The Duke Who Knew Too Much (21 page)

The look of impotent frustration on Kent’s face spoke louder than words.

Will’s brow lined. “What wild goose chase? Why is Miss Emma involved?”

“She is determined to be part of the investigation and, more specifically, to protect my life.” Emma’s loyalty and concern reached a dark, frozen corner inside him. There it was again, that dangerous spark of hope ...

Don’t be a fool.
He could lust after Emma, do what it took to make her his. But he would never lose control over his heart or his head. Never set expectations that would only lead to disillusionment and pain.

In cool tones, he said, “I’ll leave it to Kent to explain why his sister disobeys commands and does exactly what she pleases.”

“I’m her brother not her keeper,” Kent snapped. “Aye, Emma is independent and headstrong; she has had to be. She has managed our household since she was a girl, saw our family through poverty and loss.”

“A fact that I admire. If you can’t protect her from herself, however, then I certainly will,” Alaric said calmly. “We both know that Webb is our main and only suspect at this point, and he’s hiding somewhere in the stews. Thus, if Emma is determined to muck around, the
ton
is the safest place for her to do so.”

“I’m not daft, Strathaven, I know what you’re doing,” Kent growled. “You’re circulating her amongst your sort on purpose—grooming her to be your next duchess.”

Alaric didn’t bother denying it. Part of Emma’s resistance to marrying him had to do with her perception that they came from incompatible worlds. Which meant that getting her comfortable within his social stratum was essential to furthering his cause.

“Mrs. Kent was preparing to launch her anyway.” He gave an insouciant shrug. “With my backing, Emma will not only be a guaranteed success, she’ll land the Season’s biggest catch.”

“I don’t give a
damn
about your title. You don’t have what it takes to make Emma happy.”

Will, who’d been watching the exchange with an air of mute fascination, burst out, “You ... and Miss Emma? Bluidy hell,” he said, looking stunned, “Annabel was right.”

“My sister has not agreed to anything,” Kent said sharply.

“Not yet,” Alaric said.

Will’s face split into a sudden grin. “Lass wouldn’t have you? Turned down the great Duke of Strathaven himself?”

“Shut it, Peregrine.” Alaric narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Emma
will
have me.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Kent vowed.

Alaric’s patience snapped. “Just what do you have against me? Other than the wealth and privilege I intend to bestow upon your sister, that is?”

A heartbeat passed. Kent said, “Do you love her?”

Pinned by the other’s keen gaze, Alaric felt the ghosts within him swirl. Da’s furious brown eyes, the lecture he’d delivered between the stinging swishes of the belt.
No son of mine would endanger his own brother
.
You’re a disgrace to the McLeod name. You have no part in this family ...

Laura’s beautiful face contorted with feverish anger.
You don’t love me
.
You’re not capable of love. Well, one day soon you’ll know what you’ve lost—

“I didn’t think so,” Kent said coldly.

Alaric tried to ignore the pressure at his temples. “I will take care of Emma. She will want for nothing.”

“Except for the one thing she needs most. Your philandering is common knowledge. My sister will give you her heart, her trust, and in return what do you have to offer?”

You’re nothing. A useless invalid.
His guardian’s deathbed words sliced through him.
I never should have taken you in ...

“I am a
duke
,” he bit out.

Kent shook his head in disgust. “You don’t even understand, do you?”

Will cleared his throat. “Kent, far be it for me to interfere, but Strathaven, well, he’s my kin after all. Now I’m not saying he’s perfect, but he ain’t as bad as all that ...”

Alaric took refuge behind a wall of anger. He didn’t need this investigator’s judgment, his brother’s condescension.

The righteous fools don’t know me. Devil take them both.

“I am marrying Emma. Get used to it or don’t, Kent—I don’t give a damn,” he said in chilling accents. “In the meantime, however, I’m paying you to find a murderer. If you cannot carry out your duties, say so now, and I’ll hire someone else.”

White-lipped, the other man said, “I will do my bloody job, your grace. If for no other reason than to put an end to this case and my sister’s involvement with you.”

Will looked as if he might speak ... and then shook his shaggy head and looked out the window. Silence descended upon the cabin, and whilst Alaric maintained an icy facade, his mind spun like the carriage wheels. He knew how much Emma valued her brother’s opinion—hell, she looked up to him like he was bloody saint.

