Lord Margrave's Secret Desire (Gentlemen of Intrigue Book 4)

by Samantha Grace

  She groaned. “Please, not again. I cannot listen to any more monologues about what I deserve or don’t deserve. And why do I not deserve to have what I want, which is you? Why do you insist on pushing me away?”

  “Because you do not want me. You want a version of me that does not exist. I am not a family man. I never will be. Marry a man who can make you happy.”

  “According to you, that man does not exist. You’ve objected to every gentleman who has shown me attention. Law!” She flopped against the seat and took a cleansing breath. How could she want to throttle the man and kiss him at the same time? She decided to change her strategy. “I imagine it gets lonely in that big house of yours.”

  He shrugged. “I am barely there.”

  “See? You must be lonely. You cannot bring yourself to stay there, and you probably haven’t been to the family seat in years.”

  “I am not avoiding home—either one. I have responsibilities abroad that call me away often. Fortunately, I employ an excellent man of business and land steward who keep me well informed.”

  She huffed. “Responsibilities abroad. What nonsense. You have wanderlust like Uncle Charles. Heaven forbid either of you should stand still long enough to take root any place. You both crave adventure.”

  “How well you know me, Sophia. I am an adventurer.” He sounded a tad sarcastic and bitter, although she couldn’t fathom what would make him so. “It wouldn’t be fair to leave my wife at home alone.”

  “It would not, but that is the beauty of taking me for your wife. I crave adventure, too. Allow me to travel with you. Papa never left home without Mama at his side.”

  Even though her parents had met with a cruel end, Sophia took comfort in knowing they had been together and neither of them must live without the other.

  “That is impossible,” Crispin said.

  “Why?”

  He gently took her by her shoulders and turned her so they were eye-to-eye. “I need you to hear me and understand. Matrimony will change nothing for me. I will continue to be called away often, and you will be in that big house or tucked away in the country alone. This is the only life you will be allowed to have with me. I know it isn’t what you want, but it cannot be changed. Carefully consider this before deciding you want me for your husband.”

  She shook out of his hold and returned to her seat across the carriage. “Well, you have given me much to think about on top of the Lady Van Middleburg situation.”

  “There is nothing for you to do about Lady Van Middleburg. Strike it from your mind, and I will address the matter.”

  “You cannot command my thoughts, Margrave. And you should carefully consider whether you want to leave me alone when I become your wife. No telling what kind of trouble I might get into without you around to boss me.”

  “Fair point.” He smiled, even though it seemed to pain him. “Lanfort Castle has an old dungeon. I suppose I could toss you in shackles if you are too much to handle.”

  She was heartened to hear him speak of a future together, and he was only teasing about the dungeon. They were making progress.

  “The shackles must be gold,” she said. “Iron irritates my skin.”

  “Only the best for Miss Sophia Darlington.”

  “At last, we agree, and there is no one better suited for me than you.”

  He grumbled a bit under his breath, but he was smiling.

  “Now, about Lady Van Middleburg.” She met his gaze, holding it and daring him to tell her to mind her own affairs again. “I am uncertain how today’s event relates to Regina and her husband’s encounter with the elder Duke of Stanhurst and Lord Geoffrey, but it does not require a genius to conclude a connection exists.”

  Crispin’s face turned to stone. “What encounter? Is this what you have been keeping from me?”

  “Regina and Evangeline would be displeased with me for saying anything, but since I am the only one who must suffer your ill-temper...”

  The fire was back in his eyes. When it appeared she was about to receive a scolding to end all scoldings, she blurted what she knew about the men’s untimely demises.

  “The duke and Lord Geoffrey interrupted Regina’s wedding night at the Pulteney Hotel. Stanhurst came looking for his mistress, but Claudine was safe at Wedmore House. He had convinced himself Xavier and Claudine were having an affair.”

  She waved away Margrave’s question before he could voice it.

