Ducal Encounters 01 - At the Duke's Discretion (18 page)

“And so they murdered him instead,” the duke said softly.

“Yes, they murdered him in a very public, very gruesome fashion, as though they knew they could get away with it. Which, of course, they did.” She impatiently dashed aside an errant tear. “Everyone supposes Papa was set upon by cutthroats and was killed when he would not give up his purse. But in actual fact, they could not risk allowing him to live once he decided not to help them. He knew too much and might give them up.”

“How did you become involved, Miss Brooke?” Lord Romsey asked.

“That was unfortunate. Papa had a legitimate commission half-finished when he died. I felt I owed it to his memory to complete it on his behalf.” She gave a mirthless chuckle. “They say a good deed never goes unpunished, with good reason. By the purest of bad luck, you see, someone involved with the stolen gems found out about it and discovered I had made it.” Crista frowned. “That is the part I don’t understand. No one, or almost no one, knew what I was capable of. Mama insisted upon that. God forbid that her father should hear of it. So how did they know?” She spread her hands. “Anyway, they confronted me and forced me into the situation you now find me in.”

“You could have refused,” Lord Amos said in a castigating tone.

“Oh yes, of course I could!” She sent him a damning glance, wondering how she could ever have been attracted to someone so unfeeling, so unwilling to acknowledge the impossible situation she had found herself in. “And finished up like Papa.”

“They would not−”

“That is what Papa thought. Besides, they have that document Papa signed and threatened to make it public. That would ruin his reputation and ruin my sister too. I do not like her very much, but she is still my sister and is on the brink of matrimony. It is a highly advantageous match for her.” She scoffed. “Mama is in alt, naturally, but her intended’s mother is far from happy about her son’s determination to have Amelia, the daughter of a jeweller who was careless enough to allow himself to be murdered. The slightest whiff of further scandal attached to the family name would give her the excuse she seeks to insist her son not go through with it.”

“I take it you came to Shawford in an effort to evade the rogues,” the duke said.

“Yes, and that was another miscalculation. I
did
refuse to work with them at first and came here for the precise reason you suggest, your grace.” Crista glowered at Lord Amos as she spoke. “They did not know about Uncle Charles, since he and my father have different names, and because Uncle Charles has lived quietly in this part of the world for several decades. I thought I could hide away here until they gave up on me. If they could not find me, there would be no reason for them to expose Papa’s activities and ruin Amelia. Anyway, they followed me here, threatened Uncle Charles…” She shrugged. “They left me with no choice.”

“I am terribly sorry,” the duke said.

“Thank you. It is very generous of you to say so, given the trouble I have visited upon you.” Crista turned towards Lord Amos, waiting for him to offer his sympathy also. He remained stonily silent, the vertical lines in his forehead deepened by the intensity of his frown. “I have made a complete mull of things. Uncle Charles has been dragged into this sorry business, and I see it eating away at him a little more each day.” She sighed. “How could I have been so stupid?”

“The man Reece is your only contact?” Lord Romsey asked.

“Yes.” She shook off her self-loathing and faced the earl as she answered him. “He is the only one I have ever seen. But he knows I have reached the end of my tether, much as my father did. I think that is why they have promised to leave me alone if I perform one last service for them.”

“What service?” asked the duke and Lord Romsey together.

“They have some enormous diamonds. One of them is over twenty carets.”

“From the Turkish Empire,” Lord Romsey said, his face alight with interest. “We were wondering what had become of those.”

“They require me to make up a suite of jewellery to their specification using the stones. After that, they have assured me I will never hear from them again. I am not sure if I believe them but the stones are magnificent. I have never seen anything better. They have obviously been holding them back, waiting for the right buyer prepared to pay the king’s ransom they are worth.”

“Do you have the stones in your possession?” Lord Romsey asked.

“No, I have seen them but only have the sketches. Reece will keep the stones until I have made up the settings and am ready for them.”

The duke and Lord Romsey shared a glance. “Then if you wish to revenge yourself on them for your father’s murder, and for what they have done to you and your uncle, perhaps we can use that against them.”

