Temptations of a Duke's Daughter (The Duchess's Investigative Society Book 2)

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Temptations of a Duke's Daughter (The Duchess's Investigative Society Book 2) Page 7

by Samantha Holt


  “Unfortunately for Tom, he is full of nonsense,” said Charlotte. “And Mrs. Lowe will have his head if he finds out he has been gambling again.”

  With sparkling blue eyes crinkled in the corners, and dashes of white in his pale hair, Tom had the sort of soft, friendly looks that immediately endeared one to him. That, and the fact he had been one of the few to treat her without distrust meant she almost viewed him as an ally. Rarely a morning passed without him offering a kind word or trying to make her laugh with one of his awful jokes.

  “Chastity does not think me full of nonsense, do you, girl? Charlotte here is scared of my wife and will not go against her word.” He jabbed a fork in Charlotte’s direction. “Don’t you go snitching to her. I only played a few card games.”

  “I am not scared of her,” Charlotte protested. “And I’m not a snitch either.”

  “She is a fearsome woman,” added Jenny.

  “No doubt she needs to be to put up with you, Tom.” Chastity grinned.

  He pressed a hand to his chest. “You wound me so.” He stabbed a large piece of meat and stuffed it into his mouth, then spoke with his mouth full. “Mrs. Lowe is a fine and rare woman, I will not deny that. However, the world is better off for it. God knows what would happen if there were more than one of them.”

  “Will you be coming to Devon when the earl returns?” Jenny asked. “There isn’t enough work for you here, of that I am certain. Do you have family you will have to leave?”

  “No,” Chastity lied, “And I do not know—”

  “I will be discussing such a matter with his lordship,” interrupted Mrs. Cooke, her brow stern and her tone so sharp they all jumped slightly. “You would do well not to get too comfortable, Mrs. Wilding.”

  Chastity glanced around, almost forgetting the fictional name she had given Mrs. Cooke. Jenny grimaced and mouthed an apology and Chastity bowed her head. With Mrs. Cooke listening into her every conversation, getting information on Julian was no easy task. She closed her eyes briefly and sighed.

  If she was to prove to Lord Kendall she was a woman of her word, she would need to prove herself—and quick. The thought of him smiling all smugly when she confessed she had found out nothing made her want to curl a fist. Eleanor was her first reason for fixing this whole matter but proving to him she could do this and wiping that smirk from his face provided quite the motivation too.

  ∞∞∞

  The icy water of the lake never warmed, even in the height of summer. Some days, Valentine hated the frigid water but pushed himself to do at least a dozen lengths every day. It bit at his skin as he stroked forcefully to the stone edge then back again. He didn’t box or fence and riding meant taking a trip down Rotten Row. So the long rectangular lake installed in the grounds by his grandfather provided the best option for exercise.

  If he was in the country he’d be in the natural lake at the bottom of the sloping lawns, far away from the noise of passing traffic and pedestrians. Despite the generous lawns and the house’s position on the outskirts of London, one could not avoid the truth—he was not in the country.

  And he was out of his element.

  His breaths came hard and fast but he pressed further, pushing his body until he could scarcely feel his limbs and his lungs burned. Had he done twelve lengths? Thirteen? Who knew? It wasn’t enough, though.

  Maybe if he swam until his arms dropped off, he would forget this whole dreadful mess. There had been no further information on Julian, and he had Chastity to add to the pile of problems. He should never have let her go through with this preposterous plan.

  Now she was sneaking into bedrooms and causing all sorts of trouble. She laughed it off, but he could not do the same. His arousal that morning had little to do with the natural inclinations of man and everything to do with her—and having her in his arms.

  All he had to do was remember her soft body against his and it would happen again. Freezing water be damned—nature could not outdo another act of nature it seemed.

  Valentine swam up to the stone and hauled himself out of the water, then snatched the towel waiting on the stone bench at the edge of the pond, wrapping it around his waist then slipping into his shirt. The fabric stuck uncomfortably to his skin but a little discomfort might help him get a grip, he reckoned. Thus far, he had spent his days avoiding women callers and Chastity. A pathetic existence by anyone’s measure. He needed to do something. Even a vigorous swim had left his mind muddled and his body itching to act.

  The trouble was, he did not have Chastity’s confidence that Julian’s death would be solved. They had nothing.

  Of course, she had her sister, who had apparently had a conversation with Julian before his death.

  If he spoke to her, he might court trouble. The woman would wonder at why he was so invested in his servant’s abrupt death.

  Rubbing a hand over his damp beard, he blew out a breath. He could not bring himself to care at present. Something had to be done and waiting around for Chastity to do whatever it was she did was addling his mind.

  Wherever did a duke’s daughter get such confidence in her investigative skills anyway? Could it simply be all that wealth, privilege and adulation that made her this way? He’d met many a privileged woman in his life and none of them had opted to disguise themselves and start pretending they were some private investigator. He really had made a mistake allowing her to run rampant around his house.

  Valentine strode into the house and headed upstairs. Lane waited for him in his bedroom and aided him in dressing. He even conceded to a cravat, for appearance’s sake. The beard could stay however.

