The Duke Who Knew Too Much (8 page)

“I do,” Marianne agreed, “which is why I must talk to you about Strathaven.”

“What about him?” Emma said warily.

“While I cannot lay claim to being as honorable as you and Ambrose, I do have my areas of expertise, and one of them happens to be the
ton
. Simply put, I have access to a surfeit of gossip. In this instance, there are things I know about the duke that you do not.”

With trepidation, Emma said, “Such as?”

“First off, his so-called victim was not a stranger to him.”

“I know they were acquainted. In fact, I believe Strathaven might have had some hold over Lady Osgood. He probably forced her to his cottage and—”

“They were lovers, Emma.”

Chill trickled down Emma’s spine. “Lovers?”

Marianne nodded. “From what I gather, their
affaire
was not longstanding. They kept it discreet owing to the fact that Lady Osgood is married.”

Emma’s mind was working furiously. Goodness, Lady Osgood and Strathaven had been amorously involved? “But it doesn’t change what I saw. He was hurting her,” she blurted. “I saw the duke restraining Lady Osgood. He tied her up, said he would make her
beg
.”

A pause.

“As to that, there might be another explanation,” Marianne said.

“Such as?” Other than the obvious, Emma couldn’t think of a single one.

“There have been a few whispers. About Strathaven’s proclivities.” Peachy color stained Marianne’s high cheekbones. “You see, dear, sometimes the relationship between a man and a woman can take … unusual forms.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t suppose you do.” Marianne sighed. “I should hate to spoil your lovely innocence. Suffice it to say that, in hurting his lover, Strathaven may not have actually been hurting her. Do you see what I mean?”

“No.” That explanation was as clear as the mud on London’s streets.

“Good lord, this is more difficult than I thought,” Marianne muttered.

They were interrupted by a knock. Mr. Pitt appeared. “Good morning, madam,” he said with a bow. “Mrs. McLeod wishes to see if you and Miss Emma are receiving at present.”

Emma’s unease grew. Mrs. McLeod wanted to see her? It was too early for a social call.

Marianne waved her hand. “Send her in. And do bring some tea—the Ceylon, I think.” When the butler departed, she said, “We’ll continue this conversation later, Emma.”

As Marianne rose to greet their guest, Emma hung back shyly. In the presence of the older ladies, she felt like an awkward miss. Her sister-in-law was a celebrated beauty
,
and Annabel McLeod, with her fiery tresses and smoldering violet eyes, possessed an aura of sensual femininity.

What would it be like to possess such mystique?
Emma wondered.

She saw herself as a sister, daughter, even a mother of sorts, but as a ... woman? A wife? Mundane and forthright, she’d never attracted much male attention. Never inspired passion in any man except, on occasion, over her cooking (the one marriage proposal she’d received, from the village vicar, had been motivated by his ardor for her Sunday supper). In truth, back in Chudleigh Crest, she’d had a reputation for being a bit of a termagant, and it hadn’t boosted her allure.

Was she supposed to stay silent when the butcher tried to sell her an overpriced cut of meat? Was she to just accept the thatcher’s word that the flimsy excuse of a roof he’d put on would hold up against the elements? Her strong will had been forged by years of taking care of her family, her determination a trait that had helped her cope with poverty, illness, and loss.

Nonetheless, she’d begun to suspect that her managing nature might preclude her from falling in love. As she’d told Ambrose, she had yet to meet a man who made her want to relinquish her independence. Who tempted her to give up control over her own future.

Out of nowhere, Strathaven’s face appeared in her mind’s eye, his slashing cheekbones and gleaming jade eyes. Her belly quivered at the memory of his lean physique, so close to hers that she’d felt the heat emanating from him, his spicy male scent infusing her senses ...

Her heart raced.
That’s just … fear. You were afraid of him and rightly so.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, Annabel?” Marianne said when they’d all seated themselves.

Mrs. McLeod’s gaze settled on Emma. “I won’t beat around the bush. It’s about Strathaven.”

Though the declaration came as no surprise, Emma tensed, her hands clenching in her lap.

“Mr. McLeod doesn’t know I’m here,” the lady went on, swishing her russet skirts into place. “He’s quite irritated with his brother at the moment.”

“I can’t blame him. From what Ambrose told me, the meeting between them didn’t go well,” Marianne murmured.

