Duke Of Deception (Wentworth Trilogy)

by Stephie Smith

  “Yes, I rather enjoyed taking jabs at you. I get to do so but rarely. But you didn’t check the crates after they were aboard, did you? Because you had checked them with me. You see? I had it all figured out. If you happened to escape the French and later found the smuggled cargo, which you did, unfortunately, you’d be less likely to suspect me of any wrongdoing. Careful planning… isn’t that what you so constantly brag about? The trait that makes each of your enterprises a success?”

  “That and flexibility,” Derek said, seeing the way into the conversation. “Flexible, like Isabelle, who was forced to change her plans when you betrayed her.”

  Stephen’s face went a pasty white, and he jumped up, giving Derek a clear view of the cot behind him and the knife that lay there.

  “Me betray Isabelle? I did no such thing,” he said, but sweat broke out on his upper lip and brow.

  “You fool,” Isabelle said, giving Stephen a withering look. “There was no reason to worry anymore. They do not have the paper, the map, or we would have found it by now. We could have just gone away, but now you have ruined everything. Your escapade today tells him you cannot be trusted, and you spoke of the other shooting, attempted shooting, something only the shooter would have knowledge of.”

  “You shot at Lucy?” Derek asked.

  “Not Lucy,” Stephen said. “I was shooting at you. It wasn’t my choice, but I was outvoted.”

  “No, your choice was to rape your friend’s wife first,” Isabelle said, “make sure he knew about it, and then have him killed.”

  Lucy sat as still as a statue, not wanting to draw attention to herself. Her pulse was racing, panic urging it on, but she knew she must keep her wits. Derek had seen the knife, of that she was certain, and she recalled their conversation about his knife-throwing skills. She must get the knife to him, though she could not think how. But this was the best time, while Isabelle and Stephen were arguing with each other.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Stephen said.

  Lucy sat up straighter, hoping her movement would draw Derek’s eye, and was rewarded when it did. She slid her gaze toward the knife and back again, and saw his almost-imperceptible nod, but exactly what did his nod mean? That he saw the knife, that he planned to lunge for the knife, or that he wanted her to get it to him? If she made the wrong choice, she could end both their lives. She licked her lips but no moisture wet them. Her mouth was so dry she could not swallow. She looked to Isabelle, hoping the woman’s expression would offer the answer to her dilemma.

  “Is it ridiculous?” Isabelle’s eyes glittered. “You talk in your sleep, Stephen. You really should do something about that. No lady wants to hear her lover call out the name of another woman, even if he does wake up randy and eager to pleasure her. After that, I began keeping a closer eye on you. Imagine my surprise to find the note you left for your friend this morning. Shall I deliver it to him or shall I just read it aloud?”

  “It isn’t what you think, Isabelle. That note was a joke.” Stephen glanced down at himself and began to quickly button his shirt. “I was going to use my shirt to bind her wound.”

  “Shut up!” Isabelle’s eyes narrowed as she looked Stephen over. When she glanced at Lucy, her expression softened. “I know you had nothing to do with any of this, dear, and I regret our friendship must end this way. The sad thing is, Stephen did not want you for yourself at all. He wanted to destroy your husband. Men and their petty feelings,” said Isabelle, her voice thick with disgust. “One would think their sole purpose was to sate their every desire. They care not whom they destroy by marrying a young girl off to a lecher, by forcing her to take other men to her bed, by stealing an innocent young boy so that men like Lord Harlech can have their way with him.”

  Lucy couldn’t stop her strangled cry. “Pierre! Did someone steal away your son? Is that the reason you are so bitter, the reason you can do these things?”

  “Oh, my dear, you are every bit as naïve as you appear. There is no Pierre; I made him up. I cannot have children, thanks to the gentleman who purchased me when I was but ten. I grew weary of your self-pity, that is all. Your troubles were non-existent compared to those I have lived through, yet there you sat every day with that sad look on your face. Poor little Lucy,” she scoffed. “I can do these things, as you call them, because I have learned the value of controlling my destiny. To be in control one must have power over others, and that takes money. My country is happy to pay me for my services in this war. It always comes down to money.”

