Derek smiled. “You’re just annoyed because I won the wager within minutes of our departure. You were foolish to think you could hold your seat longer than I, considering my experience riding stormy seas.”
Silence followed as each man returned to his thoughts.
About an hour later a change in the gait of the horses signaled a nearing of the city. Dense woods fell away from the road, and the intermittent brightness of the full moon flashed through the windows, freezing their expressions with the stark emotion of their thoughts. As the horses slowed to a trot and the movement of the coach became a steady, forward motion, both men settled comfortably in their seats.
“This is your last chance to change your mind,” Stephen said, the tense set of his jaw revealing his mood, “because if we don’t pull off this masquerade, I don’t want to even think about the consequences.”
Derek drew his gaze from the window and settled it on his friend of more than twenty years. “We will pull it off. Every possibility has been anticipated and analyzed, and the appropriate actions accordingly planned. I’ve been over each step of my plan a thousand times during the past six months, and I tell you without a single doubt that we will pull it off.” He relaxed against the seat, displaying a purposefully lazy smile. “You ought to believe me. After all, I’m nothing if not thorough.”
Stephen chuckled at his own words being used against him, his mood instantly lightened, as Derek had planned. They were within a quarter hour of making their appearance at the Grantham ball, where each of them had a part to play in Derek’s risky scheme. Stephen would fail miserably in his part if he continued to focus on what could go wrong.
“Yes, thorough is but one word I’ve used to describe you,” Stephen said. “There are plenty of others that are at least as descriptive, though many would contradict another. But that’s why I’ve let myself be coerced into helping you with this hare-brained scheme. I’m just a little bit interested to see how you manage to pull it off.”
“Coerced, my eye. And you’re just a little bit interested? The first few words were barely out of my mouth before you were chomping at the bit to get involved. You’re exactly as you were in school, but I warn you: just because you managed to fool the headmaster with your ‘I didn’t want to but he made me do it’ routine, don’t think you’ll get away with that here. If you’re only a little bit interested, I’ll have the driver pull up and let you out.”
“All right, all right, I confess I was itching to get at this, but can you blame me?” Stephen’s excited grin evoked Derek’s memories of the boy who’d so convincingly conned headmaster and maids alike when they’d been in school. “This reminds me of old times and truly, I wondered if those would ever be again. From the moment you arrived back in England, you’ve thrown yourself into managing your inheritance as though the entire country depended upon it. This little escapade gives me hope that the real Derek is still alive, even if hiding behind the façade of dreary duke.”
Derek made no reply. Stephen hadn’t given up one small, very profitable shipping business to take on six mismanaged estates and a couple thousand employees. Stephen had inherited one small country estate and a London town house. He couldn’t possibly comprehend the responsibilities of a duke, especially one whose father had let everything go to the point that his family perched precariously at ruin’s edge. Bringing their holdings and their investments back from that point, ensuring their futures, had taken Derek’s every waking moment since he returned from America more than a year earlier. Well, except for those moments he’d spent carefully planning his masquerade.
Stephen’s insistence on participating in the scheme to uncover the smuggling gang cannily concealed within England’s ton had not surprised Derek. Just as Stephen had wanted to be a part of Derek’s pranks during their childhood, he wanted to be a part of this. But Derek had been surprised when Stephen first tried to talk him out of it, insisting it was too dangerous; many of Derek’s transgressions during his youth were prompted by Stephen’s dares. Perhaps his friend had grown up after all.
So had Derek, and he knew this undertaking was no prank. If what he suspected was true, the men he sought were not only guilty of smuggling and treason, but also of murder, at least of his father’s murder, and infiltrating the smuggling gang was the only way he could gather enough proof to bring them to justice.
He would have preferred to leave Stephen out of it, but then who would plant the rumors about the infamous Captain Wainright, and who would introduce Derek into London society as that man? Someone had to do it, and the friends he’d thought to trouble with the task had been unavailable.
