So who would be the next monster to take over the brothel?
That very question haunted him every time he sat in the stench of the Jolly Vassal, watching the derelict depths of humanity mill about. Continue the dance as it was, saving the ones they could—or upend the game completely and hope that half of the rotten apples decayed into nothingness?
The door of Lord Halton’s library opened, and Fletch walked in. Caine’s eyebrow arched as he pushed himself from the wall. “So you did show.”
“I was waylaid,” Fletch said, walking over to the port and pouring a glass.
“Waylaid in one of Halton’s dark corners? This place was built for clandestine trysts, with its maze of halls.”
“If I get lost, I get lost.” Fletch shrugged, turning from the sideboard with a devious smirk. “What I want to know is why you disappeared into here and are not stumbling your way about this monstrosity of architecture. There are plenty of young chits here that would froth at the mouth to get near the most recently reminted bachelor of the ton.”
Caine’s lips contorted, his head shaking.
“At the very least, will you be joining us in the music room? I understand Halton’s middle daughter is delightful on the pianoforte.”
“The devil save me.” Caine moved to the sideboard to refill his tumbler of brandy. “I am only present because you have disappeared since we arrived back in London and I needed to talk to you. Why are you even here?”
“Halton invited me.”
Caine cleared his throat, giving Fletch a side glance.
“And possibly because the Widow Josten urged me to attend.”
“She is over her late husband’s death?”
“Has been for months. She is enjoying her newfound freedom.” With a wink, Fletch settled himself next to Caine, leaning on the sideboard. “So what was so important that you had to drag yourself out into public only days after your jilting?”
Caine took a sip of brandy, turning to his friend. “I needed to thank you.”
Fletch nearly sputtered out half-swallowed port. “Th—thank me?” He managed to get the words out between coughs.
“Do not make a mockery out of my gratitude, my friend.” Caine watched Fletch double over in hacking spasms, calmly sipping his drink as he waited for his friend to catch air.
Taking another sip of port, Fletch finally gained control of his breathing. “Do tell what has you thanking me.”
“Your words about Ara on the way back from Notlund Castle. They inspired me to evaluate my life.”
“And?”
“And we are to marry the day after next.”
A rollicking laugh echoed in the room as Fletch pounded Caine’s back. “Well done, man. I assume I am invited to—”
The door to the library crashed open, cutting Fletch’s words.
Both Caine and Fletch spun to the doorway to find a livid man storming into the room. A trailing second man slammed the door shut.
“You.” The first man strode across the room, finger jabbing in the air at Caine. “You bastard.”
Caine’s stance instantly widened, bracing himself for whatever onslaught this man was coming at him with. The man was large, just as tall as Caine, and seething, his elbow already high and pulling back to attack.
The second man caught the arm of the first and yanked him to a stop only a step before his fist flew at Caine. “Devin, hold it. Not here. This is not the place.”
Caine stared at the two, fists clenching. Both were dressed well enough to partake in Lord Halton’s party, but Caine didn’t recognize either one.
Yanking from his friend, the raging man kept advancing, his eyes not leaving Caine even as his friend struggled to pull him backward. “You bastard, I will kill you.”
Fletch stepped slightly in front of Caine, glaring at the two men. He looked to the second man. “Lord Southfork, what in the hell is your man about?”
Southfork yanked the man’s arm once more, twisting it behind his back and stopping his motion. Southfork looked to Fletch. “I have every right to unleash the Duke of Dunway onto your bastard friend, Lockston. But I am not going to allow him to do so in Halton’s home.”
Caine tried to sidestep around Fletch to meet the duke head-on. No one—duke or not—threatened him. But Fletch was too quick, blocking Caine before he could take a full step.
Fletch’s hands flew up, calming as much as he could the raging currents in the room. “Hold one moment, Southfork, your grace. What the hell has happened that you are set on attacking a stranger, and might I add, my friend?”
“You are worthless at choosing friends,” Southfork said, grimacing at the strength it was taking to hold back the duke.
The duke shook, trying to free his arm, shooting Caine with venom in his eyes. “You are a dead man, Newdale.”
“Will someone please enlighten us as to why you continue to make these threats?” Fletch asked, hands still up and attempting to calm the room.
“I will resist killing him here, Killian.” The duke jerked again, and Southfork let his arm drop. The duke’s steel look burrowed into Caine. “You were at my estate in Kent several weeks ago, Newdale, and I only have just tracked you down. You delivered something—someone to my estate. Someone that is very dear to me, and what you did to her is going to cost you your life.” Each word was wrapped with icy death.
Caine’s mind raced. Kent? When in the blasted hell had he last been in Kent? He rarely went that direction out of London, so what the devil? Only with Ara had he—shit.
It came to him in one gut-punch. Of course. The girl they had delivered to the estate in Kent. A huge estate. The duke’s estate. Of course. What was her name?
“Lizzie.” Her name fell from Caine’s lips in recognition, and it damned him.
