The Duke's Men [1] What the Duke Desires (8 page)

He scowled at her, then propped one hip on the edge of the desk. “I would play your
brother,” he said, as if trying the idea on for size.

“Yes.” She fought to hide her relief from him. At least he was considering her proposal.
“We’ll make it simple, which is always best. You can use your real surname, since
that will make it easier for you to remember. No one will connect Mr. Cale with the
Duke of Lyons, especially since Cale can be spelled so many ways. And I’ll be Miss
Cale. It’s probably less conspicuous than my own French name anyway.” She tapped her
chin. “Oh, but I’ll want to call you by your Christian name. What would that be?”

Though that impertinence made him raise an eyebrow, he said, “Maximilian,” in that
oh-so-cultured voice of his.

“That won’t do at all. I’ll call you Max.” At his dark stare, she added wickedly,
“To throw off suspicion. ‘Maximilian’ sounds far too lofty a name for plain Mr. Cale,
the cotton merchant.”

“Cotton merchant? You said to keep it simple. What the blazes do I know about cotton?”

“You don’t need to know anything about it; I know plenty already. Dom had a case once
involving that industry. I’ll field any questions you’re asked.”

“Right. Because
that
won’t look odd in the least,” he said sarcastically. “Nor will anyone notice that
we have different accents. And before you suggest it, no, I cannot change my accent.
Unlike you, I’m unaccustomed to playing a role.”

Was that supposed to be an insult—implying yet again that she and her family were
devious? “What do you mean—‘unlike you’? Do you think I play roles routinely?”

“You must,” he said dryly. “You seem to think it the easiest thing in the world.”

“Oh,” she said, slightly mollified. “Well, it is. My mother
was
an actress, you know.”

“Have you ever done any acting yourself?”

She colored. “No, but I know all the techniques. I spent years helping Maman prepare
for her roles.”

And she’d always wanted to be an agent for Vidocq, to pretend to be someone else while
traveling to exotic places and infiltrating the highest and lowest levels of society.
To be a spy. It sounded very exciting.

He was watching her now, his gaze hooded. “All the
same, no one will ever believe that you and I are brother and sister. We sound too
different, look too different.” His voice dropped to a rough thrum. “And I can assure
you, I will never be able to treat you like a sister.”

That got her dander up again. “Because I’m too far beneath you?”

“Because you’re too beautiful.” When she stiffened, he added ruefully, “I can’t pretend
I don’t notice. And the last time I checked, brothers weren’t supposed to notice such
things about their sisters.”

The bald statement threw her off guard and made a stealthy warmth creep under her
defenses. She steeled herself against it. He was probably using flattery to try to
get his own way, since blustering hadn’t worked. Obviously he thought she would melt
at the idea of being thought beautiful by a duke. Then she would relent in her plans.

Arrogant beast. “It doesn’t matter if people believe it. As long as they don’t know
who we really are, they can speculate all they want. We are two relatively anonymous
travelers. No one will ever connect the real me to the real you. Hardly anyone knows
me
anyway. I only returned to England six months ago.”

He cocked his head to one side. “Yet you backed out of the doorway to keep your neighbors
from seeing you speaking to me in your night rail and wrapper.”

A blush heated her cheeks. “That’s different. I can’t have my neighbors gossiping
about me, because it would reflect badly on Manton’s Investigations.”

“Exactly,” he drawled.

“But my neighbors won’t be taking the coach to Brighton or the packet boat to Dieppe.
As long as I don’t join you in your coach to travel to the Golden Cross Inn, no one
will be the wiser. We’ll arrive there separately and let Shaw deal with my neighbors.
He’s good at telling tales. He actually
is
a professional actor.”

“Your
butler
is an actor?” he said incredulously.

“Well, he’s not exactly a butler, more like a jack of all trades. But he’s an excellent
actor. So you see, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Right.” He lifted his gaze heavenward. “Just the possibility of disaster when either
you or I let something slip that unmasks us.”

“Come now, Your Grace, think of it as an adventure,” she said firmly. He was
not
going to talk her out of this. “It sounds as if you could use one, quite frankly.”

He shot her an arch glance.

