To Ruin the Duke

by Debra Mullins

  “Very well.” Feeling odd about continuing on as if nothing had happened, she followed Mrs. Weatherby to the pianoforte, more than aware of the disturbance she left behind.

  “Why did I let you talk me into coming here?” Wyldehaven strode up the stairs to Mrs. Weatherby’s house.

  “Because you are still in a foul mood over Mrs. Colley’s curricle, and I thought it would amuse you,” Kit said, keeping pace with him. “You must have the deepest pockets in Christendom to keep paying for things you did not purchase. Why did you simply not deny that you were in the park this afternoon?”

  “Because I do have deep pockets, and because it is not Mrs. Colley’s fault that some madman ruined her new carriage. Someone must make restitution.”

  “But why you? This is what I cannot comprehend.”

  Wyldehaven lifted the door knocker and rapped, then looked back at Kit. “Because he does it in my name. I do not want to make matters worse.”

  “But—”

  “Understand me, Kit. When I find this blackguard, he will sorely regret crossing me.” The door opened and Wylde stepped through, with Kit right behind.

  “But you are making it easy for him to take advantage of you.” Kit grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop in the middle of Mrs. Weatherby’s hallway. “By simply paying the bill whenever he commits one of these mad acts, you might as well be admitting guilt to the ton.”

  “In the end I will triumph.”

  “What if he does something worse than crash a curricle or run up tailoring bills?” Kit demanded. “What if he hurts someone?”

  Thinking of Annie, Wylde said, “I will take care of that, too.” He continued down the hallway, forcing Kit to hurry to keep up with him.

  “Blast it, Wylde, but you are a cool one. If this were happening to me, I would be halfway to Bedlam by now. Just…” Kit hesitated, appearing to wrestle with his words. “Have a care, will you?”

  Noting the genuine distress in his friend’s eyes, Wylde forced a smile. “I am on my guard, Kit.”

  “Good. See that you are. I fear the worst is yet to come from this trickster.”

  “You are not alone in that.” They reached the door to the salon, which was ceremoniously thrown open by a footman just as a gong rang from within the room.

  Kit and Wylde stepped through the doorway and paused. Mrs. Weatherby stood next to the pianoforte by the window, a broad smile on her face. “Ladies and gentlemen, kind guests, it is my pleasure to once more welcome to the Thursday night salon the Contessa della Pietra!”

  Applause rang out, and Miranda, dressed in exquisite sapphire, stepped over to the instrument.

  Wylde stared, disbelieving. What was the impetuous wench up to now? He had only yesterday presented her with an elegant London town house in which to live, with servants to see to her every need. Why was she here, then, singing for her supper as if she had no other prospects?

  Damn him for a fool. Was Miranda Fontaine using him?

  “What is your game?” he murmured. “Whatever it is, I will put an end to it.”

  As if she had heard him, Miranda turned her head to look at Wylde. One moment of quivering emotion stretched between them. Then she turned her head away and launched into song.

  What in heaven’s name was he doing here?

  Her fingers trembled on the keys, but she managed to keep her composure throughout the piece, pretending for all she was worth that the Duke of Wyldehaven was not watching her every breath with those dark, angry eyes. She had done nothing wrong. He knew about the contessa; there was no reason to feel guilty.

  But he looked at her as if he wanted to tear her away from the pianoforte and drag her from the room, whether for violence or passion, she could not tell.

  She remembered his animosity when he had thought her disguise was a ruse designed to defraud his friends. He had demanded that she cease at once. Surely, now that they had come to an agreement about James, he did not still believe that?

  Another glance at him. His gaze had not wavered, his entire body rigid.

  Dear God, he had not realized that she would continue as the contessa. And she had not realized that he would still disapprove.

  Without a word to anyone, Wylde turned and left, passing Mrs. Weatherby and her servants as they discreetly assisted the still pale Lady Rothgard from the salon.

  Mrs. Weatherby looked up as he passed, poised to offer a greeting, but puzzlement flickered across her features as he strode out without a word. His friend Kit loped after him.

  Miranda managed to finish her performance, motivated by the approving smile on Mrs. Langston’s face. But the night had lost its magic for her. She did not want any more complications with Wyldehaven, and she certainly did not want his enmity.

  But as she took her leave of the salon that night, his displeasure still haunted her. And later, when she was alone in her rooms, she found reason to wonder if she had pushed him too far.

  A note had been delivered to the kitchen door and left for her by one of the servants. A chill shimmered through her as she read it.

  LEAVE LONDON OR DIE

  Chapter 10

  After breakfast, Wylde summoned his gleaming black coach with the ducal coat of arms emblazoned on the doors and gave the direction of Miss Miranda Fontaine to his coachman.

  He sat back against the luxurious seat, staring blindly as London sped by him, the gray morning matching the gloom inside him.

  Damn her. How foolish could he be, believing that she would put herself into his hands, allow her to care for her? No, she had to use pretense to assuage her greed, singing for gold like a common opera dancer. He hated that she’d played on his emotions. That she’d made him want her.