“You fucking bastard.” The duke flew at him, his fist clipping Caine’s chin before Southfork latched onto the duke’s shoulders and yanked him back once more. This time, it was clear Southfork wasn’t about to let the duke go. “You stole her and used her, you bastard, and you will pay.”
Caine gained back the two steps the duke’s fist had sent him staggering, crunching the shattered glass from his dropped tumbler on the floor. He shoved Fletch to the side. “What do you know, your grace?”
“Here is what I know, you bloody bastard. Lizzie is my wife’s little sister, who I regard as my very own flesh and blood,” the duke said, breath seething. “She was taken—gone for days, and I only just found the card with the address of the house you own on it. She was delivered back to my home by your carriage. My groundskeeper verified it was you yesterday—he saw you in the carriage when you left her at my estate. And she refuses to say a word about where she was. Do I need to know more?”
Shit.
Caine could only shake his head, praying the duke hadn’t figured out why there were scores of women living at the Baker Street house. “No.”
“Then I give you a day to get your affairs in order, you fucking worm. I will see you at dawn in Hyde Park the day after next.”
Caine inclined his head, his voice frosty. “Until then.”
With a nod, Southfork dragged the duke out of the library, the echoing of the slammed door vibrating across the silence of the room.
The silence sat, heavy, until Fletch turned to Caine. “What the bloody devil are you doing, Caine? Why did you not tell him?”
Caine rubbed his jaw, the fury that he had muzzled in front of the duke exploding. “Tell him what, Fletch? That I buy virgins to save them? That I was just delivering her home, unsullied and safe and sound with nary a scratch on her? She had been gone for days—the man is not going to believe that.”
“But it is the truth. You have proof.”
“No. Shut your mouth, Fletch.”
“If the girl won’t talk, you have proof, Caine. Ara was with you—and any one of those Baker Street house women will vouch for you—for what you did for them. Ara will be the first in line for that.”
“I did not s
ave all of them only to bring ruin upon them. To have what they have built their lives to be get ruined by scandal—to have them spit upon by the lowest of the low on the street. Where do you think they would end up?”
“Well, just Ara, then. Surely—“
“Do not even utter it. Ara, most of all.” Caine’s right hand folded into a fist. “She is not to be tainted by this. Do you hear me?”
“Uncurl your fist. This is your life, Caine. The duke is a fine shot.”
“You are right, Fletch, it is my life. And I will damn well do with it what I please.”
~~~
Her fingers tapping on the sleek wooden box next to her on the settee, Ara looked out the window in the Pearl drawing room at the Duke of Dunway’s townhouse, so named, she assumed, because of the layers of cream and white fashioning the room. Ara guessed the duchess’s three young children were strictly prohibited from the room, but then again, maybe not. The duchess did not seem the type to put avoiding stains before her children’s happiness.
Rays from the late morning sun cut into the room, sending to sparkle the crystals lining the top of the oil lamp by the window. It was unusual to be meeting with the duchess this early, but also one of the reasons Ara so liked the woman. Much like Ara, the duchess did not like to piddle the day away, and she had insisted on meeting with Ara before the normal calling hours.
Ara heard light footsteps outside the door and stood just as the duchess walked into the drawing room.
“Miss Detton, good day. Thank you for coming.” While her dark indigo silk dress and elegant chignon were flawless, the duchess’s green eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks a bit puffy. She motioned to the cream settee Ara had been waiting on. “Please, sit.”
Ara started to sit, but then paused. “Your grace, forgive me for suggesting, but you seem distraught. We do not need to do this now and can certainly find another time to meet.”
The duchess waved her hand. “No. Let us continue. I have been entirely anxious to see the design, and it will take my mind in a better direction than where it is currently at.”
Instant worry overtook Ara’s usual polite restraint. “There is something of grave concern?”
With a deep frown weighing upon her pretty features, the duchess sat on a delicate side chair. “It is something I have been told by my husband I have no control over, so I can only hope for the best outcome with it.”
Ara nodded, knowing all too well how the duchess felt. Far too often in her own life, control that only belonged to a man had brought her despair. She sat, drawing the wooden box into her lap.
“Well, I hope this can give your mind a respite from your worry. I truly think Greta has outdone herself for you on this creation, your grace.” Ara handed the box to the duchess. “She took your crest, and I think did a lovely replication of the lion with some inspired uses of diamonds and emeralds on the brooch.”
The duchess opened the simple box, staring at the brooch on the swath of velvet. “It is exquisite.”
Ara exhaled with a nod, looking over the tip of the box at the diamonds gaining a sparkle from the sun. The first moments she unveiled a design to the buyer were always the most nerve-racking, even if the duchess had never been anything but enthusiastic about Greta’s designs.
“Greta crafted both the lion and filigree on this one, as she so adores making designs for you. She set the hidden pin on the back as a loop, so it can double as a necklace. She said, very specifically, it would do well with the simple line of emeralds she created several months ago for you.”
“Ingenious.” The duchess smiled, fingering the piece. “Greta does have an astute eye for detail that I admire.”