Stephen leaned toward him, a mischievous smile on his face. “You should be looking for a wife, rather than a smuggling gang. You have other responsibilities as a duke… such as providing an heir and a spare.”
Derek groaned inwardly. The very subject had been a thorn in his side for several months now. At the age of thirty, he knew his responsibilities to his title better than anyone, but the mere thought of putting himself on the market made him want to run off to sea—permanently. There were too many horrifying tales about sweet, kind, innocent young ladies whose personalities changed once the vows were spoken, and he knew all too well that such a fate could be his as easily as another’s. He’d narrowly escaped that fate in America, and his then-fiancée, Pamela, hadn’t even known of his English title and fortune. He shuddered to think of the traps that would be set for him in England once word got out that the eighth Duke of Dorrington was looking for a wife.
He would proceed more carefully this time. He would hire a private investigator to scrutinize every detail of his chosen bride’s life, and he would be especially vigilant to maintain the strictest sense of propriety to avoid compromising situations until he found the malleable, sweet-tempered young woman he would marry.
But Stephen was right; he must work on the little problem of finding a wife. His mother was anxious to see him settled, and he would not deny her that comfort. Life with his father could not have been easy nor happy, and Derek wanted her to be happy.
“I’ll turn my attention to the business of finding a wife,” he said, “after I’ve finished the business of finding my father’s murderer.”
“Alleged murderer. You base everything on a journal your father wrote almost in code, without proof that any of it is true. If I knew the names of the men you seek, I could introduce you to the right people. Otherwise, we’ll be wasting time.”
“The less you know, the better for you,” Derek said firmly. “No one can suspect you of hiding anything if you’ve nothing to hide.”
“Ha! You don’t fool me. You’re worried I’ll let the cat out of the bag. You probably still think it was something I said that led to your getting caught in the Eton fiasco. Let me remind you that I didn’t admit to my part until after you confessed.”
Derek smiled at the memory of the incident when Stephen had carried a note from the Famous Four, as Derek and three of his cohorts were called in school, to young women at a nearby brothel. It was an exciting, heady experience until the women were caught in the boys’ room in the middle of the night. In truth, it was an exciting, heady experience regardless of the consequences. What better way to be introduced to sexual pleasure than by prostitutes who knew everything about the subject?
The boys had been lucky to come away with nothing more than pleasure and knowledge. He suppressed a laugh as he remembered the horrified look on Jack’s face when, the next day, he began to itch uncontrollably. Derek let Jack worry for a couple of days before admitting he’d rubbed itching powder into the cloth of Jack’s drawers. No doubt Derek would have paid dearly for that, but his family’s carriage arrived minutes later to take him to Dorrington, and he never saw Jack again.
“You know,” Stephen said, studying Derek intently as though he could read his mind, “I’ve puzzled over something since you asked me to help you with your masquerade. Why me? Why didn’t you ask one of the Four? I’ve got to believe that any one
of them would have more experience with intrigue than I.”
Derek hesitated for the briefest moment, knowing the truth would not be welcome. Stephen, being two years younger than Derek, had been more of a hanger-on than a cohort. They’d grown up together, since their family estates in Yorkshire were adjoined, but two years made quite a difference in school. Derek maintained their friendship and had tried very hard to make Stephen feel as though he were a part of Derek’s group of friends, but the truth was that Derek would feel better if one of the Four were helping him out with this masquerade. He decided to be honest with Stephen, but to state it in a way that would not cause ill will. Stephen had always been a bit jealous of Derek’s other friends, if memory served.
“I thought about it,” Derek admitted, “but your credentials outweigh theirs. I don’t need a master of intrigue. I need someone who can introduce me to the cream of London society, and none of our other friends fit the bill. The last I heard of Nick, he was in the country recovering from a duel with Lord Jacoby. Unfortunately, he’s recovering with Jacoby’s wife. I hardly think the ton would embrace any friend of his. Then there’s Jeremy, who has actually married—though I still can’t believe it—and while I’d like to meet the young woman who managed that impossible feat, I doubt she’d appreciate my getting him involved with a gang of smugglers. And Jack… well, I haven’t a clue what Jack is up to these days. I couldn’t find him.”
