What a Duke Wants (27 page)

His gaze wavered, but did not drop. “Yes—and I should have. If you’ve met my wife, and I believe you have, you will know that I have been informed of that many times. And we will not even begin to discuss my conversations with Violet.”

“I was quite surprised when she insisted that I come and talk to you. I did not think the two of you spoke.”

“That is my Clara’s doing. She is a great friend of Violet’s and between them they managed to persuade me of the error of my ways.”

If she’d been unsure of what to say before, she was speechless now. Her brother still walked like himself, still held himself stiffly, still kept his face blank, still spoke in the same carefully modulated tones—but his words, his words were not those of her brother.

And yet. . .

“I do appreciate what you say,” she said, “but it does not change things. What happened happened.”

“It does not have to be that way. You are home now.”

A while ago she’d been thinking of this room as close to home. Now it felt anything but. “But not to stay. I intend to go to the country with Annie, with Lady Richard Tenant. I will act as companion to her and governess to any future children.”

“No.” Now, that sounded like her brother.

“I do not see that there is a choice. You seem to forget that I killed a man. You may not have been there, but surely Lord Peter and Violet informed you of the situation.”

“Foxworthy was stabbed after you left. Violet reported no knife wounds. Foxworthy must have still been alive when you left.”

“Is that what Violet said? I can assure that he was very dead when I left. I have wished that what you say was true, but it is not. I killed him. Do not doubt that.”

Now Masters did turn away. He went and stared out the window, but she doubted that he saw the sunny, flower-filled garden. “It does not matter. No one knows. We will pretend it never happened.”

Isabella patted the papers held tight in her bodice. Was it possible? If she managed to return the papers, maybe it could all be hidden away. “And where will you say I have been these last years? I am sure my absence has been remarked on.”

“We have said you were in the country.”

“And I am sure everyone believed that.”

“They claim to have. No one has questioned me.”

“Not to your face. I am sure rumors abounded when I left and did not return.”

“Nonetheless, once you are safely here, back in the bosom of your family, we can launch you again, find you a good, steady husband. Once you are wed any rumors will stop.”

“You want to marry me off again?” She truly could not believe him.

He turned from the window. “I am afraid I phrased that badly. Yes, I do think you need to marry, but to a man of your choosing.”

Her mind filled with an image of Mark and her dream cottage. “I do not wish to wed. Not now. Probably not ever.”

“W
hat has you acting like a cornered tomcat?” Douglas settled in the chair across from Mark and swung his boots up onto the table.

“It’s a fine thing when a man can’t have peace in his own library,” Mark replied.

“Perhaps I should have said growling like a bear.”

“Do you want me to run you through?”

“I might be scared if you threatened to shoot me. We both know that I am the better swordsman.” Douglas leaned forward, picked up Mark’s glass, and sniffed it. “If you’re drinking brandy of this quality, and still grumbling, it must be bad. You still can’t find her?”

“It could be something else, you know.”

Douglas just raised a brow and set the glass back on the table.

“Yes, it’s Bella. Are you sure it was her you saw with Lord Peter St. Johns? There has been no sighting of her in days. She can’t simply vanish into his house.”

“I’ve a feeling that girl can do just about whatever she wishes. You find her a nursery maid, make her your mistress, and now she’s moved in with a marquess’s brother. Next she’ll be marrying one of the highest lords in the kingdom.”

“Lord Peter is already married. Bella wouldn’t stay with a married man.” Mark knew he was growling again. “And if she’s his mistress now, she’d have been better off staying with me.”

“I do not believe she is Lord Peter’s mistress,” Douglas replied, his voice calming. “It is his wife’s home. I cannot imagine any wife would allow a mistress under her roof.”

“Then what is she doing there, assuming she even is there?”

“I don’t know. Are you sure she hasn’t left?”

“It is impossible to tell. None of the descriptions of women who have left the home sound like her, but she could have altered her appearance. I don’t know whether to instruct my men to look for a maid, a mistress, or a Greek goddess. It does rather complicate matters.”

“And what of the murder she claims to have committed? Have you found out more about that?”

