Duke of Secrets (Moonlight Square, Book 2)

by Gaelen Foley

  Azrael chortled at the question, recalling her supposedly reluctant offer to trade kisses for information. “Now there’s a fine idea. Very tempting. But no. You have my word you will be safe with me, my dear. I only wonder if you can promise me the same, hmm?”

  She flashed a mischievous grin. “I promise nothing.”

  Is she flirting with me? he thought, and warmth flooded his body.

  “Anything else I need to know? Should I bring anything?” she asked.

  “No. Just don’t be late.”

  “A lady is never late,” she said with a pert smile. “She arrives just when she means to.” She snatched his candy apple daintily out of his hand, like his own wayward Eve, and took it with her, savoring it as she strutted off in a rustle of satin skirts.

  Azrael only then remembered to breathe as he was left standing there among the silent alabaster statues, unable to wipe the idiotic smile off his face.

  Oh, my Staring Girl, he thought, you’ll probably be the death of me.

  He would say one thing for Serena Parker, though. She would’ve made one hell of a duchess.

  Azrael did not remain much longer at the ball, but went home to prepare for tomorrow’s journey.

  He told Grimsley of his plans, and as the butler made arrangements with the coachman and ordered the kitchens to have a hamper of food for two ready to go tomorrow morning, Azrael paid a visit to his wide-awake leopard.

  Raja was a nocturnal creature, after all.

  He found the cat agitated from all the Guy Fawkes noise outside across the city—the fireworks, the drums.

  For all he knew, Raja could even hear the crowds’ distant yelling, though for humans, that was now out of earshot.

  The fearsome black beast was half hiding under the bed, his yellow eyes gleaming. He let out a grumpy growl of displeasure when Azrael stepped in to visit him.

  “Oh, you poor thing.” He shut the door behind him and went over to the animal. “There, there, boy. It’s all right. Come, now. That’s no way to behave, you big baby. Come out from under there.”

  “Rrrriiirrr,” the leopard replied.

  Azrael frowned. “Hmm. Very well, then. A bribe it is.”

  He sent word to the kitchens to send a nice slab of raw mutton for the beast.

  Soon, having distracted the leopard from his fear with a few bites of red meat, he put Raja on his leash and brought him down to the ballroom for some exercise.

  He would’ve liked to walk him outside as he sometimes did late at night, but that would not have been a good idea with all the noisy festivities still in progress.

  As usual, spending a bit of time together seemed to help both man and beast. For Azrael, the pleasant distraction of his lovable, deadly pet kept his mind off the horrors he would have to revisit tomorrow.

  He played with the big cat for a while, wrestled with him a bit, and threw his rawhide toy across the ballroom a few times for him to chase.

  Raja enjoyed chasing things, and pounced on his toy with glee, but, of course, the kingly beast had far too much self-respect ever to bring it back like some lowly trained dog.

  Leopards didn’t fetch. They did like to climb, though.

  “Hey! Get down from there, you nonesuch,” Azrael ordered when the leopard unsheathed his huge white claws and started climbing one of the fluted wooden pillars in the ballroom.

  He seemed to be pretending that his rawhide toy was his kill, and he was dragging it up into some jungle tree. His claws left big scar marks on the wood finish, but Azrael didn’t care.

  Indeed, watching the leopard’s antics, Azrael always felt equal parts happy and sad.

  He had inherited the menagerie of animals at one of his country houses and never really knew what to do with them. It seemed cruel to keep them all in cages, but sending them back out into the wild, half domesticated and defenseless, surely would be worse.

  He merely directed his servants to give them the most humane care possible, and refused to expand his father’s collection.

  In the meantime, he allowed the public and students with their teachers to come in and view the animals in their cages for educational purposes, much like the Duke of Richmond with his statuary.

  The sweet-tempered giraffe and the clownish orangutan always delighted the children, but Azrael’s personal favorite was the elephant, Henrietta. She had such a wise, calming air about her.

