Compromising the Duke's Daughter

by Mary Brendan

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it; that’s saved us both a long and unpleasant conversation.’ Drew strolled further into the investigator’s office and, having taken a cursory glance about at the dusty interior, propped himself against the wall rather than make use of a battered chair.

  ‘I had no hand in the blackmail, sir, I swear.’ Thadeus’s defence emerged in a shrill hiss. ‘I begged Mr Stokes to remain silent the moment he let slip his foul intention to turn your meeting with Miss Morley to his advantage. I felt like cutting out my own tongue for having mentioned it to him,’ Thadeus concluded dramatically.

  ‘You might not need to do that...’ Drew returned with lethal softness and left the rest unsaid. ‘The fact that you told Stokes my private business in the first place begs an explanation and an apology.’

  ‘Indeed...I deeply regret it, sir, and apologise profusely. He came to see me about some business and we had a bottle of port to drink.’ Remorsefully Thadeus shook his head. ‘It oiled my tongue overmuch.’

  ‘What sort of business did he come to speak about?’ Drew pounced immediately, wondering if Thadeus Pryke was mired in some of Stokes’s other evil schemes.

  Thadeus coughed and fidgeted. It wasn’t the first time, but he prayed it would be the last, that his cousin badgered him to betray his clients. Being the corrupt bully he was, Stokes had threatened to tell Thadeus’s upright brother that he was receiving stolen goods unless he disclosed details of clients’ peccadilloes. Thadeus had always been aware of the opportunity in the nature of his work, but had been too chary of a plot backfiring on him, leading to his arrest, to go it alone. Nevertheless, he’d been happy to accept the commission that his cousin slipped his way after the deed was done.

  Customarily, the victim was middle class and would pay up rather than have their dirty linen aired in public. Thadeus had been utterly truthful in telling Mr Rockleigh that he’d entreated Stokes not to tangle with such a personage as a duke’s daughter. Or a man such as the Squire...prize fighter extraordinaire...

  ‘There’s a way for you to put matters right should you choose to accept it.’

  ‘And if I do not?’ Thadeus wheezed. It wasn’t simply the prospect of taking a beating that kept him quivering; he’d never before seen the Squire so well groomed and wasn’t sure who the fellow was now. Though fearful, Thadeus was still sharp enough to know that he was about to be presented with a solution he’d not like and cursed his cousin to hell. Thadeus had always envied Saul’s success and his boasts about mingling with the cream of society; but he’d allowed the man to have too much hold over him and now it had led to bad trouble.

  ‘And if I do not?’ Thadeus repeated agitatedly, hoping to hurry an answer to what fate awaited him.

  ‘And if you do not,’ Drew finally said, idly removing a cheroot from his pocket, ‘you will feel the full force of my displeasure for betraying a fine young woman who imagined you to be trustworthy when she engaged your services.’ Drew cupped a palm about a flaring match, then glanced across to the office opposite where a fellow who resembled an older version of Thadeus was watching them through the glass partition while feigning interest in a ledger. ‘He is the proprietor?’

  Thadeus mumbled an affirmative. He’d started sweating the moment he’d noticed Rockleigh staring at his elder brother. His boss was a stickler for propriety and, kin or no, would have him in gaol if he ever learned that he’d been risking the reputation of the agency. ‘My brother must not know,’ Thadeus said shakily. ‘He would skin me alive...’

  ‘In that case, what I’m about to say should prove to be no hardship for you in comparison,’ Drew said through a haze of tobacco smoke.

  * * *

  Having quit the investigator’s office, the first person Drew passed on the street was his erstwhile employer. Barnaby Smith was on the point of scuttling on when he did a double take and his jaw dropped open. Turning about, he scampered after the urbane gentleman who’d given him a cursory nod.

  ‘Constance Cook is looking for you. She asked me if I knew where you were to be found.’

  Drew nodded thanks for the message.

  ‘You’ve struck lucky then, have you?’ Barnaby said, squinting resentfully at Drew’s excellent suit of clothes, but he got no response other than an enigmatic smile.

