How to Marry a Duke

by Vicky Dreiling

  But it was not only her life at stake. She must inform Tristan immediately.

  For a moment, terror paralyzed her, but she must not let fear overtake her. She must keep her wits if she hoped to stop Richard.

  Think. Richard had used a child to deliver the message. He probably had other street urchins watching her house. Richard must not suspect she’d contacted Tristan. She needed Richard to think she was too afraid to tell anyone. It was the best way to catch him. Otherwise, Richard would suspect they’d planned to entrap him. And then he would come up with another scenario and another. The man who had figuratively risen from the dead would rise again and again. He was desperate now and wanted her fortune more than ever.

  Tessa folded the letter and took the foul thing with her to the escritoire. “Gravesend, I must pen a letter to Shelbourne.”

  Her hands shook as she wrote. After sanding the ink, she sealed it and stood. “Gravesend, there is no time to lose. We need to spirit a message to the duke without attracting notice.”

  He looked shaken.

  “If I don’t act quickly, bad things will happen. Is there a way to get the message to Shelbourne without attracting notice from anyone who might be watching the square?”

  “Yes, I’ll see it done,” he said. “I will send one of the young grooms round the alley.”

  “If Shelbourne is not at home, the groom must return immediately. I will then send word to Broughton to find the duke. It is imperative that he receive this letter as fast as possible.”

  “Yes, my lady.” He took the letter.

  “After you send it, bring Jack and Tom to the drawing room,” she said. “Send one of the new guards to the gate.”

  She returned to the settee and wrapped her arms round herself. If Richard released the information to the scandal sheets, Tristan would partake of her dishonor. The papers would print a story stating he’d been dallying with her while courting the girls. He would be disgraced. Others would remember his father’s flagrant liaisons. Everyone would scorn his mother and sister. Everything Tristan had worked so hard for would go up in flames.

  Oh, God. Amy, Georgette, and their parents would not escape unscathed. The news would humiliate all of them. Anne and Lord Broughton would suffer. They were among the most powerful aristocratic families in England. The scandal would rock the nation.

  Fear clawed at her lungs, but she must not succumb. If she made a mistake, Richard would ruin all of them.

  Tom and Jack rushed into the drawing room. Gravesend followed, huffing and puffing in his effort to keep up.

  She stood. “I sent a message to the duke asking him to send me a missive with a location where we can meet in secret.”

  Gravesend shook his head. “No, you cannot. I’ll not allow it.”

  “You must trust me,” she said. “Jack, I need you and Tom to lead me on foot through back alleys. I believe Mortland has spies watching the house and the square. Notify the guards to make sure the way is clear. When we are well away from the square, you will hail a hackney. Can you do this?”

  “Yes, my lady, we will escort and protect you,” Jack said.

  “Gravesend, please find an old cloak from one of the maids that I may use to disguise my identity.”

  After they left, she paced the drawing room, waiting for Tristan’s message. She prayed he would do exactly as she asked.

  Chill bumps erupted on her arms. Tristan would ask to see the blackmail letter. But first, she must tell him about her past. She could not let him read that filthy letter without an explanation. The thought was horrific, but she needed his help. They must catch Richard. If anything went awry, Richard would make everyone who mattered to her pay.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Tristan sat in his study with Hawk. They sipped brandy while making plans. After so many false leads, Tristan had concluded they needed an operative with experience in gathering intelligence. Upon Hawk’s urging, Tristan had written to Boswood asking him to meet them tomorrow about a sensitive matter. The marquess had connections inside the Foreign Office. Half an hour ago, Boswood had sent a reply confirming he would call first thing on the morrow.

  “We’ll get the blackguard,” Hawk said.

  “I hope we find him soon. It’s killing me to think of that bastard running loose. And frankly, I’m uneasy about Tessa’s isolation. She can’t go on like this much longer.”

  Hawk lifted his brows. “Tessa?”

  “Stubble it. You know we’re friends.”

  “Friends, is it?” Hawk shook his head. “If you want my advice—”

  “Don’t,” Tristan said.