  Thank God, the black bear that his father had imported from America had died of natural causes a year or so ago. It had been particularly miserable, but at least with him as owner, it was no longer subjected to the torture of bear-baiting for heartless men’s barbaric amusement.

  Raja, though…Raja had always been special.

  Ever since he’d arrived as a cub, Azrael had treated the leopard more as a pet than a wild animal.

  Perhaps that was not wise, but they had a lot in common—and not just because of the leopard rampant on his family coat of arms. It was also because of the world’s expectations of them.

  People took one look at the leopard and expected him to try to eat them. Likewise, Azrael had the potential for savagery in his blood, but he refused to let it come forth.

  Refused.

  As the cat tried again to climb the ballroom pillars, the elegant beast’s unexpected silliness put a smile on his face, but by God, Azrael thought with a sigh, the poor creature did not belong in this kind of world.

  They had that in common, too.

  Having helped his pet get some exercise, Azrael finally put Raja away again and retreated to his own chamber.

  Glancing out the window, he saw the sky was dark, the fireworks ended by now. He pulled the curtains shut, then drifted over to his dressing table, unbuttoning his waistcoat. He’d already doffed his cravat while playing with the leopard.

  When his waistcoat hung open on his chest, he leaned down, planted his hands on the narrow table, and stared hard into the mirror.

  I must be as mad as Father was, agreeing to this.

  He was beginning to wonder if it was realistic, though, thinking he could “stay out of it” forever. He shook his head and straightened up again with a sigh. Soon he finished undressing and climbed into his large, cold bed, alone as always. Unsurprisingly, considering what awaited him tomorrow, he tossed and turned for most of the night, and when he finally fell asleep, nightmares chased him through the scarlet woods.

  CHAPTER 7

  Traveling Companions

  Serena’s breath clouded in the damp half-light before dawn as she waited anxiously for Azrael the next morning, as arranged.

  Shrugging deeper into her gray woolen mantle, she was but a shadow blending into the gloom beneath the bricked archway of the passage where they’d agreed to meet.

  London seemed like another world at this lonely hour.

  If it were spring, the sun would’ve already painted the sky pink and the birds would’ve been singing, but not now. Night clung on past its welcome, just as it always did this time of year, unwilling to yield to daytime, and then only begrudgingly. Even noontide was gray at best in November.

  Serena found the dark, pre-waking world all rather interesting, though.

  She had already seen many things that, normally, she and the rest of the fashionables slept right through. The coalman and the milk delivery wagons clattering by. The lamplighter making his rounds to douse the streetlamps.

  Some of the shopkeepers had begun arriving, too, yawning as they trudged to unlock their front doors, hurrying into the warmth to ready their establishments for the day’s business. She stayed out of sight, like one of Toby’s folklore trolls lurking under a bridge, and none of them noticed her.

  She watched the first gray hint of sunrise reveal the slippery coat of hoarfrost covering everything, like some strange crystalline mold growing all over the cobbled streets, the buildings, the bare trees. And she smelled the chimney smoke as kitchen servants started their fires to begin making breakfast for their still-drowsing masters across Moonlight Sq
uare.

  She even heard the horses in the livery stable next to the alley waking in their stalls, whickering for their grain, warm and fuzzy in their thick winter coats.

  For her part, she was cold and tired, unaccustomed to rising at such a rude hour. She leaned against the brick wall of the tunnel-like passage between the buildings, still trying to wake up. At least she had managed to arrive on time.

  Thankfully, she hadn’t had far to walk. The unassuming brick passage in between the livery stable and the tailor’s was just around the corner from Moonlight Square.

  The tidy row of convenient shops there was where the residents and their servants chiefly went for quick necessities and trifles. She stifled a yawn, her gaze traveling over the quaint storefronts.

  Dry goods, grocer’s, butcher shop, bakery, florist’s, bootmaker, tobacco shop, fine stationery, the milliner’s.

