Duke of Storm

by Gaelen Foley

  He wanted her to help him willingly.

  “You’ll be perfectly safe. I would never put you anywhere near the danger. As I said, I just want a wee bit o’ guidance. You can provide me with the information I need from the comfort of your own home. Nobody even has to know you know me, if you’d rather not acknowledge me as an acquaintance. Well—except for your maid, since she’s already seen us together.”

  “It’s not that, it’s just…”

  “What?” he demanded.

  “Well—I’m a lady!” she blurted out, bewilderment filling those pretty eyes beneath her long lashes. “This all sounds quite reckless, and I-I’m not very adventurous, you see. A spy? I don’t like deceiving people, and I haven’t much experience sneaking around.”

  “You did fine last night,” he drawled, sending a meaningful glance toward her ankles.

  She scowled at the reminder of how she had flirted with scandal by coming alone to his house after dark.

  “Are you trying to say you’re just some helpless female? Because that claim won’t work. Not with me.”

  “Well, I didn’t say that.” She gave a little humph.

  An indulgent feeling filled him as he gazed at her in soft amusement, half wanting to let her off the hook, though he really couldn’t spare her.

  Besides, this would be good for her.

  For a moment, he assessed her the same way he did every new fresh-faced recruit they had sent to his regiment. She had more strength than she knew.

  He saw a careful young woman, perhaps slightly lacking in confidence, and holding herself a little too tightly in check.

  But she had heart. She had shown herself capable of startling bravery last night when she’d come knocking on his door, risking any young lady’s most valuable asset—her reputation—to save a man’s life.

  That he respected.

  Clearly, though, his little English rose was buttoned up a wee bit too tightly, lived too often on her best behavior. He could see that. A thoroughly nice girl, but a creature caged.

  And, suddenly, the wild side of him wanted to free her.

  “Do you trust me, lass?” he asked softly.

  “Can I?”

  “What does your heart tell you?” Connor watched her closely, ignoring the worried look from her maid.

  Lady Margaret consulted the sky, as though the answer floated amid the big, puffy clouds drifting by overhead.

  Then she looked at him once more, squaring her shoulders decisively.

  “All I know is that you kept your word to me. And so, of course, I shall do the same. Whatever the cost,” she added with a gulp.

  Connor pondered her with a sudden flood of tenderness inside. Relief unfurled inside his solar plexus, and a smile spread across his face. “I knew you wouldn’t fail me.”

  “Just remember”—she gave him a disapproving poke in the chest—“you promised not to ruin my life.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, Lady Maggie. Do you mind if I call you that?”

  “Actually, I prefer it.”

  They smiled warily at each other for a moment, and then walked on. This time, when she took his arm, she held on to his biceps with newfound determination.

  “No one out there is going to kill any neighbor of mine, I assure you,” she said.

  Connor grinned and looked askance at her. The kittenish protectiveness in her grip both touched his heart and amused him.

  “So, what does this entail?” she asked. “Where and when do we begin? And how?”

  “There are a few members of Society I want to ask you about—general information, whatever you know about them. Whatever gossip you might’ve heard concerning them. This will save me from wasting loads of time investigating people who are most likely innocent, and time is of the essence. The quicker this is sorted, the sooner I can get on with the whole horrid business of being a duke.”

  This got a chuckle from her. “Is it so bad?”

  “It’s bloody miserable,” he grumbled.

  “Perhaps you’re just not used to it yet.”

  He heaved a sigh. “Perhaps. But if I have to hear one more fool make some snide remark about the Irish, I may put him through a wall.”

  “Ah, they’re just jealous of you.”

  “Testing me, I think.”

  “Hmm, probably some of that, too. But you are the rightful Duke of Amberley now, and too bad if they don’t like it. You outrank them, and that’s that. It’s their lot to conform themselves to you, not the other way ’round.”

  “You think so?” he asked in skeptical amusement.

  “I know so,” she said. “Act the part and they will fall in line, as they’ve all been trained. And that, Your Grace, is the great secret of how to go about in Society.”

  “If you say so.” He smiled at her, warmed by her surprisingly cynical advice. She was very dear in her way. “Unfortunately, I’ve got bigger things to worry about now than my lack of popularity.”

  “Indeed,” she said with a twinkling glance.

  The next shop window caught his eye as they strolled past, showing him their reflections together. They looked like a real courting couple, maybe even married. The thought so distracted him that he almost missed her next question.

  “So, who are your suspects, Your Grace? Do we have anyone in our sights yet?”

  “We do.” Thrilled at her turn of demeanor now that she’d put her will into his cause, he snapped back to awareness. “But first things first. We need to establish a convenient method of communication away from prying eyes. Tell me, can you see Amberley House from where you live?”

  “Yes, easily. My sister’s residence is Number 71 Moonlight Square. It’s in the middle of the south terrace, across from your home.”

  “That’s Marquess Row?”

  She nodded, smiling. “Several marquesses live side by side there. My brother-in-law being one of them. But yes, I can see your house easily from my bedchamber window.”

