How to Dance With a Duke (30 page)

The butler returned and informed them that Lord Peter would see them in his study. Cecily and Lucas followed him through the black-and-white marble-tiled hallway and upstairs to a room overlooking the gardens.

It was a richly appointed library, with glass-fronted mahogany bookshelves lining every wall, plush oriental carpets covering every inch of floor. The room had clearly been influenced by the owner’s love of antiquities and the Gothic, for the room itself was composed of a mixture of arches and curves and the mahogany-trimmed walls were adorned at regular intervals with exquisitely carved finials in the same finish. The walls—where they were not covered by artwork, sculptures, and floor-to-ceiling mirrors—were a rich, Moroccan red, at once arresting and warm.

“Your Graces,” Lord Naughton said, stepping out from behind a massive desk to offer Lucas a bow and to kiss the air above Cecily’s hand. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

He was a devastatingly attractive man whose bright blond hair and wide shoulders put her in mind of a Viking warrior. She was not surprised that her cousin Madeline had found the viscount attractive. Especially if his manners were as handsome as his looks.

The man did not look as if he spent a great deal of time engaging in the sort of debauchery her cousin Jamie seemed to gravitate toward. His eyes were clear, and he did not sport any of the signs of dissipation she had come to expect from the more hardened rakes of the
ton.
Still, there was something about his eyes. Something jaded. He might not wear his sins upon his face, but he was clearly not a green youth.

“My lord,” Lucas began once he and Cecily had been seated. “We are here on a rather urgent matter with which I hope you will be able to assist.”

Naughton seemed surprised, but not unpleasantly so.

“Whatever it is, I hope that I may do so, Your Grace,” he said, his brows raised in curiosity.

“It has come to my attention that you have recently purchased some items of Egyptian origin for your personal collection.”

Lord Naughton’s gaze shuttered. “And if I have?” he asked silkily.

Before Lucas could answer, Cecily said, “We suspect that they may have been stolen during my father’s most recent expedition.”

Lucas flashed her a look of exasperation but added nothing.

Naughton leaned back in his chair. “The expedition where your father fell victim to an apoplectic fit?” he asked. Then turning to Lucas, he added, “And where your brother went missing? That expedition?”

Cecily nodded.

“And is this theft a part of the curse, or is that strictly meant for the welfare of the expedition team and not the goods they retrieved from the angry Egyptian’s tomb?” His words were mild, but Cecily couldn’t miss the hint of sarcasm in the man’s tone.

“I suspect that all three unfortunate circumstances can be blamed on all-too-human perpetrators instead of nameless Egyptian gods,” Lucas responded dryly. “With the possible exception of Lord Hurston’s illness. Though there is some debate over whether his distress at my brother’s disappearance might have negatively affected his health.”

His words startled Cecily, but she remembered just in time not to let Lord Naughton see her surprise.

“Yes, well,” Naughton responded with an approving nod. “I have little use for superstitions, either, but one never can tell who will fall prey to such tales. I am sorry to hear about your father, Duchess,” he said, nodding to Cecily in acknowledgment. “He has done much to promote the appreciation of Egyptian artistry in our nation. I wish him a speedy recovery.”

“I beg your pardon, my lord,” Cecily said, after thanking him for his well wishes, “but you have not answered my husband’s question about your newest acquisition.”

Lord Naughton threw back his head and laughed. “You are delightful, Your Grace.” Turning to Lucas he asked, quite seriously, “Wherever did you find her, Winterson? I should very much like one myself.”

“I’m afraid that she is unique,” Lucas told the other man, before Cecily could voice her objection to being referred to as his possession. He thought wistfully of his earlier plan to call upon the collector alone, but chose not to dwell on it. “But she does raise a good point; please do tell us about your Egyptian pieces.”

Naughton sighed. “I suppose it was too much to hope you would be easily led away from the subject.” He ran a hand over the back of his neck, appearing to think over his next words carefully.

“The truth of the matter is this,” he said with a sigh. “I did purchase several pieces from a dealer with whom I have had business in the past. He is not always, shall we say, nice, about the provenance of the items he brings to my attention. Some collectors are fastidious about having a clear line of past owners to ensure that their pieces are authentic.”

