“Excellent. At least I know where she is.” He clapped Phillips on the back. “Good man. Now fetch me some clothes. I must catch her before she flees London.”
The valet darted for the wardrobe, and Wulf rose from his seat. “Have you not heard a word we have said, Wylde?”
“No, and I do not have time—”
“Stop.” Wulf held up his hand. “Make the time. Last night the Duke of Wyldehaven insulted the Earl of Rothgard during a card game at Maynard’s home. Rothgard has issued a challenge. Pistols at dawn tomorrow in Hyde Park.”
“I was not at Maynard’s last night. I was—”
“You were here,” Wulf finished for him. “With someone named Miss Fontaine, apparently.”
“Oh, I see,” Darcy said to Wulf. “It must have been the imposter at Maynard’s.”
“What?” His attention caught, Wylde blindly accepted the drawers Phillips handed him. “Curse that bounder! He has insulted Rothgard?”
“And caused Rothgard to challenge Wyldehaven,” Wulf clarified.
“Bloody hell. I shall go to Rothgard and explain.”
“Explain what?” Darcy arched his brows. “That you have a mad twin running about London wreaking havoc in your name, when ’tis well known you are an only child? Well, that is an explanation I would believe, don’t you agree, Wulf?”
“Oh, indubitably.” Wulf crossed his arms and nodded.
“Besides, as your seconds, we should be the ones to tender your apologies,” Darcy said.
“No, the imposter is my cross to bear, so I shall endeavor to handle the matter. What was the insult over?” Wylde allowed Phillips to shoo him into the dressing room, but he kept the door cracked open and raised his voice to be heard. “Cards, was it?”
“The false Wyldehaven impugned the earl’s honor by intimating that Rothgard was attempting to cheat,” Darcy explained, raising his voice to be heard. “Naturally that provoked a challenge.”
“Which he will leave you to face, I have no doubt,” Wulf said with a snort.
“Unless you apologize for the slight,” Darcy added. “In which case Rothgard might accept your apology, though I doubt it after what happened with young Alonso.”
“Alonso?” Wylde emerged from his dressing room clad in breeches and his shirt and stockings. Phillips hurried after him, a fresh cravat dangling from his fingers. “Hold a moment. Arenson said something to me about that at the musicale last night.”
“Arenson and Rothgard are friends from their school days,” Wulf said. “I am certain Arenson is privy to the family secrets.”
“Your Grace, please sit,” Phillips said. “I must tie your cravat.” The valet waved the piece of linen. “You cannot go anywhere until you are appropriately garbed!”
Wylde pulled a wooden chair away from a small table and sat in it. “A simple knot today, Phillips. I am leaving in a few minutes.”
“But, Your Grace—”
“I am sitting, Phillips. Get on with it.” He glanced at his friends. “Darcy, what do you know of this business with Alonso?”
Phillips gave an aggrieved sigh but came forward and began to loop the cravat around Wylde’s neck.
“The scandal has been hushed up,” Darcy said, moving to stand where Wylde could see him around the valet. “Luckily, I tend to frequent certain establishments that cater to clientele of a somewhat lower social class. Some of these fellows were at Maynard’s during the incident with Alonso.”
“What do they say happened?”
“The false duke cleaned Alonso out of most of his inheritance. The earl was out of town at one of his northern estates. When Rothgard returned and discovered what had occurred, he got himself invited to Maynard’s next gathering and challenged the devil he thought was Wyldehaven to a game. I do not know if he intended to win back his son’s wealth or simply confront the man who had taken it, but the next thing we knew, accusations were made and the imposter called Rothgard’s honor into question.”
“And now there is a dawn appointment for tomorrow morning,” Wulf said. “But I doubt the imposter is going to show for it.”
“Which would put your honor on the block,” Darcy said. “A challenge has been issued. You can apologize—”
“Which Rothgard probably will not accept, not after what happened with young Alonso,” Wulf pointed out, as Darcy had moments before.
