But no one had ever thought of doing such a thing for her. Not even her sisters. As much as they loved her, they had their own busy lives now, with little time for looking after dogs. She swallowed hard.
“Are you certain?” she managed to whisper.
“Of course. He adores you. I can tell,” Blake said as though he was saying something sage.
“I would love to walk him.”
“Let’s get his strength up and see how he is next week.”
She grinned. “I cannot wait.”
“Perhaps you can come and see him tomorrow,” Blake suggested, “and see how he is. No doubt my mother shall be there and she adores your aunt’s company.”
“That would be wonderful, and I know Aunt Sarah would love to see your mother.”
“Aunts and mothers and dogs?” Ashford shook his head. “I think you’re both mad.”
“Because we like dogs?” she asked, turning to face Blake’s friend.
“Because you like dogs who are ugly and flea-ridden.” Ashford eyed the docile animal who had settled his chin on Blake’s arm and closed his eyes while Demeter petted him. “I like dogs as much as the next man but this one...”
“Will be wonderful once he is fed and cleaned,” Demeter finished for him. “Will you not, my lovely?”
“Lovely?” Ashford scoffed.
“What do you want to call him?” Blake asked.
“How about Ernest? I always wanted a dog called Ernest when I was a little girl.”
“Ernest?” Ashford repeated. “Truly?”
Blake nodded. “It suits him perfectly.”
Ashford threw up his hands. “Clearly I am the only person with sense here.” He tipped his hat to Demeter. “Good day, Lady Demeter. Good luck with your...dog.” He glanced at Blake. “Blake, do you not think—” He sighed and waved a hand. “Never mind. Good day, Blake.”
Blake ignored his friend marching away from them and lifted his arm so Demeter could get a good look at the dog’s face. “He’s going to be so handsome,” she said.
And he was all hers.
Theirs.
No. Hers. She met Blake’s gaze and her heart gave a pang against her chest. She couldn’t have made this up, not even in her wildest imaginings. Jacob Blake had given her a dog and now she loved him more than ever.
***
“If you touch me with that handkerchief one more time, Mother, I’ll throw you out of the carriage.”
His mother’s eyes widened and she tucked the handkerchief goodness knows where in amongst the lace and folds of her heavy gown. Blake knew it was heavy because when he’d handed her up into the carriage, she rested heavily on his arms as though weighed down by the endless feathers and silks not to mention the jewels upon her neck, ears, and wrists. She never had been one for subtlety but tonight was a little over-the-top, even for her.
When he’d questioned her appearance she reminded him that people had to think they were still the wealthiest members of the family now that Foster had inherited.
“We are here anyway,” she sniffed. “So you may throw me out at the steps and see what everyone thinks of you flinging your poor defenseless mother to the ground.”
A footman opened the door and Blake stepped out. He aided his mother down the two little steps and released her so swiftly, she nearly did stumble. She narrowed her gaze at him.
“I do not know why you are in such a mood tonight.” Her expression softened and she put a hand to his arm. “You need only make a little appearance. I am certain with half of London here. No one shall notice your absence, they just need to register your attendance.”
That wasn’t true, and he refused to be chased off. The rumors he was poor thanks to his cousin inheriting Aunt Iris’s vast wealth didn’t bother him much but he was not going to let Foster flaunt all of Iris’s carefully curated life without at least being there.
“Why would I wish to leave, Mother?” he said, expression deliberately blank. “You know how I love a ball.”
“I know how you love this house,” she murmured but wisely saved any other comments and started toward the building.
He took her arm and they moved up the stone steps toward the huge front door surrounded by six columns the thickness of old oak trees. He recalled the first time he’d seen them at the age of six, utterly daunted by the grandeur of the old building. The house he grew up in was no hovel but he’d never been allowed to step through the front door let alone enjoy the luxuries of their wealthy lifestyle. Coming to Knowle had been quite the change from his father’s house.
And now it was all in Foster’s hands.
He pressed his lips together and they joined the crush of people trying to enter. Many stopped and gawped, despite the fact they had likely visited during Iris’s lifetime.
Tonight, however, Foster had gone out of his way to impress. Every alcove and table was decorated with flowers—so much so that the scent of roses was almost overpowering. Candles were lit in every corner, the finest vases had been put on display and Foster had also moved some of the furnishings from the private suites so they could be shown off. Aunt Iris would have never done such a thing, knowing how high the chances were that madeira would be spilled on the antique surfaces.
His mother tugged him close. “Do try not to look so grumpy, Blakey. People shall be watching for our reaction.”
“I am not grumpy.”
