The Duke Who Knew Too Much

by Grace Callaway

“May I present Miss Emma Kent?” he said.

  Emma curtsied. “Good morning, your grace.”

  “Prettily done,” Aunt Patrice approved. “I’ve always said that manner is more important than a title. And your maturity is so refreshing,” she added in conspiratorial tones, “for chits fresh out of the schoolroom can be a dreadful bore.”

  “Thank you.” A line appeared between Emma’s brows. “I think.”

  Alaric coughed into his fist and thanked his lucky stars when Will and Kent strode in. After the men paid their respects to the ladies, he said, “Where shall we start today?”

  “Just heard from Cooper,” Will said. “He’s tracked down one of Mercer’s who—” He cut himself off suddenly, darting a look at Patrice. “One of his, er, female acquaintances, I mean. She may have some information.”

  “Excellent,” Kent said. “Let’s start there.”

  “Strathaven, I had better accompany you,” his aunt interrupted. “With your delicate health, you need someone to look after you—”

  “I will be fine. You must stay here and visit with the ladies.”

  “But surely I could—”

  “I should enjoy chatting with you, your grace,” Emma said. “I am curious to learn more about Scotland and the home that Strathaven grew up in. Please, won’t you keep us company?”

  Patrice looked from him to Emma. Gave a reluctant nod.

  “Thank you, Aunt,” Alaric said with satisfaction.

  He kissed Patrice on the cheek and took Emma’s hand.

  “I’ll see you soon,” he said. “Take care, pet, and don’t get into trouble.”

  “That goes double for you,” she said.

  ***

  “She’s an odd duck, isn’t she?” Violet whispered.

  Standing by the sideboard with her sisters, Emma shot a worried glance at the dowager. Luckily, Lady Patrice was chattering away feverishly with Marianne and didn’t seem to have overheard.

  “Alaric says his aunt is a bit high strung,” Emma replied in hushed tones. “But she’s a good sort and looked after him when he was a boy.”

  “I’m sure she’s just anxious about the men’s mission,” Thea said softly. “As we all are.”

  Vi snorted, piling an assortment of cheeses and sliced meats on her plate. “She’s a bit high strung? She makes the horses at the Ascot seem sedate by comparison.”

  Emma had to admit Lady Patrice’s conversation was an unending ricochet, a fusillade of words that bounced from topic to topic with no apparent connection. Seeing Marianne discreetly hide a yawn, Emma felt a prickle of guilt. Little Edward’s nightmares had kept his mama up last night, and Marianne showed signs of being peaked, which was unusual for her.

  Going over, Emma said, “Marianne, don’t you have an appointment this afternoon?”

  Marianne’s emerald eyes lit up . “My … appointment. Yes. I nearly forgot.”

  “Don’t let me keep you, Mrs. Kent,” Lady Patrice said generously. “The girls can keep me company. I’ve yet to talk about Strathmore Castle, which Miss Emma has expressed interest in.”

  As Marianne made a graceful exit, she paused behind their guest. She mouthed to Emma, Thank you. Emma managed a discreet wink in reply.

  “Now what would you like to know about Strathmore?” Lady Patrice said.

  “Is it really a castle?” Vi said, popping cheese into her mouth.

  “Indeed. It has grand towers and turrets, a magnificent crenellated profile, not to mention a lovely drawbridge,” the dowager said proudly.

  Emma tried to think back to her father’s history lessons, when he’d taught them about the tumultuous relationship between the English and the Scots. “Was it built as a fortress to defend against border invasions?” she asked.

  “No, my dear. It’s not that kind of a castle.”

  “Oh. What other kind is there?”

  Lady Patrice’s azure eyes blinked at her. “Well, the kind that looks lovely, of course. Strathmore embodies the majesty of a bygone era and was designed by one of the foremost architects of the Romantic Revival.”

  “It’s a … fake castle?” Vi said.

  “Young lady, there is nothing fake about Strathmore.” The lace on the dowager’s bosom quivered. “The papa of my own dear duke spent a king’s ransom building it. It is the noblest house in the county—I daresay in all of Scotland.”

  Vi looked unimpressed. “But there’s never been any sieges there? No battles or bloodshed?”

  Thea nudged her. “Your home sounds very grand, your grace.”

