Must. Not. Think. On. It.
Oh look. He had hair. A fine thing to look at. She fixed her attention there. Wild and untamed, it looked as though he had been shoving fingers through it. What she had come to learn, however, was that he preferred a wilder look, entirely at odds with the usual ‘gentleman in residence’ look.
Forgoing any nod to civility, the hair on his jaw had grown to a lengthy stubble, shadowing and contouring his sharp features. What would the bristle feel like? She bunched her hands at her side. What did it matter? He might look better undomesticated than any other man she had known but it certainly did not give her reason to wish to touch him.
Had she forgotten how much of a feel she’d endured that morning in his bedroom already? She hardly wished for a repeat of that. Men were an utter waste of time and space in her experience and while Cassie might have found happiness with one exceedingly rare one, Lord Kendall was certainly not one of those uncommon specimens.
“We will not be disturbed,” he assured her and strode over to the library table, resting against the dark leather top with his arms folded.
A slight flutter beat in her chest.
“You can meet me here in future,” he explained further. “Should you wish to discuss the investigation.”
“Oh! Yes. The investigation.”
“A little more appropriate than my bedroom I think.”
“Indeed.” She looked down to the polished parquet floor.
“I wanted to, uh, apologize for the other morning. I understand why you have been avoiding me.”
Chastity met his gaze and offered a quick flash of a smile. If he thought her some meek mild debutant who could be frightened off by a mere arousal, he thought wrong. Though she had been avoiding him she supposed...But that was beside the point.
“I am a widow, my lord. I am not unfamiliar with men and their...predicaments. Especially in the morning. It is my understanding that it is quite common at that time of day.”
A dark brow lifted. “Yes. Precisely. A mere unfortunate natural predicament.” He gave a slanted smile. “I am glad you understand.”
“Is that all?” She gestured to the door. “I have duties to attend.”
“How are you finding it? Being a servant? Quite a drop from being a duke’s daughter I should think?”
“I am not afraid of hard work.”
“Really?”
She resisted the urge to tell him all that she had done as part of her mother’s investigative group. It wasn’t even the first time she had disguised herself. While most of their adventures did not involve much physical toil, it took courage, intelligence and diligence. It had been a long time since she’d lounged around like a pampered young miss. She doubted he would do anything other than laugh at her, though.
“I am entirely capable of handling this investigation if that is your fear.”
“But you have yet to discover anything?”
“The servants are reluctant to discuss Julian. His manner of death was so shameful, they fear speaking of it.”
His expression hardened, his eyes becoming two flinty dark pools. There was something to be admired in the fact he cared about this servant’s death but why did it anger him so?
“I shall find out more,” she hastened to add. “I just need a little longer. I am certain he was in love with one of the servants—there are three of them who are possibilities. They are around his age and unattached.” She shrugged. “Of course, he could have been having an affair with one of the married ladies.”
“No.”
“Well, we should consider all—”
“No,” he repeated firmly. “He would not have done such a thing.”
Chastity scowled. “I do not see how you could know—”
“I just know, Chastity. Trust me on that.”
The use of her name made her freeze. He said it in such a scolding manner that it made her feel six and ten again and newly married.
And being thoroughly scolded by her husband. Chills ran through her, pooling deep in her stomach and causing it to clench. She fought the need to press a fist to her heart and massage it back into life.
“Chastity?”
She exhaled and felt the blood rush back to her face with the second use of her name—the word softer, touched with concern.
She smiled swiftly. “I shall keep trying to find out what I can, anyway. Just give me time. Everyone gives up their secrets to me eventually.”
“Everyone?”
She nodded and grinned. “Everyone.”
He folded his arms again and eyed her, that quizzical brow still arched. “We shall see.”
“Yes, we shall,” she replied, her chin lifted. If he had any secrets—which she suspected he did given his reclusive manner—she would find those out too. Then he would not be looking at her so smugly.
∞∞∞
When the butler entered the library, Valentine’s gut clenched. Pale-faced and slightly trembling, Mr. Daniels offered a note upon a silver platter. He’d never known the man to be anything other than forever composed. It could only mean one thing—the news was grave indeed.
His thoughts flew to his mother in Italy. At sixty years of age, she enjoyed the warmer weather and busy life there and had seemed in fine health when he saw her last year. But things could change in seven months.
Valentine gestured impatiently and Daniels hastened over, offering out the platter as though it held a venomous snake rather than the delicate imprinted card. He took it and frowned.
“Lady Jameson is here to see me?”
Daniels nodded, the sheen of sweat upon his upper lip glinting.
“To see me?” Valentine repeated.
“With her daughters. Three of them,” Daniels replied, his voice strained.
“Why the devil would they visit with me?”
“I believe...” Daniels audibly swallowed. “Word of your residence has got around. The Season might be over, my lord, but there are many young ladies still in Town and—”
“And they believe me an eligible lord who must be in want of a wife,” Valentine finished for him.
“Indeed, my lord.”
