The Good, the Bad, and the Duke

by Janna MacGregor

  All he could think about was protecting her from those men. How laughable was that. He’d kissed her senseless when those same men had been but five feet and one oak door from discovering her in his arms.

  Her defiance melted. “I don’t suppose I have a chance of changing your mind, do I?”

  The torment in those beautiful gray eyes looked like a brewing storm, one that had the power to slash his resolve. Everything within him stilled, the moment suspended in time.

  He leaned back against the squab in an attempt to maintain his control. What was it about this woman that made him want to do things so out of character? She couldn’t go back to the Reynolds, not after what Gilby relayed.

  “You can’t come with me, but I promise I’ll find it and return it to you,” he said.

  “Of course, it’s a tremendous amount of work. Perhaps I should hire a private investigator. I can’t ask you to do any more.” She bit her full, lush bottom lip.

  He subdued a groan. “It’s best to keep this between us. The less people that know, the better. I promise I’ll go to the Reynolds every day. Plus, I have Griffin Witt, another groomsman who grew up in Seven Dials. He’s loyal, honest, and hardworking. I’ll send him straightaway to see what he can discover. He still has friends who live there.”

  She looked outside the window as if deciding. Finally, after a moment, she returned her gaze to his. “I suppose that makes the most sense for now.”

  “If I can’t find the journal within the week, I’ll hire a private investigator,” he said. “I promise.”

  “Speaking of promises, did you rescind your bid on my building?” she asked.

  He blinked slowly. With everything that had happened over the last few days, he’d completely forgotten to send word to his solicitors. “I’m sorry. It slipped my mind.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and he got the distinct impression that the sudden chill in the carriage had nothing to do with the weather but her demeanor. “Pembrooke said…” Her words slipped into silence.

  “What did he say?” Paul asked. “I’m anxious to hear how you handled it.”

  A small grin tugged at her mouth. Immediately, the carriage felt warmer. “He was against my decisions at first, but I have little doubt he’ll support me once he gets used to the ideas. Alex is like a fine whisky. He needs to ferment his thoughts for a while, then he’ll come around.”

  “As soon as we’re finished here, I’ll stop by my solicitors’ office.” He should have made the call two days ago when he first saw Daphne at Winterford. Instead, he dealt with another gambling debt his father had thoughtfully gifted him on Christmas Eve. Paul had found it on his desk after he arrived home from the furrier where he’d purchased Daphne’s gift. “Did you tell him about me?”

  He sat motionless except for his hand, which tightened into a fist as he waited for the answer. Whatever this was developing between Daphne and him had the markings of a great triumph or a colossally bad decision on his part. When Daphne’s forehead crinkled into nice, neat rows, it didn’t bode well for success.

  “Yes, I told him.” She tilted her head and stared.

  “And?”

  “Whatever he said is immaterial.” She waved a hand, dismissing the subject. “You and I have an agreement. But your lack of action makes me wonder if you’re changing your mind about the property.”

  “No, on my honor.” He crossed his heart with one finger. “We have a bargain.”

  She nodded.

  “Daphne.” Paul intertwined their fingers and pulled her near. Her gaze pierced his. “I don’t know how or when, but I’d like to see you again. Soon.”

  “Of course.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’d like that, too. I haven’t forgotten my promise about Pembrooke.”

  He almost wished he’d never asked for such a promise from her. It only added more to her worries. But selfishly, it meant she kept him in her thoughts. “If you need me, send word through Tait. If it’s urgent, come to the house. My butler is discreet.” He brushed his lips against her soft cheek. “Now off with you, Lady Moonbeam.”

  He knocked once, and immediately the footman opened the door. He sprung from the carriage and, without a look back, proceeded to his own vehicle. For some reason, their parting had felt like a good-bye. The sudden emptiness that rolled through his chest almost made him fall to his knees.

  Somehow, he stayed upright until he was seated in his own coach. He thanked heaven for small miracles. Devan must be having some influence on him.

  Yet if he’d had taken one more look at her, he would have never left her side.