Lucas watched him carefully, noting that he seemed defensive. Because he was lying? It was hard to say.

“I am not all that concerned with knowing precisely where an item comes from, because I have no intention of selling my collection. I purchase things that I want and I enjoy owning them. It’s as simple as that.” His eyes grew rueful. “I know it will sound absurd after my diatribe against superstition, but there is another, more … complicated reason for me to eschew more common methods of authentication. I have a certain talent for detecting whether a piece is genuine.”

Lucas exchanged a look of puzzlement with Cecily.

“You are able to tell from looking at them whether they are from the period associated with them?” Lucas asked, intrigued.

“Not precisely,” Naughton said, his ears growing pink. “I cannot say precisely how I know, but I know.”

“I don’t understand,” Cecily said, frowning. “You must have some sort of method.”

“Duchess,” he said wearily, “believe me when I tell you that I wish I knew what allows me to determine a real item from a fake, but rest assured that I have tested my ability for all of my adult life and I have never been wrong.”

The room was silent as the Duke and Duchess of Winterson stared at their host.

Lucas cleared his throat. “Then I suppose we must take you at your word. Regardless of how you ensure the validity of the items you acquire, we do wish to know from whom you received these Egyptian artifacts.”

Looking more comfortable now that they had abandoned his odd gift, Naughton allowed his shoulders to relax. “I’m afraid that you will not be able to speak to the fellow for several weeks. He just left last week for an extended trip to the Continent.”

“Indeed,” Lucas said, surveying Naughton for signs that he was prevaricating. “We still would like to know the man’s name if we might.”

The viscount opened a drawer and withdrew a card, which he handed to Lucas. “His name is Giles Hunter. He keeps a shop at number 46 Bond Street. You may inquire from the clerk there when he can be expected back, though I presume he will be gone for some time. He has taken his sister, who is quite ill, to convalesce in Italy.”

“The antiquities trade must be very profitable,” Lucas remarked. Then, changing the subject, he asked, “Might we see some of the items you purchased from Mr. Hunter? Just so that we can determine for ourselves that they are the ones reported stolen from the expedition.”

Naughton shook his head, looking sheepish again. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” he said.

“Why not?” Cecily’s tone was sharp; it appeared to Lucas that his wife was also growing suspicious of Lord Naughton’s excuses.

“I do not like to admit this. Especially given the measures I have taken to ensure the safety of my collection,” the antiquarian said with a scowl, “but there was a burglary here just last week.”

His jaw clenched as he spoke of the outrage.

“The only things the thieves took were the pieces you suspect came from Lord Hurston’s expedition.”

Fifteen

The next week, Lucas found himself escorting his wife to a small dinner party at Lord and Lady Shelby’s house. Though they’d not spent a night apart since the wedding, he could not help but note the distance Cecily strived to put between them. At night she was passionate, even loving, but in the cold light of day she receded into a pleasant but reserved persona that no amount of cajoling on his part could break through. So, when they arrived at her aunt and uncle’s house, he was not surprised to see her retreat with her cousins to the corner of the drawing room while the guests waited for the sound of the dinner bell.

They had come up with no leads on the artifacts that had been stolen from Lord Naughton’s town house, and the whereabouts of Lord Hurston’s diaries remained unknown. Which in turn meant that they were no closer to learning what had happened to his brother. In the face of so much disappointment, a simple evening gathering was a welcome diversion.

He fell into conversation with Lords Deveril and Monteith about their recent trip to Tattersall’s, but was mildly surprised when Lord Geoffrey Brighton appeared at his elbow and asked if they might speak privately. Excusing himself from the other men, he followed Brighton to an empty spot near the fire.

“I beg your pardon for interrupting your conversation, Your Grace,” Brighton said, his pleasant features schooled into an expression of regret. “But I could not waste this opportunity to speak to you about your wife.”

Though he knew Brighton had known Cecily since she was a small girl, there was something about the way Brighton spoke of Cecily that put him on alert.