He fisted the card in his hand. Damn it all. The last time he had entertained visitors had been shortly before his sister’s death. After that, he avoided hosting dinners, balls or anything vaguely sociable. Twenty years of peace and now Chastity had come into his life and smashed it to smithereens.
He could not blame her really, he supposed. After all, it had been his choice to remain in London. Lord knew, she wanted him back in the country but there was no chance he was leaving her to wreak whatever havoc she could without him watching over her. Besides, he owed it to Julian to remain.
Which meant he would have to at least greet these visitors.
“I shall handle this, Daniels. Do not fear.”
The butler dipped his head, revealing the thin, precise line of his part amongst gray, carefully pomaded hair. Daniels looked the part. He on the other hand…
He rose, shoved a hand through his hair and touched his bare neck. One look at him would surely frighten away any genteel woman or overbearing mothers surely? Society dictated he present a much smarter, less scandalous appearance, but luckily for him, he did not give a fig what Society wanted.
As he stepped into the parlor room, he realized his mistake. If Lady Jameson noted his stubble, unruly hair and lack of a neckcloth, it would pale behind the truth of the matter which was he was a bachelor earl who was surely in want of an heir. And to Lady Jameson, any one of her daughters would be a good match.
He glanced at the three young women—the emphasis being on young. One of them had to be no more than six and ten, while the others were closer to the age his sister had been when she died. Not at all near his forty years. Even if he did decide to forgo his morals for the sake of siring a son, he would not inflict himself on some starry-eyed girl. If he were to marry, he would want someone closer to his age, someone with more experience of the worl
d.
Someone like Chastity.
But that was irrelevant. He wasn’t going to marry anyway. He had distant cousins somewhere. They or their children could take over the title after he was gone—it had lost all meaning after the death of his father anyway.
“Lady Jameson.” He offered a bow, his hands clasped behind his back.
“My daughters, Lucille, Miss Lily Sharp and Miss Lavinia Sharp.” She gestured to the three fair-haired girls who all dipped so deeply it made him wince.
“A pleasure,” he manage to mutter. None of the girls looked him in the eye and he doubted they had any more desire to be here than he did. No doubt they saw him as an ancient recluse, and he did not mind keeping up that impression at all. “I am sorry to say you have had a wasted journey, Lady Jameson. I am not taking visitors and I have work to be getting back to.” He twisted away.
“But, Lord Kendall, it is visiting hour.” Lady Jameson darted forward and he half expected her to block the exit from his own damned room.
“I do not do visiting hour, my lady. If someone said I did, they misled you. I am quite busy.”
“A moment of your time surely, my lord? A busy man such as yourself needs a rest from their tiresome work and I am sure my daughters would be delighted to provide some entertainment—a little tune on the pianoforte perhaps? All three are immensely skilled in the arts.”
“I must repeat myself, Lady Jameson. I am too busy. Please excuse me.” He darted out of the room and heard Lady Jameson huff, but he suspected her daughters all released a collective sigh of relief.
Daniels prevented him from escaping back to the library. He peered around the man to see a cluster of women upon his doorstep through the front window. He darted back quickly when one of them spotted him.
“My lord?” He lifted the tray stacked high with calling cards.
“I’m not in, Daniels. Tell them I’m not bloody in.” He was not spending all day fending off over-eager Society women.
“I shall do my best, my lord.” The butler’s rounded cheeks reddened. He gestured to the window. “I think they saw you.” He glanced over his shoulders. “And they are quite determined.”
“Get Mrs. Cooke on the case if needs be. She has more balls than most of the male servants combined.” Valentine fixed his butler with a pointed look. “You can manage a few women I am sure, Daniels.”
“And you cannot, my lord. I understand.”
Daniels ducked away before Valentine could snap back a response. Damn the impertinent man. If anyone understood how little he cared for Society, it was Daniels. He’d been with the family since his father had been in the last years of his earldom.
A woman’s face appeared at the window, her nose practically pressed to the glass.
Bloody hell.
Valentine marched through the house, down the servant’s stairs and down another set of stairs until he entered the cool shelter of the servant’s tunnel. Not used anymore, it had originally been installed so servants could move through the house undetected. The tunnel offered a cold, dark space that sometimes dripped with damp and it seemed easier for the servants to forgo it—after all, he hardly cared if he happened to run into one of them.
He leaned back against the cool stone and blew out a breath. Had it really come to this? Hiding in his own house?
A little squeak made him jump away from the wall. He turned and eyed the source of the sound.
Chastity pressed a hand to her chest. “You startled me. I did not hear you come in.”
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“Hiding. I am friends with Lady Jameson and her daughters. I feared she would recognize me. What about you?”
“Hiding too,” he admitted.
“Lord Kendall is scared of a few sweet debutantes?”
“Not scared,” he grumbled. “I simply have no desire to deal with them.”
She pushed away from the wall and took a few moments to study him. He felt rather like an alien specimen, mounted and ready to be observed and noted in great detail. Chastity Whitaker did not seem to do things by half measures, including sending a cursory glance over one’s appearance. She forever left him feeling conscious of every part of himself.