  Barnaby Smith watched his best boxer stroll on, knowing that he’d lost the man’s services for good and with it a tidy amount of his income until he discovered another pugilist to equal the Squire’s skill. He ambled on over cobbles, brooding, then entered a tavern feeling in need of a tot of rum to drown his sorrows.

  Slumping into a chair by the mullioned window Smith stared idly through it. His vision focused on a trio of men having a private meeting in the shadow of the stables. Two of the fellows Barnaby knew as crooked itinerants. He had arranged boxing bouts for them both in the past, rigging the matches in their favour for a consideration. Pleased with the outcome, they’d paid his commission and handed over sacks of flour and potatoes as a bribe against future contests. Barnaby had had his own idea on whence those provisions came, but he’d gladly accepted the goods and sold them on to Charlie Clarke at the Cock and Hen for a tidy sum.

  The other, smartly dressed fellow Barnaby didn’t recognise, but he knew that if the two gypsies were taking orders from him—and it seemed that they were—then the cove must be influential. Fearing a rival boxing promoter was attempting to move in on his territory, Barnaby knocked back his rum and slipped quickly outside.

  Quietly he moved into position at the side of an empty stall and strained to hear their conversation. After a few moments he grinned and made his presence known. When the bruisers snarled at him for eavesdropping and shifted threateningly from toe to toe, he concentrated on their paymaster. ‘So, you want these two to find Mr Rockleigh...or the Squire as I know him, and give him a battering, do you.’

  ‘What’s it to you?’ Stokes growled and indicated with a nod that his henchmen should prepare to strike the intruder.

  ‘I’m not here to hinder but to help, sir, for I’ve no liking for the fellow either.’ Barnaby had slickly adopted an obsequious tone. Cautiously he approached to offer a hand to shake. ‘Barnaby Smith at your service, sir. I know the man you’re after because I used to arrange his matches. Now he’s turned his back on me without a by your leave.’ Barnaby swung his head and spat on the ground to emphasise his hatred for the Squire.

  Saul glanced at his associates and one grunted an endorsement.

  ‘You see, these two fine fellows know that I’ve spoken the truth. I’ve done good business with them before, they won’t deny it.’

  Stokes bent his ear towards the itinerant hissing in it. Obviously satisfied by what he’d heard, he gave Barnaby a brusque nod.

  ‘Say your piece then and be gone,’ he growled, looking right and left to spot if anybody else was spying on them.

  ‘If you want to beat the Squire, you’d best be prepared for a hard fight, even three against one.’ Smith stuck out a grimy palm. ‘That advice you can have for free. The rest of my knowledge comes at a price.’

  Stokes bared his teeth, but slapped a few coins into Smith’s outstretched hand, keen to get rid of him.

  ‘If you’re after the Squire you’ll find him with Constance Cook in the Cock and Hen.’

  ‘Do you take us for fools?’ One of the thugs lunged forward, fist shaking beneath Barnaby’s bristly chin. ‘We know about his doxy and have been around his usual haunts already.’

  ‘Ah...you’ve not found him there because he’s deserted Ratcliffe Highway and his jade. But he’ll go back this evening to see her ’cos I’ve just let him know she’s on his tail. He’ll pay her off before leaving her for good.’

  ‘You’ve seen him?’ Stokes barked.

  ‘Minutes ago, on Cheapside.’ Barnaby had already turned to run, the coins gripped in his palm in case the
fellow tried to have them back now he’d got what he wanted.

  Stokes cursed inwardly; he knew why his nemesis had been spotted on Cheapside. Rockleigh had paid Thadeus a visit and his cowardly cousin would have admitted everything about the blackmail rather than risk a thrashing. Saul knew he’d plenty of time to deal with Thadeus; first he had to quickly catch up with Rockleigh and beat out of him how his fortunes had been turned around—if indeed they had.

  Bertha had told him that her brother looked to be back on his feet and flying high; she’d also said she thought Drew must be putting on a show as a last-ditch effort to get even with them. Stokes trusted nobody but himself. He had fancied he’d detected something odd about Bertha this afternoon, but she’d burst into tears when he’d interrogated her, just as she always did when she wanted to avoid an unpleasant matter.