  God in heaven, she deserved so much better than him.

  * * *

  Daphne rushed to the salon once she heard Emma was at Pembrooke House with her precious baby, Lady Laura Lena St. Mauer. It had only been a week since she’d last seen Emma, but during that time Daphne’s life had been completely transformed, some for the good and some for much worse. A long talk with her best friend would settle some of the restlessness that had taken over her thoughts.

  Once she swept through the door, her heart leapt. Emma looked like a ray of sunshine in a beautiful ivory dress that highlighted her blond hair. She practically glowed as she kissed Laura Lena on her cheek.

  “Emma!” Daphne held out her arms for the baby and brushed a kiss across Emma’s cheek.

  Her friend laughed and handed the baby to Daphne. There were no words exchanged, as Emma knew immediately what she wanted.

  Daphne cooed, “How’s my glorious girl today?”

  “If you’re asking after me, I’m fine but tired.” Emma settled on the settee in front of the fire. “But if you’re referring to Laura Lena, she’s in excellent spirits. The holidays agree with her.”

  Daphne kissed the baby’s cheek. Her complexion resembled the color of pink carnations, and she smelled of spring, clean and fresh. Daphne uttered a sigh, then settled next to Emma. “How are you feeling?”

  “Much better than when I was expecting Laura.” Emma patted her still flat stomach. “Dr. Camden believes that this one will be born around midsummer.”

  “I’m so thrilled for you and Somerton.” While clutching Laura to her chest with one hand, she reached over and laid her hand over her friend’s. In that moment, Daphne physically felt the bond between them. Emma was a stalwart confidant, the best type of friend a woman could have. Daphne could share anything with her and there would be no judgments. “It’s so good to see you, my lovely friend.”

  Emma twisted on the settee so she could face Daphne. “Spill.”

  “What?” Taken aback, Daphne asked, “Spill what?”

  “Why didn’t you come to Pemhill with us?” Emma lifted one perfectly arched brow. “Don’t leave out a single fact.”

  “It’s so humiliating.” Daphne gently patted the baby, who fought against falling asleep.

  Emma reached over and ran a finger down Laura Lena’s cheek. Her mother’s touch was magical. The baby shut her eyes almost instantaneously. “I’m your best friend. I’d never judge you.”

  Daphne drew close to talk without disturbing Laura Lena. “When the time came to leave for Pemhill, everyone had disappeared. Only Tait remained, and I asked him to stay with me. I was certain Alex would return for me, so I waited, and nothing happened.”

  “Go on,” Emma encouraged. “I want it all.”

  Daphne swallowed the sour embarrassment the best she could, but she could still taste it. “Though I knew Mother and Alex each thought I traveled with the other, I was out of sorts.”

  “Understandably,” Emma agreed.

  “To tame my thoughts, I took a walk and settled on my park bench with my journal.” She glanced at Emma.

  Without any judgment, her friend nodded.

  “A boy approached me asking for a coin, and when I gave him one, he stole my reticule with my journal.” The words tumbled from Daphne’s lips. “My private journal.”

  Emma gasped. “No.”

  “Oh yes.” D
aphne bent and pressed a gentle kiss on Laura’s forehead. “I gave chase, but the little fiend slipped into the Reynolds.” Daphne caught Emma’s acute gaze. “The Duke of Southart happened to be there and escorted me home.”

  Emma’s eyes widened. “Paul?”

  Daphne nodded. “He was nothing but kindness.”

  “Is he gambling again?” asked Emma.

  “Paying a debt from long ago.” She closed her eyes for a moment. Memories of his gentle teasing and the feel of his lips possessing hers enveloped her in a delicious warmth that no blazing fire could match. “He’s helping me find the boy and my journal, but we’ve had no luck. In return, I’m helping him repair his friendship with Alex.”

  When she glanced up, Emma’s eyes had widened. “You’d never told me, but is he the one you were always looking for at those balls and society events we’d attend together?”

  She should deny it. Daphne bowed her head and pretended to straighten the baby’s blanket. She’d never told a soul why she’d escape from the crowds and find a view high above the ballrooms or a discreet corner at every musicale event.

