The Desires of a Duke: Historical Romance Collection

by Darcy Burke

  The woman frowned, but her gaze went to Emma’s reticule. “Compensate?”

  “Say, five pounds?” Emma said.

  The woman’s eyes grew big. “How do I know you’re not pullin’ my leg?”

  Opening her reticule, Emma counted out five sovereigns and offered them. “Here you go. Now may I come in?”

  “You’re supposed to give the money after you receive the information,” Mr. McLeod muttered from behind her.

  The woman, who had stretched her hand toward the money, now snatched it away as if burned. Glaring at the Scotsman, she said, “I ain’t a thief. If that’s what you’re suggestin’, you can take your blunt an’—”

  “No one’s suggesting such a thing, Mrs. Gibney,” Emma said quickly. “The money is for your time, fair and square. Please take it.”

  Finally, the woman relented. Pocketing the coins in her apron, she waved Emma inside.

  Alaric followed.

  Mrs. Gibney blocked his path. “The miss said only she was to come in.”

  “I’m not leaving her alone,” Alaric said. “Kindly step aside, madam.”

  Something in his tone made even the assertive matron back down. The three of them entered the cramped space, which consisted of one main room where a tangle of children were playing with a puppy. Despite its small size, Emma noted how lovingly the home was kept and how clean and well-nourished the little ones were. A cracked vase of wildflowers and herbs adorned an all-purpose table on which fresh vegetables lay ready for chopping.

  All of this fit with what she’d deduced about Mrs. Gibney. This was a proud, hard-working woman, one who might not trust strangers, but who would not lie to them. One who believed cleanliness was next to Godliness—and if the whiteness of her linens was any indication, that meant she had to be out of doors often, hanging up and taking down the laundry before it got dirty again from the sooty air and muck from the streets.

  Ergo, this would put Mrs. Gibney in frequent, front and center view of Silas Webb’s dwelling.

  “Who’re they, Ma?” A boy of six or seven trotted up to them.

  “Mind your manners, Tommy,” Mrs. Gibney scolded.

  “I’m Miss Kent,” Emma said, smiling at the child, “and this is the Duke of Strathaven.”

  “A duke? In our ’ouse? Pull me other leg, miss,” Tommy scoffed, “it’s shorter.”

  “Manners,” his mother said. “Go play with your brothers and sisters or start scrubbin’ the chamber pots—’tis your choice.”

  Tommy scampered off to the former option.

  “You have lovely children,” Emma said sincerely, “and keep a lovely home.”

  “It ain’t Carleton House,” Mrs. Gibney snorted, “but it’ll do.” She went to the hearth, stirred the black iron pot over the fire. “Now what do you want to ask me?”

  Emma gestured at the vegetables on the chopping board. “Shall I?”

  The matron shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  Aware of Alaric’s amused regard, Emma began to deftly slice the carrots and onions. “A man was found dead across the street,” she said. “His name was Silas Webb.”

  “Don’t know ’im.”

  “Perhaps not by name,” Emma acknowledged, “but he lived just across the way. In the tenement that directly faces yours.”

  Mrs. Gibney said nothing and continued stirring.

  “We’re looking for any information about him—in particular, any associates he might have had.” Emma started on the potatoes. “Webb was a villain, you see. He attempted twice to murder Strathaven here.”

  Mrs. Gibney’s eyebrows inched toward her cap. “Murder, you say?”

  “Aye,” Alaric said.

  “Anything you might have noticed would be helpful. A man’s life is at stake,” Emma said.

  Mrs. Gibney set her spoon down on the table. “Perhaps I did see a man visit there once.”

  Emma’s nape tingled. “Yes?”

  “Little o’er a week, it was. I was puttin’ up the washing, and a carriage drives up. A fine one like ’is.” Mrs. Gibney jerked her chin at Alaric—proving Emma’s theory that the matron didn’t miss much.

  “Could you describe the carriage? Did it have any special markings?” Emma asked.

