The Duke's Dilemma (The Wolf Deceivers Series Book 2)

by Elaine Manders

“I’m well aware of that, and again, I apologize for Lady Ashford’s insensitive remarks.”

  With another little smile and nod of farewell, she crossed the threshold and closed the door.

  ***

  Cassandra hastened to her library and sat at the secretary. She wrote a full page, read it once and slipped it into an envelope. After writing the name and address, she sealed the envelope with wax and added the word, urgent, in bold letters.

  She scurried across the marble floor in search of Carswell, and found him polishing the silver. “Send this to Jane Vernon at Convent Gardens with all haste. Tell the messenger to wait for a reply and bring it to me the moment he returns.” Her words tumbled out in a breathless rush.

  “It shall be done, your ladyship.” Carswell took the missive and jolted away.

  “Get Thomas to do it,” she called as the butler turned a corner. “He’s dependable.”

  The matter was out of her hands, and all energy drained away, leaving her knees with no more strength than day old pudding. As soon as Viscount Galloway mentioned Sir Harcrumb’s return, she knew who had Lucy.

  She numbly ambled to the stairs. There was an outside chance they’d be able to spirit Lucy off that ship before it sailed. As she climbed the stairs, she forced her thoughts from Lucy.

  The concern in Edward’s handsome face came to mind. Did the tenderness she’d seen in his eyes mean he could admire her?

  One thing was certain. Daphne Ashford didn’t have a feather to fly. She’d overplayed her hand and revealed her true character. Sarah had nothing to worry about. The duke’s demeanor toward Lady Ashford made clear he’d never marry her. But like most vain women, Daphne would never admit it.

  Even so, it didn’t follow he’d consider Cassandra a rival for his affection, as Sarah wished. Did she even want him to? To what end?

  After reaching the landing, she turned to her chambers. She ought to tell Gama Lady Pugh would be visiting. Such news would brighten the old lady’s day, but she must change her gown first. It would give her time to consider what she should do about the duke.

  She would keep her promise to Sarah and try to forge a relationship with the duke. Not that she had any hope of winning him. Her position in society prevented that, but they might become friends. If she could ever confide in him, she might be able to enlist his aid. She felt so alone in this fight.

  Instead of calling her lady’s maid as she ought, she strode to the window. The brick façade of the duke’s house showed through the tall elders. Above all, she must guard her heart. Her feelings for the duke jolted her. He attracted her in a way she hadn’t thought possible. Not even Lord Wayte had made her feel like the duke did, and she had loved Lord Wayte.

  This was quite different.

  She recalled the quiver of delight that ran up her arm when the duke had kissed her hand. His touch should have repelled her. No, she mustn’t allow herself to love any man.

  After Sir Harcrumb had forced her to do those despicable things, she couldn’t bear the physical touch of any man. Yet far from being repelled by the duke’s touch, she yearned for it.

  She pressed both hands to the sides of her head, trying to force the image from her mind.

  Lord Wayte understood her feelings, but he was an old man. Edward was young.

  Edward. When had she started thinking of him by his Christian name? The same moment she’d allowed Sarah to put the foolish notion of marriage to her brother in her mind.

  And today. She wanted all his tender gaze promised.

  Why agonize over something that would never be? The duke wouldn’t pursue a woman of her reputation, even as a friend. He was only indulging his sister’s fancy.

  When he learned the truth about Sir Harcrumb, he wouldn’t even allow that much.

  She pulled the bell cord to call her maid. As always when she thought of Sir Harcrumb, she needed a bath. If only there was some way to wash away the evil for good.

  Chapter 5

  Poor illumination from the brothel’s cellar cast ghostly shadows on the slimy wall of the stairwell. One small window at the top added little light, and Cassandra caught her reflection in the dark pane. The face of a crone stared back at her. Jane’s artistry had transformed her features so well none would recognize her.

  She hunched her shoulders and lifted the edge of the black cape covering her from neck to toe. With one hand she pressed the fabric to her nose as protection against the stench and held onto a cane with the other to navigate the steps. Dank water oozed from the concrete wall, and a woman’s shrill laughter sounded from below, urging Cassandra to rush forward and be done with the ordeal.

