The Duke Who Knew Too Much (30 page)

“Livelier than a bunch of Kents? I doubt it. Don’t worry about a thing.”

Her nonchalance relieved him. Curling his finger beneath her chin, he said, “I knew you were the one for the job, pet.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather help hunt down Mercer than be a nanny for your aunt.”

“That wasn’t the job I was referring to.”

“Which one, then?”

“The one of being my duchess. You
are
going to take me on, aren’t you?” he murmured. “I find that I cannot wait to have your answer.”

Her eyes were so clear that he could read his future in those tea-colored depths. His breath held in anticipation. To be so close to what he wanted ...

“Yes, Alaric,” she said. “I will marry you.”

A feeling flooded him like sunlight. It took him an instant to recognize it as ... happiness.

“Thank you,” he said, his words hoarse with wonder.

He was about to draw her into his arms when Mrs. Kent’s discreet voice came through the open door. “Ahem. Her grace got tired of waiting in the carriage. She’s in the drawing room.”

“We’ll be right there,” Emma called. To him, she said in hushed tones, “Let’s not share our news just yet. We must not distract everyone from the business at hand.”

He wanted to shout it from the rooftops … which was as embarrassing as it was absurd. What had happened to his much vaunted self-control?

Begin as you mean to go on. Discipline yourself. Don’t make the same mistakes.

“As you wish,” he said with a bow.

When they entered the drawing room, Aunt Patrice was perched upon a curricle chair, her hands folded upon her tan skirts. Tea sat untouched in a cup next to her. Her eyes went from him to Emma, and her brows inched toward her beige turban.

“Is this who you kept me waiting for, dear boy?” she said. “Well, don’t dally. Introduce us.”

“May I present Miss Emma Kent?” he said.

Emma curtsied. “Good morning, your grace.”

“Prettily done,” Aunt Patrice approved. “I’ve always said that manner is more important than a title. And your maturity is so refreshing,” she added in conspiratorial tones, “for chits fresh out of the schoolroom can be a dreadful bore.”

“Thank you.” A line appeared between Emma’s brows. “I think.”

Alaric coughed into his fist and thanked his lucky stars when Will and Kent strode in. After the men paid their respects to the ladies, he said, “Where shall we start today?”

“Just heard from Cooper,” Will said. “He’s tracked down one of Mercer’s who—” He cut himself off suddenly, darting a look at Patrice. “One of his, er, female acquaintances, I mean. She may have some information.”

“Excellent,” Kent said. “Let’s start there.”

“Strathaven, I had better accompany you,” his aunt interrupted. “With your delicate health, you need someone to look after you—”

“I will be fine. You must stay here and visit with the ladies.”

“But surely I could—”

“I should enjoy chatting with you, your grace,” Emma said. “I am curious to learn more about Scotland and the home that Strathaven grew up in. Please, won’t you keep us company?”

Patrice looked from him to Emma. Gave a reluctant nod.

“Thank you, Aunt,” Alaric said with satisfaction.

He kissed Patrice on the cheek and took Emma’s hand.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said. “Take care, pet, and don’t get into trouble.”

“That goes double for you,” she said.

***

“She’s an odd duck, isn’t she?” Violet whispered.

Standing by the sideboard with her sisters, Emma shot a worried glance at the dowager. Luckily, Lady Patrice was chattering away feverishly with Marianne and didn’t seem to have overheard.

“Alaric says his aunt is a bit high strung,” Emma replied in hushed tones. “But she’s a good sort and looked after him when he was a boy.”

“I’m sure she’s just anxious about the men’s mission,” Thea said softly. “As we all are.”

Vi snorted, piling an assortment of cheeses and sliced meats on her plate. “She’s a
bit
high strung? She makes the horses at the Ascot seem sedate by comparison.”

Emma had to admit Lady Patrice’s conversation was an unending ricochet, a fusillade of words that bounced from topic to topic with no apparent connection. Seeing Marianne discreetly hide a yawn, Emma felt a prickle of guilt. Little Edward’s nightmares had kept his mama up last night, and Marianne showed signs of being peaked, which was unusual for her.

Going over, Emma said, “Marianne, don’t you have an appointment this afternoon?”

Marianne’s emerald eyes lit up . “My … appointment. Yes. I nearly forgot.”

“Don’t let me keep you, Mrs. Kent,” Lady Patrice said generously. “The girls can keep me company. I’ve yet to talk about Strathmore Castle, which Miss Emma has expressed interest in.”