“Or you can meet him at dawn,” Darcy said. “Now we know you are a crack shot—”
“But if you kill Rothgard, you may have to flee the country,” Wulf concluded.
“And if Rothgard kills you, well, none of us want that.” Darcy frowned. “And if you do not show up at all, the honor of Wyldehaven will be questioned.”
“There was enough of that in your father’s time,” Wulf said. “So the best solution would be to find this imposter and march him up to Rothgard to prove your story about a look-alike.”
“But we have been looking for him since you came back to London and are still unable to find him, so we cannot count on taking that tack,” Darcy said. “Now if you had some other way to prove to Rothgard that you were not at Maynard’s last night…”
“Such as a witness who can vouch for you…” Wulf raised his brows in meaning.
“I have no witness,” Wylde said as Phillips finished the last knot on his cravat.
“What about Miss Fontaine?” Wulf asked. “Might she vouch for your whereabouts?”
“Out of the question.” Wylde stood as the valet darted back to the dressing room, only to reappear moments later with a bottle green coat. Wylde held his arms out to the sides and allowed the valet to garb him in the impeccably cut Weston creation. “I will not drag a lady into this.”
“Oh.” Darcy and Wulf exchanged looks. “Since she stayed the night with you, we assumed—”
“Assume nothing. And forget about Miss Fontaine. She will not be a part of this.”
“But—” At Wylde’s sharp look, the words died on Darcy’s lips.
“I will go to Rothgard and attempt to placate him,” Wylde said, standing still as Phillips checked the fit of his coat. “He is a reasonable man.”
“I pray you are right,” Wulf said. “But we will stand as your seconds until the matter is resolved. In the meantime, we will continue to look for the imposter in hopes of dragging him before Rothgard.”
“Agreed.” Wylde waved the valet away and turned toward the door. “I will send a note around to the two of you and let you know if your services will be needed. Hopefully, they will not be.”
“What kind of madness is this?” The Earl of Rothgard stormed into the drawing room where Wylde awaited. A tall, lean man with dark hair heavily streaked with silver, his sharp features included thick brows, a blade of a nose, and glittering green eyes. Despite his age—somewhere near fifty, Wylde guessed—the earl still possessed a powerful force of presence that might have made a less confident man cower. Especially now that fury came off him in waves, like steam on the walkway after a hard rain.
“I have come to offer my apologies for the misunderstanding last night,” Wylde said, getting to his feet.
“Misunderstanding?” Rothgard pointed a finger. “How dare you insult my honor and then expect me to forgive all with a few pretty words? Someone needs to put you in your place.”
“I know my place.” Determined not to give in to his own temper, Wylde reminded himself that this man had been ill-used by the imposter and had every right to be angry. “I am the Duke of Wyldehaven, and I have come to apologize and offer restitution.”
“Restitution? Your insult might have been forgiven with restitution,” Rothgard said. “But what you did to my son was unconscionable.”
“I am prepared to make amends—”
“Amends! You drained the boy of a year’s allowance, then took ownership of his stables and sold his favorite team at Tat’s. How the devil will you make amends for that?”
“If you simply provide me with a figure…”
“’Tis not a
bout the money, you scoundrel, ’tis about the honor of my family. And that has no price.” Rothgard raked a scornful gaze over him. “Except perhaps your blood. Now get out of my house.”
“I have my honor, too,” Wylde said, deciding to show all his cards. “And it is being stained by another. Someone is blackening my name, someone who looks very much like me.”
“Are you drunk? What kind of nonsensical story is this?”
“It is the truth. I was not at Maynard’s last night, Rothgard. Or the night your son lost everything. This fellow looks like me and is calling himself Wyldehaven and causing me no amount of trouble.”
Rothgard stared for a long moment, then burst out laughing. “You expect me to believe such a wild tale?”
“It is the truth.”
“Indeed? And is there anyone who can vouch for your whereabouts the night my son lost all? Or last night for that matter?”