  Guessing that Mrs. Sully was the laughing woman, she made her way to the bar. “You be Mrs. Sully?” Cassandra spoke in the croaking voice she’d effected for this role. “I was sent by Liddy Wayte. She needs two of your gels for a gentleman friend.”

  Mrs. Sully sent a cautious glance around the room before hooking Cassandra by the arm and pulling her into a corner. “I’ve heard of Lady Wayte. What does she want?”

  “Young gels and fresh, if you know what I mean.” Cassandra wished that she could take them all, but experience had taught her the longer women remained in this place, the harder it was to get them to leave. Fear and self-loathing held them by the throat.

  Even if they escaped, they usually returned.

  “I do. I have two sisters just come in from the country. They think they’re hired to be barmaids. One of them is fair—the other, a mousy thing.”

  “Liddy Wayte may take them both.” Cassandra retrieved the bag of coins from inside her cloak. “If ye send them to the back garden of Liddy Wayte’s residence exactly at twelve noon—not a moment sooner or later—they’ll be let in. If they’re acceptable, you’ll get twice this amount, but no tricks. M’liddy won’t be swindled.”

  “No one could ever accuse me of dishonesty.” Mrs. Sully counted the coins. “Twice, you say? His nibs don’t even know they’re here yet.”

  “Why does his nibs have to know?”

  The woman let out a hoot of laughter, then caught herself. She cast a fugitive glance over her shoulder while stuffing the bag of coins inside her bodice. “The gels will be there. Now off with you before I have to explain what you’re doing here.”

  Cassandra needed no urging. She had to force herself to amble along with her cane like the old woman she was supposed to be when she wanted to sprint forth and run.

  As she climbed the stairs, two young men shot past her, one chasing the other. Her foot slipped on the slimy step and she fell, grasping the railing just in time to prevent a tumble.

  One young man, barely old enough to shave, returned and helped her regain her footing. “Careful, Mother, watch your step.” He dashed off before she could respond.

  Mother, indeed. The boy needed a mother to box his ears for being in a place like this.

  After exiting the hole, she stood a moment drawing in deep lungsful of air while waiting for her eyes to adjust to the bright daylight. She hailed a hackney and scurried to catch it.

  If all went well, two souls might be saved. But so many were left behind.

  ***

  Chimes sounded three of the clock as Sarah’s brow puckered in concentration while placing the last strokes to her still-life. Cassandra stood to the side, holding her breath, praying the girl wouldn’t make a mistake. She didn’t know which of them wanted to please Edward more. They had made him close the study door so he couldn’t catch even a glimpse until the painting was finished.

  Sarah laid her brush aside, staring at her creation critically. Her pansy eyes widened in delight, and Cassandra shared with her that thrilling moment only an artist could know. “I can’t believe I did this.” She shook her curly head and sent Cassandra a glance of pure appreciation. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  With a short laugh, Cassandra pressed her palm to the girl’s heart. “You would have in time because it’s all in here.”

  Sarah shook he
r head again, more vigorously this time. “I would have set the basket up straight, but this angle is much more interesting.”

  Cassandra agreed. The picture of a woven tan basket turned on its side with bright red apples tumbling onto a moss green tabletop showed movement and color. “There are two sides to any art. The vision of your composition is sheer creation. I can’t teach you that. Then there is the hard work of using technique in a thousand brush strokes to depict that vision. I’ll help you with that, but you must promise me you won’t become so engrossed with your painting that you forget to study with Miss Bates, or play with other children. Otherwise, you may become a recluse.”

  “Is that what happened to you?”

  How astute the little imp was. “I grew up on a farm with my grandparents. I had so little time left from chores that I spent every free minute sketching on anything I found. I couldn’t afford paints.”

  “Where were your parents?”

  “They were killed in a house fire when I was too young to remember. My grandparents thought my sketching foolish, and I…I ran away to—”

  “You ran away?” Awe tinged Sarah’s voice. Unwittingly, Cassandra had opened a topic she shouldn’t have. Now she’d have to explain without revealing too much. Another art she’d become adept at.