  “It was black and shiny, that’s all I recall. A cart ’ad o’er turned that day, blockin’ the other side o’ the street, so the driver parked right in front o’ me place. Blocked out the sun, ’e did, and what was I supposed to do with all me wet things an’ no sun to dry ’em? Driver took no notice, o’ course.” Mrs. Gibney chuffed with indignation. “Just said to me, Be off—as if I should leave me own ’ome so that Lord So-and-So could do ’is business in a public thoroughfare.”

  “Did you get the gentleman’s name?” Emma said eagerly.

  Mrs. Gibney shook her head. “But I didn’t trust that driver worth a farthin’. Kept me eye on the carriage from me door—an’ that’s when I saw a man come runnin’ across the street. From that tenement you mentioned.”

  “What did the man look like?” Alaric said tersely.

  “Short. Black ’air, meat on ’is bones. An’ spectacles.”

  “Silas Webb,” Alaric confirmed.

  Trying to contain her excitement, Emma said, “What else did you see, Mrs. Gibney?”

  “Well, the carriage door opened, an’ I think the nob inside ’ad yellow ’air—but I only got a glimpse, mind you, before that Webb fellow climbed right in an’ shut the door. The curtains were pulled so I didn’t see what they were up to. ’Bout ten minutes later, Webb comes out, and I ’ear ’im say,”—Mrs. Gibney’s forehead scrunched—“I’ll take care o’ Palmer. You handle Billings.”

  Emma could scarcely breathe as pieces of the puzzle fell together. Palmer. Billings.

  “That Webb fellow went back to ’is place an’ the carriage took off wif the nob inside.” Mrs. Gibney gave a decisive nod. “I ain’t got more to say than that.”

  “You’ve been incredibly helpful, Mrs. Gibney,” Emma said. “Thank you.”

  Shrugging, the matron peered over at the vegetables that Emma had prepared. “Thank you, missy. That’s as fine a chopping job as any.”

  Alaric came forward and discreetly deposited a banknote on the table.

  With a bow, he said, “Thank you for your time, madam.”

  “Already paid me for it. We Gibneys don’t need charity.” It was a measure of the woman’s pride that she didn’t even glance at the amount of the bill.

  Emma did, however, and her heart swelled at Alaric’s generosity.

  “It’s a gift, Mrs. Gibney. For the little ones,” she said.

  The matron hesitated, then gave a gruff nod. “I thank ye, then.”

  Outside, Alaric and she were met immediately by the others.

  “Well?” Mr. McLeod said. “Did you learn anything?”

  “Indeed, thanks to Miss Kent’s ingenuity. Let’s talk in private,” Alaric said.

  Once the four of them were inside the carriage, Emma blurted, “We have a new lead. Mrs. Gibney saw Silas Webb with a gentleman—blond, she thinks. She overheard Webb say that he would take care of the business with the shooter while our mystery man was to deal with Billings.”

  “What sort of billings? Is our murderer a man of business?” Mr. McLeod said, his brow furrowing.

  Emma frowned—then she understood. “I don’t think he was referring to the settling of accounts but to a person. Someone by the name of Billings.”

  “What draws you to that conclusion, Em?” Ambrose said.

  She told them about meeting Gabby Billings at last night’s ball. “It could be a coincidence, of course, but Gabby did mention that her father was a banker. And that she had been invited to the Blackwoods through some influential patron who owed her father a rather large favor.” As possibilities tumbled through her head, Emma bit her lip. “I do hope Gabby’s father isn’t mixed up in this. She’s a lovely girl.”

  “’Tis as you always say, Kent,” Mr. McLeod said. “Follow the mo
ney.”

  “Let us pay the banker a visit,” Alaric said.

  Chapter 28

  Billings Bank was located on a small lane a convenient distance from the Bank of England and the ’Change. The squat, grey stone building was unprepossessing, as if designed to be overlooked. As Alaric entered with the others, however, he saw the affluence of the interior. Fine furnishings clustered around a marble hearth, and an ornate bronze chandelier bathed the reception area in a luxurious glow. Beyond, Alaric saw a carpeted corridor leading to a suite of private offices.

  A uniformed clerk hurried over and inquired about their business.

  “We’re here to see Billings,” Kent said.

  “Do you have an appointment, sir?”