As Marianne made a graceful exit, she paused behind their guest. She mouthed to Emma,
Thank you.
Emma managed a discreet wink in reply.

“Now what would you like to know about Strathmore?” Lady Patrice said.

“Is it really a castle?” Vi said, popping cheese into her mouth.

“Indeed. It has grand towers and turrets, a magnificent crenellated profile, not to mention a lovely drawbridge,” the dowager said proudly.

Emma tried to think back to her father’s history lessons, when he’d taught them about the tumultuous relationship between the English and the Scots. “Was it built as a fortress to defend against border invasions?” she asked.

“No, my dear. It’s not that kind of a castle.”

“Oh. What other kind is there?”

Lady Patrice’s azure eyes blinked at her. “Well, the kind that
looks
lovely, of course. Strathmore embodies the majesty of a bygone era and was designed by one of the foremost architects of the Romantic Revival.”

“It’s a … fake castle?” Vi said.

“Young lady, there is
nothing
fake about Strathmore.” The lace on the dowager’s bosom quivered. “The papa of my own dear duke spent a king’s ransom building it. It is the noblest house in the county—I daresay in all of Scotland.”

Vi looked unimpressed. “But there’s never been any sieges there? No battles or bloodshed?”

Thea nudged her. “Your home sounds very grand, your grace.”

“I can’t expect you to understand,” the dowager sniffed. “Coming from Chuffy Creek …”

“Chudleigh Crest,” Emma said. “It’s a small village in Berkshire.”

“Yes, well, you can’t be blamed for not comprehending the grandeur and sophistication of our family seat. Not everyone can understand—unlike my dear Alaric.” The storm left her eyes as suddenly as it had come, replaced by a misty, faraway look. “He took to life at Strathmore like a fish to water. He adored it at first sight, and well he should: ’tis in his blood, after all. Coming to my dear duke and I—well, it was like coming home.”

“It was kind of you to take Strathaven in,” Emma ventured.

“It was my husband’s idea. He knew how terribly I missed our son and wanted to give me comfort.” Lady Patrice’s bottom lip quivered. “Alaric filled a void in our lives—and, I like to think, we in his. He suffered a grave illness, you know, and I nursed him through it.”

“He speaks of your great care and devotion to him,” Emma said sincerely.

The dowager gave her a beatific smile. “Does he?”

“Most definitely.”

“I do worry about him. His health. And now this murder business.” In a sudden blur of motion, Lady Patrice rose to her feet and began to pace. “I wonder how he is. I should not have let him go alone. What if something happens …?”

“I’m certain he’s fine. He’s with our brother, Mr. McLeod, and the others.”

The dowager did not seem to hear Emma’s reassurances, her agitation feeding upon itself. She wrung a handkerchief between her hands, darting from place to place, her movements like that of a crazed hummingbird. Clearly, she was worrying herself into a frenzy.

“Gadzooks,” Vi whispered, “
do
something, Em.”

“Er, perhaps you’d like a stroll in the square, your grace?” Emma said.

“A stroll?” the older lady said blankly.

“Fresh air can be very calming to the constitution,” she said.

The lines smoothed from Lady Patrice’s expression; her smile jolted like lightning through thunderheads. “That sounds lovely. Let us go.”

***

Pleading fatigue, Thea stayed home, leaving Emma and Vi to accompany Lady Patrice. Jim the footman followed at a discreet distance, and Emma began to relax into the beauty of the summer afternoon. The park in the middle of the square was tranquil, a leafy green oasis filled with birdsong. If it were not for the surrounding townhouses, she could almost imagine that she was on one of her old walks through the countryside.

Vi scampered off, her coltish stride unable to accommodate a sedate pace. As Emma walked more leisurely along the pebbled path with Lady Patrice, the latter seemed to calm.

“How charming,” the dowager said with a sigh. “Back at Strathmore, I take a daily morning constitutional on the banks of the loch. There’s something very soothing about the water. Strathaven adored it when he was a boy.”

“What was he like when he was a boy?” Emma said.

“Oh, he was handsome and clever,” the other said, smiling. “He takes after my own dear duke, you know. Strathaven men are always ambitious. They don’t sit on their laurels, content with the title and what they’ve inherited. They want more. They thrive on success and power.”

Sounds like Alaric
, Emma thought wryly.