  Everything about her shouted that she was not the right type of woman for a duke. Liar or innocent, virgin or siren, he could not decide. Every time he saw her, she appeared to wear a different face. Which one was the real Miranda Fontaine?

  If she wanted to play games with him, so be it. She was an opportunist, just waiting for chances to make money from other people’s desires. But he was the Duke of Wyldehaven, more than a match for a young woman of uncertain birth, no matter how clever she was.

  He had decided he wanted her in his bed. He had heard her protests, understood her reasoning to keep distance between them. However, she was the first woman in years to make him take notice of the world beyond his piano keys. When he was with Miranda, he felt alive in a way he had not felt since he was an untried youth, eager to make his mark on the world.

  She was a mystery that begged to be solved, and he could not resist her lure. But he would not be toyed with. They would take their pleasure of each other, but he would guard both his heart and his fortune. When their liaison was over, he would send her on her way with no regrets.

  Miranda was in the middle of breakfast when Wyldehaven arrived. The maid showed him into the breakfast room and escaped as quickly as possible, leaving him in the doorway, facing Miranda. With one look, he dismissed the footman standing nearby.

  “I had expected you to be finished with breakfast by now,” he said as the servant scurried from the room and closed the door behind him.

  “I stayed abed this morning.” She looked away first, shrugged. “Late evening.”

  He stiffened. “A liaison?”

  “Do not be ridiculous.” She curled her lip and focused on her breakfast. “Who are you to ask me such a question?”

  “I am Wyldehaven.” He strolled into the room and claimed a chair at the head of the table. He noticed the annoyance flash across her face, and found it most gratifying.

  “All well and good, but you are not my master. I thought we had discussed this already.”

  “You discussed. I do not remember my opinion being sought.” He took his ease in the chair, stretching his feet out beneath the table and folding his hands over his midriff. “Tell me why you were at the salon last night when I specifically warned you about pretending to be someone you are not.”

&nbs
p; “It is not your concern.”

  “It is when you are living in a house I provide.”

  Her chin lifted. “I told you I protested this situation. It is bad enough I am living in your house, Wyldehaven; I cannot depend on you for everything. I must earn my own way.”

  “I have money. It makes sense to use it.”

  “Not when you could cut me off at any moment. I will be dependent on no man.”

  “You already rely on my good will to allow you to stay with the baby.” He slowly straightened in his chair, part of him taking perverse pleasure in the wary way she watched him. “What if I were to pay you to be a governess for James?”

  She remained silent for a moment, then said, “Until now, I had hoped for that very thing. But I have recently come to realize that I must have income outside of your influence.”

  “And this is the path you have chosen.” He managed not to smile. Apparently she was vulnerable to him, else she would take his offer without a qualm. “What is to stop me from taking James away forever? Sending him to an orphanage? Where would that leave you?”

  If looks could burn, he would have been charred to a crisp. “I am more than aware of such a possibility, which is why I must have my own income.”

  “As long as the source of that income does not include fleecing my friends.”

  “I do not ‘fleece’ anyone. I perform under another name, just like many others on the stage today.”

  “I do not like it.” He stood and came to her side of the table, then leaned over, jerked her chair around to face him, and caged her with one hand on each chair arm. “I am the one with the power here, Miranda. If I wished it, you would never see the boy again.”

  He caught the flicker of fear that crossed her face and found himself impressed by how quickly she suppressed it.

  She glared at the hands that imprisoned her. “You have spoken much about being different, Your Grace, and yet now I see you are like every other man, wanting only your own way, no matter who is hurt in the process.”

  “If that were true I would have cast you into the street the first time I saw you. Instead I am providing for you. Is that the act of a selfish man?”

  “If you expect me to pay for your largesse by sharing your bed, then yes, it is.”

  “I have not noticed a woman since the death of my wife.” The words burst forth before he could stop them, but the glimpse of pleased surprise on her face outweighed any regrets. He slid a finger down her cheek. “We are an explosive combination, Miranda. Why do you resist what is so natural? Are you not curious?”

  “I will not turn my back on what is right just for a moment’s pleasure.” She leaned away from his touch.

  He dropped his hand and closed his fingers into a fist. “And seducing men with your voice is right? How is that different from the women who display their charms more obviously?”

  She reared up and slapped his face. The sharp crack stunned them both.

  He rubbed his cheek as he straightened. “I am sorry. That was rude.”

  “You do not know me.” Her response was so low, he had to strain to hear it. Her hands fisted in her lap, twisting the simple muslin of her morning dress. “I have done what I must to survive in this world, despite the immoral actions of those around me. I have sworn a promise to Lettie to see her son cared for.” Her eyes burned with determination, and a glimmer of tears, as she held his gaze. “And I will see it through.”

  “And your way of seeing it through is singing for coin.”

  “What else can I do?” she demanded. “I cannot accept money from you, not while I live in your house. It comes too close to a boundary I do not intend to cross.”

  “I would be pleased if you did cross it—with me.”