Mark pushed himself up to standing and paced back and forth across the worn carpet. “No, damn it. All I can tell you is that Isabella Smith seems not to have existed for more than a couple of years. I believe I have found the first place she was employed and am waiting to hear. She must have arrived with some type of reference. Nobody would have hired her otherwise.”

“That is true. So if you find out who gave her the reference you can find out who she is?”

“It is at least a step in the right direction.”

“And what will you do when you find her?”

Finally a question he could answer definitively. “I will claim what is mine.”

Chapter 27

“S
o you must tell me all. Are you really living with your brother again?” Annie burst into the parlor at an hour far too early for guests. Masters’s butler followed behind, his glance apologetic. “I didn’t think you were ever going to speak to him again. I was tempted to skip the coronation yesterday to come and talk to you. I couldn’t believe you left Violet’s home and came here.”

“It’s a long story.” Isabella rubbed at her temple. “I agreed to meet with Masters to make Violet happy and to get into the house. There was something I needed to retrieve from my room. But—but when Masters started to talk, things changed. I feel like I suddenly have the brother I always wanted, one I can depend on.”

“So you’ve told him everything and he’s going to help?” Annie asked as she took a seat across from Isabella. She leaned forward eagerly.

Isabella pulled in a slow breath and considered what to say. “Masters knew about Foxworthy already—or at least most of it. Violet told him. He also wondered if Foxworthy hadn’t still been alive when he was stabbed. It all sounds strange to me. Foxworthy was dead when I left. I have no question. He seems to think that I can just come back to the family and rejoin society.”

“He’s probably right about that. If you don’t realize it, your family is already more than slightly scandalous and yet they are accepted. I don’t see why you should be any different. And it’s not like anyone has even mentioned Foxworthy in years. I can’t believe that anyone cares anymore.” Annie sat back.

But Annie didn’t know about the man who wanted the letters. He was supposed to contact her today, the day after the coronation. Isabella refused to even think about the future until he was taken care of. Would he leave her alone once he had the letters? “I still think I should just fade into the background and come to the country with you. I will live a quiet, unremarkable life and no one will ever need think of me again. I can visit my brother and sister occasionally to be sure they know I am happy. I do not want to give them more worry. We are all having dinner tonight. I wish you could see Violet with her niece and nephew. It is the family I have always wanted.”

“But don’t you want your own family, your own children? What about Strattington? Why don’t you just marry him?”

Leave it to Annie to cut to the heart of the matter. “He still doesn’t know who I am and I have no intention of telling him. He planned to return to his estates after the coronation. I doubt we will meet again. I will be in the country with you if ever he should come to London again.”

“I still don’t see why you don’t just tell him. It seems a simple thing to me. If he wanted you enough to make you his mistress, surely he would want you enough to make you his wife.”

“I wish it was so simple. Dukes do not marry their mistresses. And the type of wanting that a man has for his mistress is very different than the type a man has for his wife. Besides, Mark—Strattington—is trying to be a proper duke and I would only bring scandal. Can you imagine the whispers if he married his mistress?”

“Poppycock. Nobody but me knows you were his mistress. I am certainly not going to tell anybody. And he thinks you are a maid. If he knew you were the granddaughter of an earl everything would be different.”

Isabella was not so sure. “Miss Isabella Hermione Masters was of barely eligible birth to marry a duke at the age of seventeen. The best that could have been said of the match was that nobody would actually laugh at the idea. Now I have a mysterious past—even you thought I’d had a baby—and a scandalous family—you said that yourself. I hardly think I am duchess material.”

“I still think—”

“And I am a murderess. Whether or not it is ever proven, there might still be rumors. I don’t think I could place that burden on Mark. Some dreams do not have happy endings.” She had told him the truth and now hoped to never see his face again, except in her dreams. Annie’s plan might be wonderful, but it was also impossible. “Now, I am going to change the subject. Tell me about what happened at the masquerade. Did your plan work? I had a slightly unpleasant run-in with Lord Richard. Did he tell you about it?”

“I shouldn’t let you get away with this. I have much more to say about your life.” Annie leaned forward again. “But in truth, I do need your advice.”

Before Annie could say more there was a tap on the door and Masters’s butler entered. “The Duke of Hargrove is here to see you, miss.”