What would she do if Kent forbade the match? What choice would she make?

Alaric’s hands clenched with sudden ferocity.
There’s only one choice. No one is going to take her from me. Emma is mine.

Chapter Twenty-One

“Good afternoon, Miss Kent,” Jarvis said as he ushered her into the foyer.

“Hello, Jarvis. How are your knees today?” Emma said.

Beneath his beetled brows, his eyes twinkled. “Much better, thank ye kindly. Your salve is nothing short of a miracle.”

“I’ll bring more the next visit,” she promised. “Is the duke at home?”

“Indeed, miss. But his grace has a meeting at the moment—”

“I’ll wait. I have an important matter to discuss with him,” she said with determination.

“Of course. Right this way.”

Jarvis put her in the drawing room, leaving to fetch refreshments. Alone, she paced over the Aubusson, impatient to see Alaric so that she could take him to task. Ever since she’d agreed to spy on the
ton
on his behalf, an unending stream of so-called
supplies
had arrived on her doorstep. His extravagance had been staggering: evening gowns, frippery, every kind of accoutrement—all of it in the latest fashion and every item fitting her perfectly.

Rosie and her sisters had
oohed
and
aahed
over each lavish gift, and even Marianne’s brows had risen at the item currently residing in Emma’s reticule. Emma, however, was not impressed. As she faced the prospect of her debut reconnaissance mission at the Blackwoods’ tomorrow night, she had to wonder if Alaric had something other than investigation on his mind.

An ulterior motive that had little to do with her helping to track down a villain—and everything to do with getting his way.

When she heard his deep, distinctive tones in the distance, she could wait no longer. She headed in the direction of the voices … and stopped short. Not because of Alaric—who appeared, as usual, effortlessly virile in a burgundy waistcoat and buff trousers—but the familiar pair of men standing with him.

“We are grateful for your patronage, your grace,” the senior gentleman said.

“As ever, we are at your service,” his younger replica added.

Alaric wasn’t looking at them, however. His eyes had locked on her. His guests followed the direction of his gaze.

“Ah, Miss Kent. What a surprise.” The speculative glance that the elder banker threw in Alaric’s direction confirmed her sudden, blazing suspicion. “Good afternoon.”

“Mr. and Mr. Hilliard,” she said. “What a coincidence it is to see you here.”

“Er, yes. Coincidence, of course.” The younger Mr. Hilliard cast an uncertain look at Alaric. “’Tis a pleasure to see you, but Father and I must be getting along. Appointments, you know.”

“Don’t let me keep you,” she said.

After they left, she turned to Alaric, who emanated tension. Her intuition told her the cause of his unease. Yet if her hunch was correct, why would he want to hide such a thing?

He rubbed the back of his neck, scowling at her. “What are you thinking, coming here unchaperoned? There’s a murderer on the loose, not to mention proprieties—”

“You arranged the loan for Kent and Associates, didn’t you?”

She saw him flinch; he recovered instantly. “My business affairs do not concern you.”

If he thought hauteur would shield him, he was wrong.

It was too late for that; she’d seen him for what he was.

And she
liked
it. Liked it so very much.

“After the fire, no bank would lend the agency the sum at a reasonable percentage. So you made it happen,” she said steadily. “You’ve been looking out for your brother all along.”

He took her by the arm and steered her down the corridor to his study. His hounds leapt up to greet her, but he evicted them from the chamber with a sharp command. Closing the door, he backed her into it. With his hands planted on either side of her, he leaned in and said, “You are not to say a word of this. To anyone.”

She looked up at his handsome, annoyed visage—and tenderness filled her. What a complex man he was, his motivations and desires hidden behind a facade of arrogance. He could be moody, brooding, deserving of his moniker. Yet now she knew what her instincts had sensed early on: the proud, powerful duke had a true and loyal heart.

“Why don’t you want Mr. McLeod to know that you’ve done this for him?” she said gently.

“That’s none of your concern. Just do as I say and keep your mouth shut.”

“But why don’t you want Mr. McLeod—or my brother, for that matter—to know that you’re their secret benefactor? You’re their guardian angel—”

“I’m no angel. Ask anyone.” The wild, pale fire in his eyes dared her to disagree.