“If Jack were sitting in my place, I daresay you’d tell him the list of names in your father’s journal.”
“No, I wouldn’t. I’m not keeping information from you because I think you ratted on us at Eton. You barely had a part to confess to, and that was a good thing. You got to stay on at school and milk your newly wicked reputation for all it was worth, while the four of us were banished forever.” Derek pushed away the thought that the Eton incident was also the reason he’d been sent to America, it being the “last straw” as his father had put it. “The point is, you know enough to do your part and you really must stop worrying. I’ve gone over everything—”
“Yes, yes, I know.” A scowl darkened Stephen’s features and he ran his fingers through his hair. “You’ve gone over everything a thousand times and you’ve no doubt all will go exactly as planned. Except you can’t foresee every possible problem, even though you think you can. Let me remind you that we make our appearance in a hired hack instead of my crest-emblazoned carriage simply because of an unexpected weak wheel. You didn’t foresee that.”
“Our method of arrival is of little import compared to everything else, and besides, it was your carriage. You knew we would be using it. You should have ensured that it was in good repair.”
“That’s exactly what I mean. You couldn’t depend upon me, a lifetime friend and a partner in this masquerade, to have a carriage in good repair, and yet you will be depending upon complete strangers, members of the ton, no less, to accept you for whom you pretend to be, to trust you in a partnership of illegal activity. It’s reckless.”
Derek held in a sigh, weary of the argument Stephen had brought up several times now. He had no fear he’d be recognized. He’d seen only family, servants, and his solicitor since his return, and he bore no resemblance to that defiant boy who’d left England sixteen years ago. Besides, he’d been known as Jonathan Wentworth in his youth. No one in England had ever called him by his middle name Derek; he doubted that anyone besides family and Stephen even knew of it. He realized he must steer Stephen away from this thread of thought. Nothing could be gained by worrying, not when his plans were well laid.
“Let’s not speak of the danger or foolhardiness or whatever you want to call it again. The decision was made; we are almost there. I appreciate your concern as much as I appreciate your help, but I owe this to my father. I should have been a better person, or at least a better son. If I had been, perhaps I’d have been here to help him with this conundrum instead of in America living my life as I damn well pleased.”
“You are too hard on yourself,” Stephen said quietly. “You were but a boy when he sent you away. If one of you should have made an overture, it was he, especially when you outgrew your childish pranks. There wasn’t an article on shipbuilding that didn’t cite your name. He had to have been proud and should have told you so.”
Derek shrugged away the pain that came with the reminder that his father never acknowledged a single one of his achievements. He could understand a father’s anger over a son’s rebellious youth. Derek himself couldn’t explain what had driven him to that bad behavior, unless it was to get a bit of the attention his father lavished on his younger brother, Anthony. But hadn’t he gone on to prove his worth? There was no point in thinking of that now, or ever again. He couldn’t change the past.
“Perhaps,” he replied. “But perhaps he wasn’t able to make amends. I can’t take his character failings personally. As for this business, he was trying to do what was best for his country, and I mean to finish that for him. So, from this point on, I become Captain Derek Wainright, American privateer. This ball is the perfect place to launch our drama. I can hardly wait for Act I to begin.”
“You’ll have to wait no longer,” Stephen said as the coach came to a halt in front of the Grantham mansion. “Take a deep breath, Captain Wainright. The drama begins.”
Chapter 4
Derek took in his surroundings in one quick glance. Intricately painted walls flanked the oval entrance to the ballroom, and finely crafted pieces of Hepplewhite furniture were scattered about. Above the music of the orchestra he could hear voices, laughter, and the clinking of crystal. Now that the moment was upon him, he felt a tingle of excitement that he was finally putting his plan into action.
