Sapphires Are an Earl's Best Friend

by Shana Galen

  Andrew did not need to think very hard to figure it out for himself. Angelique wanted attention. She did not like to be ignored. He’d known enough opera singers to recognize the breed’s need for constant petting. Normally, he was happy to oblige. Today he thought it best if he returned her to the house and spoke with the steward later. He gave the grooms orders to clean up the fallen items and offered his arm to Angelique. He walked back briskly, all but dragging her with him and not stopping to lift her over imaginary obstacles.

  “What is the matter, Darlington?” she finally protested when they had nearly arrived. “You have all but torn my arm off.”

  He rounded on her. “I told you I had business. If you were only going to thwart me, why come along?”

  Her hands flew to her hips, and she gave him an ugly sneer. “I’m so sorry, your lordship. I was given to believe my presence might be appreciated.” She began to walk away, but he caught her arm.

  “What does that mean? Did someone imply I wanted your company?”

  “Your charming friend cornered me earlier, going on and on about how taken you were with me. Clearly, that is not the case.”

  “Who?” Andrew stepped back. “Lily? Lily told you to seduce me?”

  “She did not put it quite that way. In fact, I rather thought you would be seducing me.”

  Andrew could feel his blood begin to boil. “And you thought when I said I had business with the steward, that was a ploy to lure you away from the house.”

  She shrugged. “I did hope.”

  “I’m going to kill her.”

  The woman stepped back. “Excuse me.”

  “Yes, please,” Andrew said and pushed past her. He stormed into the house and spotted his father exiting the dining room. “Where is she?” Darlington demanded.

  “Who? What is it?”

  Andrew peered beyond his father at the dining room. She was not there. “I beg your pardon. My apologies for disturbing you, Your Grace,” he said and took the stairs two at a time. He found a maid and asked after Lily. The servants always knew everything, and this one pointed him to the duke’s library.

  Which meant Andrew had to turn back and head downstairs again. His father and the guests were gathered in the drawing room, and he evaded them and went to the library. It was usually locked. He had been inside it only half a dozen times. He pushed the door open and peered inside, spotting her immediately.

  She, however, did not spot him. She was sitting in his father’s chair, her attention focused intently on the duke’s desk. She was studying one of the drawers and held a file and another object—perhaps a hairpin?

  “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  She jumped, and for an instant he saw fear in her eyes. And then her mask hastily returned. He had to admire how quickly she covered her surprise and fright. It made him wonder what else she was hiding.

  “Are you attempting to pick the lock on my father’s desk?”

  “I beg your pardon!” She rose, hands behind her back so he could no longer see the file and the hairpin. “The duke himself gave me access to this room.”

  “So you could snoop about in his desk?” Andrew stepped inside and closed the door behind him. It was a heavy wood-paneled door. The entire room was done in dark paneling that reminded him of the Tudor era. The draperies were thick brocade things that blocked out all the light, and Lily or one of the servants had actually lit a lamp in order to see.

  “So I might find a book to read.” She lifted one off the desk and showed it to him. He crossed the carpet, took the book, and studied it. One of Fanny Burney’s.

  “You’re quite clever. You did not grab the first book you saw—Fordyce’s Sermons or some such rot. Now, where are they?”

  She raised a brow.

  “The file and the hairpin. Where are they?”

  “I have no idea—”

  He grabbed her other hand and pried it open. Nothing. It was empty. He rounded the desk and looked beneath it. Perhaps she had dropped them behind her.

  “What are you doing?” she asked calmly.

  “Where are they? Where have you hidden them?” He eyed her closely. “Do you have pockets in that gown?” It was a deep green color that matched her eyes. The skirts looked full enough to conceal a small object. He took a step toward her, intent upon finding those pockets, and she stepped back.

  “Do not dare lay hands on me. You are obviously mistaken in what you saw or think you saw.”

  “Really? Then why did you send Angelique after me?”