Mrs. McLeod sighed, shaking her head. “Men can be such foolish creatures.”

“On that, we cannot agree more.”

The ladies shared a smile before Mrs. McLeod turned to Emma. “It’s always been that way between McLeod and his older brother,” she explained. “Since I’ve known them, they can’t be in a room together for more than a few minutes before they’re at each other’s throats.”

“Strathaven started it,” Emma said. “He was rude. Mr. McLeod was only trying to help.”

“Yes, well, that’s why I’m here. Once my husband’s temper wears off, I am certain he will regret not doing more to help his brother. They are kin, after all, even though they were raised apart. To a Scotsman, blood is thicker than water.”

“Why were they raised apart?” Emma couldn’t help but ask.

“It’s a lengthy tale and not mine to divulge. Suffice it to say, those two have had a long and difficult brotherhood—but it doesn’t mean that they don’t care about each other. And for all Strathaven’s ...” Mrs. McLeod waved a hand, as if trying to summon an accurate description of the man.

“Arrogance? Conceit? Holier-than-thou attitude?” Emma suggested.

Mrs. McLeod’s lips twitched. “Given your short acquaintance, you seem to know him well.”

“One doesn’t have to be acquainted with his grace long to glean those facts.”

“Be that as it may, arrogance doesn’t make a man capable of murder. Strathaven is McLeod’s brother, and I cannot believe a man who shares my husband’s blood could do anything so vile.” Mrs. McLeod’s expression grew somber. “Furthermore, the duke once did me a great favor, one I’ll never be able to repay. I do not speak of that time,”—shadows flitted through her violet gaze—“but in truth, McLeod and I owe him our very happiness. Strathaven does have a heart; he’s not as wicked as he likes to have others believe.”

Emma tried to digest that notion. Could that be
possible
? Uneasily, she turned the facts over in her mind, saw the duke overpowering his victim in the garden, heard Lady Osgood’s pleas for mercy ...

“Sometimes things are not as they appear.” Mrs. McLeod gave a delicate cough. “Lovers, for instance, might engage in, er, behavior that could seem … odd. To an onlooker, I mean.”

Perplexed, Emma said, “Marianne was trying to explain this earlier.”

“With no more luck than you, Annabel.” Briskly, Marianne said, “To be blunt, Emma, some men have a need for control more than others. The duke is said to be such a man.”

Strathaven’s voice echoed in Emma’s head.
I’m going to do whatever I want. And you’re going to enjoy it.
She shuddered. She had no doubts whatsoever that the duke was a dominating brute.

“Which is why he must be stopped,” she said fiercely. “So he cannot hurt anyone else again.”

“But, you see, there are ladies who don’t, ahem, mind such behavior from a man,” Mrs. McLeod said, her cheeks reddening. “In fact, they might welcome it.”

Incredulity and confusion filled Emma; what the other was saying didn’t make an ounce of sense
.
“That’s ridiculous. Lady Osgood was
begging
for mercy. I heard her.”

“Are you certain it wasn’t part of a lovers’ game? Perhaps you misunderstood—”

“I misunderstood nothing.” She might not be as sophisticated or beautiful as the other two, but her senses were fully functioning. “I know what I witnessed. Nothing can change those facts, and I’ll not take back the truth.”

The ladies exchanged glances.

With a sigh, Mrs. McLeod said, “My brother-in-law is an odd, haughty gentleman, one who does not march to anyone’s drum but his own. I urge you, however, to reconsider what you witnessed and to ask yourself if you
truly
saw the duke hurting Lady Osgood in any way.”

Emma frowned as the events replayed in her head. Lady Osgood had
begged
Strathaven to stop, and she’d been tied up, blindfolded ... Yet had Emma seen any real evidence of injury? Had she witnessed the duke lay a hand on the lady?

No, but that is because I prevented it ... didn’t I?

Mrs. McLeod leaned forward, took one of Emma’s cold hands in both of her own. “A man’s life is at stake. Despite his faults and devil-may-care attitude, Strathaven has suffered much. A little over two years ago, he lost his wife and son in a grievous accident.”

Emma’s heart skipped a beat. He’d had a
son
? “But they say he was cruel to his wife,” she blurted. “That she died fleeing him.”

“Where did you hear that?” Marianne said.

“Rosie,” Emma admitted.