“You are curious, my lord. A grown man incapable of dealing with a few women.”
“There looked to be about a hundred on my doorstep this afternoon.”
Even in the darkness of the tunnel, he saw her fix him with a raised brow.
“There was enough, anyway,” he mumbled.
“Now, why would you wish to avoid pretty women, my lord?”
“No reason other than I value my time too much.”
She shook her head. “There is more to it than that, I am certain of it. And you shall tell me why eventually.”
He didn’t need daylight to tell him her expression had grown smug. No one knew his secrets with the exception of Lane and the Harpers and that was not going to change. So why did a small part of him almost believe her? And what on earth had happened to this woman to make her so blasted confident of herself?
Oh yes and why did he rather like that confidence? He leaned against the cool, damp stone and tilted his head back. What a mess his simple life had become.
Chapter Eight
There were lots of things Chastity missed about her old life—comfy beds, feet that did not pound, her sisters—naturally—but the food had to be what she yearned for the most. The fare on offer at Heath Lodge was not the worst, but the lack of variety meant one day blurred into the next and she had already been here far too long. Much longer, and she might try to persuade the earl to change the menu.
“I still cannot believe we have been in London for so long,” said Jenny.
“I’m not complaining,” Charlotte said around a mouthful of potatoes.
“As you should not be,” said Mr. Daniels from his position at the head of the table. He sat ramrod straight, always the picture of the perfect butler.
Mrs. Cooke’s posture matched, and she wondered if they had competitions to see who could sit straighter. Both watched over everyone with a paternal eye, but Mrs. Cooke still treated her with coolness.
“It’s fine for Mr. Daniels,” Jenny muttered to Chastity. “He has no family anyway.”
Chastity eagerly scooped up a forkful of the tender pork. Bored with her food or not, she found herself ravenous at the end of the day. Not that her day was even over. How one was meant to conduct a successful investigation when she could scarcely keep her eyes open by the evening she did not know. Jenny reckoned it only took a week for one to get used to the early mornings, but Chastity had yet to find them anything other than utter misery. She spent the first hour of her day walking around in a daze.
“Your family is in Devon then?” Chastity asked Jenny.
Though she and Charlotte shared a room, she had yet to find out much from her about the other girls. They talked a little before bed, but she struggled to get a word in sometimes when Jenny started talking. The fair-haired young woman had naturally rosy cheeks, a petite nose, and a lovely heart-shaped face that made one want to tuck her under a wing and protect her from the world. Her lively personality appealed to Chastity, however, it did not make it easy to ask her questions. She had offered little information on Julian or the other women who worked in the house.
But perhaps if she got Jenny talking, the others would join in. Seated opposite her was one of the women she suspected could have been Julian’s lover, Rose. The other was Charlotte and the cook’s assistant Ivy. All three were unmarried and young. Any one of them could be a woman in mourning, Chastity decided, and though Charlotte was the least likely, given she had a rather dry but humorous disposition, she did not wish to discount her. In her experience, however, people mourned in so many different ways.
Jenny nodded. “We’re tenants at one of the farms there, but I have six siblings, so the living is expensive. Lord Kendall offered me a position in his house though he hardly needs the additional help.�
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“Six siblings? Do you have sisters? I have—” She stilled and jabbed her fork into a potato, stuffing it into her mouth before she could say more. Fool that she was, she’d almost talked of her sisters. The less people knew of her real life the better.
“You have sisters?”
She nodded and quickly shoved another potato into her mouth. “Mmm hmmm.”
“I hope to have as many children.” Jenny sighed and put her elbow to the table, then rested her cheek on a closed fist. “But it’s so hard to meet men in Devon.”
Chastity’s stomach tightened and a frisson speared upward through her, landing in her heart and making one sickening thud. She’d wanted children once too, but now it seemed she never would. As soon as the joy of her marriage had faded and she realized who her true husband was, she had done all she could to ensure she could not conceive. She would never inflict such controlling and bullying ways on a child.
But it didn’t matter now. She had a satisfying and busy life as well as wealth and independence. She should most certainly not envy Jenny and her hard-working lifestyle.
“I imagine Lord Kendall offered you a position here for much the same reason.” Jenny eyed her for a few moments before returning her attention to her food.
“I suppose so,” Chastity murmured. If someone had told her Lord Kendall was the charitable sort when she had first met him, she would have laughed in their face. Now she was not so certain her first impression of him was true, but she could not put her finger on why.
“What with you losing your husband and all.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Well, I am quite happy to spend the rest of my days in London,” Tom Lowe, the head footman, declared. “In fact, I might request to remain here with the London staff when we are to return.”
Jenny rolled her eyes and jabbed a fork in Tom’s direction. “Just because you do not appreciate Mrs. Lowe one jot.”
“My wife is a gem. A gem best kept at a distance.” Tom grinned at Chastity. “She has a keen right hook and no tolerance for nonsense.”
Temptations of a Duke's Daughter (The Duchess's Investigative Society Book 2) Page 6