  A knock sounded. Tristan frowned. “Come in.”

  The butler opened the door. “Your Grace, a messenger is here. He says he must bring a missive directly to you and wait for your reply. Claims it’s urgent.”

  Tristan stood. “Send him in right away.”

  A gawky youth, not much above eighteen, handed him the sealed note. Tristan opened it. Shock cascaded over him. “Good God.”

  “What?” Hawk said.

  He passed it to Hawk. “We’ve got to act fast.”

  Hawk swore a blue streak.

  Tristan grabbed the note. “Where can we meet?”

  “The love nest,” Hawk said.

  Tristan scrawled the address of Hawk’s assignation place along with a message to Tessa on her letter. Take the two big footmen inside the hackney—make sure they’re armed to the teeth. He handed it to the youth. “Come back tomorrow—there’s a reward for making sure it gets there fast. Go!”

  The youth pulled his forelock and took off lightning fast.

  Tristan looked at Hawk. “Blackmail. What could he possibly have on her?”

  “Don’t think about that now. We need weapons,” Hawk said.

  Ten minutes later, they sped off in Hawk’s carriage with dueling pistols and knives. “We’ll vanquish the blackguard,” Hawk said.

  Tristan didn’t know what information Mortland was using to blackmail her, but Tessa had said it was bad. He tried telling himself Mortland had only threatened to reveal finding them alone in her drawing room. But that hardly warranted a clandestine meeting. Whatever she meant to tell him, she did not trust putting it in a letter.

  Tessa clutched her reticule on her lap as the hackney bore her along the dark, cobbled streets. The blackmail letter was inside the reticule. Her stomach clenched, but she could not let herself fall apart. She must use her head and shove aside her fears. Her shame. None of that mattered. Not now. All that mattered was ensuring that the only person who fell tonight was Mortland.

  Jack and Tom took up the entire seat across from her. “Don’t you worry, my lady,” Tom said.

  Tessa silently rehearsed the words she would say to Tristan. She would not make excuses or beg his forgiveness. Nothing could lessen the impact of her confession.

  A few minutes later, the hackney rolled to a halt in front of a small town house. Jack and Tom got out first. Her legs shook as Tom helped her down the steps. The front door opened. Tristan ran down the pavement, tossed a purse to the hackney driver, and took her arm. “Hurry.”

  He instructed the footmen to follow and stand guard at the door. When he led her inside, a butler took her cape. Hawk walked out from the staircase. Tessa glanced around at the simple house—wood floors, plain staircase, and no paintings whatsoever. Bachelors apparently didn’t care much for decoration.

  “Follow me,” Hawk said.

  As Tristan led her toward the stairs, Tessa’s stomach roiled. Now that the moment was at hand, she feared she would retch. But she could not succumb. Think of him. Think of his family and friends. You can do this.

  When they reached the stairs, Hawk kept walking past. “There’s a little parlor this way. Not much furniture, but it’ll do.”

  Pin-prick sensations stung the backs of her hands. She halted. “Wait.” Her voice had sounded unbelievably calm.

  Hawk turned, his expression inscrutable.

  Tristan frowne
d down at her. “What is it?”

  “I must speak to you alone,” she said.

  “But Hawk needs—”

  “Please,” she whispered.

  “Go on, old boy,” Hawk said. “I’ll wait outside.”

  Tristan led her to the door. When he opened it, she walked inside, feeling as if she were struggling to awake from a nightmare. But the green chaise with ugly black tassels and the two mismatched chairs were all too real. When the door clicked shut behind her, she drew closer to the fire, seeking warmth. A coal hissed in the grate as if condemning her.

  His footsteps thudded across the carpet and her pulse raced. She tightened the blue silk drawstrings of her reticule, a mindless attempt to hide her wretched secrets.

  He stopped inches from her back, dwarfing her with his tall presence. Even if she’d not known he’d entered the room, she would have recognized the unique scent of him, a heady combination of sandalwood and primitive male.