Lord Amos sent her a condemning glance. “How can you be so sure−”

“You don’t believe me?”

That he, of all people, could think she
chose
to be dishonest caused pangs of disillusionment to rip through her, twisting and tearing at her insides until the pain threatened to overwhelm her. His attitude of aloof disbelief should not matter to her, nor should it surprise her. The upper classes had a way of conducting themselves that didn’t allow for human frailty. She and Lord Amos were strangers, living in different worlds. His opinion was of no consequence, and yet the crushing disappointment she felt threatened to suffocate her. A tense, oppressive silence stretched dark and defining between them. Crista knew she could get angry, sob her heart out and beg him to believe her, or absent herself from the fray with what dignity she still retained, intact.

She chose the third option.

“Excuse me, your grace,” she said tersely. “I have great need for fresh air.”

Reece arrived late at the Park, mingling with the throng when they had all consumed a few libations and were too intent upon enjoying themselves to take much notice of him. He had not originally intended to come at all given the responsibility he bore for the priceless diamonds entrusted to his care. He could hardly carry them about for fear of the pickpockets who were bound to frequent such a crowded event. But since there was not a living soul left in Shawford that afternoon, the compelling need he felt to keep a watchful eye on Miss Brooke caused him to decide the stones would be safe where he had hidden them.

He had not told his employer as much, but he felt very uneasy about the changes in Crista Brooke since his attempts to become better acquainted with her on the common had ended so badly. She had made no secret of the fact she disliked him. Now she was openly scathing in his company, which only made Reece want her more. He wondered where she had found the confidence to defy him quite so obviously. She knew what had happened to her father when he lost his nerve. Perhaps Lord Amos had offered her his protection, damn the man! Reece curled his upper lip. Just because he was rich and titled, he seemed to think he could move in on Reece’s property. That was the gentry for you. They had money, influence, and arrogance enough to assume they could lay claim to whomsoever caught their eye.

Never mind, there was plenty of Miss Brooke to go around. Sheridan would tire of her once he got what he wanted from her. Then it would be Reece’s turn. Once the diamond jewellery had been made, his masters would have no further use for her, but Reece most certainly would. He felt himself hardening at the prospect. There was just something about her, about the way in which she deliberately flouted his authority that fired his blood.

He strolled around the periphery of the cricket game, wondering where she could be. He couldn’t see her with her uncle, or any of the other Shawford residents. Why would she be? She had gone out of her way to keep herself apart from everyone except Chesney since her arrival here. He glanced towards the ladies seated between the two sets of villagers and growled loudly enough to attract attention to himself. What the devil! He shaded his eyes against the sun, convinced the light must be playing tricks on him. But no, there was no mistake. Miss Cristobel Brooke was seated with the ladies of the house, laughing with them as though she was their equal, and looking entirely at her ease.

A fission of concern heated Reece’s blood. Lifting her skirts for Lord Amos was one thing, but being accepted by his family was altogether another. Surely, she hadn’t been stupid enough to say anything? No, she wouldn’t take the chance. She was too concerned about her family, and her uncle’s precious reputation, to take the risk. She had gone out of her way not to mingle with the residents of Shawford for fear of being questioned about her reasons for being in the village, or because she was ashamed of what she had become. Reece shrugged. Who knew how a woman’s mind worked? Now, here she was, bold as you like, showing herself off to the entire district.

Reece scratched his head, relieved his employer had not attended today. He would not be pleased by Miss Brooke’s public exhibitionism. Reece was downright worried about it. As soon as the cricket was over, and he could get anywhere near her, he would make sure she remembered whom she worked for and what responsibilities rested with her. It wouldn’t be much longer now. They were in the last over. Now it was the last ball. Reece smirked. It looked as though the gentry were in for a thrashing. Reece joined in the good-natured jeers from the villagers as Lord Vince ran in to bowl the final ball. The jeers turned to wild cheering when the ball sailed towards the boundary. The villagers were assured of victory now.