  A shadow flittered across her face.

  “A-ha!” He pointed to her. “You weren’t fast enough to conceal it that time. Yes, I know you sent Angelique, and your plan to detain me did not succeed. Is this what you did not wish for me to see?”

  “Excuse me,” she said and attempted to move past him.

  “What are you really doing here?” he asked. “You are not here for the house party. I thought it was to catch my father in the parson’s mousetrap, but that wouldn’t explain your little jaunt this morning.”

  She spun around, her face white with shock. Finally! He had hit the mark, and quite accurately, from all appearances.

  “You followed me! You bastard!” She came at him, and he expected her nails to rake over his face. He did not expect a punch in the nose. He stumbled back, more from surprise than pain, and bumbled into the desk. When he recovered and sat forward, there was a dagger at his throat. He glanced down at her hand.

  “So you do have pockets,” he drawled, careful not to move his jaw overly much.

  “Why did you follow me?” She dug the tip of the weapon into his flesh, and he felt the sting of the prick.

  “What were you doing that you wanted to hide? And why are you holding a knife at my neck? Am I supposed to worry you’ll slit my throat?”

  “Give me one reason not to.”

  Andrew looked into her eyes and felt a cold chill skitter down his back. Suddenly that knife point felt rather cold and deadly, much like her eyes at the moment. He was beginning to believe she just might be willing to use the weapon. “What the devil is going on?” He was careful not to jostle her arm, lest she dig the knife in deeper. “You’re sneaking about, holding a knife to my throat, trying to pick the lock on my father’s desk. I’m beginning to think you are hiding more than your motivations for seducing my father.”

  She inhaled sharply, and he considered that perhaps it was not wise to have mentioned all of these matters when she still held the knife to his throat. And then, unexpectedly, she withdrew the blade and stepped back. “I carry a knife because there are times even a courtesan must defend herself against unwanted advances. I was in the library to fetch a book, and I was merely taking a ride this morning. There. That should suffice as explanation.” The knife disappeared deftly into her skirts. “I believe a picnic is planned for the afternoon,” she said, stepping back. “I should find your father before he misses me.”

  “There is one additional matter,” Andrew said. She paused in her exit and looked back. “It’s the matter I came to discuss with you, as a matter of fact.”

  “Can it wait?”

  “The explanation should be simple enough. Why did you ask Angelique to seduce me?”

  ***

  Did the devil of a man know everything? Lily fumed, and then clenched her hands to control her anger. Anger would only prove he was correct. It had been a mistake to pull the knife on him. She should have acted as though her outing were nothing. Instead, she’d raised more questions. Some spy she was turning out to be. She was usually so calm and collected, but Darlington had a way of angering her until she forgot what she really should have been doing.

  But she would not forget now. She was through making mistakes, with allowing Darlington to rattle her.

  “I have no idea what you are talking about,” she said cool
ly. “I never asked anyone to seduce you. I am not even certain who Angelique is.” But of course, that must have been the opera singer’s given name.

  “Don’t you?” He gave her a long look, and she stared right back at him. He was not going to discompose her. She was no green girl.

  He broke first. She saw the annoyance on his face before he spoke. “Angelique—Mrs. Howell—was kind enough to inform me that you told her I was quite taken with her.”

  “It’s a natural assumption,” she said with a shrug. Damn that Mrs. Howell! Opera singers could never keep secrets. They had to tell the world every trifling thought that entered their minds. “You do have a penchant for opera singers.”

  “I have friends who are opera singers.”

  She laughed. “Oh, I think they are more than friends.”

  “But that does not explain why you sent Angelique after me.”

  “I hardly sent her—”

  “You wanted me out of the way.” He took a step toward her. Lily put her hand on her knife again but resisted pulling it out. She had to remain composed. “You wanted to make certain you would not have to deal with me while you searched the library.”

  She laughed, though it sounded a bit too tinny. “Really, Darlington, are you even listening to yourself? Why on earth would I want to search your father’s library?”