“The coach from the Golden Cross will land us at the coast well before midnight,”
she continued, “and we can be up at dawn to take the packet for Dieppe.”

“Can we indeed?” he said dryly.

She ignored him, determined to have her way in this. “I know that leaving at two allows
us only a few hours to pack, but you won’t want to take much with you anyway—just
Dom’s clothes and a few essentials. Nothing fancy that will call attention to yourself.
And no big trunk, either—public coaches don’t have room for such.” She walked to the
window. “You mustn’t show up at the inn in your coach either, or—”

“You’re forgetting one thing, Miss Bonnaud.”

She turned from the window to find him standing with legs apart and hands clasped
behind his back, looking every inch a duke as he fixed her with a steely glance.

“And what is that?” she asked, feigning nonchalance.

“I haven’t yet agreed to your plan.”

She girded herself for battle, ignoring the tremor of alarm that swept down her spine.
“But neither have you suggested any other workable plan that I will agree to. So unless
you can read my mind for the information you seek, you will have to work with me.
Or let the matter of your brother’s handkerchief remain an intriguing mystery.”

He scowled at her. She stared right back at him.

At last he let out a low oath. “Given that time is of the essence, you leave me no
choice.”

“None,” she agreed. She’d actually won!

She headed for the door, now that the worst was over. “I’ll see what clothes Dom might
have that would fit you—”

“I’ll find my own clothes,” he interrupted. “I’m sure one of my servants can provide
attire different enough from my ‘usual finery’ to suit you.”

“Oh.” How could she have forgotten that he would have legions of servants to order
about and borrow clothes from? “Of course.”

They walked out into the hall and down the stairs in utter silence. When they reached
the entrance, where Skrimshaw already had the duke’s greatcoat and hat waiting, Lyons
faced her with eyes glittering.

“Forgive me for being blunt, Miss Bonnaud,” he said
irritably, “but I think you should know that the reason you’ve remained unmarried
until now isn’t your age or lack of connections or even your illegitimacy. It is the
fact that you are a royal pain in the—” He caught himself as Skrimshaw cleared his
throat. “In the derriere.”

She burst into laughter. “Dom said exactly the same thing to me before he left yesterday,
except that he used the more colorful version. It appears that you
can
play the role of my brother after all. Obviously it comes naturally to you.”

The duke must have missed the humor in that, for he glowered at her. “Then it’s a
good thing I never had a sister. Because I would have throttled her before she was
even grown.”

The statement was so similar to something her brothers might have said that she couldn’t
resent it.

“You wouldn’t have done any such thing,” she said softly. “You would have fought to
protect her with every ounce of your strength, the same way I’m fighting to protect
my brother.”

He studied her with eyes the color of a summer forest. “Then for your sake, I hope
that Bonnaud proves worthy of your faith in him.”

“He will.” He’d better, in any case. Or she would throttle
him
.

“Very well, then. It seems we have a plan.” Taking his coat and hat from Skrimshaw,
he dipped his head. “I shall see you in a few hours at the Golden Cross.”

“I’ll be there.”

Once Lyons walked out the front door, Skrimshaw
came to stand beside her as she watched the duke get into his coach. “Are you sure
about that?” Skrimshaw murmured.

“About what? That I’ll be there?”

“That Mr. Bonnaud is worthy of your faith in him. ‘There is a method in man’s wickedness,
/ It grows up by degrees.’ And it sounds as if your brother is edging a trifle too
close to criminal behavior this time.”

“Tristan isn’t wicked
or
a criminal, and besides—” She scowled. “Wait, were you eavesdropping on my conversation
with the duke? That’s very rude.”

“Is it? Half of the plays in the world contain eavesdropping. I assumed it was a common
practice.”

She eyed him askance. “You assumed no such thing, you sly dog. You’re well aware of
the bounds of propriety when you want to be.”

Skrimshaw stared earnestly at her. “Yes, which is why I know you are tempting fate
with this wild scheme. His Grace is right about that.”

Swallowing her apprehension, she turned for the stairs. “I have no choice. I have
to make sure Tristan is all right, and I see no other way to do so.”