  It was difficult to share such personal secrets, and that left Daphne with one conclusion. If she couldn’t be herself with Emma, her best friend, then she’d be hiding again. Today, she wouldn’t deny what she wanted in life or what she felt for Paul. This was another step in shedding her self-imposed invisibility. “He’s the one.”

  Emma placed her fingers over Daphne’s hand. “You always reminded me of some regal queen surveying her kingdom. You’d find the perfect view and gaze about the room. After all this time, you were waiting for Southart.”

  Daphne nodded, then looked Emma in the eye. “I looked for him every night even if he was out of town. But because of my family’s regard for him, I didn’t dare breathe a word. It’s foolish, I know.”

  “Of course it’s not,” Emma said.

  “I always thought he was special ever since I was a little girl.” There was no use denying it. She’d never shared that secret, something precious she held dear. But she needed Emma’s help. Too much was at stake. “He’s so kind and visited me every day. He’s bidding on the same building, but he said he’d rescind his bid.”

  “Has he yet?”

  “No. But I trust him. There’s more,” Daphne sighed.

  Emma tilted her head.

  “The Midnight Cryer published a page from my journal, one that they bought from the boy who stole my things. It was a secret fantasy I’d written … about Paul.” Troublesome tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked twice so they wouldn’t fall. “They’re trying to buy the rest of the journal from the boy and have threatened to publish more. I-I’m terrified. I’ve written some scathing letters and thoughts about my sister from long ago. It will hurt Alex and Mother terribly.”

  Emma grabbed her hand and squeezed. “The Midnight Cryer has crossed the line here. Somerton uses an informant, Mr. Goodwin, in his shipping business. Not a sneeze escapes London that Mr. Goodwin doesn’t know about. Professional and competent, he’ll help us find the boy and your journal.”

  Emma stood with a natural grace and started to pace.

  “I appreciate the offer, Em, but Paul is trying to find it for me. The boy has gone into hiding. If he thinks that he’s being hunted, he may disappear entirely. I need your help with something else. I promised I’d try to mend the breach between Alex, Somerton, and Paul.”

  Emma’s emerald eyes sparkled when she stopped and faced Daphne. “What can I do?”

  “It’ll require getting Claire and my mother involved,” Daphne announced, then quickly looked at the angel sleeping in her arms. Thankfully, she didn’t wake. “I think if we invite Paul to dinner as a thank-you for his considerate treatment of me while I was home alone, it would help start a conversation between the three men. It can’t be obvious to anyone. Soon, Paul will be hosting a charity soiree to help establish a hospital in his brother’s honor. I thought if the women of the family got behind the effort, then the men might be more inclined to accept Paul and listen to his plans. It means a great deal to him.”

  “I’d be delighted to help,” Emma said with a wily smile.

  Suddenly, Laura Lena protested, and Daphne rocked the fussy baby in her arms.

  “What harm could befall having a little fun while promoting a good cause?” Emma asked. “You and Paul are destined for one another.”

  Daphne pressed another kiss against Laura Lena’s cheek. If only fate did link Paul’s destiny with hers. She couldn’t concentrate on dreams now. She had to find that journal before Garland sold more of it to The Midnight Cryer.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Daphne’s lady’s maid, Mavis Taylor, had returned to Pembrooke House after spending a lovely holiday with her family, and things had settled into the usual routine as Daphne waited for her world to implode. Garland and her journal were still missing.

  Today, the runner Tait had hired came with news. Thomas Reynolds was looking for Garland also, which meant the boy would probably be back at the establishment working this evening. Daphne couldn’t sit by and let fate dictate her future. There was only one thing she could do—go to the Reynolds tonight. The Midnight Cryer had been deceptively quiet, but the morning’s edition hinted they were close to acquiring her diary. They expected to publish more scandalous entries this weekend. At the end of the article, the gossip rag had thanked its gentle readers for their patience and interest in the harlot’s shenanigans.

