Leaving the bed in a motion that belied his size, he wrapped his robe about his body and held it with one hand before stalking off. He had the bedchamber door open before Arabella realized what was happening. “Don’t go,” she called out. “Craythorne!”
Arabella managed to scramble off the tall mattress and was about to round the end of the four-poster bed when she stepped on one of the jet buttons that lay scattered about the carpet. Her stockinged foot slid sideways before she could gain her balance, sending her flailing to the floor.
When her head hit the maple footboard, the hollow sound had Craythorne turning around to find her on her back, her head twisted awkwardly to one side and her body lifeless.
A moment later, he was on his knees, begging her to wake up and shouting curses at the top of his lungs.
Chapter 2
A Twin Brother’s Secret
Meanwhile, in Kensington Gardens
The scent of roses had Clarinda Ann Brotherton closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, her expression one of pure bliss. Daniel Fitzsimmons adored seeing it, so he made sure she had occasion to display it every time she was in his company.
Even if it was for only ten or fifteen minutes at a time.
“They are your favorite, aren’t they?” he murmured as he regarded the pink roses. Given the time of the year, there weren’t too many in full bloom, but there were enough for Lady Clarinda. He had seen to the delivery of a dozen of them to Stockton House the day before. The Mayfair home of her father, the Earl of Heath, was also where Lady Clarinda still resided.
“Oh, indeed. Thank you for meeting me here again, Mr. Fitzwilliam,” she said, her head angling so she could see if her lady’s maid was watching them. Sometimes Missy grew bored and simply stopped watching the couple as they strolled through the gardens.
“I look forward to the days when I can do it every day,” he replied, following her gaze to find her lady’s maid intrigued by a garden of red tulips. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Daniel leaned in and captured Clarinda’s lips in a quick kiss. “And that as well,” he whispered, referring to the kiss.
“As do I,” she countered with a grin. A slight dimple appeared in one cheek just as it bloomed with color.
“Will you marry me then?” Daniel asked as he reached into a waistcoat pocket and pulled out a ring.
Clarinda rolled her eyes, and her smile widened. “Yes, of course I will,” she answered. Other than marrying in June, they hadn’t discussed their impending nuptials at length, his proposal was expected. She was betrothed to the Earl of Norwick, after all, and had been since she was fourteen. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed as she watched him slide the gold band on her finger. Three bright blue sapphires glittered in the morning light.
Daniel had thought topaz a better choice given her aquamarine eyes, but Mr. Bridge had assured him sapphires were more valuable. Although the ring had cost him more than six months of his Norwick earldom allowance, he knew the expense would be worth it just to see her reaction.
“Will you wear it every day?” he asked.
Clarinda finally tore her gaze from the ring and nodded. “Of course. But what shall I say when people ask when we’ll marry?” she queried. According to the contract her father and the late Earl of Norwick had signed eight years ago, she was to be married to the Norwick heir apparent by the time she was two-and-twenty. That birthday had already passed.
“Will June give you enough time to make arrangements?” Daniel wondered. “I don’t want to rush you, but...”
“June would be perfect,” she interrupted. “Father will be so pleased to hear you’ve finally proposed. I’m so pleased,” she admitted with another grin. She suddenly sobered. “You do remember there are some other provisions that need to be met?”
Daniel winced, realizing she was referring to the businesses his brother, David, the current Earl of Norwick, still owned. Businesses that were inappropriate holdings for a man in his position. “I don’t own either one of them,” he said with a nod.
Clarinda’s brows furrowed until a fold of skin appeared between them. Daniel was tempted to press a forefinger against it, a move he knew she wouldn’t like one whit, even though she had done it to his knitted brow on more than one occasion. “I wonder why father made mention of them just yesterday then,” she murmured. “Oh!” she added as she placed a hand over her mouth. “I wasn’t supposed to hear his comment, of course, given he was speaking of a men’s club and a... a brothel.” This last was said in a whisper, as if she wasn’t supposed to know of such a business.