  They were all still closed, their display windows dark or shuttered beneath their painted signs and hanging placards. Jumpy and a trifle bored with waiting, Serena stared blearily at the shops, pondering how easy it was to take these ordinary folk and their establishments for granted. In fact, she suddenly recalled she’d bought the black velvet bonnet she was wearing at that milliner’s.

  God, she had agonized over her outfit for today and had stayed up too late last night figuring it out, but she was pleased with the end result. Her black velvet bonnet and gloves matched the black velvet spencer she had donned over a cream-colored carriage dress. Around the bonnet’s crown, she’d tied a fetching plaid scarf that matched her gown’s burgundy satin trim.

  To ensure that her neck and throat stayed warm, she’d tucked a ruffled muslin fichu into the gown’s collar, and as an afterthought, had brought along her burgundy cashmere shawl for added warmth. Luxuriously soft, it made her happy.

  Of course, her smart traveling costume was still hidden beneath the dull gray mantle that presently kept her from freezing to death, but Azrael would see her in due time.

  Hopefully, he would be the only one to do so today. She could scarcely imagine the scandal if the world learned she had run off with him unchaperoned for the day. Why, she’d outdo the duke of scandal himself, Netherford.

  Gnawing her lip, Serena took a moment to admit to herself that this was without a doubt the maddest thing she’d ever done. She hoped she didn’t regret it. It was true that she did want to see Owlswick, she needed answers, and was thrilled at the chance to help Azrael look for the papers he believed were hidden at his estate.

  But she trembled with more than the cold, for there were also her misgivings to face. What if he’s right? What if I don’t like the answer once I know it? She could still back out—wait for him to arrive and then tell him never mind, that, on second thought, maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

  It was too risky, and in truth, it didn’t matter anyway. She loved her loud, thickheaded, easygoing Papa well enough to consider him her father even if she wasn’t his own flesh and blood.

  Dunny, as everyone called him, had always been good to her. She had no complaints.

  It was just that she’d never really felt like she quite belonged in her family.

  Perhaps if she could find out who her real father was, then she’d finally learn where she truly fit in. And maybe this hurt she felt over her mother lying to her would fade.

  But there was also the small fact that even if she hadn’t needed the answers about her own bloodlines, she could not resist the chance to be with Azrael again.

  It was time to be honest. He was as much the reason she was here right now as her urgent need for information. Somehow those few short minutes in the Richmonds’ statuary hall last night with him, for example, had meant more to her than weeks of needless attention from other gentlemen.

  She really couldn’t explain why that was. But being with her strange, pale-haired moonlight prince made her feel fully alive. She could not deny how powerfully she was drawn to him. Like they were meant for each other.

  Well, someone had apparently once thought they ought to be.

  A renegade notion flitted through her head: I wish he weren’t so against the match between us.

  Maybe today would begin to change his mind.

  Only time would tell, but she shuddered to think what Mother would say if she could see her there, waiting alone to run off for the day with the forbidden Duke of Rivenwood.

  At least now Serena knew that it was not because of anything Azrael had done wrong that her mother had banned him from her circle of acquaintance. It was merely Mama’s own dread of him ever telling her the truth.

  Well, too bad, she thought, her jaw tautening with simmering rebellion. Perhaps his kiss had put her under a spell, but she could not resist the time with him. In the days between the masked ball and Bonfire Night, she had tried her best to forget about the man.

  It should not have been so difficult, considering that, somehow, she’d felt even more rejected by Azrael’s refusal to help her than she had at Toby’s ending their years-long courtship.

  Which didn’t make any sense. But then, she supposed the heart never did.

  How much longer? Where are you? she thought restlessly. She believed His Grace was now officially late.

  Fingers stiff with the chill that bit right through her gloves, Serena managed to dig her locket watch out of her reticule and squinted at it in the steel-gray half-light swiftly replacing the pitch-darkness.

  Seven o’clock.

  Oh, she thought. Nervousness and perhaps eagerness to see him must’ve made her impatient.

  At that very moment, right on time, a sleek black coach-and-four turned the corner at the end of the lane. Her pulse leaped.