“Doesn’t he mean the Duke of Strattington? Why would Hargrove be here? My brother-in-law never pays calls. He expects the world to come to him. Why on earth would he be visiting you?” Annie asked.

Before Isabella could answer, Hargrove strode into the room. He frowned at Annie. “Lady Richard, don’t you have other errands you should be running?”

“Y
ou’ll never believe who wrote Isabella’s first recommendation.” Mark collapsed into a chair by the hearth and stared at Douglas.

Without his asking, Douglas poured him a large glass of brandy and brought it over. “I must confess I couldn’t even begin to guess. The king himself?”

“Almost as unlikely. My dear aunt, Lady Smythe-Burke. It was apparently glowing and spoke of Miss Smith’s fine character and respectability. It sounded as if they’d known each other for years.”

“Perhaps they had. Your aunt does keep a wide variety of friends.”

“But a nursery maid?”

“You’ve said she started out as a companion. Perhaps Lady Smythe-Burke employed her?”

“It seems unlikely. The only servants my aunt takes interest in are her handsome footmen. She’s always insisted she did not want a companion and she certainly has no need of a baby nurse or a governess.”

“Perhaps Isabella worked for one of her friends. Surely some of them must have companions.”

“It is possible, but then why not get a reference from her actual employer?”

“You will have to ask your aunt.” Douglas poured himself a glass of the brandy.

“I do intend to, but unfortunately she is out of London until the end of the week. I am undecided on whether to chase her down. I don’t want to arouse her curiosity. You know how she is.”

“M
y brother’s wife is a lovely girl, but rather tiresome. Note how slow she was to realize the necessity of her departure.” Hargrove took Annie’s seat without waiting for an invitation.

It had taken Annie a surprisingly long time to leave. She had clearly been trying to understand what purpose Hargrove could have in calling on Isabella. Isabella herself was baffled.

“Perhaps she thought you were looking for her.”

“Doubtful. I am never looking for her.” Hargrove stared at her hard. She felt like a butterfly, wings pinned to paper, unable to move. “Ring for some tea. I am quite parched.” He waved his hand, a strong male hand, the wrist surrounded in lace edged in palest mauve. A slow curl of dread formed in her stomach at the sight of it. “Though once I found where my sister-in-law had gone my course was clear. You do keep making it easy to find you.”

He waved his hand again, the lace fluttering about it. Mauve lace.

Mauve, that was a name they had never used to describe that awful bedroom.

She didn’t know why she’d had the thought, not now when she was trying to understand why Hargrove was here.

And then she knew. Her gaze moved up from that lace-edged arm to the Duke of Hargrove’s face. He was staring at her, his eyes harder than the diamond stone adorning his finger.

Shock took her. She had been right. It had seemed an impossibility, but . . . She had not even been sure such things were real. And then—her chest loosened as if her corset had been unlaced, her lungs filled with air, blood rushed to her brain.

She wished she could pull out the sheaf of papers and wave them in the air. She raised her eyes to Hargrove. Direct might be the best approach. “I believe I have something of yours.”

“Do you, now?”

“Do you wish to pretend? If so, you should give up the purple lace. It is rather distinctive.”

Hargrove laughed—harshly. “Do you know I hate lavender and mauve? I have tried to develop a taste for them, but I cannot, and now they bring only unpleasant memories.”

“Then why . . . ?”

“Because he liked to see me in them. Isn’t it strange? Lord William’s been dead years now and I still cannot break the habit. It was our special code and it has become part of me.”

She had been right. “Is it all coincidence, then, my ending up with Strattington? It seems impossible that I should be with him when you were his cousin’s . . .”

Hargrove did not look away. “
Lover
is I believe the word. No matter what society may think, it is the only one that fits. And yes, it is nothing but irony running amok. I find it quite unbelievable that you should end up with Strattington. I search for you high and low and when I find you it is with him. I would much have preferred you anywhere else. He is such an unworthy replacement to my sweet William, no taste, no refinement—and horrible political views. And then he installed you in our house, in our room. I could have killed him for that.” The look he gave Isabella made her believe him.

“I can assure you neither of us knew. I imagined it was the old duke who kept the house, not his son.”