  When he put his hands on her shoulders, she closed her eyes, remembering his heated caresses. He had bared her body, but he’d not uncovered the secrets that tormented her soul.

  “Tess, you’re trembling,” he said. “Let me take you to a chair.”

  She made herself turn and meet his gaze. “No, I must face you standing.”

  “I’m certain I know what he’s holding over you,” he said.

  She searched his eyes. He might have guessed part of the demands, but his mild reaction spoke volumes. He didn’t know she’d deceived him.

  “Mortland threatened to spread word we’d had an assignation, didn’t he?”

  “How did you know?” she whispered.

  “The night we argued over Caroline Fielding, I saw a hackney rolling past in your square,” he said. “I thought it suspicious. Since then, I’ve discovered Mortland has been in London longer than he claimed. I’m certain he was in that hackney, spying on you,” he said.

  She drew in a hitching breath. “That was one of many incidents he listed. He named dates and times of all our meetings. He threatened to sell it to the scandal sheets.”

  “I’ll stop him first,” he said.

  “He may have already sent the information. He wants vengeance.”

  “He’s a fool if he thinks he can get away with it unscathed. If Broughton finds out Mortland threatened us, he’ll not hesitate to denounce the blackguard. No one will believe his lies.” Tristan paused. “What did he demand?”

  Her knees shook. “Me.”

  Tristan’s eyes blazed. “The bloody fiend. I’ll see him dead first.”

  “He wants Hollincourt,” she said. “He means to take me to Gretna Green and force me to wed.”

  “He named a place and time to meet?”

  She nodded. “Hyde Park Corner at three o’clock in the morning.”

  Tristan grinned. “Don’t you see? He set his own trap.” He held his fist up. “I’ve got him in the palm of my hand.”

  His jubilant expression pierced her heart. God give me the strength to tell him.

  Tristan took her by the upper arms. “Don’t worry. He’s got nothing to hold over you.”

  “Yes, he does.”

  “I can’t imagine it’s as bad as you think. Let me see the blackmail letter.”

  She tightened her fingers on the strings of her reticule. “There is something I haven’t told you—about the commission.”

  A wary look came into his eyes. “What does the commission have to do with the blackmail letter?”

  She wondered how he’d missed the obvious clues. But out of necessity, she’d become a master at deception. Like a magician, she’d used illusion and misdirection to divert attention away from probing questions. Tristan had seen only what she’d allowed him to see.

  He frowned. “Why are you hesitating?”

  She winced, knowing her next words would shock him. “My uncle did not force him to take the commission because of the village girl.”

  Tristan dropped his hands as if she’d scalded him. “It was you?”

  Her lips trembled. “Yes.”

  “He raped you?” His words came out in a harsh whisper.

  “It wasn’t rape.” She tensed, waiting for the moment revulsion showed on his face.

  He stared at her as if in disbelief. “You told me you didn’t go to your come-out because you didn’t want to leave your grieving uncle. But you didn’t go because that devil got you with child.”

  “No, I was spared that agony.” She’d wept with relief the day her courses had started.

  “You lied to me,” he bit out.

  Her stomach quaked. “You made an assumption. I did not confirm or deny it.”

  “You deceived me.”

  “Y-yes.”

  His expression turned thunderous. “Your uncle forced him to take that commission. He sent him away for a reason. I want the truth.”

  “I swear I’ll tell you the whole of it later, but we’ve not the luxury of time,” she said. “I fell into a trap of my own making and his long ago. The story involves a negligent governess, an elopement that never took place, and my own complicity in my fall.” She almost faltered, but she made herself say the rest. “It h-happened one time. Mortland wanted to s-seal the deal—make sure I showed up at the appointed place and time.”

  “Give me the letter,” he said in a stern tone.

  She’d dreaded this moment even more than her confession. “Before I do, I must warn you. It is vulgar and explicit. Mortland threatened to send the examples in the blackmail letter to you if I did not comply. He is counting on my doing his bidding because he thinks I am too afraid to tell you.”