Shrugging, Daniel finally had to mention his brother. “David owns those businesses. Not me.”
Her face brightening, Clarinda nodded. “I’ve forgotten you have a brother. A twin, is he not?”
“That’s right,” Daniel acknowledged, hoping beyond hope she didn’t remember that it was David to whom she had been betrothed. A betrothal that stipulated David would divest himself of his unsavory businesses and marry Clarinda no later than her twenty-second birthday. Now that she was several weeks past turning two-and-twenty, Daniel was sure the contract for her marriage to David was null and void, which meant she could marry anyone.
Why not him?
He had felt affection for her since the first time he laid eyes on her. They had met in Hyde Park whilst she and her chaperone rode horses in the afternoons. They danced together at balls and soirées, sat next to one another at Lady Worthington’s annual musicales, and rode horses during the fashionable hour in Rotten Row. Noting how David barely gave her a second glance when he attended the same entertainments, Daniel had decided Clarinda would be his wife.
About to kiss her again, Daniel allowed a sigh of disappointment when he realized the lady’s maid was regarding him with a rather sour expression. “I fear our time is up,” he murmured. “Will I see you here again?”
Clarinda allowed a smile. “Of course.” And then, in defiance of her lady’s maid’s presence, she lifted herself on tiptoes and kissed Daniel on his cheek. “Until then.”
Daniel gave her a bow and kissed the back of her hand before she hurried off, a sense of relief settling over him.
Now that she had accepted his proposal, the two of them could marry in June and all would be well.
Well, eventually.
Chapter 3
Breakfast Interrupted
The next day, in Westminster, London, England
Octavius, Duke of Huntington, gave the footman a withering stare. “What is it?” he asked, obviously annoyed at being interrupted during his breakfast. Despite not having had more than two glasses of scotch the night before, a headache pounded at the front of his brain, and his mouth felt as if it were filled with cotton.
“A courier just delivered this for you, Your Grace,” the footman said as he placed a sealed note on the edge of the table next to the duke’s plate. “He said he is to wait for a reply,” the footman added before straightening and standing at attention.
Annoyed, Octavius was about to make some comment about how long the courier might have to wait when he decided instead to simply read the missive and deal with it as quickly as possible.
Lifting the new note between his thumb and forefinger, he flipped it over to find a puddle of dark red wax impressed with a seal. Norwick? he guessed as he quickly lifted the corner and unfolded the paper.
Jesus! What could be so damned important on a Saturday morning as to require a courier?
He glanced at his chronometer, making sure it was still early morning and not the middle of the afternoon. Time had a way of slipping away from him these days, especially when he spent far too much time thinking. He didn’t mind thinking so much during sessions of Parliament, but losing entire hours to his thoughts on days he could be out riding, or at Brooks’s enjoying a game of hazard, or playing billiards with Lord Devonville, was simply unacceptable.
It hadn’t been like this back when he had a wife, of course. A woman he had married because he felt affection for her�
�he had since they were young children—and whose absence due to death had him mourning far longer than most widowers.
The tiny child she gave birth to only moments before she died joined her in death—and in her casket. He couldn’t bear to separate the two. My heir, he thought for at least the thousandth time since that awful day he was stripped of everything he held near and dear. Everything that mattered.
Well, everything except his dukedom.
Octavius swallowed suddenly, realizing it would be unseemly to weep in front of his footman. God knew he had done quite enough of it in the privacy of his bedchamber since that awful night.
His eyes focused on the messy script in the missive he held, and he began to read.
Hunt, I apologize for the ungodly hour, but your presence is requested at The Elegant Courtesan at your earliest convenience. Seems there’s been a murder. I am in need of your counsel. Norwick.
Octavius blinked. And blinked again.
Christ! A murder?