  “Good. Then let us devise a system of lantern signals. Whenever you need to see me, if some urgent matter should arise, or if you uncover information that I need to know quickly, put a lantern in your window, and I will contact you. I’d prefer if you tell me your findings in person. I don’t expect you to learn any codes, but I’d really prefer you not write these things down where others might find them. Since I don’t know yet who might be involved, and have even had trouble with servants, I want all this treated with the utmost secrecy. Between you and me only.”

  She nodded, wide-eyed. “I understand.”

  He nodded back. “Good. Now, to signal that you need to see me, simply put a lighted lantern in your window after dark. To let you know, in turn, that I’ve seen your summons, I’ll answer by doing the same, and vice versa.

  “However, if a serious emergency should arise, if you feel yourself in danger at any time in all this, put two lanterns in your window. This will tell me that something is wrong, and I will come to you at once. If you’re not at our meeting place, I’ll come and find you and make sure you’re safe.”

  “Meeting place?” she echoed.

  “Yes. We must agree upon some mutually convenient location, where we can meet without drawing attention to ourselves. Any ideas?”

  “Well, there’s the garden folly in the middle of the park. It’s a normal place where either of us might be seen, since we live on the square, yet secluded enough among the trees that we should be able to avoid notice, especially after dark. And,” she added, “we can both get there quickly, as it sits halfway between our two houses.”

  He nodded, impressed. “That should suit.”

  Encouraged to find her warming to her role, he reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out the small folded list of names that he had copied down from his cousin’s diary. “Put this in your reticule. Wait until you’re alone to read it. Study it well. Learn it. Then burn it.”

  “What is it?” She took the square of paper from between his fingers and obediently tucked it into her re
ticule.

  “It’s a list of names my cousin assembled before he was killed. These are the last five people known to have dealings with Granduncle Rupert before he ‘fell’ off the precipice. Memorize this, then destroy it. Mark me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Good. Keep these names in mind, and if you see an opportunity where I might be able to approach any of our suspects in Society, I shall drag myself out to the ballroom again, if you’ll point them out to me.”

  “I’d be glad to,” she said. “But, for that, it sounds like you and I are going to need a formal introduction, Your Grace. Otherwise, this all becomes entirely complicated, given Society’s rules. Especially after my, er, outburst this morning.”

  He smiled wryly at the reminder of how she’d come running over to him.

  “I couldn’t help it!” she said, blushing. “I was horrified. I still don’t understand how you could be so calm about it all.”

  He laughed. “Used to it. But who could we get to introduce us in a manner that would satisfy the ton? I doubt we have one mutual acquaintance. Well—aside from Lord Bryce, but I doubt he’d indulge us.”

  “Leave this to me,” she said proudly.

  He arched a brow.

  “Edward.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “My brother-in-law, Lord Birdwell. I will tell him to befriend you. Oh, you’ll love him dearly. He’s the most pleasant of men. Which reminds me…I should get back to my sister.”

  “Was he the chap who brought you to the duel this morning?”

  She nodded. “And don’t worry. Edward can be trusted. I can vouch for him wholeheartedly.”

  “Well, that is excellent news. There’s one name I can cross off my list of suspects.” He sent her a grin. “Only nine hundred, ninety-nine thousand more souls in London to go.”

  She chuckled, and he was loath to let her go, but her maid was starting to look seriously worried at the length of their conversation.

  “My lady?” she called in a stage whisper.

  Connor glanced at his fob watch. “She’s right. I’ve kept you long enough. It’s been nearly twenty minutes now.” He snapped his watch closed. “I daresay we’ve already tempted scandal enough over the past twenty-four hours.”

  “I am glad you were not too badly hurt, Your Grace.”

  “Ah, well, much to my enemies’ dismay, I’ve proven vexingly hard to kill.”

  “Indeed.” She narrowed her eyes, studying him, then started to turn away, but paused. “What kind of soldier were you, exactly?”

  The question took him aback, then he feigned an ominous tone. “A very nasty kind indeed. I’ll tell you all about it some other day.”

  “You will find me an attentive audience, I’m sure—but do leave out the gory parts, if you please.”

  “Then it’ll be a brief conversation.” He winked at her, and to his delight, the roses crept back into her cheeks. “Au revoir, my lady.”

  “Good day, Your Grace. And do stay safe until we meet again.” She turned away and glided back to her attendant.

  Connor tipped his hat to the maid, who’d opened the back door of the bookshop for her mistress.

  Before she stepped inside, Lady Maggie sent him one last parting smile, looking intrigued, then disappeared into the establishment. Her maid followed in her footsteps, and the screened door banged shut behind them.

  Well, thought Connor, pleased. It seemed he had himself an accomplice.

  * * *

  Maggie’s heart was still pounding over what she’d just agreed to as she returned to the close confines of the bookshop with her maid in tow. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the dim, and her nose twitched with the dust of the countless tomes lining the shelves. But as she wove by browsing customers, her feet barely seemed to touch the floor.

  Oh, she knew that Amberley’s demands were entirely improper, but she could not deny he was a thrilling man.

  Sussing out a murderer? She had never been involved in anything so daring in her life.

  Nor had she ever met anyone like him. She only wished he weren’t so handsome. It would’ve made concentrating on their shared task far easier.