He fell into step behind her. “You could write to Mr. Manton in Scotland and let him
handle the matter.”

“And how would that get rid of the duke?”

“You could tell
him
what he wants to know.”

“So he can rage over to Paris to ruin Tristan’s future with the Sûreté? Not on your
life.”

“You assume that disaster will ensue if His Grace goes off without you, but perhaps
he will find Mr.
Bonnaud and discover that your brother has indeed located
his
brother.”

She paused on the landing to glance at him. “I doubt that. I’m sure Tristan has merely
leapt to a conclusion that won’t bear up under the facts. A duke’s long-lost elder
brother appears out of nowhere to claim the dukedom? It’s like something out of a
play.”

“
As You Like It
comes to mind.”

“Exactly. Which is why I have to be there when Lyons discovers the truth, whatever
it is.” She continued up the stairs. “Someone has to ensure he doesn’t make Tristan
bear the brunt of his anger.”

“Mr. Bonnaud is a grown man, you know. He can take care of himself.”

She snorted. “No man can take care of himself entirely. I should never have left him
alone in France.”

They climbed in silence a few moments before Skrimshaw ventured another remark. “Perhaps
that is the real reason you wish to embark on this mad journey. Because you miss your
home, and you’re seizing your chance to return.”

Halting at the top of the stairs, she considered that possibility. “Perhaps. I do
miss Paris sometimes . . . the people, the food, the art.” She headed down the hall.
“But I like London, too. That’s the trouble—in a perfect world, I would visit both
regularly . . . and Venice and New York and even Timbuktu.” A long sigh escaped her.
“But it isn’t a perfect world, is it?”

“No.” He stayed her with one hand. “Which is why you shouldn’t be going off with a
stranger. You don’t
even know the man, yet you mean to travel with him?”

“We’ll be crowded into coaches and packets with several other people, for pity’s sake.
What can he do? And as sister and brother, we’ll have separate rooms at any lodging,
so I needn’t worry.”

Skrimshaw narrowed a particularly stern gaze on her. “You told the man you’d play
his mistress if that’s what it took.”

Lord, he really had heard everything, hadn’t he? “All right, I’ll admit that was foolish
of me, but I was trying to make a point. And I didn’t mean I would actually
be
his mistress. He knew that.”

“Did he?” Skrimshaw sounded skeptical. “Take care, miss. You’re letting the gentleman’s
high rank, fine attire, and subtle flatteries sway your good judgment. ‘All that glisters
is not gold.’ ”

“I realize that. Still, do you think I learned nothing from Maman? I know how easy
it is to fall under such a man’s spell—and how dangerous. I’m well shielded against
such nonsense. You’re worrying over nothing. It will be fine.”

“I daresay Mr. Manton would think otherwise if he were here.”

“Ah, but he’s not here,” she said with a wave of her hand. “And why do you care what
he thinks? With me gone, you can begin rehearsing the part of Diggory in
She Stoops to Conquer.
It might lead to greater things.”

He eyed her askance. “Yes, like being turned off for allowing you to travel with the
Duke of Lyons on some wild expedition to France.”

“What a bag of moonshine. Dom would never turn you off.” When he still looked nervous,
she added, “I won’t let him—I swear it.”

“And what am I to tell people if they ask where you have gone?”

“Tell them I went with Dom.” She steadied her shoulders. “I know what I’m doing. Go
enjoy being in your play, and don’t fret over me.” She headed for her room. “But first,
fetch Mrs. Biddle to come help me pack.”

Still, as she prepared for the journey, she wondered if Skrimshaw was right.
Was
she letting the duke’s high station and wealth tempt her into trusting him? Or worse
yet, his flatteries?

Because you’re too beautiful. I can’t pretend I don’t notice.

That same dratted fluttering arose in her belly. The man certainly knew how to give
a compliment. It had seemed devoid of pretense and winking insinuation.

But that didn’t mean it was real. How could it be? She wasn’t the fragile, wilting
flower that every fine gentleman wanted. Even Papa had called her his wild filly,
and if she knew one thing about the English, it was that they didn’t like wild women.
The duke had made that abundantly clear when he’d called her a pain in the “derriere.”