  Daphne blew a breath, causing a loose strand of hair to fall across her face. She angrily swiped the offending piece behind her ear. “Gentle readers” was an oxymoron if there ever was one. The entire family knew she enjoyed reading the gossip rag with Emma by her side at the bank. She loved discovering who was pursing whom romantically, and she always read every word to see if she could discover anything about Paul. She’d skip the stories that maligned reputations and ruined innocents.

  Now that she was the one they were crucifying, she saw the paper differently. The gossip rags’ subscribers were nothing more than vultures who flouted themselves as society’s most esteemed members while gleefully devouring and spreading stories, particularly, if they destroyed lives, no matter the cost.

  Earlier, she’d sent a missive to Paul asking him to meet her at the Reynolds this evening. Though he was more than generous in his pursuit of Garland, Daphne needed to be part of the hunt. She wouldn’t allow Martin Richmond to skewer her family’s happiness by publishing another entry without a fight. She had to find the boy, and Elsie was the key. With luck, before she retired this evening Daphne would have her journal in her possession. Her perceptive heart stumbled in its steady rhythm with the thought that she’d have Paul as her escort tonight.

  Though he didn’t want her near the gambling establishment, the truth was she’d never forgive herself if that gossip rag published one of her entries about Alice and her family suffered. She had little recourse but to visit the Reynolds tonight. She’d never rest if she didn’t try once more to find the boy and her journal.

  Mavis helped Daphne pick out a heavily beaded silk gown, a color between deep amaranth and purple. An overlay of fine silver netting made the fabric shimmer in the candlelight. Daphne had never worn it, saving the opulent gown for a special occasion. Simple but sensual in movement, the silk whispered with every move she made. A perfect ensemble for a midnight rendezvous with the Duke of Southart.

  She straightened her shoulders in defiance. Tonight with her mask and her exquisite gown, she refused to be invisible to anyone anymore.

  Including a certain duke with a penchant for moonbeams.

  * * *

  The hired hackney came to a slow halt outside the Reynolds. Mavis tied the mask carefully around Daphne’s head, then stole a peek at Tait, who sat across from the lady’s maid. Tait’s visible exhale was silent, a sign that neither of Daphne’s servants was comfortable with the idea of their mistress entering the gambling establishment.

  Daphne gl
anced at the side entrance of the Reynolds. Thankfully, none of the establishment’s patrons stood outside receiving the services of the prostitutes tonight.

  “My lady, shall I accompany you inside?” The tremble in Mavis’s voice sent Daphne’s own nerves into flight.

  “No, stay here with Tait. We’ll only be gone for a short time.” She prayed that was true. Fear crept into her veins like the slow movement of ice forming. Though Paul had escorted her inside the Reynolds before, she’d never experienced this type of foreboding.

  The carriage door opened, and Paul held out his hand. “Lady Moonbeam, imagine my pleasurable surprise when I received your summons.”

  When Daphne placed her hand in his, the feeling of comfort she’d been accustomed to in his presence magically appeared, and she released her breath. Such was the power of the Duke of Southart. Her worries fragmented under his touch, and her unruly heart pounded at his roguish smile. “Good evening, Your Grace.”

  Her squeezed her hand gently, and she responded with the same. He made her feel that anything she wanted was possible. With him by her side, she came to life like a moth dancing in the moonlight.

  Paul leaned near as they walked to the side entrance. His familiar scent comforted and whipped her senses into a frenzy at the same time. “I thought we’d decided you should curtail your excursions to this place. This is not wise.”

  “I couldn’t stay away,” she answered, keeping her voice low. “Did you see this morning’s Midnight Cryer? He promises to publish something ‘singularly explosive’ within days. I have to protect my family.”

  He pulled her hand to his mouth and rubbed his lips against her gloved knuckles.

  A hot ache grew in her throat at his caring gesture. “Please understand.”

  Within seconds, they were inside the gambling hell. No one guarded the door, and the hallway lacked any signs of life. She released the breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She chided herself for allowing her trepidation to hold her hostage. There was nothing to fear—she was masked and had Paul’s escort.