  Stephen took a step forward. “I swear that note was a joke. You can’t think—”

  Isabelle’s brows snapped together in fury. “I can think, but evidently you cannot. At least not with your head.”

  This is it. This is the time, Lucy thought. I must do something now. Even as she made the decision to get the knife, Isabelle whirled in Derek’s direction and raised a pistol, and Lucy acted without thought, launching herself at Stephen, shoving him as hard as she could in Isabelle’s direction. The deafening report of the pistol thundered through the cottage, and Stephen toppled backward.

  Knowing, fearing, she was too slow, Lucy grabbed the knife from the cot and flung it across the floor toward Derek, who quickly snatched it up. The used pistol clanked against the floorboards, and Lucy knew that in the space of two seconds Isabelle could switch the second pistol to her shooting hand and aim.

  Derek threw the knife and it sped through the air, hitting Isabelle’s right forearm, causing her to lose her grip on the pistol, and Lucy saw Derek lunge at Isabelle, taking her down to the floor with him.

  Another ear-shattering shot went off, and a scream—it was her own—pierced the air. The scuffle came to an abrupt halt with Isabelle atop Derek. Lucy could not cry out, she could not move, she could not breathe. She was rigid with terror, her heart slamming in her chest, a sickening wave of terror welling up from her belly, as she waited to see who had been shot.

  When Isabelle began to rise up, Lucy fainted dead away.

  Chapter 36

  Derek stood in front of the fireplace, inspecting his appearance in the mirror, not at all surprised to see he looked every bit as haggard as he felt.

  He’d sat by Lucy’s bedside well into the night, until Eleanor insisted on relieving him. Even then, exhausted as he was, sleep eluded him, and it had taken the rest of the night to realize his sleeplessness wasn’t from anxiety, since everything was finally over and Lucy was safe. It was from grief. He was grieving the loss of a friend, even though that friend had never really been.

  It was hard to believe Stephen was dead and harder still to believe that the man whom he’d considered one of his best friends had secretly hated him. No, not hate. Jealousy. Stephen had been jealous, and Derek knew first-hand how that went. The emotion was vicious; it knew no reason. It could twist any situation until a man went mad with hatred and rage.

  That’s what he preferred to think happened to Stephen, that his jealousy drove him mad. Better to think that than to wonder if he’d finally seen Stephen’s true character.

  The day’s events had left Derek wondering about his father as well, and he’d taken out the journal and reread the entire thing, knowing he might interpret words differently now. What Stephen had said about his father’s soundness of mind might have been true. Knowing what he did now, about Jonathan Summerfield, brought sense to many of his father’s rambling accusations.

  Derek had assumed Summerfield was the leader of the smuggling gang because his father’s hatred had shone through his every comment, but after reading the journal again, he realized that none of the comments about Summerfield were directly linked to the smuggling. Yet as the journal continued, his father’s remarks about the traitors extended to Summerfield simply because of his hatred of the man. Summerfield apparently epitomized the very idea of traitor to his father. Had Summerfield betrayed his father’s friendship by bedding his wife? No, Summerfield looked to be in his early fifties, his mother’s age, while his father had been fifteen year
s older. He doubted Summerfield and his father had been friends.

  He wondered if he would ever know the truth of that matter. He thought not, since he had no intention of confronting his mother. But once again, jealousy had ruled, jealousy and pride, for he’d come to realize that pride begat jealousy. For himself, his pride was injured every time his father scorned him and showered Anthony with praise, and the result had been envy and jealousy on Derek’s part. Had his father felt the same about Summerfield? Perhaps. But Stephen? Pride could not be blamed there; it was jealousy through and through.

  He stared into the fireplace, barely noticing the orange-gold flames that danced there. Jealousy had destroyed his father’s life, Stephen’s life, and his own… almost. But never again.