His attire was as formal as Stephen’s, but the differences, some subtle and some not, were there. He’d opted for skintight black trousers paired with soft-soled Indian moccasins, his choices certain to set him apart from the aristocrats in their white breeches, stockings, and dancing pumps. His lawn shirt was practically transparent, and the simple tie of his cravat was an American style he much preferred over the immense, flowery bows worn by so many Englishmen. Forgoing a waistcoat, he sported only a black dresscoat, double-breasted and cut high in the front, with long tails in the back. His overly long dark hair was caught loosely in a black silk ribbon at the nape of his neck, a slightly outdated style, which, nevertheless, lent him a rakish air.
Stephen had chosen to dress more conservatively, for though Derek was to exhibit a devil-may-care attitude, it was imperative that Stephen maintain the appearance of respectable nobility as expected of the Earl of Aster. While the ton might enjoy the excitement of keeping society with an American privateer, they would never do so without the pretense of respectability that Stephen’s position and title offered. Stephen’s presence meant the difference between acceptance and ostracism, and both men knew it.
The entrance hall opened onto a raised dais, and as Derek stepped closer he could see down the sweeping staircase into a crush of glittering guests. The soft light from a thousand candles reflected back from the highly polished oak floor, casting a glow on the pale yellow damask wall coverings. The strong odor of beeswax mixed with smoke took him back in time.
He smiled, remembering his antics as a boy of fourteen, home after his last expulsion from school, when he’d hidden under a serving table during a ball given by his parents at Dorrington Hall. He passed the evening in rapturous delight, watching from underneath the tablecloth for tantalizing glimpse after glimpse of trimly turned ankles. His fun ended quite abruptly when his father’s shoes appeared and the tablecloth was snatched up.
He’d been thoroughly punished for his escapades, but the looks directed at him by some of the ladies as he slid out from under the table to his full height and strode arrogantly from the room had made that punishment worthwhile. Even at that age he’d been aware of the ladies’ interest in a fine physique. Lady Danders had winked at him in a most sultry manner when he nodded at her in passing. One w
eek later she taught him the art of seduction.
Ah, the innocence of youth, he thought nostalgically. He turned his attention back to his surroundings and stepped up onto the dais for a better look.
He searched the crowd. Dark eyes under a fringe of red curls caught his gaze. Lord, she was a beauty, though too obvious for his tastes. As he began to look away, the girl dampened her lips with her tongue ever so slowly, and he realized from her provocative stare that the performance was for his benefit. She was little more than a schoolgirl, but her expression told him that all of her experience hadn’t come from the schoolroom.
Remembering the rogue he was supposed to be, he returned her coy gaze, casually looking her up and down, lingering for a long moment on her breasts. When he finally moved his gaze back to her face, he was amused to see that the shade of her cheeks now matched that of her hair. Yes, she was young. Young enough to think she could handle what she had started, too young to go through with it. He gave a shrug of boredom and looked away from her. It was then he realized he was the center of attention.
From the corner of his eye he saw Stephen hanging back, ensuring that nothing would distract the guests from their first look at the American privateer of whom they should have heard so much. Stephen’s plan was evidently working. Guests turned toward the staircase, conversations dropped to murmurs, and dancing couples slowed their movements as everyone stared unabashedly up at him.
Derek could guess at the thoughts of the women who stared boldly at his crotch, but he reminded himself that he wasn’t there for that. Then, as he began his descent down the staircase, movement caught his eye—a glimpse of palest pink silk, the slender curve of a young woman’s gloved arm as she set a drink on an offered tray. He stopped and stared while the room fell into silence.
As the guests followed the direction of his gaze, the hush gave way to whispers, but Derek was powerless to tear his eyes away from the lovely vision before him. He could not seem to move at all, and then he could not keep from moving in her direction. Many of the guests stepped back in confusion, giving him a clear path to the object of his attention. As the music of the orchestra died away to a few trailing notes, the whispers grew to a crescendo, and the vision in pink turned fully in his direction.
Duke Of Deception (Wentworth Trilogy) Page 3