The Secret Duke (15 page)

That made him especially dangerous. He was here in disguise to ruin a silly young thing.

“If you please, sir, move away from the table.”

“Why?”

“It would be foolish for me to go so close to you.”

“Then why,” he asked, amused, “are you here?”

“To retrieve my stars.”

“They are tinsel and paste and not even worth a shilling.”

“Perhaps I have a fondness for them.”

“Try another excuse.”

“I don’t have to try anything,” she said tartly, and found the willpower to turn and walk to the door.

“Kelano.”

The word stopped her, and she turned back.

“I harbor hopes that you came in order to meet me again.”

Bella considered him. It was true, after all, and something did hum in the air between them. Something special.

“Perhaps I did,” she admitted. “But I have encountered not goatherd but goat.”

“And I have encountered not nymph but Harpy. Why the paint?”

“I could hardly come here as myself, likely to be recognized.”

“Ah. So you would be recognized in your natural form.”

“Anyone can be recognized anywhere, if only by their shoemaker.”

“I suspect shoemakers remember only feet. You’re not willing to trust me with your name?”

“No more than you are willing to trust me with yours.” But Bella was struggling not to smile. It had been so long, so long, since she’d crossed verbal swords with a quick-witted man.

“You came here to meet Orion Hunt,” he said.

“A person no more real than Kelano. Why did you seek this meeting?”

“I wished to encounter you again, but I’ve failed. This isn’t you.”

“Nor was Kelano.”

“But closer, I think.”

“What of you?” she demanded. “Which is closer to the truth, goatherd or goatish footman?”

Even in the shadow of the goat’s nose she could see the smile. “The goatherd, I assure you, but I could hardly walk through London in that costume.”

The image tempted her to smile back. “What need had you to disguise yourself?”

“What need had you?”

“I told you. A lady alone, meeting a gentleman. If it became known, I could be ruined. Would you be ruined if anyone discovered you were here with me?”

He picked up the box. “That would depend on your definition of ruined. Such a discovery could ruin my life.”

“How?”

“If you come from a respectable family, I might be compelled to marry you.”

That caused an extraordinary jolt of sensations that Bella had no time to analyze, for he came forward and offered the box.

She snatched it, feeling like a nervous bird offered a seed.

Her wariness was justified. He caught her left wrist, trapping her. Wild sensations shot along her arm, and some thrilled her, but for the most part she was afraid. She pulled back. “Let me go.”

“In a moment.”

At his tone, Bella shivered head to toe. “Don’t, please. . . .”

“I won’t hurt you. I merely want a reward. A kiss would be a fair fee for the return of your trinket, but alas, my mask means it can only be on your hand.” His voice had deepened so that it seemed to hum over her skin, making Bella aware even of the air she inhaled. “You will permit?” he asked, almost in a whisper.

He didn’t wait for her answer—she remembered that about him—but switched his hold and slowly raised her gloved fingers.

Again, she noted courtly grace, and it was as dangerous as a sword sliding out of a scabbard. Her goatherd was no footman, and had definitely not been an interloper at the Olympian Revels. He was one of the powerful. If she fled this room screaming, her clothes half torn off her, it would all be hushed up.

She had no family to protest or protect her. She was alone in the world and for the first time completely aware of the danger of that. What a fool she’d been to come here!

She tried to pull her fingers free, but he had her trapped as he brought her hand beneath the mask, into the goat’s maw.

Watching her, his eyes glittered.

Enjoying her fear?

Bella made herself relax. She even managed a slight smile. “I remember that goats don’t eat meat.”

Perhaps those eyes truly smiled, and then she felt teeth on her fingertips. The jolt was visceral, deeply disturbing.

Yes, he smiled. She could imagine his grinning mouth, her fingertips between his teeth.

His teeth released her and she felt the pressure of his lips on the back of her fingers. She should scarcely be able to feel it through leather, but she shuddered deep inside, where she still churned.

And not with fear.