  Now he frowned. Good. He hadn’t figured that part out yet. And he wouldn’t. He was cleverer than she had first thought, but he would never suppose she was a spy. No, he thought he knew her. To him, she would always be the friend of the woman he loved.

  “You are looking for money.” He had stopped advancing on her, and that was a good sign. Now, if she could just step out…

  “Do gentlemen generally keep their blunt in the library?”

  “I know what I saw!” He was exasperated, and that was good. Better him than her. “Damn it! I know there is something you are trying to hide. I know—”

  “What is going on in here?” a voice boomed, and Lily jumped. Thank God she and Darlington were separated by several feet. The duke threw open the door and stormed inside. He was rather pathetic when he was in his cups, but when he was sober, he was a formidable man. She could well believe, when he was sober, that he could order the deaths of four men. He was cold and decisive, as powerful men often had to be. But, unlike his son, he had a weakness for women and wine. She would use that to her advantage.

  “Your Grace!” Lily rushed to the duke’s side. “Forgive me for taking so long to return. I found the book I sought, but the earl detained me. He seemed to think I was here without permission.”

  Ravenscroft looked at her, his eyes hard and cold. She stepped back slightly, a frisson of fear making its way along her spine. She did not like the expression in his eyes. Slowly, he turned his gaze to his son. “I heard you yelling at Miss Dawson. Is that how you treat my guests?”

  “Father…” Darlington seemed to reconsider. “Your Grace, I know it is your custom to lock the library door. When I saw it was open, I chanced to look inside. I saw”—his gaze flicked to hers as though he was loath to refer to her so formally and politely—“Miss Dawson attempting to pick the lock on your desk.”

  The duke’s expression darkened, and his hands clenched and unclenched. She could well imagine he wanted to snap her neck between his thumbs. Dear God, had she misjudged him? Was Fitzhugh right to warn her that the duke could be Artemis? If that was true, Darlington’s accusations would lead to her death. She spoke hastily. “And, as I told you, my lord, you were mistaken. I was merely glancing through the book. There it is on the desk.” She directed Ravenscroft’s attention to it. But he was still looking at her, and his eyes were narrowed with suspicion. She held her breath. No, no, no. Do not suspect. Damn Darlington! Do not suspect…

  “Is there something else I should know?” the duke asked. “I know my son is something of a gallant about Town. Have you and he ever—?”

  “No!” she said quickly and with real horror in her tone. She didn’t think the relief she felt was audible. He thought Darlington her lover. He did not suspect her of spying. “Lord Darlington and I have known each other for years, but he was always too in love with my friend Juliette to ever think of me.” Lily did not look at Darlington. The last thing she wanted was to give him an opening to say something of what had occurred between them recently. She leaned close to the duke, making sure to rub her bosom against his arm. “I think he is upset that we are so taken with each other,” she whispered in the duke’s ear, making her voice husky and low. “The poor boy is still mourning his mother. Perhaps it is too soon for me to be here with you.” She stroked his arm with slow caresses. “Shall I return to London and wait for you there?”

  “No.” The duke’s answer was definite and affirmative. “I want you here.” He pointed a finger at Darlington. “You are not yet master of this house. And while I am still alive, I will entertain whomever I wish without interference from you. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Darlington glared at her as he spoke.

  “I have tolerated your presence here, Darlington, because this is your home, and your mother wanted all of her children welcome here.” At that, Lily could see Darlington’s jaw clench. She could tell he wanted to make some remark or other, and she could imagine what it would be. The duke’s recent behavior did not exactly honor his late wife. But the earl was no fool. He kept his mouth tightly shut. The duke seemed to wait for his son to speak, and when he did not, he concluded, “But I will not hesitate to ask you to leave if it comes to that.”

  “I understand perfectly, Your Grace.”

  “You are dismissed.”

