“I do. When you are caught, your eyes narrow.”
“I was looking at my cards in bad light.”
“So you saw your shepherdess. I do not think you would fall asleep again, so if you—I have it. You met her again. You restrained your impulses. And she was not impressed by your behavior.”
Damn Stratton. “She was very impressed.”
“Yet there will be no more meetings. Hence the cold water of righteous living.”
“I did not say that there would be no more meetings. The cold-water reference was to the restraint itself.”
“Do you know her name yet?”
Gabriel threw down his cards and stood.
Stratton pulled out his pocket watch again. “How long did you say you would keep me away?”
“Longer than this, but go now.”
“Should I? We don’t want Clara angry with you.”
“Go. I insist.”
“I can dally another hour if that is appropriate.”
“Go home. Go to hell. Go anywhere before I punch you.”
* * *
Two nights later, Gabriel entered his brother’s house. The servant no longer slept near the door. Rather, he sat upright, probably hoping for just such a visit and the coin he received to make himself scarce.
As soon as he saw Gabriel, he was on his feet. “Dawn as usual, Your Grace?”
Gabriel handed over the money.
“No. Wait here. If I am not back by ten-thirty, then go away until dawn.”
The fellow cocked his head in curiosity, but accepted the change. “Oh, I should probably tell you. Lord Harold wrote that he will be returning in the next few days.”
“That was not long. One wonders he bothered to leave.”
“He won’t be staying. He will just visit, then go back.”
Why would Harry even need to visit? Gabriel did not wonder long. He had ceased trying to comprehend Harry years ago.
He went below and unlocked the garden door. Then he mounted the stairs to the library. He made himself comfortable, took out his pocket watch, and set it on the divan beside him.
He had placed another notice in the newspaper. Shepherdess, same time, same place June 10. In twenty minutes, he would know if she’d seen it and came.
He had no champagne with him tonight. That served as a testimony to his soul-felt belief that she would not show. There had been a finality about how she’d slipped away last time. And yet—
The time moved slowly. He could not distract himself with thoughts of the bill or memories of prior conquests. He forced himself not to stare at that watch, but he managed to glance over every five minutes just the same.
Ten o’clock came and went.
At ten after ten, a floorboard creaked. His heart rose. He almost jumped to his feet as well. Only no form materialized in the shadows. It had only been a sound such as houses make at night.
At ten-twenty, he accepted she would not come. The depth of his disappointment surprised him.
At twenty-five after, he walked down to the entry door. “Lock up after me,” he said to the servant. “Then go down and lock the garden door too.”
He stepped out into the damp night. Damnation. You are an ass, Langford.
* * *
Amanda entered Mr. Peterson’s print shop on The Strand. She shook the rain off her wrap. Despite the steady drizzle, she dared not skip this daily detour on her way home.
Her humor matched the dreary day. The recent lure by Langford had shadowed her since last night, when, painfully aware of what she rejected, she had not gone to him again.
The decision had not come easily. She had ached to comply with that new notice. It flattered her that the duke continued to pursue her. She did not lie to herself about his interest. At the moment, she was a novelty for a man bored from years of adventures with women. All the same, the pull toward him had been strong. He may have experienced nothing truly deep in that last encounter, but she had known a warmth of connection that had been denied her for most of her life.
She almost had gone. What could it hurt? You owe it to yourself. That was how her inner debate went. On the other side, her heart weighed in, reminding her that further intimacy would only cause pain when she had to turn away from it altogether.
So she turned away last night instead. She sat in her cellar chamber picturing what she missed, hearing the duke amuse her with his banter, feeling the pleasure he knew so well how to give. She imagined again her armor dropping away until her vulnerability trembled and his presence melted into her.
She approached the counter. Mr. Peterson knew her by sight since she had been coming here for years, but he still waited for her to request the letters left to her false name of Mrs. Bootlescamp. He rustled through a box out of sight below the counter. He lifted a letter, and handed it over.
She grasped the letter and stared. It had taken long enough to get here. She had begun to wonder if it ever would.
Normally she would wait until she returned home to read it, or at least leave this shop first. Today she pretended to peer inside a print bin while she broke the seal.
The address to Mrs. Bootlescamp was not in her mother’s hand, nor were the few lines in the letter. Another person had penned them.
Wrap well and safely and leave with the proprietor at Morris’s Grocery on Great Sutton Street near Red Lion Square on June 24, to be picked up by Mr. Trenholm.
That was all. No reassurances that her mother would be released or even remained in good health. That the kidnapper probably had written this, and not her mother, worried her.
Morris’s Grocery. A new place. She did not like that. Why not the same directions as for the brooch? And why so long before delivery too?
Mama would have never counseled such carelessness. It is important to move the goods fast. It doesn’t do to be caught with them. Of course, the danger did not lie with her captor. Amanda would be the one holding stolen goods all that time. Perhaps Mama had refused to write the letter because of that.
She saw only one good thing about the directions. She could use the time for another purpose. She could lay her own plans carefully, and take steps to ensure their success.
