What the Duke Desires (11 page)

“You are troubled, what is it?”

Simon shook his head before he looked across the room to Rhys, who had been sorting through his own piles of correspondence and ledgers from over the decades. Now his friend was looking at him with concern.

Simon held up the ledger he had been examining. “I don’t understand these notations.”

“What are they?”

Simon returned his gaze to the line of names and numbers. “Ten years ago my father put forth a piece of legislation in the House of Lords that would have helped ease the conditions for some of lower-class shipyard workers. There were men who opposed those laws, people who made their fortunes on the backs of the laborers.”

Rhys nodded. “I vaguely recall that. There was some talk that bribery was involved in the stoppage of those laws.”

Simon swallowed. He had a very sick feeling. “This ledger shows my father actually sent several payments to the very men who led the opposition. The ones he later accused of all manner of trickery in obtaining what they wanted.”

He looked up to find Rhys still staring at him. “Why would my father do that?”

His friend looked away, but not before Simon saw a flash of suspicion in his expression. The same type of misgiving that turned his own stomach.

“I don’t know, Billingham,” Rhys said softly. “But I’m certain there is an explanation. Perhaps your father hoped to woo his opponents with money and convince them to your side later. Or maybe they made a false promise to him to stop their crusade if he paid them off.”

Simon pursed his lips. “My father always claimed to abhor that kind of politicking. Plus there is another very large payment that went out
after
the entire situation was over and forgotten. If my father was trying to pay them out of opposition, why would he give them more money
after
they betrayed him?”

Rhys raised both eyebrows, and Simon’s heart sank even further. There was one very obvious explanation, though he didn’t wish to think on it. Not until he had more information, at the very least.

“Have you come across any other papers pertaining to a…” He looked down at his sheets again. “…Lord Kinston or Mr. Xavier Warren?”

“Not yet,” Rhys said, flipping through the papers in his lap. “Why?”

“They are two of the men my father apparently gave money to who were involved on the other side of the bill. I would be curious if there is more correspondence or explanation on the matter.”

“Wait,” Rhys said, shuffling through the papers once before he held up an envelope. “There is this and it has Warren’s name on the return address.”

Simon crossed the room and took the letter from his friend. As he opened it, his hands shook slightly, though he wasn’t certain why. There had to be a reasonable explanation for what his father had done. But what he found inside did nothing to relieve his worry and confusion.

“Your Grace, I received your payment dated July 13. You may consider this matter closed and my silence ensured. Xavier Warren,”
he read aloud before he looked at Rhys again. “Silence? What kind of silence could my father have been buying?”

Rhys shrugged. “I have no idea. Your father seemed above any scandal. He was revered for his piety.”

Simon nodded. “And yet there seems to be more to this matter.”

Rhys looked around. “Well, I assume if there is a ledger and a letter referring to parts of the affair, there is probably more evidence scattered about this room. And now we know to be on the lookout for it.”

As his friend returned to his own reading, Simon glanced around him with a deep sigh. There was so much material to go through, and now that he was looking for something specific, the entire search had taken on a deeper, not particularly pleasant meaning.

Truth be told, he wasn’t certain if he
wanted
to find whatever it was he was looking for.

The musicale had been the dowager duchess’s idea, and she had invited all the ladies to regale the group with their talents. Lillian had been one of the few not anxious to share her “gifts.” She had very little affinity in the area of music. Her voice was pitchy and she had never had the patience to become proficient in piano or harp or any of the other pretty instruments ladies were meant to play.

Of course, the dowager would probably be just as happy she did not rise. The older woman had been sitting behind her all night, and Lillian could veritably
feel
the contempt coming from her.

With a sigh, Lillian opened her eyes and smiled with encouragement at Gabby as her friend sang. Then she let her gaze wander the room.

It was a funny thing to look at a crowd when they didn’t know they were being observed. Some of the women and men smiled, clearly enjoying the music. Others seemed jealous, especially the girls who had already performed and didn’t have the vast talent of her friend.

A few in the crowd seemed bored, one gentleman even kept looking at his pocket watch, as if counting the moments until the entire experience was over.