  One thing was certain though: Bertha’s brother could ruin him and Saul reckoned he’d no choice but to silence Drew Rockleigh once and for all.

  * * *

  Joan knew that she had arrived early for her appointment with Drew. Nevertheless she had expected him to be waiting for her. But it seemed he was not. She glanced right and left, jumping as a magpie took flight overhead. A shiver of misgiving rippled through her. Pulling up the hood on her cloak, she began to trot back the way she’d come, her skirts held away from her feet. As a ragged breath scratched her throat she inwardly castigated herself for having again allowed her impulsive heart to overrule her head.

  This thrilling tryst had monopolised her mind for hours; but previously she’d been contemplating it at a safe distance. Now the consequences of wandering alone on a woodland path were a dangerous reality. Most of all Joan felt furiously indignant at the idea that the man she’d risked her reputation for had decided not to come, or worse, had simply forgotten about their meeting.

  It was obvious that Drew had important matters of his own to attend to: much must have recently happened to bring about his transformation from boxer to gentleman.

  The plain carriage, with Pip at the reins and her maid seated inside, was stationary at the deserted mouth of the lane. Anna had begged to accompany her on the woodland walk, but Joan had adamantly refused to allow it. Anna and Pip were faithful and trustworthy, but if her father ever called them to give an account of this afternoon’s escapade the young couple would be torn by divided loyalties. The less they knew, in Joan’s opinion, the more she protected them.

  Another stirring in the shrubbery brought Joan to an abrupt halt. She backed away from the swaying bush just as a hare sprang out and bounded on its way. Joan clasped her shaking hands in front of her, allowing her speeding heart to steady.

  It was a sunny spring afternoon, but Poacher’s Lane was cool, dappled in shade. Her surroundings of gentle pastoral beauty worked their magic and slowly she felt herself calming down. She impressed on herself that if she could make a foray into the East End stews after dark then a leafy glade should hold no fears. When in Devon she would walk for miles through meadows—albeit sometimes without her father’s knowledge. The Duke had always been conscious of the felons carrying kegs off the nearby beaches and would not have approved of his daughter’s lone constitutionals.

  Tilting up her chin to a proud angle, Joan started to walk with determined step back towards the road. If Drew Rockleigh were not prepared to fight alongside her, then she’d battle Stokes on her own!

  The sound of hooves hitting peaty ground shattered Joan’s intrepid mood. Unsure if it was Drew approaching at such speed she decided to be safe rather than sorry and spontaneously sprinted to conceal herself behind a tree, tripping on roots poking from the ground like cadaverous fingers.

  ‘Why did you not wait close to the road by your servants?’ Drew demanded, suppressed anger in his voice as he leapt from the stallion’s back to drag her from behind the oak.

  Aware of the rebuke in his tone, Joan flung him off, backing away. ‘I believed you had gone into the woods to wait for me out of sight.’ Her eyes widened in indignation. ‘How was I to know you would be late?’

  ‘I’m not late...I sent you an urgent note to tell you not to come here.’

  ‘I didn’t get a note!’ Joan cried.

  ‘I know; my servant returned from Upper Brook Street with the message that you were out shopping with friends. I guessed then that you might journey on here without returning home first and reading it.’

  ‘You didn’t want to see me? You chose, after all, not to help find a way to thwart Stokes?’ Joan sounded both hurt and affronted.

  ‘No!’ Drew groaned. ‘But my brain managed to curb that other delinquent part of me that seems to take control whenever an opportunity to be alone with you comes up. You shouldn’t be here, Joan and I’m very sorry that I gave way to temptation. Forgive me.’

  ‘There’s nothing to forgive... I’m not scared,’ Joan said stoutly, conveniently forgetting how uneasy she’d felt moments before.

  ‘I know...you’re a very courageous young woman,’ Drew said gently. ‘I’m scared...of the risk I’ve let you face, encouraging you to come here, and of the damage that could be done to your family’s good name. It’s not your fault, it’s mine...I knew it to be madness from the start.’

  ‘I wanted you to agree and was glad when you did,’ Joan argued stiltedly. ‘I hoped we could discuss how to outwit Stokes. But if you don’t want to...’