She plotted her course while she walked home in the rain. Upon entering her building, she found Katherine sniffling outside the stairs to the cellar.
“Have you some fuel?” Katherine asked. “I’ve the chills and the damp is in my bones. I went to the tavern and the man sent me home. Too sick, he said. His patrons would object, he said.”
Amanda let them both in. She set a chair near the hearth and lit a low fire. “You don’t sleep or eat enough. That is why you have a summer fever.” She plucked one of her knit shawls off a peg and draped it around Katherine’s shoulders.
“Need to work late if there’s ale to lay down, don’t I? I never learned to sleep during the day in town. Too much noise. Back home on a summer morning I never wanted to get out of bed but had to for chores. Things never seem to match up.”
Amanda touched Katherine’s forehead. “You’ve a fever for certain. Once it breaks, you will feel better in one way and worse in another.”
“If it breaks.”
Amanda chose not to think about the fevers that never broke. Katherine did not appear especially weak yet, nor did she feel all that hot.
She set about warming the soup on the hearth hook.
“You never told me about your meeting with that lord,” Katherine said.
Amanda busied herself with supper while she decided what to say.
“Not that you have to tell me about it,” Katherine added.
“There is not much to tell. We met, I left, and I have not seen him since.”
“Was he a gentleman after all, then?”
Amanda reached for two bowls off a shelf so her back might be to Katherine and her expression invisible. “Yes. Very much a gentleman.”
“Oh. How disappointing.”
Amanda laughed, because it had been disappointing.
“Not even one kiss?” Katherine asked. “There’s something wrong with him if he didn’t even try one kiss.”
“There was one kiss,” Amanda admitted. “One very long kiss.” More than one, but she would never forget the almost endless first one. Or the sweet, touching last one. Or the one when he all but inhaled her scream when she shattered from pleasure. Or—
“You like him, don’t you? The way you said one very long kiss sounded like you do. If so, it is sad if you won’t see him again. He would want nothing respectable, but there’s worse things than having a gentleman take care of you.” She looked around the cellar.
“There would be no point in finding out. I will be leaving soon, you see. Leaving London.”
Katherine’s expression fell. “Why? You’ve a good situation where you are. That lady is generous. If it is this chamber, you could do better, I am sure, or even live with her perhaps.”
“I’ve a better situation waiting elsewhere.”
“Better than the lady? I can’t imagine anything better than that.” She tucked the shawl closer and looked at the fire. “You are my best friend here. The only one really, since I don’t trust the others who might call themselves that. I don’t think any of them would burn their own fuel if I had the chills or needed some for a bath.”
Amanda knelt beside the chair and placed her arm around Katherine. “I will miss you too. I was all alone until that day when I heard you cursing in the bath next door. I will leave whatever fuel I have left so you might enjoy a few baths in my name. Perhaps you can live here after I go. It is far quieter during the days here. You might sleep better.”
“I fear I’d never see the light if I slept down here. It is kind of you to leave any fuel, though.”
“I will have to leave some other things too. I can’t take all of the dresses. You can have them if you want, to remake or sell.”
Katherine brightened. “I will use one at least. It has been over a year since I had a new dress.” Her expression dimmed again just as fast. “When will you go?”
“Before the month is out.” She got to her feet. “Soup is warmed. Stay there and I will bring you some.”
Chapter Nine
Gabriel sat at his desk in his study, a chamber he had only recently begun using on a regular basis. Just taking his seat here symbolized changes in his life that he was not sure he liked much. All the same, he read the correspondence regarding the penal reform bill, jotting notes for his responses. He would have to devote a whole day to writing them, from the look of things. He would arrange to do it all in one long session with his secretary, Thadius. Or was it Tacitus? Damned if he could remember Mr. Crawley’s first name.
He had thrown himself into these duties the last few days. It helped keep his mind off his mystery woman. It also distracted him from his wounded pride. Both would invade his thoughts unexpectedly, merging into a combination of vivid memories, latent arousal, and petulant resentment.
They did so now, interfering with his concentration. Who would think that he, of all men, would be subjected to such treatment from a woman? That she had managed to remain anonymous all this time made him feel more of an idiot.
After summoning every ounce of honor on her behalf, to be thrown over like that—no, not thrown over, he reminded himself. You cannot be thrown over if there was no real liaison. Except, in a manner of speaking, he had been anyway, or at least felt like he had been. Before they fell asleep, there had been an understanding, as he saw it. An agreement that dawn would find her still beside him at least.
He swallowed the annoyance that the thoughts revived. He forced himself to read the damned letters.
Halfway through the chore, while he cursed himself that he had involved himself at all in any bill since it required so much boring work, his study door opened and his brother entered. Glad for the excuse to stop, he set his pen in its holder and sat back.
“Your return is welcome but surprising, Harry. The Season is not yet over, but a few families are already peeling off, going down to the country that you have inexplicably abandoned.”
“I had to return. As to why, I am here to see you because of the reason.”
“Are you being deliberately intriguing? That is not like you.”