  Her sharp glare conveyed her opinion of that suggestion. “I can become a laundress and work for pennies. I can read and cipher, but what man would hire me to be his clerk? If you will not be a father to James, then I am all he has, and I must find a way to provide for us without imperiling my life or my virtue.”

  He stepped back. “Can you not see that this path is no better than any other for a woman alone?”

  “I am not alone. Thaddeus is helping me.”

  “Thaddeus?” He barked a laugh. “Dear girl, Thaddeus LeGrande has his own problems. The man is completely done in.”

  She surged to her feet. “Thaddeus has helped me from the beginning. The contessa was his idea, and I thank him for it.”

  “How is it you have so much faith in a man you barely know?”

  She put her hands on her hips. “He is an old family friend.”

  “Your mother’s friend?” he asked with soft menace. “Fannie’s friend?”

  She stilled. “What do you know of my mother?”

  “I know she was beautiful.” Secure that the power had swung back to him, Wylde clasped his hands behind his back. “Fannie Fontaine, the sensation of the London stage. Then she disappeared from London, never to return.”

  “Who told you?” she whispered. “Thaddeus?”

  “I make it my business to know these things.”

  Angry color rose in her cheeks. “You had me investigated?”

  Rather than engage in another battle of tempers, he replied, “A woman comes to my door with a claim that I fathered a child with a female I never met. Then that very night, the same woman is introduced to me with a completely different name. I am a rich man. What would you do?”

  She was quiet for a long moment. “I can see where that might look suspicious,” she conceded.

  “Indeed.” He continued, “I assume when Fannie left London, it was because she was with child?”

  Miranda nodded.

  “And you do not know who your father is?”

  “No. She never spoke of him. I know only that he was a peer.”

  “Now I understand why you defend James so vehemently,” he said.

  “What else is there to do?” she demanded. “At least I had my mother. James had no one, except me, and I promised Lettie that I would see to it that his father took responsibility for him.”

  “A noble undertaking for certain.” He leaned forward. “I am not his father.”

  “Lettie said you were.”

  He sighed. “There is a man who looks like me, who was been pretending to be me. He has caused no end of trouble.”

  Rather than scoff as he expected, she just tilted her head and said, “Forgive me, Wyldehaven, but as I said before, that seems somewhat fantastical.”

  “I know it is. I have spent the past few weeks shouting my innocence into the wind, only to be ignored. This fellow looks like me and knows my habits. And he is clever enough to stay clear of anyone who knows me well.”

  “And he is James’s father.”

  “It is the only explanation. I know I was cloistered at Wyldehaven during the time the boy was conceived. Forgive me for my indelicacy, but there is no other way to say it. This blackguard had started off with small mischief, so I never caught wind of it until I returned to London just recently.” He paused as an idea occurred to him. “Did Lettie ever say anything about James’s father? I assume you never met him yourself.”

  “I did not. Lettie was already several months along with child when she returned to Little Depping.” Her cheeks pinkened as she said it, and she could not meet his eyes.

  He found her modesty both charming and erotic at the same time. Would she blush that way the first time she disrobed for a man?

  For him?

  “She used to talk about you sometimes,” Miranda continued, drawing him back from his imaginings. “How you would arrive after the performance in a plain hack and meet her at the stage door of the theater.”

  “A hack?”

  Miranda shrugged. “Lettie assumed you wanted to avoid the gossips.”

  “Or he did not have his own coach.”

  “You are a private man, Wyldehaven, and you hate gossip. It does not seem such a strange explanation.”

  “I have m
ore than enough carriages, should I choose to be discreet about something,” he said. “Did this fellow provide a house for her? A carriage? Jewels? These are typical of a man taking a mistress under his protection.”

  “No.”

  “Where did they go when they were together? Her rooms? His?”

  Her brow furrowed with dawning realization. “She never went to his home, and she could not bring anyone to hers, as she shared rooms with another actress.”

  “Then where were they alone together?”

  “I am certain I do not know.” Blushing furiously now, she waved a hand as if to ward off the question. “You more than I would know where you and Lettie went to be alone.”

  “It was not me, Miss Fontaine.” He leaned forward and captured her gaze. “A man like me has more than one home should I want seclusion. I have a yacht. I also have enough money to procure a house for my mistress in short order. So there are more than enough private places for me to take a woman, places that are not manned by strangers who would sell my privacy for a couple of shillings. My servants are well paid for their discretion. And I would never take a hack, especially to entertain a lady.”

  “You did secure this residence very quickly,” she conceded. “And I imagine you could have set up Lettie in style had you chosen to do so. But you must admit that your story sounds like something out of a novel.”

  “I know.” Keeping a tight rein on his frustration, he said, “Perhaps it would help you to know that my father was known to be miserly in discretion and liberal with his seed. I have half siblings arriving on my doorstep every week. It is my belief that this imposter is one of them.”

  “A brother who looks like you?”

  “Yes. It would explain a lot of things.”

  “Including the Matherton toes.”

  “Exactly.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “I am not the villain you think me.”

  Miranda looked into his dark eyes, and her insides slowly melted. He appeared so earnest, so genuine. Dared she believe this madness?