Quietly but firmly, she said, “I say you are. Why do you try to hide it?”

With a ragged breath, he pushed away from her, stalked toward his desk.

She followed him.

“Why are you here?” He shuffled irritably through a pile of papers. “You’re risking your safety—never mind your reputation—coming here on your own.”

“With Mr. Cooper following me like a hawk, I’m perfectly safe.” She canted her head. “Why are you avoiding my question?”

“Why are you avoiding mine?” he shot back.

With a hint of exasperation, she said, “Fine, I’ll answer first. I’m here to return this.” From her reticule, she withdrew the black velvet jewelry box and placed it on his desk.

His gaze smoldered into hers. “You don’t like it?”

“That’s not the point. I can’t accept it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too expensive. Too
much
.”

“It’s perfect for you. You’ll wear it.” He returned to sorting his correspondence as if the subject was closed.

“I will not.” She lifted her chin. “Our bargain was for me to scout the
ton
for you, not dress up in jewels that could feed a family for generations. I’m beginning to wonder if you aren’t sending me on a fool’s errand to keep me occupied. To keep me from doing real detection work. From continuing to track Lily White at The Cytherea—”

“You agreed to this plan, and you’ll stick with it.”

Riled by his dictatorial tone, she said, “I can back out at any time. There’s nothing binding me to our agreement.”

His head snapped up. “What did you say?”

The ominous glitter in his eyes made her recognize her mistake immediately. “I mean, I agreed to let you court me, but nothing is written in stone ... remember?”

The last word emerged with a breathy edge as he rounded the desk toward her. She held her ground, even as he towered over her, more than six feet of lean, bridling male.

“Oh, I remember. And I’m realizing that I’ve been too lax with you.”

The silky menace in his voice spread tingling awareness over her skin. Beneath his civilized exterior, the savage God had awakened, preparing to do battle. And heaven help her, every part of her responded. Beneath the pale yellow muslin of her bodice, her nipples budded, her core blooming with humid heat.

“You don’t own me,” she said. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“That you believe that proves that I’ve chosen the wrong tactic with you. By negotiating with you, I’ve led you to think that you can manage me. That you can tame me like a lapdog and run roughshod over me.”

The idea of this virile, dangerous male as a lapdog was ludicrous. “I don’t think that.”

“I’ve agreed to let you investigate. I’ve agreed to court you. I’ve indulged you to make you happy,” he went on with deadly calm. “In return, you pester me about matters that don’t concern you, question my motives, and won’t even wear a bloody necklace.”

She knew him well enough now to recognize the stillness of the predator the moment before the strike. Yet she couldn’t resist saying, “
Pester
you? I’m trying to communicate with you—that’s what people do when they’re courting. How will we know if we’re suited if we can’t carry on a normal conversation?”

“You want us to communicate?”

She gave an emphatic nod.

“Bend over my desk.”

“Pardon?”

“I believe I was quite clear.” His eyes gleamed with challenge. “Face my desk and place your hands there. Do not move them unless I give you leave to do so.”

His sensual authority released a shivering excitement. With blinding honesty, she recognized that she’d been longing for this since their last encounter. Alone in her bed, she’d fantasized about him—about the two of them, bound by nothing but each other and the wicked passion that burned between them. He’d told her that her submission didn’t make her weak, and the knowledge of that paradox fanned the flames of her curiosity.

With him, she was discovering that passion
was
a form of communication. With every intimate game they played, they opened up to one another a bit more. Trust was a two-way street. To gain his confidence, perhaps she would first have to demonstrate her own faith in their developing relationship.

On a shaky breath, she turned. Placed her bare palms flat on the hard surface.

“Good girl.” He removed her fichu, the scrap of lace-edged lawn landing carelessly on the desk. His breath gusted warmly against her bare nape. “Was that so difficult?”

“You try having someone order you about—”

The rest of the sentence died in her throat as he nipped the tender ridge between her shoulder and neck. Her head arched back at the scrape of his teeth, the scorching suction as he licked the small hurt with sinuous laps that made her fingers curl against the wood. From behind, his erection pressed into her, his arousal unmistakable despite the layers between them. His hands slid up her bodice, cupping and squeezing her aching breasts. When she moaned, he again suckled her neck with delicious force.