  *****

  “I feel just awful for Audrey,” Lucy said, settling herself beside Derek on the sofa in the drawing room. She’d awakened from a good night’s rest, had a restorative breakfast and wanted only to be near Derek again. “I know her but little, but I fear this scandal will ruin her.”

  Derek slid his arm around Lucy and she lay her head on his chest. “I don’t see any reason for Stephen’s true part in this tragedy to be told,” he replied soberly. “The men involved won’t talk about it, and I received word this morning that Isabelle Foxworth died of her gunshot wound as they were taking her to London.”

  “Oh,” was all Lucy said, but in her mind she saw the laughing woman who helped with her scheme and who came to her aid when she was ill, and she found those images hard to reconcile with what had transpired in the cottage. She wondered if Isabelle had always been greedy and calculating in character, or if the unspeakable acts done to her had affected her mind. Shuddering, she realized that if Isabelle hadn’t helped with her scheme of ruination, she might very well be married to lecherous Lord Harlech.

  “Are you cold?” Derek asked, wrapping his arms more firmly around her.

  “No, I was thinking about Isabelle, and what she said of Lord Harlech. Do you think that was true? That he likes young boys? Or was that just another of her lies?”

  “I suspect it’s true. Your uncle was able to blackmail Harlech into marrying you and giving over your dowry. That sort of information—about the boys—would surely cause enough of a scandal to ruin Harlech.”

  “I’ve also been thinking about those shots, the ones someone fired when I was in the lane with Stephen. Do you think Isabelle was shooting at me?”

  “I think she was shooting at Stephen. I think she would have shot him in the cottage if she’d had three pistols. She could only shoot two of us there, and she would have been stupid to waste one of those shots on Stephen. I’m sure she planned to kill him eventually, or have him killed. He had proved to be a liability, after all.” He traced his finger over the back of her hand and let out a sigh.

  “What?”

  “I’ve been thinking too. I want to petition for guardianship of Audrey. She has no family now, and I doubt there’s much money. I’ll settle Stephen’s debts—perhaps Audrey will be able to keep the estate that way—and I’ll provide her with a dowry if Stephen didn’t take care of that. I’d like for her to live with us at Dorrington Hall rather than with strangers. Tessa will be delighted; they’ve been friends practically since birth, and I’m sure Mother will oversee her activities.” He tipped Lucy’s face up to look into her eyes. “We will be living at Dorrington Hall, won’t we?”

  Lucy nodded. She linked her fingers through Derek’s and smiled. “I shall have to make arrangements for Stonecrest, and I warn you that I will visit quite often, but I will gladly go wherever you go. As for Audrey, I think your idea is wonderful. She’s a sweet girl and she should be with people who love her.”

  Derek squeezed her hand. “I don’t want Audrey to know the truth about Stephen. She idolized him and she has no one else. We should let her keep those happy memories, and if we’re not going to tell Audrey, then we should tell no one. Not even your aunt or my mother. Especially not my mother. I told them we would explain everything when you’re feeling better. We’ll say Stephen was helping me when he was killed.”

  “I agree,” Lucy said, knowing how horrible it would have been if memories of her father had been tainted by gossip about his character. She wondered what she would say to Sara; she hoped her friend would not blame Derek for Stephen’s death. Thank goodness Sara’s mother had taken her to Scotland. Given Sara’s impulsiveness when it came to love, there was no telling what might have happened between Stephen and Sara.

  “You realize you will be censured for involving Stephen in your plan. Some may even blame you for his death.” She did not say what was on her mind, that she was the responsible party. She’d had to choose between Derek and Stephen; there had been no choice to make.

  “I should be censured, but I won’t. I’ve already received a reply to the message I sent to the Prince, telling him of these events. He plans to say that we—Stephen and I—were working for the Crown. It’s not true. I did inform him of the masquerade before it began because I needed a Letter of Marque, and he was interested in my catching the smugglers, but no more than that. However, he insists we follow his story, which is laid out in his letter. He says he cannot afford to have suspicion and distrust directed at me, that it will compromise some of his plans for the future of England. But I know he’s just trying to protect my reputation and restore yours.”