  After ordering his carriage ready, he lingered over the morning meal, then headed into the library until a more respectable time. What Chastity might think of him visiting and questioning her sister, he did not know, but he imagined if she was willing to take the role of a servant, she loved her sister dearly.

  He could not deny admiring such loyalty. He’d loved Anne just as much but he must not have shown it enough, or else she would have come to him when she found herself with child. Maybe if he had behaved as Chastity did, the whole matter would not have come to such a sorry outcome.

  Of course, he was not at all inclined to disguise himself as a footman. Only that madwoman could come up with such an idea.

  The journey from his house to the Duke of Daventry’s home reminded Valentine how much he loathed being in London. Despite Heath Lodge being on the outskirts of London and still being relatively busy, it was nothing compared to the center of Town. People flowed through the streets like rivers, not caring if they ran into one another, scarcely stopping to breathe and risking their necks every time they crossed the road. Other vehicles stopped in inconvenient spots, blocking the road, and allowing Valentine far too much time to wonder what he was doing.

  Nothing was the answer. He could sit and wait no longer.

  Guildbury Hall occupied a generous plot not far from the Thames and in the most fashionable and expensive part of London. Set back from the road and surrounded by vast iron gates, the gardens around it offered almost as much of a feeling of countryside as his house did—though one could see passing traffic even when he reached the front door.

  The butler took his card, allowing him time to eye the opulent entranceway—all pillars and shiny flooring with occasional potted plants and elegant vases. The ceiling above offered gilded plasterwork formed into an intricate circle that mimicked the circular tiling on the floor. He peered at the door that led toward the ballroom. A little smile tugged at his lips. If he took a step through there, he’d move into the corridor where he’d run into Chastity for the first time and ruined her shoes.

  A woman in bright purple shades and gray hair pulled into one frizzy braid returned with the butler. The aunt, he recalled, though he could not recall her name at present.

  “Lord Kendall, how...expected.” She grinned. A mostly white cat sidled up beside her and wound itself about her legs. He glanced at the animal.
<
br />   “This is Simon,” she explained.

  “Uh...” He ducked briefly then straightened. What the devil was he doing? Greeting the animal? Dear Lord, he was more addled than he realized.

  “Oh he likes you.” The cat brushed against his trousers, no doubt leaving a trail of white hair upon them.

  “How is my niece?”

  “Uh...”

  “She is still currently employed at your house is she not?”

  He scowled. “You know about that?”

  “I know lots of things.” She took his arm, giving him little opportunity to refuse. “Eleanor is through here, but she is a little delicate, hence why I am greeting you. I wanted to warn you.” She met his gaze. “Though you seem a kindly sort of a man. No doubt you shall do well with her.”

  He let his frown deepen. Kindly? He could not recall ever being described as that before. This family was all mad. It was the only explanation.

  Chapter Nine

  Chastity wrinkled her nose. Floris’ Lime again. Why did the earl have to insist on wearing it? Just a mere whiff made her shudder.

  “Is something the matter?” asked Rose as she stripped the bed down and flung the sheets into a huge basket.

  Chastity unfolded the clean sheet across the earl’s mattress. It had been so long since John’s death she never did understand why the scent still affected her. With one sniff, she found herself young, married and dealing with a manipulative, critical husband.

  “The cologne the earl wears,” Chastity explained. “It reminds me of my late husband.”

  “Oh goodness.” Rose took the other side of the sheet and tucked in one corner with a swift efficiency Chastity had yet to learn. “I am sorry. You must miss him so.”

  “I do.”

  The lie nearly fizzled on her tongue. To even give that man an ounce of her attention rankled her. He deserved none of it and she could not bring herself to mind that he went to his grave early. After all, he brought it upon himself. But Rose had yet to share much about herself with Chastity and she spied an opportunity.

  “Have you ever been married?” she asked.

  Rose shook her head, but a blush lingered on her cheeks. Could her quiet temperament and rosy cheeks mean she was Julian’s secret love?

  “Have you ever been asked?” she pressed with a smile.

  “Perhaps.”

  Chastity affected a sigh. “It is a shame there are not many attractive men in employment here.” She pressed folded the sheet under the corner of the mattress and moved up the bed to do the final corner. “Not for me, of course,” she added. “I do not think I could ever marry again.”

  “Never?” Rose’s eyes widened. “You would wish to be alone forever?”

  “I cannot imagine doing it all again.”

  “You make it sound like a hardship.”

  “It can be,” Chastity admitted.

  She imagined even for those who were happy, there was work to be done, though the effort was worth the outcome for those who truly loved one another. Her parents had enjoyed love and mutual respect and though their match had not been perfect, particularly given her father had sired Eleanor out of wedlock, she’d witnessed them working hard together until her mother’s death to create a good marriage. She did not think John even cared if theirs was good or not, so long as he could control her.

  “But for a good man, it can be worth it,” she added.

  Rose made a face. “There are few good men. The man who proposed to me turned out to be a drunkard.”

  “A lucky escape then.”

  “For certain. He was mightily handsome, and I might well have ended up married to him had I not caught him drunk one evening.”

  “Did he work here?”

  “No, thank goodness.”