“And they marry ladies who support their noble aspirations. My husband and I used my dowry to add two new wings to the castle,” Lady Patrice said proudly.

Emma hadn’t considered what wealth she’d bring to Alaric; to her, he hardly seemed to need
more
money. But maybe, as far as the upper classes were concerned, one could never have too much. Ambrose would certainly not allow her to go to her future husband empty-handed, yet any dowry of hers would definitely not add a wing to an ancestral home.

Emma felt a sudden pang as she imagined the advantages to Alaric if he married an heiress, a lady of his own class.

“Oh dear. I’ve spoken too candidly.” Lady Patrice bit her lip, her eyes clouded. “Forgive me, Miss Kent. My words have a way of running away from me. I hope I have not offended you.”

“You haven’t. I just hadn’t given much thought to the connection between money and marriage,” Emma admitted.

“Which is most charming and refreshing. And why, I think, Strathaven has taken such an interest in you.” When Emma blushed, Lady Patrice said indulgently, “Oh yes, my dear, I can tell which way the wind blows. And if I may be so bold … do you return his regard?”

Emma gave a shy nod.

“I am glad to hear it. I like you, my dear, much more than his last duchess.” The dowager gave a soft harrumph. “Laura might have been rich and beautiful, but she was also a spoiled, demanding chit. My poor boy did what he could to please her, but it was never enough. For that reason alone, I could not like her.”

“Of course,” Emma murmured.

“He needs someone to nurture him, to devote herself
entirely
to his happiness and the care of the family estate. My boy deserves nothing less. You will do that for him, won’t you, Miss Kent?”

The other’s fervent scrutiny was rather unnerving. Emma didn’t think now was the time to share that, in addition to her wifely duties, she planned to pursue her passion for investigation.

“We’ve certainly discussed the merits of partnership,” she hedged. “Of respecting and supporting one another—”

A rustling sounded behind them. Some sixth sense made her turn around ...

... in time to see a dark-garbed villain bash Jim in the head with a cudgel. With a groan, the footman crumpled to the ground. The cutthroat advanced toward Emma and the frozen dowager. Emma grabbed onto Patrice, dragging her backward. Only to collide into a brick wall of a chest—another cutthroat had snuck up behind them.

A thick piece of cloth muffled Emma’s scream. She struggled against her captor, a sweet pungent smell burning through her nostrils, her throat. Her strength floated from her, and the world dissolved into a cloud of darkness.

Chapter Thirty-One

Miss Kitty Germaine, Mercer’s mistress, occupied a small, neat house on Henrietta Street. Clad in a filmy, flesh-colored robe, she received Alaric, Will, and Kent in a parlor done in a palette that strategically complimented her brunette coloring. By Alaric’s reckoning, this was a woman with a calculating bent. Despite her classical looks, he sensed a hardness to Miss Germaine, a cynicism that was beginning to etch lines around her eyes and mouth.

The profession of a mistress was, undoubtedly, a difficult one.

“Mercer’s not here,” she said matter-of-factly after they’d been seated. “And to save you the trouble: no, I haven’t the faintest notion where he’s gone.”

“How do you know we’re here because of Mercer?” Will demanded.

“Well, now, are you here for another reason, love? Because I do have a weakness for strapping men.” Her dark gaze encompassed all of them, lingering on Alaric. “And, my, what fine specimens you are.”

“We know Mercer was here,” Will said doggedly.

“He was.” Her shoulders lifted lazily. “Now he is not.”

“He is wanted for murder,” Kent said, “and unless you want to be charged as an accomplice—”

“Murder?” The languidness fled her expression. “The earl?”

“He has attempted to kill me twice,” Alaric said, “and shot another man in cold blood. He is not the sort of protector a woman would wish for.”

Beneath her subtle, artfully applied paint, Miss Germaine’s cheeks paled. “He isn’t—my protector, I mean. We parted ways a month ago.”

“Then why was he here?” Alaric said evenly.

“He said he’d run into a spot of trouble and needed a place to spend the night.” Her throat bobbed. “I didn’t have any cust—company planned, so I let him stay.”

“You have no idea where he’s headed?” Kent said.

“He left before dawn. Didn’t say goodbye.” Licking her lips nervously, she added, “My maid said she looked out the window and saw him with some unsavory characters. Apparently, they all took off in a coach together, and the top was packed with trunks. That’s all I know.”