  “It was a horrid mistake. I ran away to London to find my godmother, but I didn’t realize how big London is and how much…danger. It took me awhile to find my godmother. There was nothing to eat, and…and I had to work for an evil man.”

  “Did he beat you?”

  Time to close the subject. “No, but he was mean all the same. You’ve just arrived in London, have you made friends yet?”

  “I’ve been invited to Alice Newson’s party Friday next.”

  Cassandra caught the way Sarah’s lower lip poked out. “You don’t seem pleased. Don’t you like her?”

  “I like her well enough, but I shall be ashamed to go. I have nothing to wear.”

  Sarah wore a dull lavender pinafore over a gray dress, the customary garb for a little girl. Now that Cassandra thought of it, she’d never seen Sarah wearing anything but pinafores.

  “Surely you have a party dress.”

  “None that fits. Aunt Chloe says I should wait until I’ve stopped growing, then I shall get a debutant’s wardrobe.” Sarah propped against the window sill. “Edward is vastly wealthy, but Aunt Chloe is che…frugal.”

  Cassandra smiled. “Frugality is an admirable trait for rich and poor alike, but I should think you’re old enough for one or two long gowns. If your brother has no objections, I’d take you shopping.”

  Sarah’s eyes grew larger. “You would truly do that?”

  “I shouldn’t wish to overstep your aunt, but if the duke approves, we could go to my modiste. She has such wonderful—”

  The girl bolted across the room toward the duke’s study. “Sarah,” Cassandra called. “I didn’t mean you should ask him now.” Drat the girl. Did she have to complicate everything?

  It was too late, Sarah burst into the duke’s study. Cassandra rushed after her. “Your grace, I’m sorry for the interruption.” She looked over Sarah’s head to catch the duke’s glance. He didn’t look the least bit put out.

  “Only guess, Edward.” Sarah put both hands on the desk’s edge and leaned in. “Lady Wayte has agreed to take me shopping for a new gown for Alice’s party. I know you’ll agree because you’ll want me to be presentable.”

  Sarah had wheedling down to an art. Cassandra shared a smile with the duke as she held his gaze. His forest green eyes softened as the light picked out bronze flicks. With an instinct as old as time she sensed the attraction. As a woman attracts a man.

  He got to his feet. “That sounds like a splendid idea. I’m known to have a good eye for women’s attire. I hope you won’t mind me tagging along to give my opinion.”

  Sarah swooshed a breath. “You don’t mind, do you, Lady Wayte?”

  Cassandra dropped her gaze. “No, of course not.”

  “Have you finished your painting?” Edward asked.

  “I have. Come see.” Sarah took hold of his hand and tugged him along. Cassandra followed, her conflicted emotions churning like sea foam on the waves. Edward was going to be seen with her…not just privately…but in public at the modiste. People would take note. Certainly Daphne Ashford would.

  What had she been thinking of to agree to accompany the duke and Sarah to a puppet show? That would set the gossips a titter all the way from Mayfair. But it had sounded like such fun, and it had been so long since she’d done anything for the sheer joy of it. Wasn’t this what she wanted? For the duke to receive her? But she’d not considered the association might harm his reputation. That thought cast a shadow over her joy.

  The duke held the painting before him. “Sarah, it’s magnificent. I’m proud of you.” No one could doubt his sincerity.

  “I fear she worked long into the night to finish by today, and I too, am proud of her.” Cassandra hugged the little girl. “There is one thing you forgot, however.”

  Sarah pulled out of the embrace. “What?”

  “Your signature, and since you have a short name, I think the whole of it will fit nicely in the corner.”

  Sarah’s tawny brows drew together. “No, I think I shall write it Sarah D, and leave a space so that when I marry I can add my new name.”

  Edward’s laughter died as his gaze swept past Cassandra. “Yes, Jensen?”

  She swung around, not having heard the butler approach. “A missive has arrived for Lady Wayte, your grace.” The prim butler placed a slip of paper in her hand, and after a stiff bow, turned on his heel.

