Deceiving The Duke (Scandals and Spies Book 2)

by Dobbs, Leighann

  Phil clasped her hands so tightly in front of her that pins and needles pricked her fingertips. “Where have you been? It’s late.”

  A look of disgust crossed his face. “I didn’t know I had a curfew, Mother.”

  Phil flinched. She took a step forward to distract from the involuntary reaction. “Don’t say that.” Jared had only been fifteen when their parents had died. Phil never intended to step in as a mother figure, but someone had to look after him. He was her baby brother. He meant the world to her.

  Her shadow cast across his waistcoat as she stepped between him and the light. “I was worried. I didn’t know you intended to go out.”

  Let alone to such a dangerous place. She bit her tongue.

  Jared turned away. “It’s none of your business.”

  What was he hiding from her? She laid her hand on his sleeve. “Of course it’s my business! I’m your guardian. I’m your sister.”

  He didn’t meet her gaze. “I went out to meet with a lover. Are you satisfied?”

  Her cheeks heated like a furnace. Pickle only compounded on her embarrassment when he lifted his head and squawked, “Lover! Lover!” He took to the air and flapped over to Jared in two broad wing strokes. All the while, the macaw chanted, “Kiss, kiss.”

  Jared swatted his hand through the air, keeping Pickle at bay. “I am not going to kiss you, you blasted bird!”

  Happy for the excuse to delay her response, Phil stretched out her arm. “Come here, Pickle. I’ll give you a kiss.” The parrot landed on her wrist, his talons digging into her ruffled sleeve as he fought for balance and pinched the skin beneath. She kissed his beak and lifted him to her shoulder. When he settled on his usual perch, he presented his back to Jared. He explored the curve of her ear with his tongue and beak. It tickled.

  “Are we done?” Jared asked, his voice short. “Or would you like her name and address?”

  Lud, she did not want to be having this conversation with him. It only reminded her that he was nineteen now, no longer a child. He had…manly urges to satisfy. She did not want to contemplate them.

  “Forgive me. Goodnight.”

  Jared nodded curtly and strode away from her, his footsteps quick.

  As he left her in peace, her embarrassment faded. She scooped up the candle, little more than a stub in its holder. Hopefully it would last all the way up to the third story, where her bedchamber resided.

  Was he telling her the truth? That had been the one thing he might say to convince her to cease with her questions. Nibbling on her lip, she mounted the stairs as she mulled over his bizarre behavior of late. Avoiding her, sneaking out late at night. She didn’t know what to think.

  As she reached the third floor, she crossed paths with Meg, who descended from the floor above. Barefoot and dressed in her frilly white nightgown, Meg rubbed at her eyes. Her light brown hair was pulled over her shoulder, contained in a loose braid.

  “What’s all this ruckus?”

  Phil glanced down the corridor, ensuring that her brother wasn’t around to hear. “Jared just arrived home. He claimed he was out late…visiting a lover.” Color chased onto Phil’s cheeks as she repeated the explanation he’d given.

  Meg raised her eyebrows. In the wildly guttering light, her brows seemed darker than the pale hair usually reached without the aid of cosmetics. “Let’s run on into your room, shall we?” She reached out to guide Phil by the elbow, only to stop short when she noticed the lump of feathers on Phil’s shoulder. Warily, she sidled back. “Is he…sleeping?”

  Pickle had his head tucked into her hair. His chest rose and fell next to her ear. “I believe so.”

  Meg shooed her on ahead with her hands. “Carefully, then. Let’s not wake the beast.”

  Pickle didn’t stir as Phil strode down the corridor. When she reached her room, she set down the candle on the nearest flat surface and crossed to his perch. She gently eased her hand beneath his feet and transferred him onto the perch. His beak caught in her hair. Despite her frantic gestures, Meg came no farther than the door. Clenching her teeth, Phil twisted her arm awkwardly to guide her hair free of her pet’s beak. When she deposited him safely on his perch, he shifted on his feet and tucked his head beneath one wing, still asleep.

  “It’s safe,” Phil whispered.

