The Duke (12 page)

Her jaw dropped with indignation; her eyes flashed like fireworks. “This visit is over.” She pivoted, her bonnet swinging behind her, and began marching away from him, not in the direction of his curricle.

“Where are you going?”

“Home,” she answered, not looking back.

“Don’t you want a ride, Miss Hamilton?”

“I don’t want anything from you!”

“So, you’re just going to walk,” he drawled.

“Yes!” She spun around to face him, her cheeks crimson with anger. “That’s what people do when they don’t own fancy curricles. You can drive that blasted thing into the Long Water for all I care,” she shouted, then whirled and continued on her way.

Hawk stared after her in amazement, then clicked into motion, striding after her. “Miss Hamilton. Miss Hamilton!”

She turned in aloof query, looking haughty and impervious again, neatly shutting him out. God, that is a maddening trick, he thought. “Miss Hamilton, I’m sorry. It wasn’t my place to say anything. Please. I tend to be opinionated. I can’t help it.”

She tossed her head and huffed primly.

Now that all his prying had uncovered the fact that she had almost as much reason to despise Dolph as he did, Hawk decided the moment had come to cast off the games. It was time to get down to the business at hand.

“The truth is I need to talk to you. Privately.”

She folded her arms over her chest and gave him a dubious look, apparently unconvinced that it was talk he was interested in. “About what?”

“I’ll explain everything, but this is not the place.”

“Why, Your Grace, don’t tell me you’re going to offer me your carte blanche, too?”

Her audacity maddened him.

“Miss Hamilton,” he replied in his starchiest tone, “I could not be persuaded to give my carte blanche to Venus herself. I am not that great a fool—though you may be the closest facsimile to the goddess that
London
has ever seen.”

“A prettily worded recovery, Your Grace, but without an offer of carte blanche, we have nothing to discuss— privately or otherwise. Good day.” She began walking away.

“Belinda!”

“Please don’t waste any more of my time. I’m trying to make a living, you know.”

“Be reasonable, you little cutthroat,” he muttered, stomping down the path after her. “I can’t give you unlimited credit to my accounts when I am responsible to my whole family for the management of our fortunes. You could be a gambler. A thief, for all I know. Besides—” He captured her hand and stopped her from walking on, holding her in place.

Her arm outstretched, she turned and scowled at him. “Besides what, you insufferable prude?”

“Prude, eh? Do you need another kiss to remind you what a prude I am?”

He tugged her closer with a gentle pull, smiling roguishly in spite of himself.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Then don’t call me names.”

“You started it.”

Though her eyes sparked with defiance, she allowed him to pull her all the way to him until the tips of her breasts grazed his chest. She held his stare, both of them instantly swept up in the magnetic fascination that tempted their hungering bodies to touch despite their clash of minds and wills.

“I can give you something better than carte blanche,” he murmured as he slid his hands around her slim waist, savoring the feel of her lithe, splendid body through the thin layer of muslin. He gloried in her lack of protest at his touch, but though she permitted it, she still clung to her air of defiance, tossing her chin at him.

“What could be better than carte blanche?”

He bent his head and paused, grazing his lips along her earlobe, barely able to resist, though he cursed himself for a traitor. He waited until she shivered with desire, then whispered,
“Revenge.”

She went motionless—glanced up at him warily. “On Dolph?”

“Interested?”

“Maybe.”

“Shall we go somewhere and have a chat, Miss Hamilton?”

She eyed him warily, but allowed him to lead her back to his carriage. As he headed back to Harriette’s house, he only hoped their mutual enemy wasn’t already there waiting for them.

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They found Harriette’s house quiet when they arrived a short while later. Still incensed at the duke’s imperious judgment over her and her father, Bel led him in cold, bristling silence into the parlor where their visit had begun. His tall, broad-shouldered physique radiated stamina and command, seeming to dwarf the dainty room.

She looked him over with a guarded glance from the corner of her eye and continued to stew. Bad enough that he had called her a whore, but he had no right denouncing Papa as an irresponsible fool, she thought as she removed her gloves with a resentful jerk. The worst part was knowing that the insufferable beast was right on both counts. Setting her gloves aside, she took off her bonnet and shawl.

Hawkscliffe had thrown his top hat on the round table and was drawing off his driving gloves. Tossing these on the table, as well, he began to pace. For a man of such imposing stature, he had an elegant way of moving in his expensive clothes, she thought as she sat down on the couch and watched him, waiting to hear him out.

With a musing expression, as though weighing each word before broaching his subject, he took off his excellently cut tail coat and threw it over a chair, shrugging the tension out of his wide shoulders.

Bel scowled. If she had been a lady, he probably wouldn’t have even considered such shocking informality as taking off his gloves, let alone his coat. On the other hand, she could not help but admire the perfection of his herculean torso, like the model for one of the
Elgin
marbles. She let her gaze travel over the sinuous curve of his strong back. His snug waistcoat accented the sweeping breadth of his shoulders and the tapered leanness of his waist and hips; his loose white sleeves only hinted at the sinewed brawn of his arms. She found herself wanting to touch him.

Scandalized by the impulse, she lifted her furtive study from his powerful body to his strong, square face. He went over to the bow window where the mellow, late-day sun illumined his bold profile, that aquiline nose that gave him a look of such stark, brooding intensity. His mouth seemed hard and grim, but she remembered his kiss—soft, satiny warmth. Devil take him, but he was a beautiful man, sleek and fierce as a bird of prey, with his raven hair and burnished skin.

Devotion, Bel thought with an inward snort of skeptical disdain.