  “I can’t expect you to understand,” the dowager sniffed. “Coming from Chuffy Creek …”

  “Chudleigh Crest,” Emma said. “It’s a small village in Berkshire.”

  “Yes, well, you can’t be blamed for not comprehending the grandeur and sophistication of our family seat. Not everyone can understand—unlike my dear Alaric.” The storm left her eyes as suddenly as it had come, replaced by a misty, faraway look. “He took to life at Strathmore like a fish to water. He adored it at first sight, and well he should: ’tis in his blood, after all. Coming to my dear duke and I—well, it was like coming home.”

  “It was kind of you to take Strathaven in,” Emma ventured.

  “It was my husband’s idea. He knew how terribly I missed our son and wanted to give me comfort.” Lady Patrice’s bottom lip quivered. “Alaric filled a void in our lives—and, I like to think, we in his. He suffered a grave illness, you know, and I nursed him through it.”

  “He speaks of your great care and devotion to him,” Emma said sincerely.

  The dowager gave her a beatific smile. “Does he?”

  “Most definitely.”

  “I do worry about him. His health. And now this murder business.” In a sudden blur of motion, Lady Patrice rose to her feet and began to pace. “I wonder how he is. I should not have let him go alone. What if something happens …?”

  “I’m certain he’s fine. He’s with our brother, Mr. McLeod, and the others.”

  The dowager did not seem to hear Emma’s reassurances, her agitation feeding upon itself. She wrung a handkerchief between her hands, darting from place to place, her movements like that of a crazed hummingbird. Clearly, she was worrying herself into a frenzy.

  “Gadzooks,” Vi whispered, “do something, Em.”

  “Er, perhaps you’d like a stroll in the square, your grace?” Emma said.

  “A stroll?” the older lady said blankly.

  “Fresh air can be very calming to the constitution,” she said.

  The lines smoothed from Lady Patrice’s expression; her smile jolted like lightning through thunderheads. “That sounds lovely. Let us go.”

  ***

  Pleading fatigue, Thea stayed home, leaving Emma and Vi to accompany Lady Patrice. Jim the footman followed at a discreet distance, and Emma began to relax into the beauty of the summer afternoon. The park in the middle of the square was tranquil, a leafy green oasis filled with birdsong. If it were not for the surrounding townhouses, she could almost imagine that she was on one of her old walks through the countryside.

  Vi scampered off, her coltish stride unable to accommodate a sedate pace. As Emma walked more leisurely along the pebbled path with Lady Patrice, the latter seemed to calm.

  “How charming,” the dowager said with a sigh. “Back at Strathmore, I take a daily morning constitutional on the banks of the loch. There’s something very soothing about the water. Strathaven adored it when he was a boy.”

  “What was he like when he was a boy?” Emma said.

  “Oh, he was handsome and clever,” the other said, smiling. “He takes after my own dear duke, you know. Strathaven men are always ambitious. They don’t sit on their laurels, content with the title and what they’ve inherited. They want more. They thrive on success and power.”

  Sounds like Alaric, Emma thought wryly.

  “And they marry ladies who support their noble aspirations. My husband and I used my dowry to add two new wings
to the castle,” Lady Patrice said proudly.

  Emma hadn’t considered what wealth she’d bring to Alaric; to her, he hardly seemed to need more money. But maybe, as far as the upper classes were concerned, one could never have too much. Ambrose would certainly not allow her to go to her future husband empty-handed, yet any dowry of hers would definitely not add a wing to an ancestral home.

  Emma felt a sudden pang as she imagined the advantages to Alaric if he married an heiress, a lady of his own class.

  “Oh dear. I’ve spoken too candidly.” Lady Patrice bit her lip, her eyes clouded. “Forgive me, Miss Kent. My words have a way of running away from me. I hope I have not offended you.”

  “You haven’t. I just hadn’t given much thought to the connection between money and marriage,” Emma admitted.

  “Which is most charming and refreshing. And why, I think, Strathaven has taken such an interest in you.” When Emma blushed, Lady Patrice said indulgently, “Oh yes, my dear, I can tell which way the wind blows. And if I may be so bold … do you return his regard?”

  Emma gave a shy nod.