  She shivered at the cold look in his blue eyes, but she must say the rest. “He thinks I will submit to his demands, but I know he’s planning to send you the letter anyway. Mortland wants you to be livid because he sees you as a rival. I’ve known it since the night he saw you in the foyer at the opera. Do not fall for his trap. He knows you mean the world to me, and he’s using my feelings as a weapon.”

  His jaw worked. “Give me the letter—now.”

  She tried to open the strings of her reticule, but she fumbled and dropped it.

  He retrieved it and steered her over to a chair. Then he handed her the reticule.

  When she pulled out the letter, her hand shook as she offered it to him. He strode off to the sideboard without a word. Oh, God, what if he believed all those filthy lies?

  She wanted to call him back, beg him not to read the foul letter, and tell him none of it was true. But she knew Tristan would never believe her again. He hated her.

  She pressed her fist to her mouth to keep from crying out.

  Tristan slapped the letter on the sideboard. Damn her. She’d kept her ruinous secret from him and exposed his family to the risk of scandal.

  He clenched and unclenched his hands. The minute she’d clapped eyes on that bastard at the opera, she’d known she was in danger. That was the real reason she didn’t want to take a stroll with him. She’d known that blackguard might spill her secret at any moment. But when he’d warned her the next day, she’d pretended the bastard was no threat to her. She ought to have resigned on the spot because of the potential for scandal, but she’d thought of no one but herself.

  He’d fallen for every one of her deceptions and worried about her safety. He’d put every ounce of his energy into hunting that bastard, and she’d not said a word. He’d hired men to protect her. Gone into the slums looking for that fiend. Postponed calling on Amy and Georgette. He’d turned his life upside down for her, and she’d lied to him.

  All the things that had puzzled him about her fell into place. Mortland’s use of her Christian name, the watercolors, and her refusal to wed. He’d offered to marry her because he couldn’t live with dishonoring her. And she’d lied about her reasons for refusing him.

  Even after her confession tonight, she’d had the nerve to tell him he meant the world to her. He knew she’d only told him because Mortland had forced her han
d. She’d put him, his family, the girls, and their families at risk.

  Right now, he couldn’t afford to let his fury distract him. With a deep breath, he took out his watch. Five hours—that’s all the time he had left to put together a team of men to apprehend the fiend. If he didn’t catch that bastard tonight, an unholy scandal would erupt.

  He pocketed his watch and opened the letter. The instructions matched almost all of what she’d told him, save for the demand she bring fifty pounds. Mortland had sworn to make her pay for her betrayal eight years ago. Tristan had no idea what that was about, but it did not matter now.

  He turned the page, and his rage turned deadly cold. The bastard crowed over how many times he’d sampled her. Promised to rough her up and make her beg for his cock. Wrote in filthy language how he would make her pay for all the services she’d performed on His Grace with her whore’s mouth. Mortland regretted he could not tell the duke in person about all the lewd acts she’d so willingly engaged in by the lake.

  When Tristan reached the last sentence in the paragraph, he inhaled sharply.

  I’ll make you spread your legs in the dirt again.

  Denial rose up in him. Mortland had meant to terrify her so she would submit to his demands. He’d threatened to send the foul letter to him. She’d said it had happened once. Mortland had wanted to ensure she’d show for the elopement. Having seen the cur in action, Tristan could well believe it.

  But she’d deceived him repeatedly. He no longer knew what to believe, couldn’t trust his instincts any longer where she was concerned.

  The devil, was it true? An image rose up in his mind of Mortland’s smug look when he’d kissed her hand at the opera. Bile rose in his throat, imagining that blackguard’s hands all over her.

  And he’d thought he was the first man to kiss and touch her.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. Memories of the two of them in the carriage flooded his brain. He recalled her hesitancy when she’d touched him. She’d not known what to do. He’d had to show her how to pleasure him.

  He’d bedded more than his fair share of women who were experienced in the sensual arts, and he would have known if she’d been acting. None of that mattered, he told himself ruthlessly. She’d lied to him all along.