  She pressed away from the passage wall. The crunching clatter of the carriage wheels grinding over the cobblestones grew louder as the vehicle approached. The four black horses were impressive—high-stepping, blinkered Frisians with long, flowing manes.

  Serena swallowed hard as the carriage approached. She stepped into view and gestured to the driver.

  The coach slowed; it stopped for her under the shadowed overhang of the covered passage, and the door opened from within.

  Azrael leaned out, offering his hand. Serena’s gaze instantly locked on to his, and she placed her gloved fingers in his outstretched palm.

  His strong, long fingers curled around her hand as she set her foot on the carriage step, then he pulled her up, and she sprang quickly into the coach.

  At once, she dropped into the seat across from him, shivering with the cold and excitement; he immediately pulled the door shut, then rapped on the inside of the rounded carriage wall, signaling to his coachman to drive on.

  No doubt working for one of the most eccentric noblemen in London kept his staff’s lives interesting, she thought. She heard the reins slap over the horses’ rumps, and then they were in motion, continuing on through the passage to emerge on the other side with no one the wiser—hopefully.

  Getting her bearings, Serena glanced about at his coach’s elegant, beige satin-upholstered interior, and then looked at him.

  Azrael was quickly pulling the carriage shades down so they would not be seen riding together. The gleam of the two tiny candles inside the sconces cast a shining halo over his champagne-colored hair. It flowed back from his high forehead and gathered once more into the usual queue at his nape.

  Serena couldn’t help but notice that the triple-caped box coat he wore over his day clothes made his already wide shoulders look enormous. His Carrick coat was unfastened, so her glance traveled down furtively over his dashing ensemble.

  He wore an unfussy snow-white cravat; a pale, muted green waistcoat about the hue of winter pastures; a light brown jacket, barely visible under his charcoal-colored greatcoat; his snug, dark brown breeches disappeared into glossy black riding boots with brown turn-downs.

  A black top hat rested on the luxurious seat beside him, along with a pair of black kid gloves. He locked the carriage door and turned to her—and Serena
instantly ceased her slightly lustful perusal of him, and smiled.

  “Good morning,” he said, looking into her eyes with unexpected and disarming warmth.

  “Good morning, Your Grace,” she replied, sounding slightly breathless, to her dismay.

  A wry smile crept across his lips.

  “Well then,” he said, “here we are.”

  “Indeed,” she whispered.

  He sat back, watching her. “Speeding off from Town alone in a carriage together.”

  “Unchaperoned,” she added with a rueful look, since there was no getting around the awkwardness on that particular point.

  His smile widened almost to a grin. “Decidedly scandalous behavior, my lady.”

  She shrugged, blushing as she grinned back at him. “What can I say? I take after my mother.”

  “You surely do.” He laughed, and the twinkle in his pale blue eyes helped to put her at ease.

  “It’s your fault,” she said. “You seem to bring it out in me.”

  “I noticed that. But never fear. I gave you my word of honor that you would be perfectly safe in my company.”

  “If I had any doubt of it, I would not be here,” she told him.

  His small nod suggested he was gratified by her trust. Perhaps finding someone willing to give that to a Rivenwood duke was a rarity.

  “I wasn’t sure you would come, actually,” he said as the carriage rolled along. “I thought perhaps I would arrive, and you’d have changed your mind.”

  “Or lost my nerve? Come to my senses?”

  He nodded. “Perhaps.”

  “No such luck,” she said with a smile. “And Your Grace, I appreciate you doing this. Truly.”

  A low snort escaped him, as if to say, You’re welcome, but you left me no choice. He did not utter such ungentlemanly sentiments, though.

  Instead, he tilted his head, studying her. “You look cold.”

  She rubbed her arms. “I’m getting warmer.”

  He held up a finger to signal her to wait, then got up from his seat, turned, and lifted the lid off the padded carriage bench he’d been sitting on. He reached into the storage compartment underneath the seat and pulled out a thick woolen lap blanket, which he gave to her.