Still, he managed to answer with a jovial enough tone. “I am most interested to hear what you have to say, sir. Though I must confess that I am at a loss for what it could be.”

Brighton nodded. “Yes, you are right to be leery. I would not bring it up if it were not of the utmost importance.”

Lucas nodded for the man to continue.

“It has been brought to my attention that your wife is looking into the disappearance of your brother, and possibly into what happened during that last expedition before he went missing.” He paused, as if gauging Lucas’s reaction to the news.

Lucas kept his features impassive. “I wonder who could have told you such a tale. I do not believe Cecily has had much time for anything but household matters since the wedding. There is a great deal for her to do as the Duchess of Winterson now. Though I can assure you that if she is doing so, it is with my full consent.”

“Even when she places herself in harm’s way?” Brighton demanded. “I must confess that I thought you cared more for Cecily’s well-being than that. But I suppose your desire to find your brother must overshadow some of your solicitude for your new wife.”

Lucas merely raised a brow in query at the other man’s outburst, which was enough to force Brighton into a rather insincere apology.

“Forgive me, I am somewhat overwrought at the thought of seeing someone for whom I have great affection placed in harm’s way. Of course you are taking every possible care of her.”

“Indeed.” Lucas inclined his head to accept the apology. “I do hope you realize that I would not allow my wife to endanger herself unduly.”

“Of course, of course, Your Grace,” he said with a smile that Lucas began to doubt was genuine. “I must beg the indulgence given to an old friend of the family.”

“Ah, yes, but then as merely an old friend of the family,” Lucas said with deadly charm, “you have no need to worry about such things. She is under my protection now. Though I must thank you for inquiring about the matter.”

Seeing that he would be getting nothing further from Lucas, Brighton excused himself and wandered off to Violet’s side. Winterston stayed where he was, looking after the other man with puzzlement.

“What was that all about?” Christian asked, coming to his side. “I looked over and saw him giving you a look that would slice you to ribbons were it a knife.”

“Hm.” Lucas nodded. “I believe Lord Brighton is less than pleased to learn that he is no longer as influential in Cecily’s life as he once was.”

“Well, what did the fellow expect?” Christian shook his head. “It’s not as if she’s going to listen to him now that she’s married to you. As the Bible says … something about cleaving unto … someone.”

“Ah, yes, you were ever the great biblical scholar, were you not?” Lucas clapped his friend heartily on the shoulder.

“Oh, stubble it, Winterson.”

His reply was forestalled by Lady Shelby’s calling them into dinner.

*   *   *

Cecily found herself seated between Lord Geoffrey on her right and Lord Deveril on her left. Though she tried to respond to Deveril’s conversation, she found that more often than not Lord Geoffrey would not allow her to leave his attention for more than a moment at a time.

First he asked her about the changes in her life since her marriage. And since little more than a week had elapsed since that event, she had little enough to tell him. Especially given that most of the changes involved the fact that she now slept, most nights, with a naked man beside her—something she most definitely would not be discussing with Lord Geoffrey, or anyone else for that matter.

Then he queried her about her father’s condition, and what news the physician was able to give them regarding his long-term prognosis. On this subject, she was, thankfully, able to speak at some length, though the details of her father’s treatment were upsetting to her.

“For I cannot help but think, my lord,” she said as the footman took away the plate of nearly untouched turbot in wine sauce, “that somewhere within that twisted countenance, my father is somehow aware of everything that goes on around him, and struggles to make himself understood.”

“Surely that cannot be so, my dear,” he returned, “for has not the physician said that he can hear none of what goes on around him?”

“Well, of course he says that,” she said with some feeling, “but when I sit with him, sometimes I will speak to him of what has been going on in my life…” She smiled sheepishly. “I suppose it is silly of me, but I have found that if I tell him about mundane matters, or Winterson, or even sometimes you, he squeezes my hand in such a way that I cannot help but think that he does understand me.”

Lord Geoffrey stopped with his spoon halfway to his mouth, putting it back down again. “You have spoken to him about me?” he asked, his gaze intense. “What did you say?”