  Without another look or word, Darlington departed. Lily wanted to go after him. She had not wanted to witness his dressing down by his father. She had not wanted to be the catalyst for such a thing, but he had left her little other choice. And she was at the end of her options with the duke as well. It was time to choose her path and live with its consequences.

  “Your Grace,” she began. The duke turned and reached for her. She deftly sidestepped him, but this was no public ball or evening at the theater. She had nowhere to go, and he caught her hand and pulled her roughly to him. She crashed against his chest, and he wrapped a hand around the back of her neck, holding her still. She took shallow breaths as she stared into his dark eyes. One move and he could snap her neck. He could kill her.

  “I am sorry you had to suffer his presence.” Ravenscroft put a finger under her chin and raised it. “I will make certain he does not bother either of us again.” He leaned down and kissed her. His other kisses had been drunken or laced with excited passion. This kiss was different. His mouth punished hers, his teeth grinding against her lips painfully, his tongue delving inside her mouth until she almost gagged. He held her neck in the painful vise and forced her to tolerate him. Lily closed her eyes, but it was all she could do not to scream for help and push him away. Not that anyone would come to her aid.

  Finally, the duke bent and nuzzled her neck, his breath like the fetid exhalations of the three-headed dog Cerberus who guarded Hades. “I missed you. I find myself thinking of you all the time. Last night I disappointed you. I will not disappoint tonight.” He looked into her eyes. “You will not disappoint me.” His hand reached for her breast and squeezed painfully.

  “That is what I wished to discuss with you, Your Grace.” Lily swallowed. The proposal she was about to reiterate would very likely spur the duke to ask her to leave. Her departure now would jeopardize both lives and this mission. At this point, she would rather be asked to leave. It was all she could do not to tremble and show her fear. That was what he wanted. Fear aroused him, or so she surmised.

  “Call me Hugh.” He kissed her ear and dipped his wet tongue in it.

  “I care for you a great deal, Your—Hugh. As I told you before, I am tired of protectors. I am tired of the life of a c
ourtesan.” As she spoke, she ran her shaking fingers down his chest. “And yet, I think—no, I know you and I would suit very nicely.”

  “Why do we not adjourn to my chambers and find out?” He released her neck and took her hand. Now she resisted. With an annoyed glance over his shoulder, he released her. “What is the matter?”

  “As I said, I made it clear in London, I do not want a protector.”

  Now was the crucial moment. Would he throw her out? And would that not be a better option than securing his agreement? An engagement to the duke might spare her his attentions in the bedchamber now, but it would ruin her later. She had no intention of actually marrying the man, which meant one of them would have to call it off. No matter who called it off or the reason, she would end up the one damaged. Either she would be associated with a known traitor, or she would be the woman discarded by the powerful Duke of Ravenscroft. Either way, the gallants of the ton, those men who sought her attentions and ensured her livelihood, would consider her damaged goods. Speculation as to what the duke had found lacking would run rampant.

  She would be done for.

  She had no one in Town waiting to save her. Although the unions between the ton and the demimonde were generally perceived as mésalliances, they served only to elevate the courtesans involved. A broken engagement would send her to the bottom of the social ladder. Lily knew the Sinclairs would never allow her to return to the streets, but the fear haunted her nonetheless. What would it be like to have such a storybook ending? To know she was loved. To know she would be taken care of? To know she was safe?

  Lily could not fathom it. And if she tried, she only began to hate her friends for having the one thing she never would.

  Ravenscroft studied her for a long moment in which Lily felt as though her life hung in the balance. Finally, he nodded. “I will need time to consider such a momentous step.”

  “Of course.”

  He could not be completely surprised by her request. She’d hinted at it enough. He might have been expecting her to reiterate the demand. And he might have decided once he had her under his roof, he would tell her no and then do what he wanted with her anyway. She pushed the fear aside and ran a finger along his rough cheek. “But do not think too long. I’m not a patient woman.” She could feel his gaze burn her back as she strode out of the room.