“My servants will testify that I was home on both nights in question.”
“Your servants?” Rothgard chuckled. “Your servants depend on you for their living, so of course they will say whatever you require them to say. Is there no one else? Someone who is not dependent on you for their living?”
Wylde thought briefly of Miranda. “No. There is no one.”
“Then we have nothing to discuss. I will meet you tomorrow at dawn. I hope your affairs are in order.”
“See to your own.” Jaw tight, Wylde strode out of the drawing room.
With a heavy heart, Miranda wrote the last of the notes to cancel her performances. She could stay in London no longer, not after having spent the night in Wylde’s arms.
She was not worried about scandal. Rather, she feared for her heart. She knew if she stayed, she would end up back in his bed again, no matter her resolve. And she would never want to leave.
Part of her wondered if that life would really be so bad. To be cared for by a man like Wylde, a man who would never treat her with disregard, even if their liaison came to an end. To live a comfortable life raising James while enjoying nights of passion in Wylde’s bed. So tempting…
But to depend on him for every crust of bread, every piece of clothing? To be subject to his will in the matter of raising James? No, she did not want any of that. She wanted to be regarded as an equal, not a hireling. She wanted his respect, not his money. She wanted him to value her as a person, not a possession. But the Duke of Wyldehaven was too far above the touch of Miranda Fontaine from Little Depping, however convincing a contessa she made. The only position she could ever hope to attain would be mistress; her birth precluded her from anything more honorable than that. She had once sworn to herself that she would never stoop to such a position, and she intended to keep her promise.
No matter how difficult it might be.
There was no more to be done now. It was best if she took James and returned to the country. She had collected her belongings as well as the baby’s. As soon as Thaddeus arrived with the last of her inheritance, she would take James and purchase a seat on the next mail coach out of London.
To stay longer, to be tempted by what she could not have—it would tear her heart in two.
The knocker sounded at the front door. As the servants saw to the caller, Miranda carefully addressed each missive, genuinely sad to have to cancel the engagements. For all that she had initially resisted the idea of performing, she had to admit she seemed to have a talent for it. She truly enjoyed singing in front of a crowd, though she had no ambition to tread the boards of the London stage. That life brought her mother nothing but misery, and so as the contessa, she had been content with smaller, private gatherings.
If only things were different, she would have continued to perform as long as Society would have her.
The footman announced Thaddeus, and she glanced up as her friend entered the room. Then she gasped and jumped to her feet. “Good heavens, Thaddeus! What happened?”
He tried to smile, despite his swollen lip. “Mint and Barney had a word with me last night.”
“My goodness!” She assisted him into a chair, then hovered over him, scanning his battered face. “You must be mad to associate with such people!”
“I agree with you. And I shall endeavor to do better.” He paused, then withdrew a pouch from his coat pocket. “Beginning with this.”
“Oh, good, you brought the money.” Miranda opened the pouch, looked inside, then gasped. “Good heavens, Thaddeus, this is too much!” She raised her gaze to his. “I shall not accept a sou more than what is mine. You must take the rest of this back.”
“It is all yours.” He cleared his throat, and his face reddened, but he did not look away. “I told you that your investments did not do well, that you had lost half your dowry because of it. But the truth of the matter is, I took the money.”
“What?” She could only gape at him, her mother’s dearest friend. “You took the money? Whatever for?”
He indicated his bruised face. “Gambling. The moneylenders were after me, and I felt I had no choice. I borrowed it.” He tightened his jaw. “No, I stole it. I told myself that I would repay it, yet I never did. But then you arrived in London asking for the money, and I panicked.”
Her heart heavy, Miranda sank down in her chair. “How could you?”
“I know it is unconscionable, and your mother, God bless her, would probably roast me alive had she been here to see it. I cannot tell you how deeply I regret betraying your trust.”