Marianne’s gaze cast heavenward. “My daughter may think she’s an expert on the
ton
, but she is only sixteen. At that age, she and her friends are as impressionable as wax. Believe me, she doesn’t know half as much as she believes she does.”

“So the rumors aren’t true?”

“Years ago, I met the Duchess of Strathaven. She was undoubtedly beautiful: a blond, blue-eyed angel. The
ton
—and gentlemen in particular—adored her.” Marianne’s eyes narrowed. “Beneath Lady Laura’s charming exterior, however, I sensed a manipulative nature. I cannot say whether the vitriol she spewed about the duke was true or not, only that her own behavior was far from blameless.”

Leaning forward, Mrs. McLeod added, “It is a little known fact—and I would prefer it remain that way—that the duchess was once engaged to Mr. McLeod.”

Emma’s jaw slackened. “What?”

“She met Strathaven at her own engagement party to Mr. McLeod and promptly jilted one sibling for the other. The duke must shoulder his share of the blame, of course, yet what sort of a woman would come between two brothers?” Mrs. McLeod said with distaste.

Mind whirling, Emma struggled to absorb the new facts. She recalled something else Rosie had mentioned. “What about the heirs? The two who were ahead of Strathaven in the succession and who mysteriously died?”

“My daughter was your source again?” Marianne said dryly.

Emma nodded.

“While murder and mayhem make for excellent novels, rarely is real life as exciting. People die all the time.” Her sister-in-law shrugged. “Heirs included.”

Could it be true? Could the rumors about the duke be nothing more than hearsay?

Excited voices and footsteps sounded outside the drawing room.

“The dancing lesson must be over,” Marianne said.

“And I must return before McLeod suspects anything.” Rising in a rustle of silk, Mrs. McLeod took Emma’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Promise me you’ll think about what we discussed?”

***

After Mrs. McLeod departed and Marianne went to shepherd the family to their various activities for the day, Emma decided to go out for a short stroll. Needing solitude, she didn’t call for a maid. She walked along the tree-lined streets of Mayfair, the sun beating down upon her bonnet as thoughts ricocheted in her head.

What on earth were Mrs. McLeod and Marianne talking about?

How could Strathaven’s hurting of Lady Osgood be part of a
game
? How could his controlling behavior be anything but dangerous? And why would any woman welcome being forced to submit to a man? ’Twas ludicrous and yet ...

Perplexed, Emma considered whether her perception of what transpired in Lady Buckley’s garden could have been distorted. Had her dislike of Strathaven’s arrogance somehow prejudiced her, made her misjudge the situation? But, no, she
knew
what she saw. From the time she was thirteen and her mama had passed, she’d relied on her own judgment to take care of herself and her family. Her ability to make sound decisions was one of her few virtues.

She could hear her papa’s voice:
The only good is knowledge, and the only evil is ignorance
.

Until now, she’d never found it difficult to discern right from wrong, fact from falsehood. She’d viewed the world in black and white, yet where Strathaven was concerned, everything seemed to be ... grey. A stormy, turbulent shade that made it difficult to know what was what.

Was he a wicked rake or a grieving father? A coldhearted aristocrat or the caring brother to whom the McLeods apparently owed their happiness? An arrogant, abusive brute—or a lover who’d been engaged in some sort of incomprehensible game?

Chewing on her lip, Emma turned the corner onto a quiet street lined by sleepy mansions. What if Mrs. McLeod and Marianne were right, and she had somehow misunderstood the situation? Goodness, she couldn’t live with herself if she had wrongly accused an innocent man of murder ...

At the clip-clop of approaching horses, she absently looked up. A black lacquered carriage pulled up beside her, its thick navy drapes drawn. She barely had time to note the painted gold crest on the door before it swung open. A large arm reached out, catching her by the waist. A gloved hand stifled her startled cry, and she was hauled into the carriage.

Chapter Eight

Alaric regarded his captive calmly. Despite her pale cheeks and heaving bosom, Miss Emma Kent’s eyes shot sparks at him. He was certain that if he removed the silk strips binding her mouth and hands, she’d be shouting the roof down and clawing his eyes out as well.

Which was why he’d had to resort to present measures. She gave him no choice.

“Listen carefully, Miss Kent,” he said. “I am not going to hurt you. You have my word.”

“
Mfm mph gm.
”

“I will release you,” he conceded, “after you give me an hour of your time.”