  Lucy looked up, startled. “What do you mean? How can he restore my reputation? Surely it’s ruined beyond salvation.”

  “He doesn’t think so. He’s spreading the word that you were part of the plan too, that your help was requested because your father had been working with mine, and that we fell in love during the course of our investigation. He means to circulate that your ruination was staged so we’d be able to marry, not just because we were in love and didn’t want to wait until the end of this business to wed, but also because we needed to be together to properly work the investigation.” Derek frowned.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “His plan makes me out to be a hero, rather than the arrogant, self-righteous bastard I really am.”

  “You are too hard on yourself,” Lucy said softly, and Derek remembered Stephen saying those same words to him the very night the masquerade began. The deep sadness for the loss of the boy and the man he thought he had known and loved struck him again.

  Lucy slipped her arms around Derek. “Don’t forget his plan also makes Stephen out to be a hero, and he deserves that not at all.”

  Derek nodded slowly. “I’ve been thinking about Stephen all night. His jealousy is ironic because I always thought he had the best end of it when we were boys, with his father, that is. I had a lot of respect for old Lord Aster and he was a good father, always interested in Stephen’s comings and goings, his marks, his achievements. I sometimes planned my visits for times I knew Stephen wasn’t home, just so I could talk to his father. He’d always invite me in, give me a delicious treat, and spend some time in conversation with me. More than once Stephen came home to find us that way, discussing Whitney’s cotton gin or some other invention. It never occurred to me that Stephen would be unhappy about it. It’s doubly ironic because I suspect Lord Aster had those conversations with me because he wanted to know his son’s friend better. He probably worried about Stephen running around with an older boy who was always in trouble. What is it? What are you thinking?”

  Lucy had tipped her head back and was studying him solemnly. “I was thinking how sad that you sought out another boy’s father for a relationship you should have had with your own.”

  “You should know more than anyone that relatives cannot be chosen and sometimes must be merely endured.”

  “Yes. I suppose they’ll arrest my uncle now,” she said quietly.

  Derek shrugged. “I doubt it.”

  “Why not? He blackmailed men to abet treason. Surely forcing a magistrate to look the other way while a shipment of weapons is transported amounts to treason?”

  �
��Who’s going to admit to being blackmailed and breaking the law for your uncle? Nathan will never talk, and if anyone else does, Nathan’s oily enough to slip out of the noose. Men like him seldom get what’s coming to them, in this life anyway.

  “Come closer,” he said, pulling Lucy onto his lap. For a long time he simply stared into her dark blue eyes, thinking of the first time he’d stared into them at the Grantham ball. Only a few months had passed, but it seemed a lifetime. Since then he’d carried out his masquerade to its sad conclusion, he’d married a wonderful young woman, he’d lost a childhood friend.

  Still, he knew that all his experiences together could never match what Lucy had gone through during those few minutes in the cottage alone with Stephen or during the days following her miscarriage or during any number of situations she’d found herself in because of him. Yet, after everything she’d been through, the promise in her eyes was exactly the same at this moment as it was the first time he looked at her. It was the promise of love.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked as she reached up to brush a lock of hair away from his eyes.

  “I’m thinking it’s time I apologized to you for my injustices. The lies that supported my masquerade, the jealousy that led me to commit a shameful act against you, the insults I shouted at you before I left yesterday. God, was that only yesterday?” He shook his head in amazement. “If I could undo everything that’s happened to you since we met, I would.”

  Her smile was sweet. “I’ll accept your apology, but I wouldn’t want to undo anything. If we changed even one thing, we might not be here today. Every link in the chain of events since we met led us to this moment, and this is exactly where I want to be. In your arms. There’s one question I still have, though. What do you suppose happened to the map?”

  “I don’t know,” Derek began, but he suddenly stopped and sat straight up, almost dumping Lucy onto the floor. “Where’s your locket?” he asked.