  “I am glad to hear it. I like you, my dear, much more than his last duchess.” The dowager gave a soft harrumph. “Laura might have been rich and beautiful, but she was also a spoiled, demanding chit. My poor boy did what he could to please her, but it was never enough. For that reason alone, I could not like her.”

  “Of course,” Emma murmured.

  “He needs someone to nurture him, to devote herself entirely to his happiness and the care of the family estate. My boy deserves nothing less. You will do that for him, won’t you, Miss Kent?”

  The other’s fervent scrutiny was rather unnerving. Emma didn’t think now was the time to share that, in addition to her wifely duties, she planned to pursue her passion for investigation.

  “We’ve certainly discussed the merits of partnership,” she hedged. “Of respecting and supporting one another—”

  A rustling sounded behind them. Some sixth sense made her turn around ...

  ... in time to see a dark-garbed villain bash Jim in the head with a cudgel. With a groan, the footman crumpled to the ground. The cutthroat advanced toward Emma and the frozen dowager. Emma grabbed onto Patrice, dragging her backward. Only to collide into a brick wall of a chest—another cutthroat had snuck up behind them.

  A thick piece of cloth muffled Emma’s scream. She struggled against her captor, a sweet pungent smell burning through her nostrils, her throat. Her strength floated from her, and the world dissolved into a cloud of darkness.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Miss Kitty Germaine, Mercer’s mistress, occupied a small, neat house on Henrietta Street. Clad in a filmy, flesh-colored robe, she received Alaric, Will, and Kent in a parlor done in a palette that strategically complimented her brunette coloring. By Alaric’s reckoning, this was a woman with a calculating bent. Despite her classical looks, he sensed a hardness to Miss Germaine, a cynicism that was beginning to etch lines around her eyes and mouth.

  The profession of a mistress was, undoubtedly, a difficult one.

  “Mercer’s not here,” she said matter-of-factly after they’d been seated. “And to save you the trouble: no, I haven’t the faintest notion where he’s gone.”

  “How do you know we’re here because of Mercer?” Will demanded.

  “Well, now, are you here for another reason, love? Because I do have a weakness for strapping men.” Her dark gaze encompassed all of them, lingering on Alaric. “And, my, what fine specimens you are.”

  “We know Mercer was here,” Will said doggedly.

  “He was.” Her shoulders lifted lazily. “Now he is not.”

  “He is wanted for murder,” Kent said, “and unless you want to be charged as an accomplice—”

  “Murder?” The languidness fled her expression. “The earl?”

  “He has attempted to kill me twice,” Alaric said, “and shot another man in cold blood. He is not the sort of protector a woman would wish for.”

  Beneath her subtle, artfully applied paint, Miss Germaine’s cheeks paled. “He isn’t—my protector, I mean. We parted ways a month ago.”

  “Then why was he here?” Alaric said evenly.

  “He said he’d run into a spot of trouble and needed a place to spend the night.” Her throat bobbed. “I didn’t have any cust—company planned, so I let him stay.”

  “You have no idea where he’s headed?” Kent said.

  “He left before dawn. Didn’t say goodbye.” Licking her lips nervously, she added, “My maid said she looked out the window and saw him with some unsavory characters. Apparently, they all took off in a coach together, and the top was packed with trunks. That’s all I know.”

  Alaric didn’t detect any falsehoods. “Why did your arrangement with Mercer end?”

  “Money,” she said succinctly. “Specifically, his lack thereof. Some conniver bilked him of his fortune—he’d turn apoplectic whenever he talked about it.”

  Alaric exchanged grim glances with the other men. Apparently Mercer had rewritten history to make himself out to be the victim—perhaps he even believed his own false tales, used them to justify all the evil that he’d done. There was no telling what such a man was capable of.

  Urgency and frustration filled him. He had to find Mercer, put an end to this chaos.

  Then he could start a new life with Emma.

  Her poise returning, Miss Germaine said coyly, “Being as selective as I am about my friendships, it has not been easy to find a truly rich and powerful patron.”

  “I wish you luck.” Bridling with impatience, Alaric rose. “Thank you for your time.”

  “Leaving so soon? Perhaps you’d like some refreshment—”

  A pounding sounded on the front door. A minute later, Cooper entered the room, and Alaric’s insides chilled when he saw the bleak set of the guard’s features.