  “Tell him that the Duke of Strathaven wishes a word,” Alaric said.

  “Yes, Your Grace. Very good. Please have a seat,”—the clerk gestured to the waiting area, bowing low—“while I let Mr. Billings know that you are here.”

  Alaric accompanied Emma to a chair. He remained standing, casually assessing the other patrons. Billings clearly catered to rich clientele of a certain class—specifically, the underclass. Though the other clients were dressed in expensive garb, their ruthless expressions and armed guards suggested that they’d earned their wealth the hard way and would do what was necessary to keep it.

  The clerk hurried back and announced that Mr. Billings was ready to see them. The suite they entered was spacious, outfitted in mahogany and shades of burgundy. Billings rose from his desk; short and wiry, he had dark, keen eyes and sharp features. His expression was politely smooth, his accent polished.

  “Welcome to my humble establishment.” He waved them into the seats facing him. “Tea?”

  “Thank you, no,” Alaric said. “We’ve come on an urgent matter.”

  “Indeed? I’m not sure how I can be of assistance.”

  “We need information on one of your clients,” Kent said.

  Billings’ gaze flickered; other than that, he remained perfectly composed. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss my clients. We at Billings pride ourselves on the utmost discretion and confidentiality. I’m sure you understand.”

  “And I’m sure you understand that if you don’t talk to us now you’ll find yourself in bluidy Newgate,” Will said.

  “On what charge?”

  “As an accomplice to murder,” Kent said.

  “That’s absurd.” Billings’ laugh was brittle. “I’m not involved in any murder.”

  “You may not be, Mr. Billings, but I think you know someone who is.” Emma’s gentle yet firm tones drew the banker’s attention. “I met your daughter at the Blackwood ball.”

  “Gabriella?” The banker’s countenance darkened. “What does she have to do with this?”

  “She told me that one of your clients sponsored her to the affair. A rich and influential gentleman who owed you a large favor.” Emma paused. “We need to know the identity of that man. We believe that he may be involved in the assassination attempts on His Grace.”

  “My business was built on the precept of confidentiality. I have a reputation to protect,” Billings said stiffly. “The clients who seek me out—let us say they are not the most forgiving of men.”

  Alaric had enough of beating around the bush.

  “Neither am I, Billings,” he said with cool menace. “Tell me who this bastard is, or I will use my power and influence to ruin you. I will take this bank apart brick by brick. I am not an enemy you wish to make.”

  The banker’s eyes darted like a pendulum as he made internal calculations.

  “I will tell you,” he said with clear reluctance, “but you didn’t hear it from me.”

  “Spit it out, man,” Will growled.

  “Lord Mercer,” the banker said. “He was the one who owed me a favor.”

  Alaric’s stomach clenched. Goddamnit—the bloody fop was behind all this?

  “What did you do for Mercer?” he demanded.

  “About five months ago, he came to me. He asked me to broker a deal for him.” The banker straightened a pen on his desk. “It involved stock in United Mining.”

  “Didn’t you take over the venture around that time?” Will asked Alaric.

  Alaric gave a terse nod. “Why would Mercer want to kill me? If he bought shares, I’ve made him rich since I took the helm. After the expansion vote goes through, he stands to make a mint.”

  “Well, that’s just it, you see. Mercer didn’t bet on the price of stock going up—he wagered on it going down.”

  Comprehension sent ice floes through Alaric’s veins.

  Of course. The sneaky, brilliant bastard.

  “I don’t understand,” Emma said, her brow pleating.

  The banker set about explaining in the pedantic tones of a schoolmaster.

  “Mercer and I entered into an arrangement wherein he ‘sold’ shares to me and I paid him the selling rate at the time. In other words, I gave him money for shares he did not yet own, and in return, he signed a promissory note to present me with the actual shares within a specified timeframe—with an extra percentage added, of course. Do you follow?” Billings said.

  Emma nodded.

  “This happened a few weeks before Strathaven formed the venture. At the time, United Mining was a sinking ship,” the banker went on. “Mercer was certain that the price of the stock would continue to go down so he planned to use the money I gave him to purchase actual stock later, when the prices had fallen even further. In that way, he could pocket the difference and replenish his fortunes.”