  Skirting the perimeter of the room, Meg found an unlit candle and lit it from the stump of the one near to blowing out. With a whisper of breath, she chased away the flame and carried the new candle over to the stand next to Phil’s bed. Phil shut the door and they both perched on the bed, tucking their legs to the side as they faced one another.

  “Do you think it might be true?” Phil asked. “Does Jared have a lover?”

  Meg looked bewildered. “Why are you asking me?”

  “You have brothers. Married brothers. Were they this secretive when they began courting?”

  Meg pursed her lips together as she thought. She gave a reluctant nod. “Sean not so much as Pat, but I’m afraid so. Declan is still that way. He won’t give up a whisper of who his sweetheart is, even though we’re sure she’s employed here in the manor, or else at one of the neighbors.”

  That piqued Phil’s curiosity. She would have to keep her eye on Meg’s second-to-youngest brother, who she employed as a footman. Perhaps she could guess which maid he had his eye on.

  If men were usually secretive when they had sweethearts, then Jared must be telling the truth. Even so, his behavior haunted her. She wanted to be sure. The next time he slipped away, she would follow him and discover exactly who he was meeting with. If she lived in that decrepit part of town, she obviously wasn’t among the gentry. Was she using him for his money? Frankly, Phil couldn’t give a fig’s end about the heritage of the person Jared married…if she truly cared for him.

  Meg bid her goodnight and stood. Phil reached out, catching her sleeve. “What about…lovers? Did your brothers keep any before they married?”

  “Pat? You bet your arse he did. Why do you think he had to marry?” She grinned. She didn’t seem as embarrassed by the notion as Phil was about Jared’s bedroom activities. “Men will do what pleases them,” Meg added. “I wouldn’t worry too much, if I were you. Jared seems more the marrying type to me, like Sean.”

  Phil knew a few things about Sean that his sister, apparently, did not. Her friend’s words didn’t comfort her at all. Nevertheless, she forced a smile and bid Meg goodnight.

  After she’d left, Phil shucked her wrapper and slid into bed. She leaned on one elbow to blow out the candle. Although the flame extinguished, her riotous thoughts did not.

  If Jared had ventured into that part of town to meet with a lover…why had the Duke of Tenwick been there? As she squirmed between the sheets, she couldn’t help but relive the pressure of his lips on hers, the masterful thrust of his tongue. When her mind conjured his image, it also brought to mind the fact that he slept bare. An ache throbbed between her legs. She resisted.

  She clung to the small seed of anger in her chest. He’d kissed her. Right there, in the middle of the alley. If he’d ventured there to meet a lover… A hot, smothering sensation blanketed her chest. It had nothing to do with jealousy. Oh, no. He was a scoundrel, kissing two women in one night. It didn’t matter if she was one of them.

  As she rolled over onto her stomach, she didn’t quite believe herself. Even worse, she would have to see him again tomorrow, knowing what sort of man he was. She’d already accepted his mother’s invitation. She couldn’t take it back now.

  How was she going to face Morgan and pretend he’d never kissed her?

  * * *

  “Who is that blond woman batting her eyelashes at my brother?”

  A shiver of awareness raced down Morgan’s spine at Phil’s voice. He thrust his shoulders back, trying to look unaffected before he glanced at her.

  She looked stunning. Tonight, she wore a sapphire-blue gown that scooped over the swell of her breasts. The gown boasted detachable sleeves with hints of silver em
broidery, mirroring the design along the bodice and down at her hem, over her dainty black half-boots. Her hair was swept up in a simple knot, alluring in its own way as he wondered how she had possibly coaxed all her long hair into that small bunch. Her maid had braided one thin lock into a loop surrounding the bun. Sapphires winked at her ears and the dainty necklace rested at the top of the crevice between her breasts.

  Damn. She looked breathtaking in the Tenwick ducal colors. Not to mention the sapphire color brought out the blue in her eyes.

  Seeing him struck mute, she cocked an eyebrow. A devilish smirk twisted her lips, as if she knew exactly what the sight of her did to him. Tonight, she smelled like lavender, without a hint of mineral oil. He found himself missing the sharp scent. It gave her a tangibility, something that alerted him to the fact that he wasn’t dreaming.