Lillian smothered a smile until her gaze fell on Simon. He had taken a place by himself at the back of the room and there he stood, leaning against a wall. Separated from the crowd, he stared at the little elevated platform where Gabby played, but he did not seem to see or hear her.

In fact, he did not truly appear to be attending to the music at all. His face was pinched, almost pained, and his brow wrinkled in a decidedly worried expression. Lillian caught her breath as she observed him.

Apparently their time spent together had taught her a great deal about the man, for she was able to detect a sadness to his eyes. And a faraway emptiness that told her he was thinking of troubling things.

He blinked suddenly as if he felt her stare on him, then his gaze found hers and focused. The corner of his lip lifted ever so slightly in a smile, and against her will, Lillian’s heart leapt.

When he returned his attention to Gabby, Lillian let out her breath in a sigh. A stab of pain made itself known deep within her. And she knew the cause.

Guilt.

It had been so easy to plan the demise of the late Duke of Billingham’s good name before she met his son. Before she spent time in Simon’s company, she had been able to dismiss the man’s family as conspirators, or at least as people who had known about Roger Crathorne’s ways and ignored them for their own benefit. But now, knowing Simon a little better, feeling his kiss, hearing his honest and straightforward words…

Well, she was beginning to recognize just how much she would destroy his world if she followed through on the plans she had made when she came here to his home.

Perhaps they were a mistake. Perhaps she could stop this madness before it was too late. Perhaps…

Before she could finish her thought, she felt a sharp jab in her ribs. She turned with a gasp of shock and found the dowager duchess glaring at her, one long finger still pointing from where she had poked Lillian.

Their eyes met, and then the other woman slowly shook her head. “No, Miss Mayhew.
No
,” she murmured, low enough that only Lillian heard her.

Lillian’s lips parted in shock and anger as she spun back around and faced forward. Obviously the dowager had noticed Lillian’s regard for her son.

How much had
she
known about her late husband’s lies?

Lillian pursed her lips with renewed purpose. Tomorrow she
would
talk to Simon. She
would
find the justice her father had sought and her mother deserved.

She would complete the quest that had brought her here. One way or another.

But where would he be?

Starting in the one place she knew he loved, she crept into the library. It was empty and quiet, without even a fire burning in the grate, but the large windows let in morning sunshine. She looked around with memories assaulting her. They had kissed here. And it had awoken something so primal in her.

Something she was willing to sacrifice for her father’s demand and her mother’s revenge.

“Stop it,” she murmured to herself as she left the room and shut the door smartly behind her. She had no time for regrets.

Thrusting back her shoulders with wavering resolve, she continued her search of the main rooms. The parlors were just as empty as the library. Finally she came upon the door to what he had described as his office during their truncated tour a few days earlier. She hesitated outside, heart throbbing, and finally found enough courage to knock.

“Enter,” came Simon’s voice from within, and she noted that he sounded strained and tired.

Biting her lip, she stepped into the room. As her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, she gasped and looked around in shock at the state of the chamber. It was positively awash in paperwork. Disordered, toppling, piled dangerously high, it seemed no corner of the room was free of the stuff.

When Simon had mentioned his father kept everything, she had never pictured such a mess as this.

She found Simon amidst the chaos, sitting behind a large desk…or at least she
assumed
it was large, so buried was it. His head was bent and he was reading, his eyebrows knit together as he did so. A pot of tea was perched precariously beside him on one stack of papers.

She shivered. In this room was the late duke’s past. His truth. Perhaps everything she had come here to find.

“You can take the old pot out and place the new one—” Simon broke off his direction as he glanced up. “Oh, Lillian.”

He made his way to his feet carefully and came around the desk. “I apologize, I thought you were one of the maids, come to bring me fresh tea.”

Lillian forced a smile, surprised yet again by the faint pleasure that lit behind his dark eyes. Here he was, pleased to see her, and she had been secretly plotting against him.

“Good morning, Simon,” she managed to choke out.

He motioned to one of the few empty chairs in the room with a smile. “It is better now that I’ve seen you. What are you doing awake so early?”