  “But then I took over and the prices went up,” Alaric said, “which means Mercer has been falling deeper and deeper into debt.”

  “Precisely. Lord Mercer has managed to hide the fact that he’s in Dun territory up until this point, but now?” Billings shrugged. “He’s utterly on the rocks. And per our contract he is obligated to provide me with the actual stock certificates by the end of the next fortnight.”

  “How much does Mercer owe you?” Kent said.

  “At today’s price of United shares, approximately thirty thousand pounds,” Billings said. “That’s to say nothing of when United’s expansion vote goes through. From the talk I’ve heard, the stock prices will go through the roof. Mercer’s debt—it will be astronomical.”

  “And you’ll have made yourself a tidy profit,” Alaric said.

  Billings didn’t bat an eyelash.

  “Mercer thought that if he did away with Strathaven, United would fail once more,” Will reasoned grimly, “and all his financial troubles would be over. It’s definitely motive for murder.”

  “I know nothing about that. I’m just a banker,” Billings said.

  “But you’re not surprised, are you, that Mercer would resort to killing a man?” Kent said.

  Billings’ lips formed a hyphen.

  “Do you know Silas Webb and his connection to Lord Mercer?” Emma asked.

  Despite the heinous revelations, Alaric felt his lips quirk at her shrewdness. She might look like a pretty miss with her glossy curls and big brown eyes, but his Emma never missed a step.

  “Mr. Webb accompanied Lord Mercer to one of his appointments here,” Billings said. “He didn’t say much, but I believe they are business partners.”

  “They were partners,” Alaric said. “Webb is dead.”

  “Dead?” the banker said.

  “Shot through the head. Aye,” Will said, “that is how Mercer thanks his associates.”

  “I can take care of myself.” Billings flicked a piece of lint off his sleeve. “I’m an important man to important men, and my clients—they don’t like losing their deposits to a thief. If Mercer reneges on his debt, half of the underworld will be out for his blood.”

  In the carriage, Emma said, “That Mr. Billings wasn’t a very nice man, was he? Strange, because his daughter was lovely. I hope Gabby doesn’t land in hot water because of all this.”

  Frowning, she wondered if she should try t
o send Gabby a note.

  “Aye, I would not use nice to describe the banker extraordinaire to the underworld.” Mr. McLeod snorted. “No wonder Mercer’s on the run. If we don’t find him, Billings’ cutthroat clients will.”

  “Where will we look next? Lord Mercer’s residence?” Emma said.

  “If by we you are referring to Will, Kent, and me, then yes,” Alaric said. “You, however, are going home.”

  “What?” she said indignantly. “We’ve discovered the murderer. I’m not leaving now, in the middle of an investigation.”

  “My rules, pet. You agreed to them.”

  At his autocratic tone, she stiffened, ready to argue, but he cupped her chin in his gloved hand.

  “You have been a great help.” His husky words sent waves of delight through her. “But I will not risk anything happening to you. What remains is dangerous business, and I cannot afford to be distracted by my concern for your safety.”

  She chewed on her lip. Blast it, he was … right. Her physical prowess was no match for the brutal, murderous strength of men like Mercer. The last thing she wanted was to compromise the mission.

  Swallowing, she said, “What about your safety? That of Ambrose and Mr. McLeod?”

  “We’ll be armed and have guards with us,” he said. “We’ll be fine.”

  “Strathaven’s right.” This came from her brother, who’d been quietly watching the interplay. “You can help best by being with the family.”

  “Don’t worry, lass,” Mr. McLeod added, winking, “I’ll look after your duke.”

  Emma blushed. “I hope you will all look after each other.”

  Alaric drew the back of his hand across her cheek, the gesture so casually tender that her chest hurt with all the love she felt for him.

  “This will soon be over and then you’ll give me your answer about our future.” Though his words were cool, peremptory, she heard the yearning beneath. “Promise me, Emma.”

  How could she resist those pale irises gleaming with intensity and raw need? He made her feel as if she were the only woman in the world for him—as he was the only man for her.

  Her certainty blazed like a bright star. She knew what her answer would be.