  ‘I can deal with him...’ Drew thrust his long fingers through his hair. ‘You should not have strayed this far along the path on your own.’ He swung about and came close enough to tower over her. ‘This lane is used by disreputable characters—hence its name. You’ve chanced running into men with far less regard for your safety than I have.’

  ‘It is broad daylight.’ Joan gestured with outstretched hands held palm up. ‘Only a foolish felon would sally forth at this time of the day. Besides, a fellow stealing a brace of hare doesn’t bother me. I’ve been in the midst of rogues who kill Revenue men to hawk valuable contraband.’

  The magpie suddenly returned to roost in the dense canopy overhead, startling Joan and belying her bravado. She had not overstated the calibre of the West Country criminals, but there she knew her territory. Her only knowledge of this isolated place had come from an overheard conversation between Pip and another stable lad. They had not realised that she was in earshot when discussing an acquaintance who fed his family very well by frequenting Poacher’s Lane.

  ‘A hunter might desire better sport than was got from the game he carried if he stumbled upon you wandering about.’ Drew sent her a frown. ‘A place such as this always attracts a certain class of woman touting for business.’

  Joan cast a wary look to and fro. That the lane was also a haunt for the petticoat set plying their trade, she had not known!

  ‘I must bow to your superior knowledge on such things, Mr Rockleigh,’ she said tartly. ‘As for those other miscreants... I’ve seen nobody about who might want to ravish me.’

  His subtle smile made her blush. They both knew that he was the man who presented the greatest threat to her virtue.

  Joan could already sense tension building, bridging the space that separated them. Despite the shadows she had become increasingly aware of his virile attractiveness and the heat of his body seemed to envelop her like an extra cloak. ‘Not all folk of low stock are corrupt, you know,’ Joan blurted to break the pulsating silence and rouse herself from an odd trance-like state sapping her energy.

  ‘Indeed, I do know.’ Drew said quietly. ‘Some of the nicest people of my acquaintance have no pedigree or wealth.’

  ‘You mean Constance...’ Joan immediately regretted her slip. Since finding out about the goodness in the young woman’s character her jealousy had heightened, but so too had her curiosity about Drew’s paramour. She especially wanted to know if he had fallen in love with her. ‘Benny was rude and intimidating when he be
gged for pennies on the day we were ambushed. He was friendlier when I saw him at the vicarage.’ Joan aimlessly paced to and fro. ‘He even seemed quite sorry for what he’d done. He told me his sister does her best to keep him in check.’

  ‘Constance is naturally honest...her brother is not. They might be kin, but they have different natures, like most siblings.’

  The sourness in his tone made Joan cease perambulating. He might have spoken about his mistress’s family, but she realised he’d been thinking of his own. ‘You are like your sister in looks, if nothing else.’ Joan noticed that his profile hardened at the mention of Bertha. ‘I, on the other hand, am nothing like my brother,’ she chattered on. ‘His hair is quite fair and his eyes bright blue,’ Joan hoped to lighten the atmosphere by talking about George. ‘I would like to see him more often, but he is away at school in Rugby. When the holidays come George likes to go and stay with his best friend in Scotland rather than return home.’ Her fond smile brought matching dimples to the hollows beneath her cheeks. ‘He finds us boring whether we are at home in Mayfair or in Devon. Hamish lives in a castle, you see. The boys enjoy having mock battles amongst the turrets, then there are the lochs and mountains to explore. He is much younger than I...just ten...and I’m lucky if I receive a letter once in a while.’ Drew had been attending closely to her rambling tale about her younger brother and Joan’s expression turned bashful beneath the golden warmth twinkling in his eyes.

  ‘Luke and I would spend our school holidays together at Rockleigh Hall in Kent, getting up to mischief. He was estranged from his father, but he liked mine.’

  ‘Fiona told me that he was quite unhappy as a child because of family rifts. But you enjoyed idyllic early years, it seems, Mr Rockleigh.’

  Drew’s laugh—if it could be called such—was chillingly bitter and caused Joan’s smile to fade.

  ‘Were you not happy, then?’ she asked falteringly.

  ‘My stepfather was well liked by everybody...including me. He was a good man.’