Harry turned the chair the secretary normally used and sat in it. “I received word that I should come back and check my house. There was a theft nearby. Word has spread, and all the households in the area are taking inventory.”
“Have you completed yours? I should say that I visited there myself a few times so if a few items are out of place, it could have been my doing. However, I saw nothing amiss.”
“Nothing is gone from my house, although I appreciate your telling me you were there since a few things were moved. The theft took place next door, at Sir Malcolm’s home.”
“I can only imagine the interior of that house, stuffed as it must be from generations of accumulation. How would anyone even know something was taken?”
“I am not sure. The evidence was clear enough, though. In any event, for the next month or so, I need to be more vigilant.”
“Harry, I do not want to criticize your home, but there are not many thieves interested in old historical tomes or artifacts from barbaric cultures. I think you are quite safe.”
“I trust I am. Still—I have come to ask to borrow some of your footmen. Only during the night. I suspect old Gerard falls asleep, and would not hear thieves even if they walked right past him.”
“You are welcome to however many footmen you think you need.”
Harry seemed contented with that. He did not leave, however. He uncrossed his legs, then crossed them again. He endeavored to appear like a brother having a friendly chat and nothing more. “Have you seen Emilia while I was gone?”
“A few times. I can’t remember how many.” He remembered perfectly. Three times at parties and balls, and twice in her sister’s home. Besides the day of the child’s birth, there had been a very small gathering two days ago when the duchess made her first appearance out of her chambers since her lying in.
“Did she speak of me?” he asked ever so casually, as if it did not matter. Which meant it still did.
“Briefly. She asked after you. Do not make much of it. She could hardly pretend I was not your brother.” Gabriel rose and got some brandy from a closed section of the study’s bookcases. He poured two glasses and handed Harry one. “It is a big mistake to think of any women as other than passing diversions that come and go. You must train your mind to accept that.”
“Someday you will have to marry. Is that what your duchess will be? A passing diversion?”
“Regrettably she will not go after she comes, but the diversion probably will pass too soon anyway.”
“You are very cynical.”
“I am the voice of experience that for some reason you choose to ignore. Now, enough about old flirtations. How is the book going?”
Harry set down his glass. He began describing his progress on his book in enthusiastic words and tone.
Gabriel glanced down at the letters.
Harry halted midsentence. “You are busy. Worse, I am boring you.”
“Nothing bores me as much as politics so whatever you have to say is a respite. Pray, continue.”
Amanda collected the letters she had penned. They had taken longer than normal. All day while she worked, she had also rehearsed her immediate future in her head. Even singing to herself, which normally aided her concentration, proved futile.
Her plan was simple. She would take her leave of this situation. She would move from her cellar. She would pack up that buckle and deliver it to Morris’s Grocery. Then she would wait on the street to see who came out with the package in his hands and follow him.
Once she knew where he lived, she would arrange to watch to see who visited. If no one did and he left again with the package, she would follow him again. If he left town, and she hoped he did, perhaps he would lead her to her mother. In the least, s
he hoped to discover who held her mother captive.
The first step would be taken today when she informed Lady Farnsworth that she could no longer serve as her secretary. She did not look forward to this part. The lady might ask questions that would force her to lie.
She carried the letters to Lady Farnsworth’s study. Today, Lady Farnsworth labored over her article for the next issue of Parnassus. She did not look up when Amanda entered, but gestured to a table. “Just leave them there. I will give them my attention in due course.”
Amanda placed the letters on the table. “If I might speak to you for a moment.”
“Tomorrow, please. The words are pouring forth, and I dare not interfere with their path.”
“I apologize, but this is very important.”
With a dramatic sigh, Lady Farnsworth turned to look at her. “Then what is it, Miss Waverly? I assume it is very important indeed.” Her tone implied nothing could be important enough.
Amanda swallowed hard. She so appreciated her situation here. She admired Lady Farnsworth. She liked the Amanda who had procured this employment and eventually helped Parnassus and was welcomed at that club.
“I need to inform you that I will be leaving my position here. I have been called out of town on family matters, and there is no telling how long I will need to be gone.”
That garnered Lady Farnsworth’s full attention. She set down her pen and turned in her chair. She pointed to a damask-covered bench against the nearby wall. “Please sit and explain yourself further. Your departure will be most inconvenient. What family matter is it that calls you away?”
“My mother needs me. She requires my attendance in her present condition. I can hardly refuse her.”
Lady Farnsworth’s expression softened. “You have rarely spoken of your family. I assumed they were all—that is to say I just thought . . .”
“My father is gone, but my mother is not.”
“I see. Yes, yes, if she needs you, what else can you do but go to her. But Miss Waverly, are you very sure you cannot return in good time? Is it so serious as that?”
“I do not know yet. However, I think it would be best if you sought a replacement for me. It would not be fair to you to leave with no idea of when I might return. I will explain the same thing to Mrs. Galbreath at the journal. I have her accounts reconciled for the last six months so anyone else will have a clean page.”
A Devil of a Duke Page 11