  “What is it, Cooper?” he said.

  “Mercer’s kidnapped Miss Kent and the dowager,” the guard said tersely, holding out a note. “He’s demanding ransom.”

  ***

  The world came slowly into view. In the dim light, Emma made out wooden walls, a shuttered window, a table and stool … she was in a tiny cabin of some sort. And it was ... rocking?

  Where am I?

  Emma registered that she was laying on a cot. She managed to sit up and get woozily to her feet. She stumbled a few steps, heard the clanking of metal, felt a jerk on her ankle. Looking down, she saw that a manacle and short chain anchored her right foot to the bed.

  She and the dowager had been kidnapped.

  Memories returned in hazy snippets, accompanied by the sweet, sickening scent of ether. A carriage ride through darkness. Being hauled up a gangway … Yes, she could smell the tang of sea air now. She was on a ship.

  Dear God, where was Lady Patrice?

  A faint sound made her look up. There was a bunk above her own, a small figure upon it. Standing on her tiptoes, Emma verified with relief that it was indeed the dowager. Other than the rise and fall of her thin chest, the lady lay still as death, the stone of her ring gleaming like blood upon her waxen hand.

  “Lady Patrice,” Emma whispered urgently.

  No reply. The poor thing was heavily drugged. The bastards—how could they treat a defenseless elderly woman in this despicable manner?

  Footsteps approached. Before Emma could return to the cot, the door opened, and a tall blond man holding a lamp stepped inside. As he set the light on the table, its flickering glow gave his handsome face a demonic cast. His cravat was elegantly knotted, his wool overcoat lavishly embroidered. She recognized him from the Blackwood ball—one of the men who had disparaged Alaric’s venture.

  “You’re Lord Mercer,” she said, her gaze narrowing.

  He smiled thinly and bowed. “Welcome aboard my vessel, Miss Kent.”

  “You had better release us this instant.” She angled her chin up. “If you don’t, you’ll regret being born when Strathaven
and my brother find us. And I promise you they will.”

  “Oh, I’m counting on it, Miss Kent. You are my insurance, you see, and my ticket to a new life. I’ve been watching Strathaven, and I know he’ll do anything to have you.” Mercer smirked. “That is, if he hasn’t already had you.”

  Emma stumbled back when Mercer came toward her, trapping her against the frame of the bed. His pungent cologne wound into her nostrils, and she shrank away, her skin crawling as he pressed himself up against her.

  “I wonder,” he said, his breath hot against her cheek, “what talents could a country miss possess to enthrall a man like Strathaven? I have a mind to see for myself.”

  “Get away from me, you bounder!”

  Her lungs seized as he fingered a fallen tress of her hair. She felt a revolting poke against her thigh, the thing hard and … sharp? The realization struck her: the object prodding her wasn’t his manhood—but a ... key.

  He let her go. “Time to sample your charms later. For now,” he said with a sneer, “I have a welcome to prepare for your erstwhile duke. He should be arriving anytime now.”

  Emma thought quickly. “He won’t fall into your trap. He’s too clever for that.”

  Mercer turned a livid shade. “He’ll dance like a puppet on strings if he wants you and his aunt alive.” His manicured fingers curled like claws. “I am dictating the terms now—not him.”

  Sensing the crazed fury beneath the polished facade, Emma knew she’d hit upon his weakness. She had to use his vanity to her advantage. Just have to get him closer …

  “Strathaven is going to crush you,” she taunted. “You don’t stand a chance.”

  She yelped when Mercer grabbed her by the hair. He yanked hard, jerking her face up, forcing her to meet his eyes, which were dilated with fury. She feigned fear, twisting as if to get away from him, angling her hand toward the pocket of his overcoat …

  “Shut your mouth, bitch,” he spat. “If it weren’t for the interfering bastard, I’d be a rich man by now. My scheme was brilliant; I stood to make a fortune. But Strathaven ruined it all. Thanks to him, not only did I lose my money—now I have Billings’ underworld criminals after my blood.”

  “It’s your own fault.” Almost there … keep him distracted … “You made a bad business decision. You compounded that by trying to murder Strathaven—and by killing Silas Webb.”