Ara nodded. “Yes. And she is working on the watch fob with the matching crest for your husband as well. She has yet to find the specific emerald she wants for the eye, so she is currently badgering our gemstone merchant.”
A frown set onto the duchess’s face at the mention of her husband.
“Your grace?”
The duchess shook her head, holding back obvious tears. “I apologize, it would seem I am not the best company today.” She closed the cover of the box, setting it on the white marble top of the side table.
Ara stood. “No, I should have insisted upon leaving. I did not want this to be a bother for you.”
“No—it is not a bother. It has cheered me—at least partially.” The duchess stood, walking Ara across the room.
Glancing at the long case clock near the hearth, Ara noted it was still two hours before her next appointment at Lady Gowden’s townhouse. Her stomach did an excited flip. She had thought there wouldn’t be time between the appointments she had previously committed to that day, but now there would be time to stop at Caine’s townhouse. Maybe seeing him would stop her mind from wandering everywhere but on the jewellery.
She had told Mrs. Merrywent about the wedding, and Mrs. Merrywent had gone into a flurry of planning early this morning. Ara needed to warn Caine that their very small, very sedate wedding the next day was quickly spiraling into an elaborate event under Mrs. Merrywent’s watch.
The duchess stopped at the doorway to the drawing room, her fingers uncharacteristically wringing each other. “Before you leave, Miss Detton, has Greta ever designed anything appropriate for someone younger? A fourteen-year-old? My sister has been terribly withdrawn as of late, and I cannot cheer her no matter what I have tried. Even her nephews and niece do not bring smiles from her. And they are capable of fantastic antics. So maybe something new and pretty for her to look upon may draw a smile? I know it seems silly, but I will try anything at this point.”
Ara mentally scanned what she knew was being created on the goldsmith benches in what had become the workshop in the study of the Baker Street house. “Greta has some delightful new designs for jewelled parasol handles that the goldsmiths have started upon. She is having them use an innovative weave with the gold strands against the enamel of the handle. The first ones are almost complete, and I imagine they will create a frenzy, as they look young and flirty. Do you think that may be suitable?”
The duchess offered a worried smile. “I do. That would be wonderful. Thank you.”
“Then I shall see that you are the first to choose amongst the designs when they are finished.”
The duchess nodded. “Do give my regards to Greta, as well. She has truly outdone herself with this piece—it captures the spirit of the crest perfectly. I am grateful, even if my current countenance does not do my reaction justice.”
Ara smiled warmly. “Be assured I will repeat your praise, and Greta will revel in it.”
Stepping out into the sunlight, Ara smiled, looking up at the blue sky as she let her thoughts run to the one thing she was desperate to concentrate on.
By this time tomorrow, she would be married to Caine.
All she had ever truly wanted in life.
With a skip down the stairs of the duke’s townhouse, Ara hurried in the direction of Caine’s home, hoping he wasn’t too busy planning the wedding himself that she would have to referee between him and Mrs. Merrywent.
She chuckled to herself.
There were worse problems to have.
{ Chapter 15 }
“You need to tell Ara, Caine.”
Caine looked up to watch Fletch stroll into his study. Fletch’s fingers dragged along the edge of Ara’s desk before he plopped into a leather chair opposite Caine. Caine set the quill in his fingers onto the desk, sighing as he cocked his eyebrow at his friend. Wilbert hadn’t announced Fletch—probably because Fletch had just walked right by the man, not giving Wilbert the chance to enforce Caine’s strict instructions he be left alone. He had enough to do today without going another round with Fletch.
“She thinks to marry you on the morrow, man,” Fletch said, his fingernails digging into the leather at the end of the armrest. “What do you think it will do to her if you do not appear at the church? If you leave her standing there alone? She deserves better, Caine.”
Fletch leaned forward, his fingers threading together as he pinned Caine with a glare. “Do not do this to her.”
“I do not have a choice, Fletch. Either I die tomorrow, or my life will go down in the flames of scandal after the duel. Tell me you are not naïve enough to think the duke will keep the reason for the duel a secret? If he—by some scarce chance—misses me and I escape alive, you can be sure he will still ruin me in every way possible.”
Fletch shrugged. “You ruined or not, Ara will not care. She is made of sterner stuff than you are giving her credit for.”
“I know exactly what she is made of, and that is exactly why she must remain ignorant of everything that happens between now and tomorrow morning. This is the only way I can make this easy for her.”
“By giving her up?” Fletch jumped to his feet, leaning over the desk at Caine. “Now I know you are made of sterner stuff than that. This idiocy and what you think to do to protect her has gone on long enough. I had thought with some distance from last night’s incident with the duke you would have thought the better of your plan. You can stop this, Caine. Up until you take those twelve paces, you can stop this.”
Caine’s head bowed, his stare on the desk. “It is to be twelve, then? You have met with the duke’s second—Southfork, I assume? I would have preferred less.”
“Blast it, Caine, I am attempting to save your hide. For little gratitude, I might add. Twelve is as high as Southfork would allow.” Fletch shook his head. “But you can still stop all of this with the truth.”
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