She dipped her chin, but did not take the chair he had offered. “Unlike so many of the young ladies here, I’ve never been comfortable lollygagging in the bed until noon.”

She thought she saw a light of something heated in Simon’s stare, but then he smiled. “Well, I can understand that. It would take
quite
an inducement to keep me in bed after seven.”

Blood rushed to her cheeks and she turned away slightly. She could well imagine what kind of inducement he meant. In fact, she found herself imagining it a bit too much and cleared her throat loudly to snap herself away from the inappropriate daydream.

“Actually, I admit
you
are the reason I’m awake at such an early hour,” she said, renewing her purpose.

He took a long step closer. “Me? How interesting. And what have I done to earn your attention?”

She looked up at him and her breath caught. When he focused his gaze on her, she was made even more aware of the beautiful color of his eyes. And how hot and focused that stare could be.

She swallowed hard before she whispered, “Last night at the musicale, I could not help but notice that you seemed…troubled.”

He blinked and the seductive teasing in his stare faded, replaced by wariness. “I see.”

“I thought—that is, I
hoped
I could be of some assistance to you.”

He did not respond, but instead moved closer. She watched as he reached out, almost in half-motion time, and took her hand. He lifted it to his lips and then they were on her skin. Her eyes fluttered shut and her knees threatened to buckle at the harsh and hot sensations that rocketed through her every nerve ending from his lips. In that instant, she was on fire and she feared the man who had started it might be the only one who could put it out.

“Sweetest Lillian,” he purred, and she opened her eyes as he tugged her closer. His arms came around her and she molded against his chest, leaning into him almost against her will.

She lifted her mouth in mute offering and he took it, gently pressing his lips to hers in such a sweet way that tears stung behind her eyelids at the warm pressure.

Lillian had been an average little girl, she had dreamed of a man who would kiss her just like this. And even though those dreams had faded due to circumstances far beyond her control, they hadn’t died. And yet the one who fulfilled those fantasies so well was most certainly the very worst choice for the job.

But that didn’t stop her from parting her lips, inviting him in with the slightest sweep of her tongue against his. And it didn’t stop her from letting out a moan of pleasure when the thin wire of his control broke and the kiss went from gentle to passionate.

Suddenly she found herself moving as Simon spun her around so her back was to the desk. He urged her up into the edge of the table and leaned into her as he pulled her even closer. As in the library the afternoon before, Lillian felt the shift in their embrace as his ardor grew.

But this time she also sensed something else. A desperation. A driving need that sought to mask something unpleasant. She understood that need. How often had she wished to make the pain go away, in any fashion possible?

And strangely, she wanted to give him that gift. She wanted to make him forget whatever troubled him, to wash away his sorrow with the gift of her body. And perhaps wash away some of her own, as well.

Perhaps there was something about her that made him feel that surrender, for he let out a low, powerful groan of pleasure into her mouth. His body arched into hers, rattling the papers on the table behind her, sending a few fluttering off the edges. But she forgot all that, forgot everything when she felt the rigid edge of his erection press into her belly.

Although she had no firsthand knowledge of the pleasures of the flesh, she had heard of such things from married friends and seen illustrations in a few naughty books one of the servants had accidentally left lying around years ago. Unlike many of her contemporaries, Lillian had never felt fear at the idea of a man fitting his body into hers.

Excitement and nervousness, yes. But fear, no.

And those emotions increased as she experienced Simon’s desire. She found herself lifting up, rocking in time to him as her fingers clenched against the back of his shirt collar. His hand cupped her rib cage and then it was sliding up, up until he covered one breast.

She gasped, tilting her head back momentarily as strange sensations overpowered her. This touch was so intimate, and she knew it would be called wrong by some, but to her it felt so right. Wonderful. Especially when he squeezed gently, massaging her delicate flesh with just the right pressure to make her lower belly quiver and heated wetness to rush to her sheath.

But just as her excitement mounted, Simon pulled back. He stepped away, his eyes wild and his breath coming in heaving pants.

“I’m sorry,” he said, steadying her with a warm hand on her shoulder. “I assure you it is not a habit of mine to ravish my party guests on the edge of my desk.”