  “I heard the man who died was handsome. Did you think so?” Chastity asked and held her breath while she waited for Rose’s response. The question wasn’t as subtle as she might like but such a drought of information had grown infuriating.

  “Oh yes, Julian was handsome indeed. God rest his soul. He caught many an eye.”

  “Was he courting someone?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe someone back home. He had not worked here that long.”

  “Where was home?”

  “Not far from London, I believe.” Rose pressed a finger to her lips. “I think he said his parents were in Surrey. I’m not certain.” She sighed. “He was such a nice man.”

  “What a loss.”

  Rose nodded. “I do not think he would commit such an act. No one here does. But then everyone has their secrets.” She swung a brief look at Chastity before bundling up the rest of the bedding and shoving it in the basket. “You can manage from here, can you not?”

  Chastity nodded and busied herself stretching a sheet over the bed and carefully tucking in the corners. Did Rose mean she suspected Chastity had a secret or was it that Rose had one and she wanted to confess it?

  Adding a blanket to the bed, she took a long inhale of the clean fabric. At least the fragrance of the earl’s cologne had gone with the dirty sheets.

  Now if she could only forget the scent from when she had been smothered against Lord Kendall’s chest, all would be right in the world.

  ∞∞∞

  “Do you try to look intimidating or is it just natural?” Chastity shut the library door gently and strode over to where Valentine had plucked out a copy of Paradise Lost to peruse whilst waiting for her to arrive.

  He’d read approximately one word. Over and over again.

  A brow raised, he eyed her. “I did not realize reading a book was at all intimidating.”

  “Very well, brooding then.” She waved a hand up and down him. “I just wanted to know if this combination was intentional. An attempt to frighten people away for some reason perhaps.”

  “This—” he gestured to himself, mimicking the wild hand waving “—is how I look. There’s little I can do about it. Men do not have all the lotions and perfumes and fripperies women do.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I think Beau Brummel might disagree. You do not see women stuffing their stockings with horsehair.”

  He gave a shudder. “Heaven forbid.”

  “Of course, you could shave. Or get a haircut.” She paused. “Or change your cologne,” she muttered.

  “My cologne?”

  Chastity’s lips thinned and she shrugged. “I do not like it, that’s all. It’s too...cologney.”

  “Really? Cologney?” He put a hand to the back of his neck. He wore that cologne because it was what he’d worn since his years as a young man at Cambridge. He’d never thought too much about the actual scent of it.

  “It does not matter.”

  “No.” He set the book back, sliding it in between the rest of the matching leather-bound volumes. “You wished to speak on a matter?”

  “Yes.” She strode over to one of the armchairs set by the empty fire.

  Lamps were lit upon the mantelpiece, casting her in a flattering amber glow. Not that Chastity needed the soft light to make her look any prettier. Even after a day of work, there was no hiding what a handsome woman she was. Her hair stuck out at angles from under her cap and her apron was creased. He spied tiny shadows under her eyes too. But none of it mattered. She certainly did not need lotions and perfumes and fripperies.

  Sinking down with a sigh, she dragged over the footstool and set her feet upon it. “That’s better.”

  He eyed her with lifted brows. “Are you content, my lady?”

  “You have me playing maid to you all day, my lord. Is one small break not allowed?”

  “I suppose.” He had to admit she had lasted longer than expected. For someone who lived the most privileged of lives, even in comparison to his, she had a certain determination to her that was to be admired. “Though cease calling me ‘my lord’ in private. It feels...odd.”

  “Oh?”

  “You are my equal if not my better, and we both know that.”

  “Har
dly. I married out of my title long ago.”

  “It does not change the fact you are the daughter of a duke.” He eased onto the chair opposite, not allowing himself the luxury of sinking into the softened leather.

  The scene struck him as far too familiar and something he had never, ever wanted—not since it had become apparent the ladies of his acquaintance had entirely different morals to himself. She would be no different, he reminded himself. Her entire life revolved around the ton and nothing could change years of being so enmeshed into such a lifestyle.

  Not that he wanted her to change, of course. It did not matter one jot what she did with her life. Let her do this investigation nonsense and be on her way. With any luck, she might really find something useful and he could know for certain what happened to his nephew.

  “What should I call you then? Kendall?”

  “Good God, you are not a member of one of the gentlemen’s clubs.”

  She tilted her head, reminding him how elegant the arch of her neck was. Was it really so difficult for her to just keep her head upright?

  “You go to gentlemen’s clubs?”

  “Well, I used to.”

  Many, many years ago before his father died, and he was living the life of the classic wealthy bachelor. It still made him cringe to think of that time. A life filled with nothing but drinking, dancing, gaming and a few women too. What an utter waste.

  “What do your lovers call you?”

  He shook his head. Did this woman ever cease being so bold? “You are most certainly not my lover,” he pointed out.

  “I just wondered what the women in your life call you.”

  “You have lived here long enough to know I have no women in my life.” He gestured about the empty library. “Perhaps it’s because I am so intimidating.” He mimicked her words with a smirk.

  “Well, looks like we are stuck with ‘my lord.’”

  “Or you may call me Valentine.”

  “Valentine,” she repeated, her brows knitting.

 

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