“You do look a little grumpy. If you are not careful, you shall turn into your f—” She paused and glanced away, her cheeks reddening.
Well, now he really was grumpy. How dare she insinuate he was turning into his bastard of a father, even if she did not mean it? He’d rather traipse barefoot through the roughest parts of London than turn into that miserable old sod.
Damn it. Was he really being so awful? Slip of the tongue or not, his mother did seem to be trying some attempt at being motherly. He forced a charming smile and greeted his cousin as genially as he could manage.
Foster grinned, his cheeks ruddier than ever. Blake had to admit, the man did
a stunning job of acting the bumbling fool with little idea what to do with his newfound wealth.
“What do you think, Blake?” He gestured around. “I’d have loved your advice but you’ve been rather busy of late.”
If there was any spite in his words, Blake failed to detect them. He barely blamed Demeter for doubting his instincts in the beginning. Even he doubted them when speaking with Foster.
“Yes,” Blake murmured non-committal.
His cousin clapped his hand on Blake’s shoulder. “You are here now, which is the most important thing. Along with your lovely mother. Mrs. Blake, you are a vision, and I do so hope you will be dancing tonight.”
“Me?” She shook her head vigorously. “Goodness no.”
And a more experienced host would have realized that. Christ, what an act this was!
“Well, I do hope you have a pleasant evening.”
They moved along, spilling through the corridors and out into the ballroom. Blake grimaced. Iris loved a party but she loathed balls. She enjoyed conversing with her friends and enjoying wonderful food at a slow pace. Because of the crowds it was nigh impossible to reach the food and those that did suffered being jostled and knocked about. He took a glass of punch from a passing servant, passed one to his mother, and drained the overly sweet liquid. Iris would have hated every minute of this.
His gaze fell to a woman moving across the rear of the ballroom. He couldn’t say why his attention had been drawn there but it took him a mere moment to realize it was Demeter. Practically pressed against the wall, she moved with adept stealth.
She played the wallflower to perfection but he still could not fathom how he’d never really noticed her before. Amongst the buxom fair-haired ladies she stood out like a raven amongst swans.
Though, he doubted she would be flattered to be compared to a raven. Gads, he was losing his touch for flattery.
She continued to make her way across the ballroom, glancing back at where her family was gathered, not far from the open rear doors. He scowled. He did not need to have watched her at a ball before, he knew what she was doing. She proved him right, slipping towards the staircase and then taking them three at a time, as though that would prevent anyone from seeing her.
He’d be damned if he let her remain involved in this Foster business. His cousin was dangerous—he was convinced of it since Demeter had witnessed him snap at that boy.
“If you will excuse me, Mother,” he muttered and moved in Demeter’s direction before she could say whatever that knowing smile was hiding.
Demeter needed dealing with first. Then he’d worry about Foster.
Chapter Seventeen
Fingers latched around her arm. Demeter whirled and gasped then pressed a hand to her chest. “Blake! You scared me.”
He released her arm. His brow was furrowed, his eyes dark. She’d never really seen Blake angry before. It was odd not to see the playful dimples or the quick smile. Naturally, he was as handsome as ever but had his cousin angered him somehow?
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“Investigating Mr. Foster of course.”
“No.”
“No?”
He took her arm again and dragged her a little way down the corridor. “Go back downstairs. You should not be here.”
“Why not?” She snatched her arm back and put hands to hips. “I was going to find his study. He might have documentation there. Letters. Or even a will.”
Blake shook his head. “I somehow doubt Foster is foolish enough to leave something revealing simply lying around.”
“Look, the meeting failed but we cannot give up.” She put a hand to his arm and tried not to think about the muscles underneath the perfectly cut fabric. “There was an investigation last year...my sister...well...” She waved a hand. “It’s hard to explain but there was a forged will. Do you not think the same thing could have happened here? Mr. Foster forged the will somehow and that is how he has inherited all of this without there being any request to fulfill your aunt’s wishes.”
“We can give up.” He gestured between them. “Because there is no we. I shouldn’t have involved you in this in the first place.”
“You were practically begging me not long ago.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“I do not mind doing it. In fact I—”
“Demeter, Foster could be dangerous.”
“Witnessing his behavior the other day was a little scary, I shall admit, but I hardly think he’s going to do anything actually dangerous. After all, he cannot put all of this in jeopardy.”
Blake sighed and she searched his expression. His shoulders were slightly slumped and tiredness ringed his eyes, as though something weighed heavily upon him. What had changed since yesterday when he’d basically gifted her a dog?