Hands on his waist, Hawkscliffe glanced restlessly out the window as though waiting for someone to arrive. “I won’t insult your intelligence by pretending I like your line of work, Miss Hamilton. Nevertheless, I consider myself a good judge of character and I find you sensible, strong willed, and capable of discretion. While I am not in the habit of exposing my jugular to anyone, it seems I have no choice but to confide in you and hope that you will help me. What I have to tell you cannot leave this room.” Tensely he moved away from the window and sat down beside her. “Do you recall Dolph Breckinridge ever mentioning a woman named Lucy?”

Bel searched her memory then shook her head. “No.”

“How about Lady Coldfell?”

“I know that Dolph’s uncle is the earl of Coldfell, but he never mentioned the countess.”

“Tell me this. Has Dolph ever threatened you with violence? Have you ever felt yourself to be in direct physical danger from him?”

“Not until last night.” She hesitated. “He said if I don’t quit my search for a protector, I would be sorry. Why do you ask about Lord and Lady Coldfell?”

A bolt of pain flashed through his dark eyes like lightning. “I believe Dolph might have harbored a similar obsession for her before he became fixated on you. Miss Hamilton, Lady Coldfell is dead. There are those of us who think Dolph may have murdered her.”

Her eyes widened. She stared at him in shock.

“That is why I’m here. I want to hire you to act out a kind of charade with me. I need to find out the truth about Lady Coldfell’s death, Miss Hamilton. You are the key to controlling Dolph. With you in my keeping, I can drive him to the breaking point and wring the truth out of him about what he did to her.”

“And then what?” she asked faintly.

Lethal wrath smoldered in his gaze. “Then I will call him out and kill him.”

Kill Dolph?
Staring at Hawkscliffe in amazement, the first thing she realized was that this Lady Coldfell must have meant a great deal to him. Lovers, she thought. Of course. Then it registered in her mind that his sole motive in pursuing
her
was to solve his ladylove’s death.

Disappointment nearly stole her breath. She lowered her head, careful to hide the twist of hurt inside her behind a faint, bitter smile. Of course. He had made his opinion of her clear enough.

Avoiding his gaze, she crossed her legs and smoothed her skirts over her knee. “Let me see if I have this right. You want me to be the bait so that you can prove Dolph’s guilt, then avenge your lover?”

“Lady Coldfell wasn’t my lover—but, in essence, yes.”

“Come, Robert, we need have no secrets between us. You can tell me the truth. She was your paramour.”

“No, she was not, Miss Hamilton. Lady Coldfell was a chaste and virtuous woman. It wasn’t like that between us. It was something higher, better than that. She was—pure.”

Unlike me, she thought, somehow holding her taut, forced smile as she lowered her chin and gazed at her clasped hands. Roiling shame churned inside her.

“My, you really
are
a paragon.”

“No, I merely saw how my mother’s flagrant adulteries unmanned my father. I would never inflict that on someone, especially an old family friend like Coldfell.”

“Admirable.” She sat back, folding her arms over her chest. She had to commend his devotion to his dead lady, but didn’t he see the insult he was giving her? Or did the insult not matter, since she was only a demirep?

“Perhaps you should have won me first before you told me your scheme.”

“I would never thrust you into a dangerous situation without your fully understanding the risks.”

“I’m sorry to say that Dolph didn’t do it.”

“What?”

“He didn’t do it.”

“Yes, he did.”

Bel rolled her eyes. Hawkscliffe knew what he knew and that was it.

“He has the motive and is the only person outside of Coldfell’s staff that has full access to the house and grounds, Miss Hamilton.”

“I know Dolph,” she explained in forbearance. “As much as I loathe him, even I can admit that he is brave. Insanely so. He prides himself on it. It’s not his style to murder a weak, defenseless woman. There’s no glory in that. He prefers bears and wolves and things that fight back. He prefers a worthy opponent.”

“He also prefers to live beyond his means. If Lucy had become pregnant and had given Coldfell a son, Dolph would no longer have inherited the title and fortune that he craves.”

She could not argue that point. Dolph was certainly fixed on coming into his rich inheritance.

“Or her death might have been accidental,” he went on. “Dolph could have been trying to have his way with her, resulting in a violent struggle.”

“Now that I could believe,” Bel said quietly. She looked away, going perfectly motionless. A sickening, all-too-familiar knot clenched in her stomach at the mere thought of the topic of her recurring nightmares.

Hawkscliffe got up and went to stare out the window.

Bel rubbed her crossed arms briskly with her palms, suddenly feeling icy cold and clammy, though the room was warm. She could not bring herself to look at the duke as she struggled with his request. If Lady Coldfell had indeed suffered as she herself had—and worse—didn’t she owe her fellow victim justice? Didn’t she owe it to herself? But she was not sure she wanted to get involved in this. It wasn’t good for her to think about it. The mere shadow of the memory made her feel dirty, battered, and ashamed. Best to forget.

“What if I refuse?”

“Refuse? Miss Hamilton, if Dolph did this to Lucy, doesn’t it seem logical, even likely, in light of his obsession with you, that you could be next?”

She flinched, still studying the floor, though she could feel his tumultuous stare.

“I can protect you. He’ll have to get through me to get to you. Do you really think you’ll be safer out there with some other man who doesn’t know what Dolph is capable of?”

“What exactly is it that you propose, Your Grace?” she forced out coolly.

“Accept me for your protector. You will stay with me at Knight House, where I can keep you safe from any threat from him—”

“No, that is highly irregular. You can’t have me living under your roof. There will be talk—”

“I don’t care about scandal anymore!” he cried, raking his hand through his hair. “Who cares what they say? What right has anyone to say a word about what I do? I’m so sick of living under their tyranny and, by God, I will not let another woman die for the sake of my sterling reputation.”