  Cassandra stared at the folded paper with trepidation. “I do hope Gama…that is, Lady Hayes, hasn’t taken a turn for the worse.”

  Edward and Sarah moved in for support, and she cast them a grateful glance before opening the note. The words hit her with the unexpected force of a viper’s strike.

  Lucy found in the Thames.

  The paper fluttered to the floor as the room spun. She held out her hand and felt Edward’s strong arms lifting her. A desire to bury her face on his chest and weep came over her. She shook it off but couldn’t shake the horror of what had happened.

  Lucy. The one who’d come at great risk to Cassandra. The one Cassandra had sworn to protect.

  “Sarah, quick, go get the smelling salts,” Edward ordered. He sat on the sofa, still holding Cassandra on his lap. He held the note in his hand.

  “Cassandra.” Her given name fell from his lips as soothing as the muted call of a nightingale. “Who is Lucy? Was she murdered?”

  Murdered? No, more likely Lucy broke away and threw herself in the Thames. How could she explain to the duke? Her muddled brain tried to bring some coherent thoughts together.

  She held his troubled gaze. “I am Lucy.”

  Did she whisper it or merely think it? She closed her eyes, seeking the darkness.

  ***

  Edward studied her pale, lovely features and tried to make sense of what had happened. Of a certainty Lady Wayte held secrets, and he cared enough to want to help her. Her eyes fluttered open. “Cassandra, what do you mean? Who is the woman to you?”

  Abruptly, she seemed to realize where she was and scrambled from his lap, standing more steadily than he’d have thought possible. Her face went from pale to rosy pink. “I apologize, your grace. I can’t think what came over me.” She pressed a hand to her cheek.

  He got to his feet. “There’s nothing to apologize for. Was Lucy a relative?”

  She kept her composure. “No, only an acquaintance.”

  Sarah blew in like a spring gale. “Here’s the smelling salt.” She held a small vial in her outstretched hand.

  “I shan’t need it, dear. I feel quite well now.” Cassandra sent Edward a smile meant to reassure him, no doubt. It failed to do so.

  He wanted to question her further. “May I assist you in any way with this…this difficulty?”


  “No, I can manage, but you’ll understand I must leave now. I wish to make sure Lucy’s family is notified.” Cassandra turned to Sarah. “You’ve done well. Work on the primrose composition until our next lesson. I shouldn’t be surprised if you’re not ready to begin the portrait of your brother next week.” Her strained voice didn’t fool Edward, but there was nothing he could do except let her go.

  “I’ll take you out the back way,” Sarah said, taking her hand. “Lady Ashford is in the drawing room, waiting for Edward.”

  He stared at the doorway long after they’d disappeared. Now was the time to confront Daphne, make it clear she had no future with him.

  He’d rather have met a hostile Frenchman in the heat of battle.

  Daphne had insinuated on several occasions she expected a proposal soon. Up until now, he’d given her no reason to expect otherwise, and Daphne was the type of woman to expect much.

  After her husband’s death at Waterloo, she’d spent a year preening herself under the enormous attention a war widow received. But as soon as she’d shed her widow’s weeds, she’d found the Ton’s acclaim waning. The country’s fascination over Wellington’s defeat of Napoleon had cooled, along with their admiration of Daphne. That’s when she’d turned her attention to Edward.

  Affection had nothing to do with it. She valued his rank more than his heart. He must make her realize neither his rank nor his heart was available.

  With squared shoulders, he made his way to the drawing room. “I apologize for the delay.” He managed a smile.

  “Who required smelling salts? Does Lady Pugh have the vapors?”

  “No, Aunt Chloe is at the cobbler’s being measured for new pumps. Lady Wayte received bad news…the death of an acquaintance.”

  Daphne raised feathered brows. “Who?”

  “Some woman by the name of Lucy. Lady Wayte gave no details and I asked for none.”

  Daphne laughed under her breath and threw back her head. “I expect it’s nothing more than pure fustian, Edward. Someone should tell lady Wayte swooning to catch a man’s attention is outdated. Once is obvious. Twice is ridiculous.”