The duke had a passing thought that the crime might have occurred at the upscale brothel David Fitzwilliam, Earl of Norwick, still owned in a tony section of Westminster, but the words ‘seems there’s been a murder’ suggested the offense happened elsewhere. He reread the words twice before turning his attention to the footman.
“Tell the courier I will be there in an hour,” he growled, pushing away from the table. Truth be told, he could be there in under thirty minutes if his groom could saddle his horse in ten. He was already dressed for a ride—he had planned to enjoy a ride in Hyde Park and possibly go as far as Chiswick before his luncheon. “And have the groom saddle my horse.” At least he would get some exercise, although not for enjoyment, it seemed.
“Yes, Your Grace,” the footman said, giving a bow before hurrying off toward the vestibule.
Fifteen minutes later, Octavius Whitney, Duke of Huntington, was on his way to The Elegant Courtesan.
Chapter 4
A Woman Pursued
Meanwhile, at Worthington House in Mayfair
“Thank you for agreeing to see me. I know it’s far too early to be paying a call,” Clarinda Brotherton said as she made her way to a chair in Lady Worthington’s private salon.
The older woman, obviously abed when Clarinda arrived, wore a deep red satin dressing gown over her rather elaborate night rail. Her blonde hair, still free of the grays of age, was brushed out and secured in a ribbon beneath her left ear, the style making her look years younger than her five-and-thirty years. “I’ve been awake for hours,” Adele Slater Worthington claimed as she leaned over and poured a cup of tea for her visitor. She didn’t add that she was awake because she had entertained her late husband’s brother until five o’clock that morning.
Stephen Worthington’s attentions had been a welcome respite from the confines of mourning, his discreet visits to Worthington House timed so that no one knew of their affaire. That he was a better lover than Samuel only enhanced his standing. As for how long their affaire would last, she found she didn’t much care. She was quite sure the man was only paying her visits because Samuel had asked him to look after her should anything happen to him.
Such as death.
“Counting the days until I don’t have to wear black or lavender any longer,” she murmured.
Clarinda winced, a bit chagrined she hadn’t considered Adele’s situation when she decided to come for advice. “How are you, really?” she asked as she leaned forward to take the cup and saucer.
Adele gave a shrug. “Better than I could be, truth be told. And looking forward to life as an independent woman,” the older woman added. “I’ve a house, a town coach and four beautiful horses, and a fortune to spend as I see fit. What more could I want?”
Clarinda dipped her head. “A man who loves you?” she ventured with an arched brow.
Blinking, Adele straightened on the settee and regarded her visitor for a moment. Ah, the innocence of youth, she almost said. “I take it Norwick has finally formally proposed?”
Nodding, Clarinda said, “He has. And my parlor is filled with pink roses.” She pulled off her gloves and held out a hand. A ring of gold topped with three sapphires decorated her fourth finger.
Adele’s eyes widened. “Finally,” she breathed. “Where did he propose?” Rumors had persisted for years that David Fitzwilliam, Earl of Norwick, would make Lady Clarinda his wife, and not just because they had been betrothed since she was fourteen. Reports in The Tattler had the two meeting in secret in every square of the capital as well as having dinner together at Rules Restaurant. Sitings in Hyde Park along the Serpentine had also been reported.
“Kensington Gardens. He meets me there every other day for ten minutes,” she whispered. “And he always manages a kiss or two before my lady’s maid appears.” She suddenly angled her head. “I wonder if he bribes her to stay back and give us a few minutes alone?” she murmured with a hint of concern.
Grinning, Adele allowed a sigh and decided not to address that particular comment. It had worked for other gentlemen who had little time to court the women they intended to marry.
Or ruin.
“Have you set a date?”
“Late June, although we haven’t yet discussed a wedding trip,” Clarinda replied, her brows suddenly furrowing.
“What is it?” Adele wondered, leaning forward to pour more tea.