Except…good lord above, what the devil did she think she was doing? All the other ladies took evasive action, but Miss Brooke remained sitting precisely where she had been for the entire match, oblivious to the warnings shouted at her. At the last moment, when Reece had been sure the ball would strike her head, very likely killing her, she stood up, crossed the boundary onto the playing field and caught the ball one-handed. The silence that greeted her action was followed by applause and loud cheering.

Reece was too stunned to react in any way. His employer would hear about this, and Reece would be in trouble for permitting the incident to occur. How in the world he was supposed to keep control over one as independently-minded as Miss Brooke was a conundrum Reece had been struggling with this past month. Perdition, if he had thought she flaunted herself before, it was nothing to the attention she had drawn to herself with that catch. He heard people asking who she was, and it wasn’t long before both sets of villagers learned she was Chesney’s niece.

With people now swarming all over the pitch, it was sometime before Reece could force his way through to the place where Miss Brooke had been sitting. When he finally achieved that ambition, he was just in time to see her disappear into the house with the other ladies. Access to the house was strictly by invitation, and Reece would never gain admittance. He felt impotent with rage as he settled down, waiting for her to reappear, not wishing to think what she and Lord Amos might, even then, be doing to pass the time. Thinking about it anyway, his mood grew darker by the moment. He passed the time plotting increasingly violent ways to extract revenge on the chit for leading him such a merry dance.

She was gone for an eternity, and there was no saying which door she might leave the house by. She could already have done so, and Reece would be none the wiser. On the point of giving up on her, he saw her emerge from a doorway and step out onto the terrace directly above Reece’s position.

“That’s it, my beauty. Come to Reece,” he muttered, smacking his lips in anticipation.

She hugged her torso, looking upset, on the verge of tears. Sheridan had probably used her and then sent her away. Reece’s grinned. What else could she have expected? He was on the point of climbing the wall that divided it from the lawns below and joining her when the door behind her opened for a second time and Lord Amos stepped out.

Reece swore violently. Would nothing go right for him this day? About to walk away in search of a tankard of ale, he changed his mind and moved as close to the terrace as he could, curious to know what they were in such deep conversation about.

***

Amos watched helplessly as Miss Brooke whirled through the doors to the terrace. She held her head high, but it was impossible not to notice she was trembling with emotion, or the pangs of disillusionment apparent in her eyes.

“You could have handled that better, Amos,” Zach said mildly, echoing Amos’s own thoughts.

“I am not angry at her.”

“Nor should you be.”

“She’s devilish brave, if you ask me,” Romsey remarked.

Zach slapped his shoulder. “Go after her, make sure she’s all right. Romsey and I will discuss ways to use this situation to her advantage as well as our own. I think your Miss Brooke would welcome an opportunity to right quite a few wrongs and salve her conscience. We’d best get Chesney in here as well, let him know we are aware of the situation. Bring Miss Brooke back when she is more composed.”

Amos went slowly, deep in thought about all he had just learned, incensed by it. He found her standing in an alcove that virtually concealed her from the people roaming the lawns below them. Tears flowed down her face, wild and unchecked. She tensed when she heard his footsteps, looked up and sent him a damning glance.

“Leave me be.”

“Lending you my handkerchiefs is becoming a habit.” His attempt at levity fell flat when she snatched his proffered linen and turned her back on him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was concerned about you.”

“Don’t worry, Lord Amos. I shall not steal the family silver if allowed to wander through the house unattended.”

“The thought had not crossed my mind and well you know it.”

“Do I?” She swirled around to face him, anger radiating through her tears. “You did not believe what I had to say in there, even though you have seen direct evidence of how Reece treats me. Or did you think that was simply a falling out amongst thieves?”

“No, of course not. You cannot possibly believe−”

“Presumably you think I became involved in this farrago willingly, in which case it is probably unwise for you to be alone with me.” Tears glistened on her thick lashes. Amos yearned to wipe them away, fold her in his arms, and assure her he believed every word she had said, even if his reaction had led her to think otherwise. Perdition, he was handling this all wrong! “It might be contagious, mixing with a fraud such as me.”