  He definitely shouldn’t enact one of his dreams about her. Not in the middle of Vauxhall Gardens.

  She cleared her throat and flicked her gaze to indicate the group ahead of them. Mother had managed to secure one of the private boxes in the middle of the garden. The front gate opened into a cobblestone walkway that led to an open square. On a raised dais to one side, a quartet of musicians had set up alongside a dance floor. Opposite the dance floor was a long row of boxes, closed on three sides and sharing walls with their neighbors. At the one on the end, with the crimson curtain secured to the side, his family clustered together with Phil’s brother. Mother wore a bit of color today, with yellow beading on her dove-gray dress. Even so, she was eclipsed by Lucy, in a paunchy orange dress, and Miss Vale in pink. Mrs. Vale had declined to attend.

  Easily head and shoulders taller than everyone except Mr. St. Gobain, who he topped by no more than a hand or two, Giddy plucked at the cravat at his throat. On the other side of the ladies, and subject to much more attention from the two youngest, Mr. St. Gobain mirrored the nervous fidgeting.

  Blast, he should have let Lucy bring her parrot. Perhaps the bloody bird would have taken the opportunity to fly away. The first thing Lucy had done upon being presented with the hyacinth macaw, a large blue bird with a strip of yellow next to her black beak that made her look as devious as his sister, was name her Antonia. Then she’d taught the bird to say ‘Giddy.’

  It was the only word the parrot knew and she was prodigiously happy to be able to speak at all. Morgan’s ears still rang from the assault on his senses.

  “The blond?” Phil prompted. Her voice was light, but it had a steely undertone.

  He must have offended her in some way. He stifled a sigh. “Her name is Miss Charlotte Vale, but I doubt she’s batting her eyelashes at your brother on purpose. Her face is always that way.”

  Phil harrumphed. She started to cross her arms, but forced them to her sides instead. “Are you sure? She looks awfully flirtatious.”

  “If so, she flirts with me, my mother, and her morning scones. It’s nothing.”

  Drat, Mother was looking their way. Before she noticed his lack of manners, he offered his arm to Miss St. Gobain. They were, after all, in public. Couples milled, their chaperones trailing them as they navigated the paths or ensconced themselves in the supper room. With so many eyes on them, Morgan and Phil had to pretend to be the polite duke and debutante that Society believed them to be.

  Even if they lived dual lives come nightfall.

  Even if her light touch on his arm made him burn for more.

  He marshalled his concentration and battled for composure. After all, tonight it was his duty to keep her under his eye. The coded missive in his pocket from Strickland sat heavy and gave him information that Gideon had also imparted this morning, after he sifted through the latest spying reports in London, the ones Strickland had finally passed on.

  Another spy meeting was set for tonight. Why so soon on the heels of the last, Morgan didn’t know, but he was determined to intercept it this time. Philomena would not slip away, that he vowed. Once he confirmed she was meeting with another French spy, he would let Strickland know in no uncertain terms that she was Harker’s replacement in the ton.

  What if she wasn’t a French spy?

  He tried to tell himself not to be fanciful, but the thought plagued him. If he was wrong and the true spy was someone else, then he would miss this meeting again. Strickland would never welcome him into the field again. He would be stuck filling out paperwork for the rest of his natural born life.

  He did enough paperwork to dull even the sharpest of minds. He craved excitement.

  He certainly got that from the woman standing next to him. When they were mere feet away from the pavilion, she dug her fingers into his arm and pulled him to a stop.

  “How well do you know this Miss Vale?”

  He battled the urge to roll his eyes. “Well enough.”

  “You’ve bedded her then, have you?”

  “What?!”

  His sharp tone drew the curious gazes not only of his family, but every other peer in eyesight. Heaven help him, was that Mrs. Biddleford and Miss Maize? Before midnight tonight, this was going to be branded a lover’s quarrel. He would read about his own fictitious, doomed engagement in the scandal rag tomorrow.

  He lowered his voice. “Of course I haven’t.”

  Phil’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “I knew that. You propose to women you accidentally blow a kiss in passing.”

  He gritted his teeth. “I do not.”

  “I only wondered if you were attending to the conversation.”

  “Evidently, I am.” He bit off the words.