  Frankly, it would’ve made refusing to help him easier, too. But those blue eyes glimmered with Irish charm, and what could she do?

  For heaven’s sake, someone was trying to kill the poor man, and was he not one of her neighbors? If she were in a position to help and did nothing, that would be most unchristian. Like noticing that one of the houses of Moonlight Square was on fire in the middle of the night, but rolling over and going back to sleep with a yawn, instead of sounding the alarm.

  In short, it would be hideously wrong, as would be giving her word and then abandoning him to this troubling situation.

  And she wasn’t scared, per se. She believed him absolutely when he said he’d keep her out of danger. The man clearly knew how to fight. So she wasn’t worried about her safety. Not yet, anyway, though things might become dicey…

  Lord! Maggie thought. This might prove to be the first bona fide adventure of her entire life.

  But certainly not his.

  In truth, Maggie doubted that this unknown enemy of his would have the slightest success. This villain, whoever he was, probably hadn’t realized yet that he had sown the wind, and would soon reap the whirlwind.

  With full confidence in Amberley’s ability to conquer, she tingled with excitement over her role in lending a helping hand. This pursuit of justice made her feel strangely important.

  To think, an ordinary young lady like herself might somehow help preserve the life of a mighty warrior! Besides, His Grace had shown her great honor by seeking her assistance, placing his trust in her under such delicate circumstances.

  Maggie burned with curiosity about the slip of paper tucked away in her reticule. She could hardly wait to get started.

  Disoriented by all the thoughts spinning in her head, she stopped in the middle of the aisle, needing to collect herself. Penelope bumped into her on account of her sudden halt, then mumbled an apology.

  “No, it’s my fault,” Maggie said absently. She scratched her brow for a moment, out of sorts, then glanced toward the counter of the bookshop. “You know, I dare not go back to my sister empty-handed. I have to buy something.”

  She scanned the nearest shelves, still too much aflutter to concentrate on any particular reading material. Striding over to the rack of fashionable ladies’ magazines, she snatched up the latest issue of La Belle Assemblee.

  “This will do the trick,” she murmured, heading for the counter. “Of course, my sister will steal it from me the moment she sees it.”

  Penelope grinned.

  Delia did love keeping up with the fashions. Her greatest thrill in life was identifying herself as the anonymous “Lady B—” whose latest handsome outfit, observed in the park or at the theater, was described in detail by the fashion writers to their readers so they could copy the look.

  Ah, Lady Birdwell was competitive in all things. She’d probably be entirely annoyed if she found out that lowly Mags now had important secret dealings with a duke. But she was never letting Delia find out about this.

  She would ruin it for certain.

  Finally beginning to settle down, Maggie stepped up to the counter and purchased the magazine.

  A moment later, a small bell jangled over the shop door as they stepped back out into the sunshine. Penelope and she drifted into the center of the arcade, glancing around.

  “I wonder where they’ve gone,” Penelope said.

  Delia and her followers were nowhere in sight.

  Maggie shook her head. “We’d better find her before she decides to leave without us.”

  They began hurrying along the arcade, glancing into the shops and trying to find Delia and her friends, when the group of ladies emerged noisily from the milliner’s. They could hear Delia braying with laughter from a few shops away.

  Maggie nudged Penelope.

  “Oh, good, you
’re back,” Delia said loudly as the two of them returned to the fold.

  “We’re going to the tea shop next,” one of Delia’s friends said. “We didn’t want you to miss out on taking refreshments with us.”

  “How kind!” Maggie said. “Thank you for waiting.”

  “Did you find your book club novel, Lady Margaret?” asked another.

  “You know, they were sold out,” Maggie lied—easily—to her own astonishment. Maybe she was a better liar than she realized. God knew she had been lying to herself well enough where Bryce was concerned. “I bought this instead.”

  “Ooh, La Belle Assemblee!” Delia snatched it out of her hand, right on cue. “Am I in there?”

  Maggie bit her lip as Delia began flipping through the pages while they sauntered along, heading for the teashop. Even Delia’s hangers-on looked surprised at this rude display.

  Despite her embarrassment at her sister’s behavior, Maggie managed another placid smile. But behind her mask of equanimity, she was gritting her teeth.

  God, maybe it would be worth it, marrying Bryce, just to escape her sister’s house…

  But, suddenly, a wicked thought dawned in her mind. It took her so much off guard that she stopped for a moment.

  Amberley.

  Why not set her cap frankly at him?

  Maggie’s pulse jolted. She dropped her gaze, amazed by the notion.

  Her first thought was that it was wrong to think of marriage in such mercenary terms. But then, if Amberley was using her for what she could do for him, then why should she not contemplate the practical advantages that she, in turn, could gain from a possible match with him?

  Her second thought was how furious Delia would be if she, lowly Mags, the inconsequential younger sister, should go and snare herself a duke, when Delia had only got a marquess—never mind how completely that marquess adored her.

  Maggie bit her lip, scandalized by the temptation forming in her mind.

  After a lifetime of Delia’s belittlement, for once, she would outrank the insufferable firstborn.

  Oh, don’t be petty, she scolded herself. You don’t marry someone for such absurd reasons.