  “It’s a much longer story and unimportant now. Regina hid while the duke tore apart Xavier’s rooms. Stanhurst found nothing, but he was not satisfied. He forced Xavier to lead him to Claudine, but Xavier would never place us in danger by bringing him to Wedmore House.”

  “He led them to the docks.”

  “Yes, but Xavier didn’t murder the duke or his son. The murderer is a man named Farrin. I do not know if it is a first or last name.”

  Crispin’s eyes flared slightly while his expression remained unchanged. It was enough to rouse her suspicion.

  “Do you know this Farrin fellow?” she asked.

  “The name is familiar, but I cannot place him. Who is he?”

  Sophia didn’t know whether she believed him, but he had no reason to lie. “Farrin is a thief for hire with a special interest in antiquities. He sent Xavier into Wedmore House to steal a map from Uncle Charles.”

  “Your sister married a thief?”

  “No, Farrin is the thief. Xavier was trying to earn his freedom.”

  “Freedom from—?”

  She held up a hand, interrupting. “Again, this detail is unimportant. What matters is Farrin murdered the duke and his son, and the blackguard would have killed my sister and her husband if Benny hadn’t acted the hero.”

  “Where is Farrin now?” he asked in a quiet voice. “The magistrate did not take him into custody. By all accounts, no crime was ever committed. How did Farrin escape punishment?”

  “He didn’t, exactly.” She took a deep breath to calm the butterflies fluttering in her belly. Crispin was a reasonable man. He would understand. “Please believe me, Benny did nothing wrong. He tried to save Farrin even though the blackguard didn’t deserve mercy, but it was hopeless. Farrin drowned in the Thames. I expect the watermen will discover his fate eventually.”

  The muscles in Crispin’s jaw bulged several times while his penetrating stare agitated the butterflies inside her. The silence became unbearable. “Do you have nothing to say?” she asked.

  “You’ve kept this secret for weeks. When I asked you what you knew about Stanhurst and Lord Geoffrey, you held your tongue.”

  “I understand you are unhappy”—she licked her dry lips—“but I was respecting my sister’s wishes. You have a tendency to take charge of situations, and Regina needs to be in control. You know this about her. She did not want Auntie to know either.”

  “You are not Regina. I appealed to you. I trusted you to be honest with me.”

  “I know.” A lump formed in her throat; she swallowed around it. She couldn’t hold his gaze any longer and stared at her lap.

  She could pretend her reticence had stemmed from a promise to keep her sister’s confidence or blame it on a desire to protect Benny, but both were partial truths. She had kept Crispin in the dark, because it had felt like justice. Tit for tat. He pushed her away; she closed him out.

  “I am sorry,” she murmured. “If I could have foreseen the consequences... But how was I to know you would have an interest in this matter?”

  “You believe I have no interest in your welfare or that of your sisters?”

  Her head popped up. “No, I have never questioned your loyalty to us. Your interest in the duke is surprising. Please, forgive me for not being forthcoming. I would never forgive myself if Lady Van Middleburg’s man had harmed you.”

  The planes of Crispin’s handsome face lost their hard edges, and his chest deflated as he exhaled. “I do not hold you responsible for today. This was my doing. You saw first hand the danger involved, so I will ask you to le
ave this alone.”

  While she understood his wishes, she could not agree, and they were nearing Wedmore House without being any closer to solving the problem of Lady Van Middleburg. Sophia didn’t trust the woman would be satisfied with today’s outcome, and her actions proved she shouldn’t be underestimated. “Who do you think Lady Van Middleburg’s associates are?”

  Crispin drew back. “How do you know she has associates?”

  “A lady cannot hire thugs without assistance. She would risk being recognized and her reputation would suffer. How would she even know where to find men of sullied character?”

  “Sound reasoning. You have given me a good place to turn my attention.”

  She sighed, happy he was accepting her help. The carriage was slowing. “I feel I must repeat my apology for not being forthcoming earlier. You have my word it will not happen again.”

  He reached across the space; she placed her hand in his. “Thank you, Sophia.”

  It wasn’t until he saw her settled at Wedmore House and took his leave that she realized he hadn’t given the same promise of honesty.