She stared at him, unready to take to her feet again because she was not certain she could support her weight on her shaking knees.

“Is it not?” she whispered, trying to sound nonchalant even though her voice trembled. “And why am I so special?”

He looked at her for a long moment. “I have no idea, Lillian. But for some reason the moment I come near you I forget that I am a gentleman, I forget I have duties and responsibilities, I forget everything except for the fact that I want to touch you.”

She blinked, totally taken aback by his words. It seemed he was, as well, for he backed away another step, as if he feared he would lose control if she stayed near.

“But you are a lady and I’m supposed to be a gentleman,” he continued. “In our current circumstances, what I just did was very wrong. Even if it felt deliciously right.”

She nodded, but it took tremendous effort. What she wanted to do was launch herself at him and demand he do those wicked, wrong things again and again, propriety and her own plans be damned.

“You came here with the best of intentions,” he continued, looking around him with a sigh, as if he was remembering his difficult duty. “To inquire about my welfare.”

She nodded, managing to get to her feet now without collapsing. If he had to remember himself, so did she.

“I-I did. And you never answered me. Is something troubling you?”

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and pressed his fingers against them. Finally, he choked out, “When we talked earlier about my desire to sort through my father’s papers, you asked me if I had discovered anything yet. At the time, I thought it an odd question. I did not believe there would be anything to ‘discover.’ And yet…”

She moved forward a step, her heart lodged firmly in her throat. “And yet?”

He looked at her. “Well, I suppose there might have been things about my father that I didn’t know. And it troubles me to uncover them and begin to see that he might have been human and imperfect.”

Lillian’s heart had raced when they kissed, but now the beat of it increased yet again. Only this time it wasn’t with pleasure, but anticipation. She wanted to demand that Simon reveal all to her. She wanted to scream out that his father was a monster disguised as a saint and nothing would ever erase that.

But she couldn’t do those things. Too much eagerness and this man would very rightly lock her out. Even a whiff of her true intentions would ruin everything, and now that she was so close to the revenge her father had demanded and her mother deserved, how could she go back? Even if she wanted to?

“What sorts of things have you found?” she asked, her throat desperately dry.

He shrugged as he glanced at the paperwork around them absently. “Mostly items related to his political stances.”

Her stomach sank. Though she had no doubt Simon’s father had been duplicitous in his political dealings, those weren’t the secrets she wished to uncover. No, she wanted something dark and personal and devastating. Something no one could gloss over or excuse. She had to silence the voices of exaltation whenever Roger Crathorne was mentioned and replace them with whispers of scandal and vice.

But she couldn’t give up. If there was one secret, there were more. She felt that as surely as she felt her own heartbeat.

“It seems like quite an undertaking,” she said softly. “Perhaps I could help, Simon.”

“I think you can,” he whispered. He shook his head as if trying to shake a feeling away. “I want you to.”

“Then tell me what to do,” she said, unable to cover her eagerness. “I shall do whatever you need.”

He shut his eyes with a low groan that seemed to fill the space between them and make the room shrink. She found she was holding her breath as he opened his eyes once more.

“I need a few more hours to search here and then I’m certain I shall need an escape.” He held her gaze steady. “I will need to see you. I want to talk to you about a matter of great import.”

As his words sank in, Lillian swallowed with difficulty. For a man looking for a wife, there was likely only one thing he could wish to discuss. But could that be true? Could this man, a duke, someone who could have anyone, really want
her
? A woman with a checkered family past, with no money, a woman whom many in his circles would openly despise?

“Lillian?” he whispered. “You are staring. Will you meet with me?”

She should have said no. She should have said she didn’t want to discuss anything with him, for in the end she could not have him. It was impossible for far too many reasons to count.

And yet she nodded. “Yes. I will meet with you. Where?”

“Behind the stables. We can walk to the lake together,” he said. “In two hours.”

She nodded as she backed toward the door. If she didn’t leave, she could very well say or do something that could never be taken back. Like admit she was a liar. Or beg him to ask her whatever he wanted to ask now.

“I’ll be there,” she whispered, then fled.