“Oh, Thaddeus.” Saddened, disillusioned, she closed the pouch and clenched her hands around it. It was appearing more and more to the best that she leave London. “Perhaps you should leave now.”
He tried to smile, but it did not touch his eyes. “I do not blame you for that. But the money was not my only reason for paying this call. Have you heard the latest?”
“The latest what?”
“Gossip,” he confirmed. “Rumor has it that Rothgard has challenged Wyldehaven.”
“What?” She gaped at him. “When? Why?”
“Last night Wyldehaven insulted Rothgard’s family name across the card table. And after what the duke did to Rothgard’s son, I can hardly blame the man for calling Wyldehaven out.”
She dropped the pouch on the table. “You had better tell me—slowly—what happened. I can hardly conceive that Wylde—Wyldehaven—got himself into such a position.” She knew it had to be the imposter. After all, Wylde had been otherwise engaged last night—with her. But no one else would know that. To the world, it would indeed look like he had impugned Rothgard’s honor.
“As I said, it started with Rothgard’s son. Alonso lost a year’s allowance and his entire stable to Wyldehaven in a game of whist a couple of nights ago. I suspect Rothgard went looking for a confrontation with the duke, and it resulted in a challenge.”
“Of course Wyldehaven refused.” She met his gaze, hoping he would agree. “Naturally he would explain to Lord Rothgard. Apologize.”
Thaddeus hesitated. “You cannot simply refuse a duel, my dear. Honor is at stake.”
“But he is innocent of the crime. You know of the imposter, Thaddeus. Surely it was him, not Wyldehaven, who did these things.”
“Pah! I do not believe that Banbury tale, and I thought you did not either. Then again, perhaps your tendre for the duke has changed your mind about his character.”
She scowled at him. “Do not patronize me, Thaddeus. You are in no position to cast stones. Facts have come to light that make me believe without a doubt there truly is an imposter who is trying to blacken Wyldehaven’s name.”
“I see.” He sent her a look of pity. “As you wish, my dear. But I felt you should hear the news from a friend.”
“When is this duel to take place?” she asked, deliberately ignoring the reference to himself.
“Tomorrow at dawn. I am certain I can learn the location.”
“No, thank you.” She stood, and courtesy demanded he stand as well. “I appreciate your assistance while I was here in London.
But I have much to do, and—”
He held up a hand. “I was on the stage for over thirty years. I can tell when the audience has lost interest.”
“I am sorry.” His downcast expression tugged at her heartstrings, but she could not ignore the fact that he had lied to her. Stolen from her. “Be well, Thaddeus.”
“And you.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, then laid his other hand over hers, meeting her eyes. “Your mother would be proud of you.”
Her cheeks pinkened and she slowly tugged her hand free. “Thank you, Thaddeus.”
“Farewell, fair one.” With a bow, he turned and left the room.
Miranda waited until she heard the front door close behind him before she scooped up the money and followed. When she reached the foyer, she told the butler, “Summon the coach. And send Annie to my chamber.”
“Yes, miss.”
Then she turned toward the staircase. She had intended to leave London immediately, without seeing Wylde, her heart closely guarded. But now…
By the time she reached the top of the stairs and made her way to her bedchamber, Annie was already waiting for her.
“Summon Mrs. Cooper to watch over James,” she told her. “Then help me change my clothing. We are paying a call.”
Chapter 18
“What do you mean the duke is not at home?” Miranda glared at the gray-haired butler. “Where has he gone?”
“I am not at liberty to say, miss. Would you care to leave your card?”
“No, I do not wish to leave my card. I wish to wait for the duke’s return.”
A pained expression crossed the servant’s face. “I do not know when that will be, miss, so it is better if you leave your card with me.”
“I bet he’s in there,” Annie said. “He just doesn’t want to come out.”
The butler drew himself up, his features rigid. “I assure you His Grace is not at home. I shall inform him of your call.” And he closed the door.
Annie gaped at the closed door. “Rudesby!”
To Ruin the Duke Page 21