“I can’t help but think I’m being courted by two entirely different men,” Clarinda whispered. “Do I sound utterly ridiculous for saying such a thing?”
Adele blinked. Then she inhaled sharply when she remembered there were two Fitzwilliams. “Are you quite sure you’re being courted by Norwick and not by his twin brother?“ she asked. She was tempted to add some brandy to her tea, if for no other reason than she would have to get some sleep once Clarinda took her leave. Given Stephen’s frequent visits, she wasn’t sleeping much at nights, and she planned to secretly attend the theatre later that night. If she sat in the back of her box, no one would notice her presence.
Clarinda frowned. “Which one is the earl?” she asked in a whisper.
Adele’s brows lifted before a grin spilt her face. “David is the earl. Daniel—I think that’s his name—he’s the spare heir,” she explained. “Although I don’t think I’ve ever met him. I’ve probably seen him a dozen times and thought he was his brother,” she added, her brows suddenly furrowing.
Apparently Clarinda hadn’t seen the two men side-by-side. Adele had just the one time, although it was from across a crowded ballroom. With both men dressed in black evening attire as they had been, with their hair parted and combed exactly the same, it was impossible to tell the two apart.
“So, it is possible they’re both courting me?” Clarinda hedged, a look of worry making her appear older than her two-and-twenty years. “Oh, but that cannot be. How can two men look so much alike that I wouldn’t be able to tell them apart?”
“Because they’re identical twins?” Adele responded with an arched brow. “But what does it matter? You’re betrothed to the earl. Why would the other twin even bother to court you?”
Clarinda gave a sigh of relief. “Exactly. I knew you would have the answer,” she said with a wan smile. “I was about to ask my godfather, but I really don’t wish to bother Torrington with such a query. I’m his oldest goddaughter, and I shouldn’t wish to seem... addle-brained.”
Milton Grandby, Earl of Torrington, was her godfather and knew everyone in the ton, especially his one-and-twenty goddaughters and over a dozen godsons. That David Fitzwilliam wasn’t among their company was only because the man had been born only a few years after Torrington.
Adele bobbed her head back and forth a moment before she remembered Clarinda’s earlier words. I can’t help but think I’m being courted by two different men. “So tell me, what made you think you were being courted by two different men?” she asked suddenly.
Her shoulders slumping, Clarinda wondered how to respond. “Some days, Mr. Fitzwilliam bestow
s the most wonderful kisses on me while other days he doesn’t even attempt to show affection. Some days, he comes with pink roses, and other days, it’s as if he doesn’t know they’re my favorite flower. Some days...” She paused, as if she didn’t want to mention the next bit of information. “He seems old and cranky, while most days, he seems like the youngest, most darling man on the entire planet. Pray tell, how can that be?”
Having been married for over ten years, Adele could certainly agree that men were unpredictable, but explaining it to a woman who was thirteen years her junior and probably still a virgin would be difficult. “Men are fickle,” she stated finally, hoping she wouldn’t have to provide examples of just how fickle her late husband could be.
“More so than us?” Clarinda asked, incredulous.
Adele allowed a giggle, the musical sound filling the salon. “Oh, far more than us,” she replied happily. She regarded the daughter of the Earl of Heath for a moment before adding, “Follow your mother’s example, and employ a bit of patience,” she suggested in a low voice. The Countess of Heath certainly had to have patience with the Earl of Heath. Albert Brotherton had been the worst sort of rake during his university days. Once he turned six-and-twenty, though, he settled down and finally married the woman to whom he had been betrothed since he was a child. “And all will be well.”
Clarinda considered Adele’s words for a time before finally allowing a nod. “Would it be acceptable to admit I love him?” she asked in a whisper.
Sighing, Adele angled her head to one side. “Give it a few months,” she replied carefully. “Then, when you’re sure of your heart, you can tell him anything you want. Just be sure to do so after he’s pleasured you to within an inch of your life,” she added with an arched eyebrow.
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