“Originally it was, but the old man was such a stickler I am not sure he ever used the place.” Hargrove tapped a finger on the table. “He certainly never intended it for the use we put it to.”

“And the bedroom, that was Lord William’s design?”

“Hideous, isn’t it? I never understood his love of the color, but it was such an easy whim to give in to. It always made him quite amorous.”

That was more than Isabella needed to know. “I still cannot quite believe it at all—and that I should come to stay with Annie, to place myself in your power, that seems almost too great a coincidence.”

“I must agree. I was in quite the mood when my man said you had left Strattington and he was not sure where you had gone. You are quite the runner. Then I visit my brother and there you are, just waiting for me. And when you disappeared again—despite my warnings—I had only to wait for Annie to lead me to you.”

“I was not trying to run. I had to come here to get what you required. I left the papers here, in my brother’s house, when I left.”

“So you have them?”

Isabella rose and walked to the writing desk. Did she just give him the letters, or did that leave her without defense? “I am still not sure how you knew I had the letters.”

“I watched you take them. I have been waiting for your blackmail attempt for years—and preparing to do anything necessary to get them back.” His hand slipped into the pocket of his coat.

Isabella felt the threat in his words and walked away from the desk. “You were there?”

“I think I mentioned that when we met at Georgiana’s masquerade.”

“I wasn’t sure that was you. Why did you not let me know you were there, at Foxworthy’s?”

“I had come to kill the man. It did not seem like the time to renew acquaintances.”

“You were going to kill Foxworthy?”

“Damn you, yes. I had it all planned out. The man was going to suffer. And then you came and ruined everything.”

“I didn’t mean to kill him—although it is hard to say I am sorry when I would do the same thing again.”

“If only you could have stayed away. An accidental death was not enough, he deserved to suffer for what he did to William.”

And suddenly even the few pieces of the puzzle that had not made sense slipped into place. “You stabbed him. I never understood why everyone thought he was stabbed when I knew that he slipped and hit the mantel.”

Hargrove rose to his feet. “Yes, I bloody well stabbed him. I’d have done it a dozen times if I hadn’t heard voices. There was little enough satisfaction in it. I wanted to feel him squirm beneath my hand, but I’d have done worse if I could.”

He was too near. Isabella could feel the menace leaking from him like mist off a bog. “But why?”

He stepped even closer. “Do you know how my William died?”

“No.” She hadn’t heard anything beyond that Mark had inherited after the death of both his cousin and his uncle.

“He killed himself, and it was because of me—only it was Foxworthy who drove him to it.”

“I am afraid I don’t understand.” Her back was against the wall. If he stepped any closer they would be touching.

“Lord William and I were happy—or as happy as any two men could be in the circumstances. We knew that we could never be open, but we knew that once he inherited nobody would question us. Two dukes working together to improve the empire. If we met frequently it was only because we had so much to discuss. I was even going to marry that twit Georgiana to lend us respectability. The greatest problem we had was that blasted purple bedroom. He loved it and I felt trapped in a jar of plum jam.” He glanced down at his cuffs.

She tried to step sideways. “I don’t see what Foxworthy has to do with any of this.”

“As I am sure you are aware, Foxworthy was in the habit of collecting bits and pieces of information he thought might be useful. There was a certain measure I wanted to be sure passed in Lords and Wimberley was opposed. Blasted man is too damn persuasive. In any case, Foxworthy hinted that he had something that would keep Wimberley contained. I invited him to dinner to discuss the matter—only after he left did I discover he’d taken William’s letters with him. I should have destroyed them when I received them, but I did not. They were a little piece of him that I could keep with me. I could only be relieved that we had kept our identities secret. Even William had the sense not to sign a love letter between two men—still they could have been damaging. It clearly does not take a great intellect to figure them out.” Hargrove gave her a dismissing look.

“And so Foxworthy blackmailed you?”

“If only he had. No, he went after William. I don’t know how he knew who the letters were from, but he did. William should have come to me, but he did not. Instead he had a ‘hunting accident.’ He was afraid the old duke would hear. I didn’t know what had happened until Foxworthy came to me afterward, still seeking a prize. I should have killed him then.”