“I wish . . .” How had that escaped her?

“You wish what, bright star?”

As prosaically as she could, she said, “I wish I knew who you are.”

He lowered her hand, but kept control of it. “If you tell me, I’ll tell you.”

“Why would it be difficult for you?”

“Why would it be difficult for you?”

“Everything is more difficult for a woman.” Bella pulled her hand free and was embarrassed to find his grip had not been compelling after all. She took a step away.

“Perhaps not quite everything. Women, for example, are not required to fight.”

“But suffer just as much if caught up in warfare.”

He inclined his head. “A wife is not personally responsible for her debts. Are you married?”

The question was slid in so deftly that Bella almost answered. Instead she said, “Does it matter?”

“An angry husband might call me out. Another danger.”

“An angry husband would horsewhip a footman. Or even murder him with society’s blessing.”

“Is our world as wild as that?”

“Yes.”

“You might be correct, but a clever husband would wait a little and dispatch me secretly. He’d probably beat his errant wife. Are you an errant wife, Kelano?”

Bella frantically sought the right answer. Would claiming to be married provide protection, or would being unmarried be safer, because then she might be someone he might be forced to marry?

And why was the idea of being forced to marry this man so shockingly enticing?

“What of you?” she demanded sharply, taking another step backward toward the door. “Are you married?”

“No, but please don’t think me inexperienced in the necessary skills.”

“Not for a single moment, sir.” Bella’s face went so hot she feared her paint would melt.

He only smiled. “Thank you. I lay all my experience at your feet, my star. If not today, will you meet me again?”

“No! And I certainly would never meet you at night.”

“A word of warning, sweet nymph: night is not necessary for sin.”

Bella knew her eyes had widened. Knew she should run away. Now. Yet she seemed glued. Rooted.

“You would enjoy my sinful skills, Kelano. That is a promise.”

Bella took another step back and came up against something. She hoped it was the door. “I would never be so foolish,” she said, groping behind her for the handle.

“Yet you are here. Did you truly come to retrieve a few pennies’ worth of ornament?” When she had no reply, he smiled. “If you return tomorrow at noon, I will be here awaiting you. As will be the bed.”

He gestured toward it with courtly grace and an extraordinarily beautiful hand. The strength of that hand shook her conviction that he was an aristocrat, but everything else about it said wealth and pampered high birth. . . .

Temptation almost drowned her, but the very power of the danger threw her into a panic that allowed her to break free. Unwilling to take her eyes from danger for a moment, she found the handle, pressed it and escaped.

Bella ran down the corridor, but managed to halt before turning into the entrance hall. To run through it would be to invite seizure as a thief, but her heart was galloping even if her feet weren’t. She looked back, fearing pursuit, but the corridor was empty.

She hurried, but attempting to hide her urgency, and emerged onto Pall Mall, alert for lurking danger there. Might he have people on guard?

Once outside, she looked around, fearing some sort of trap or pursuit, but no one stopped her, so she turned into a side street and paused a moment to collect herself.

She’d escaped. That man didn’t know who she was, and she certainly wouldn’t return tomorrow. Strength allowing. She’d thought she’d encountered attractive men, and even some wickedly appealing ones, but she’d never encountered anyone like him. At the revels and again today he seemed able to overcome her will, to entrance her like a fey prince.

Her steps sped as she hurried home, hurried back to the safety of Bellona Flint, whom no man would attempt to seduce into a sin-drenched daytime bed. She was still clutching the box. She tossed it in the gutter to see it immediately snatched by a street urchin who appeared out of a crevice and darted back again like a spider.

Bella pitied the child, but there were so many like him. She realized she hated London. She hated its dirt, its overwhelming mass of people, many of them penniless, its politics and scheming. . . .

A man called out something lewd, and she realized she was near St. James’s Street, where men had their clubs. She turned again, trying to get her bearings for Soho, looking around for a hackney cab or chair stand. She knocked against a man, or he knocked against her. She flinched away, but he was already stepping back, bowing slightly in apology.