His gaze shifted behind her and his eyes darkened, his lips forming a straight line. She twisted to find a painting behind her. There was nothing extraordinary about it—an attractive landscape revealing a tall church and fields surrounding it. They had a similar one in her father’s house. She looked back to Blake and saw his jaw working.
“What is the matter?”
“This painting—it’s one of the most valuable in the house.”
She didn’t know what to say so she remained silent.
“My aunt wanted it sold upon her death and the fortune gifted to her favorite charity.” His tone held no emotion and it made her shiver because Blake never spoke without some emotion. It was as though the light had gone entirely from him.
“This is why we must find out if there was another will,” she insisted.
“No, Demeter. No ‘we’ about it.”
“I can help you. I already told you I have experience—”
“No.”
“And I can do things you cannot. Your cousin does not know I dress as a man and no one ever suspects a woman anyway.”
“No.”
“You wanted my help,” she reminded him. “You practically blackmailed me.”
“No.”
“You do not know what to do next. I know you do not. If we just—”
“Damn it, Demeter. No.”
Chin lifted, she eyed him, her hand still to her hips. “You cannot stop me, you know.”
He met her glare for several heartbeats, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “My cousin...he likes you.”
“Well, that’s a good thing...”
“No, you see, I think he wishes to marry you.”
Demeter laughed. “No one wishes to marry me. I’m too quiet, I-I stutter too much. People think I am simple.”
“I never thought that.”
She glanced at her cream satin slippers, stark against the darkly stained wood floor. “No.”
“You are a duke’s daughter, Demeter, and one who has not yet wed. You are a good prospect for a man who has only just come into wealth.”
“Yes. Of course,” she said numbly.
And not a good prospect for anyone else. That suggestion hung in the air between them. The only reason anyone had ever wished to marry her was because of her father and her dowry, though interest had dwindled swiftly after her debut into Society. She had never minded before. She didn’t want interest from countless gentlemen; just one. She knew loving Blake was a folly and that no man could ever match him. She also knew she did not wish to marry anyone who feared her stutter would embarrass them. It was far easier to love from afar than risk any real pain.
Unfortunately becoming entangled with Blake was leading her too close to risk. She felt it in her heart, pounding heavily, as though wishing to remind her how easily her heart could shatter. Just one word and he could break it, of that she was certain.
But she’d been looking for something to occupy her time and what better way than to get to the bottom of this Foster business? She would simply have to be cautious when it came to Blake.
“How is Ernest?” she asked abruptly when the silence lasted too long.
“Looking handsome.” A half-smile curved his lips. “As predicted.”
“I will visit him as soon as I can.”
“Do. I think he misses you already. You may visit at any time, even if I am not there.”
“Yes. Of course.” She twined her hands together. See? This was why she had to mind her heart. He was only being kind in offering her part-ownership of the dog. It was not so he could see her more.
His fingers curled around her arm once more and he tugged her close. It grew hard to breathe and his gaze skipped over her face.
Then he dragged her into a darkened room and shut the door behind them.
“What are—”
He pressed a finger to her lips and her head spun at his proximity. He remained still, tense, a furrow between his brows. She pursed her mouth against his fingertip.
“Blake?” she said, the word muffled.
“Someone is coming,” he said and she realized he was listening and not summoning courage to kiss her or have his wicked way.
But of course. She let herself sag against the wall behind her and pushed his finger away with the back of a hand. What a fool she was.
***
Blake didn’t make mistakes often. His instincts were always right and leading the sort of life he did, he could not afford to make many.
Taking Demeter into a darkened room, alone, could most certainly count as a mistake. Once the footsteps passed, it allowed him to think upon the lingering feel of her lips beneath his finger. They were soft—unbearably soft. It made him want to recall what they’d felt like upon his own. He regretted that their kiss had been so brief.
No.
He took a few steps back, inhaled deeply and eyed her, her head tilted back, her long, elegant neck adorned by a simple lace necklace stitched into the shape of tiny white flowers much like he’d seen little girls do with real flowers.
He regretted the kiss, did he not? Ashford had warned him against her and he’d not been wrong. Though he’d never let his friend know that.
Demeter was not the sort of woman one stole kisses from. There would be consequences and not just those at the end of a pistol. As bold as she thought she was, she was an innocent and too damned determined to do the right things for others. First this charity business, then rescuing a child and a dog. Heck, she even wanted to help him even though he had practically blackmailed her into aiding him. He couldn’t take advantage of her giving nature, no matter how tempted he was.
Wagers of a Duke's Daughter (The Duchess's Investigative Society Book 3) Page 11