  Law! He’d even sidestepped her question about why he was poking his snout where it didn’t belong in the first place. Perhaps she must resort to sitting on him after all.

  Nine

  After sundown that evening, Crispin was saved a climb to the second floor balcony when he discovered an unlocked window at the Duke of Stanhurst’s town house. He marveled at the duke’s lackadaisical approach to security as he slipped inside undetected. One would expect a double murder in the family to urge one into securing the premises, but that was not the case at Walsh Place.

  If he were to offer Stanhurst advice, he would start with a discussion of the household staff. Their habits left the duke vulnerable to thieves and all sorts of men of unsavory character. Two days earlier at the Covent Garden market, Crispin had encountered a chatty young kitchen maid under the duke’s employ. He had walked away from the meeting with knowledge of the household routines, the duke’s dining schedule for the week, and much of the servants’ gossip.

  As he inched toward the main staircase with his boots in hand, the faint sound of conversation emanated from the hall below. The servants were sitting down to supper. On the evenings that the duke was away, the butler demanded every house servant arrive to the table at the appointed time. According to the maid, the butler commanded the household like a captain would a ship. Everything had a place, routines never varied, and tardiness was punished.

  Knowing he would not be discovered any time soon, Crispin did not rush on the stairs. He reached the landing and veered toward the duke’s quarters in the South wing. Once, he’d caught Stanhurst peering at him from a window in this part of the house, even though his servants had insisted the duke wasn’t in residence.

  The second door Crispin tried led to the duke’s bedchamber. He let himself inside. A small fire burned in the hearth, chasing away the chill of evening and casting long shadows in the room.

  Stanhurst’s valet would come above stairs in two hours to turn down the bedding and light a lamp, allowing Crispin to search the room at his leisure. Hell, he might even help himself to the decanter on the side table before retiring to the adjoining bedchamber to await the duke’s return.

  He dropped his boots on the thick carpet and approached the table to ascertain if the duke preferred brandy or scotch. Crispin’s father used to say one could tell a man’s character from his choice of spirits. Since the meeting with his brother months earlier, he had been cataloguing memories of his father. Perhaps some part of him hoped for another opportunity to share them with Alexander, although their awkward parting almost guaranteed Crispin’s brother would not seek him out again.

  Their sire had been a great father. Even when he had lain in his sick bed, his only concern had been for Crispin.

  Wedmore will see that you want for nothing. I have his word he will watch over you when I cannot.

  All Crispin’s life, his father had seen to it that he receive the best of everything, and Alexander would have enjoyed the same advantages if their mother hadn’t taken him away. The stables had been stocked with the highest quality horseflesh. Crispin’s early education came from the most prestigious tutors. Even his godfather had been chosen to better him.

  In his younger days, Charles Wedmore had been a superior sportsman, something Crispin’s father’s weak heart had never allowed him to be. Everything Crispin needed to know about being a man, he had learned from his father’s oldest friend.

  Crispin removed the silver stopper from the decanter to examine it closer. It was engraved with the Stanhurst ram and the Latin words fortis in arduis.

  “Fortune favors the brave,” he murmured.

  The duke was not upholding the family motto by hiding behind his servants. Perhaps he would redeem himself tonight and prove he was braver than he appeared.

  Crispin poured two fingers into a glass and sampled the liquor. Brandy. A man averse to taking risks, his father would say. Crispin would test his father’s theory when he had Stanhurst in front of him.

  Sophia’s observation that Lady Van Middleburg had required a man’s assistance to hire ruffians was astute. Perhaps Stanhurst was that man; perhaps he was not. With Sophia safe at home with her aunt, Crispin had all night to persuade the duke to talk.

  Sophia had begged his discretion when they had arrived at Wedmore House earlier. She didn’t wish to worry Aunt Beatrice unnecessarily by telling her about the attack, especially since Sophia had escaped the ordeal without injury. Crispin had agreed to keep quiet for the moment on one condition; she must claim a headache and beg off attending the opera that evening.