  That alluring smile of hers grew. Zeus, he’d never wanted to kiss her more.

  “How do you know Miss Vale?” Phil asked. Her expression made it known under no uncertain terms that she would not forget the topic.

  “She is currently residing in my townhouse.”

  He winced as the words left his lips. Phil’s eyebrows soared upward.

  Hurriedly, he amended, “She is my sister-in-law.”

  “Who is she married to?”

  “No one.” He resisted the urge to rub the white streak in his hair, as he did when he was harried. Mother would know the gesture at once. She, along with the others in his family, now stared in their direction with open suspicion—or, perhaps worse, delight. He shifted to put his back to his family.

  Phil braced her hands on her hips. The movement pulled her dress flush against her ample figure, making his mouth water. “If she isn’t married, how can she be your sister-in-law?”

  “She’s the sister of the woman who married my brother earlier this month.”

  Phil canted her head to the side as she thought. For such an innocent gesture, Morgan got a chilling sensation of foreboding. What was going on in her mind?

  “Which brother?”

  He fingered the streak in his hair. “Well, it isn’t Gideon.”

  Phil narrowed her eyes. “I could do without your sarcasm. How am I to know which of your brothers was recently married?”

  “Have you opened a scandal rag lately? Tristan’s marriage is all any of them can talk about.”

  “I don’t read that drivel.”

  Morgan bit his tongue rather than admit to surprise. Most women—and many men—devoured the weekly gossip sheets.

  “Are you satisfied now?” he asked, his voice strained.

  Phil inclined her head. She laid her hand on his sleeve and they resumed their approach. He relaxed, believing the topic to have run its course.

  How wrong he was.

  “What are some of her merits?”

  “Well, she doesn’t snore.”

  Phil’s hand tightened painfully. “I beg your pardon?”

  Thank Zeus he’d mumbled that statement. Louder, he amended, “She doesn’t put much in store in gossip.”

  Somehow, he sensed that it would not bode well if Phil learned that Miss Vale slept in the chambers next to his. The duchess’s chambers.

  What does she care? They aren’t earmarked for her.

  No, this was
jealousy based on Miss Vale’s perceived pursuit of Phil’s brother. She couldn’t care a whit for Morgan.

  But if she did…

  Better he not deceive himself.

  From the moment he introduced Phil properly to Miss Vale, the evening only grew worse. She constantly tried to insinuate herself between Jared and Miss Vale. This lead to increasingly bizarre excuses to change positions. Each time she changed her seat in the box, her leg or bottom brushed against Morgan and he was reminded of her allure. Mother and Lucy scented his attraction and pounced, concocting elaborate schemes to move Phil back to Morgan’s side. It was maddening.

  Finally, the table could take it no longer. Mr. St. Gobain thrust himself into a standing position. His hair flopped into his eyes. “Bloody Hell, Phil. Find a place to sit and stay there!”

  As all eyes fixed on him, his cheeks turned ruddy. He stepped back, to the curtain of the box shielding them from the public. “Forgive me,” he mumbled. “It must be the air in here. I’ll take a short walk.” He batted aside the heavy curtain, letting in a strengthened gust of renewed chatter, and strode into the crowd.

  Mother, who had been seated across from him, on the end of the booth where Morgan sat, also stood. “Oh dear. Perhaps the air in here is a little stuffy.” She peeled back the curtain and secured it near the wall.

  The lamp inside the box cast an intimate glow on the worn wooden booth and the surrounding box. Tasseled cushions softened the bench. The walls were painted with an elaborate Grecian scene that looked to be a marriage by the seashore, given the focus on a man and woman in the midst of all the scantily-clad revelry. Perhaps he shouldn’t look too closely.

  Beyond the box, the Vauxhall Gardens were thick with couples and groups, some from the haute monde, others workaday families out for the weekend entertainment. Men and women danced in pairs on the dais, laughing as they completed the jaunty steps of the country dance. Lanterns, hung on elaborately-wrought poles, lined the pebbled walkways as they left the square, all save one—the illustrious Dark Walk.

  Mother chased everyone at the table out of the box and into the open air. “Perhaps a stroll would be just the thing.”