Bella nodded to the fashionably dressed gentleman, but then stared. She knew that rough-skinned, pock-marked face. “You!” she exclaimed.

He retreated even more. “Ma’am?”

Bella opened and shut her mouth, fighting for coherent speech. On top of everything else today, this.

“You,” she said again, low and fierce now. “You stole me from Carscourt and carried me to Dover.” She stepped forward, the question that had tormented her for years boiling out of her. “Why? Why!”

As she advanced, he retreated, hissing, “Not so loud, dammit.”

Bella stopped, aware of people nearby pausing to pay attention. She no more wanted attention than he did, but she wanted answers—she wanted to know why her life was such a disaster—and it seemed fate had placed answers before her. Perhaps she should be afraid of Coxy, but at this moment she felt like a wolf with prey in its sights. All the same, she tried to relax, to look as if this were some sort of normal conversation.

“What a surprise to encounter you, sir,” she said.

He also relaxed, looking her up and down with a sneer, as if he were the wolf. “I heard you’d fled your family, Miss Barstowe. I confess to being pleased to see a Barstowe brought low.”

He too thought her a whore, but she couldn’t care for that. “If I am, it is your doing, you worm. Tell me why you abducted me.”

“Why should I?”

Bella stepped closer. “Because if you don’t, I will throw a scene here that will never be forgotten. I will ruin you just as effectively as you ruined me.”

He saw the wolf now. He said, “You wouldn’t. . . .” But his eyes shifted around to see who was nearby.

“I will,” Bella said. “What have I to lose?”

“You want to know?” he snarled. “I’ll tell you then, and willingly, but not here.”

“If you imagine I would go anywhere with you . . .”

“Not private,” he muttered, looking around again, “but just walk with me. And try to look less like a clawed Harpy.”

Bella laughed at that, a harsh laugh, but she turned and walked down the street, attempting a normal air for those who were curious. Her heart had been pounding for so long she felt light-headed, but one clear thought obsessed her: in a moment, she’d know. It wouldn’t repair anything—nothing could—but she would know.

“It was your brother’s doing, Miss Barstowe.”

Bella stopped to glare at him. “Don’t lie to me.”

“ ’Pon my word, it’s the truth. The cause of your ruin was Augustus Barstowe, now Sir Augustus Barstowe, pillar of the community.”

Bella walked on, struggling with the idea. “What could he have to do with you?”

“Everything. He lost a great deal of money to me at cards. And refused to pay.”

Bella managed not to stop, but she scoffed. “Saint Augustus? Gaming? You must think me a complete fool.”

“He hoodwinked you too, did he? Believe me or not, as you like.”

In a day of extraordinary things, here was another, but for some reason she believed this hated man. Looking fiercely ahead, she said, “Tell me.”

 

 

 

 

“Y
our brother lost money to me and refused to pay. Do you know that gaming debts are not legally collectible?”

“I didn’t.”

“You see why I had to take measures. I threatened to tell your father. That usually works with young men one way or another. Your brother insisted that even if informed, your father would never pay gaming debts, and that he simply didn’t have the funds. A sneaky specimen, your brother. He pointed out that if I told his father about his gaming, Sir Edwin would stop his allowance, which would make it even less possible for him to pay, and also that his father was a stern magistrate who might bring charges against me for illegal dice games. In effect, he claimed there was nothing I could do, and smirked about it.”

“That,” said Bella, “I can believe. But . . . gaming. I had no idea. I don’t think anyone did. Or does now. Does he still play?”

“He’s an addict, Miss Barstowe, so yes, he plays. He avoids me, however, and I him.”

Bella walked on, trying to absorb this extraordinarily different view of reality. Augustus had always been the virtuous one, grieving sorrowfully over every little sin of his sisters, but especially over Bella’s, because she was the one who wasn’t afraid of him.

Clearly she should have been.