  He did not condone lying to her kin, but the account might lead to questions about what she had been doing in the alley, and Sophia deserved time to decide if she truly wanted to become his wife. She was young and idealistic, but she was sensible, too. Once she realized a union with him would not be as she dreamed, she would likely reconsider.

  “Devil take it,” he muttered as a slow burn invaded his gut. He abandoned the brandy and took a turn around the room, his mood irritable now.

  He learned all he could from the duke’s belongings then grabbed his boots from the floor and retired to the adjoining bedchamber to await Stanhurst’s return. The valet came at the appointed hour. Crispin tracked his movements by sound: the thud of another log on the fire, the squeak of wardrobe doors, and eventually the closing of the bedchamber door and footsteps fading in the corridor.

  The duke arrived home a short while later. Outside the adjoining bedchamber door, he told one of the servants he did not wish to be disturbed. “I will ring if I require assistance.”

  “Aye, Your Grace.”

  Crispin waited until the rustling sounds coming from the duke’s room ceased before creeping toward the adjoining door. It opened on a well-oiled hinge, making no sound.

  Stanhurst was sitting in the brown leather chair with his back to him; a book lay open on his lap. Crispin left the door ajar and slipped into the room. He took care with his steps, having learned which floorboards to avoid when he had explored the room earlier. He stopped a couple of feet from the duke.

  “At last, you are in residence, Your Grace.”

  Stanhurst startled and dropped the book. It landed with a thump on the carpet.

  Keeping the duke’s hands within sight to make certain he didn’t reach for a weapon, Crispin rounded the chair, pointing his own firearm at Stanhurst. The duke’s frigid gray gaze swept over him.

  “You are a determined man, Lord Margrave. I cannot decide if I find your tenacity impressive or vexing.”

  “No need to play coy. I am certain it is the latter.” Crispin sat on the chair opposite the duke and lowered the pistol to his lap without relaxing his guard. “You have been avoiding me, Stanhurst.”

  “And yet, here you are.” The duke hadn’t blinked since Crispin sat. “I surmise you are not one for subtle rebuffs.”

 
“Subtlety has never been my preferred method of communication. It requires more effort than it is worth.” He leaned back in the chair and propped his ankle across his knee. “Security is lax around here. You should speak with your servants. No telling what manner of vermin might find their way inside.”

  Stanhurst’s stony expression didn’t alter. “As you have demonstrated. Will that be all? You interrupted me at an especially interesting place in my reading.”

  Crispin read the title on the book spine. A Treatise on the Mathematical Principals of Architectural Symmetry. “Doubtful, but like you, I would rather be otherwise engaged this evening. I will be brief. What do you know about your father’s involvement with a man called Farrin?”

  No flicker of recognition crossed Stanhurst’s face. “A man with only one name?”

  “That is what he calls himself. I suspect it is an alias.”

  “I do not make a habit of mingling with men who require an alias, and I have never heard of him.”

  The duke’s measured calm was impressive. He would make a worthy foe if they were equally matched, but they were not. Crispin’s training afforded him an advantage.

  “I was under the impression your father and brother knew Farrin well,” Crispin said. “They entertained him at Claudine Bellerose’s town house on several occasions.”

  Stanhurst sniffed and proudly looked down his regal nose at him. “I’ve devoted the last five years to running the family estate and tending to my sisters while my father pursued his own interests. I did not keep abreast of his personal affairs.”

  “You cannot deny you are familiar with your father’s mistress. You gifted her with the deed to the house in Marylebone after his death. One might surmise you were paying her to keep your father’s secrets.”

  Stanhurst scoffed. “My father had no secrets. Everyone knew of his obsession with the actress. I can assure you from the wariness in which I am regarded at every gathering, no one has forgotten about his cruel treatment of her either. I presented Miss Bellerose with the deed to put this nasty business behind me. Is all this sneaking around and questioning my servants on behalf of Miss Bellerose? Did she put you up to it?”