A Devil of a Duke Read online

  Mrs. Galbreath explained the other accounts in that book, then opened another. “These are the booksellers with whom we consign the copies. See how each issue lists the number received, then the receipts of the ones that sell as those sales took place.”

  She allowed Amanda to examine the book before she pulled out yet one more. “And this one you will recognize. It holds the accounts for this house.”

  Amanda noticed pages for grocers and fishmongers. “Does someone live here?”

  “The duchess invited me to do so. She did not want the house unsupervised at night, she said. She really wanted to spare me the indignity of living with my brother and his wife.”

  “Did you move to live with him after your husband died?” She bit her lip. That had been fairly blunt.

  Mrs. Galbreath did not seem to mind. “I had no choice. My husband was young and left me little. I was young too. I thought to remarry soon, but . . . that did not happen.”

  “I think it is wonderful how you have made your own way now. I would like to do that.”

  “You are doing that, aren’t you? You depend on your employment, but no one else. It feels good, doesn’t it? I certainly think it does.” Mrs. Galbreath smiled conspiratorially, and they both laughed. “Now I will leave you to familiarize yourself with all of this. Here are some bills for the household. If you think you are ready, you can enter them, then make a list of payments I should disburse.”

  Amanda made short work with the accounts. Mrs. Galbreath’s tradesmen were more honest than Lady Farnsworth’s, and she found no discrepancies. She left the accounts in the little office and ventured down to the public rooms.

  She took the opportunity to examine the rest of the premises. The dining room held several card tables and what looked to be a wagering log. Decanters with colored liquids sat on a breakfront. Since they resembled the ones used at her last meeting, she assumed these too held spirits.

  It was a wonder this club had not caused a scandal. Not only for the spirits and gambling, but because it accepted such as she through its door.

  She returned to the library. Three women lounged on divans in the library. They noticed her enter.

  “You are welcome to join us if you would like,” one of them said.

  A sisterhood, the duchess had called it. She supposed that meant she was supposed to be sisterly.

  “Thank you. That is very kind.” She found a chair among them.

  Introductions flowed. Mrs. Harper and Mrs. Guilford were wives of gentlemen. Mrs. Troy, however, owned a bookshop. “I am one of the booksellers who offers Parnassus,” she explained. “You are Lady Farnsworth’s secretary, I believe.”

  “She kindly took me on.”

  “Of course she did. Why not employ a woman? She often extols you to us. She says you have the best hand she has ever seen, and can cleverly copy others’ hands too. You are very talented with the pen.”

  “I was well taught.” Amanda swallowed her dismay that Lady Farnsworth went about town speaking about her penmanship. The day might come when someone realized that such a fine hand would be useful in forgery, which had been the purpose for all those lessons from Mama.

  Mrs. Harper poured her some tea. “We have the best here,” she explained. “Never adulterated. You can taste the difference at once. I would have joined for the tea alone, and am sure I drink my fees in it.” She handed over the cup.

  Amanda sipped. What a small luxury, but so welcomed. She never had tea at home, and savored the cups that Lady Farnsworth on occasion pressed on her.

  “How did you become a secretary? There can be no clear path.”

  Amanda finished her tea and set down the cup. “After I left school, I took employment as a companion, first with two ladies in the country, then with one here in town. I helped them all a little with correspondence and accounts. The last lady gave me a reference when she decided to join her son’s household. I was fortunate that Lady Farnsworth took the chance on me.”

  “She is nothing if not open-minded.”

  “And outspoken too.”

  “I am sure Miss Waverly has not missed that her employer, while brilliant, is eccentric,” Mrs. Guilford said. “We love her, Miss Waverly, but I daresay none of us admits to our husbands that she is a friend. Except Mrs. Troy here, but then her husband is a radical, isn’t he?”

  Mrs. Troy seemed unfazed by the description of her husband.

  “She probably knows that we keep her friendship a secret,” Mrs. Harper said, looking sad.

  “I do not think she would mind much if she does know it,” Amanda offered. “I am sure she anticipated what the social reaction to her chosen path would be.”

  Mrs. Troy rose. “With time, perhaps all of us will stop being sheep. Now, this woman must return to her bookshop and earn her keep.” She smiled at the other women, who had probably never earned a penny in their entire lives.

  Mrs. Harper checked her watch pendant. “My carriage is arriving soon, so I too must take my leave. It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Waverly.”

  After the little group broke up, Amanda moved to a chair and availed herself of a stack of newspapers on the table next to her.

  She opened The Times. Lady Farnsworth always received this newspaper, but Amanda rarely read it on the day it was published. Rather, she would take the old papers home with her on Saturday. As a result, her knowledge of events was often a week behind.

  Today, she luxuriated in reading every word in a timely manner. After enjoying her fill of news about politics and international affairs, she turned her attention to the advertisements. She always found them fascinating, announcing, as they did, new wonders for sale. The personal notices never failed to amuse and intrigue her so she saved those for last.

  Halfway down that column, a personal notice demanded attention. With one quick scan, it assumed a very large presence. She read it again, astonished.

  A certain gentleman wishes to inform a shepherdess that he retrieved what he believes is her shawl. If she wishes its return, she should meet, same terms as last time, on 5 June, after which day he will ask the ladies he knows to whom it may belong so he can do his duty in finding its rightful owner.

  Amanda cursed under her breath. That Langford had found the shawl at all was terrible luck. After searching in the dark for it to no avail, she had hoped a gardener would discover it and take it for his wife.

  That the duke now used it to try and have another meeting struck her as dangerous on several counts. He may have learned of the missing buckle, for all she knew. This could be a way to trap her, if he had guessed the whole of it.

  That he threatened to display that shawl to the women in his circle made her pulse pound. Someone would probably recognize it as one of Lady Farnsworth’s older garments. That floral pattern would be memorable.

  She had hoped that once she learned how to send the buckle to its new owner that she could take steps to ensure that this sorry adventure would be over. Done. Finished. She had never expected the Duke of Langford to present a complication like this, especially considering their last, unsatisfactory assignation. That kiss may have moved her, but surely he was too sophisticated to find it, or her, interesting enough for this peculiar pursuit.

  There was no other word for his actions. Had he merely sought to return the shawl, he could have told her to write with any address where he might leave it. There were plenty of tradesmen who would act as go-between if she did not want to send her own location.

  Instead, he demanded this second meeting in his brother’s home. Flattered though she might be—and she had to admit she was—he could be up to no good.

  June 5. Four days to decide what to do.

  * * *

  “Can I ask what you are looking for?” Brentworth broke his bored sighs enough to pose the question. Gabriel ignored him and continued to examine the lockets laid out for his perusal.

  “A bauble?” Brentworth nudged. “A gift for the duchess to celebrate the birth of her son?”

&
nbsp; “Yes, that.” It seemed as good an answer as any. The real one would not do at all.

  Brentworth pointed to a tasteful gold, circular locket. “A snip of the infant’s hair would fit inside that one nicely.”

  “So it would. However, I can’t decide between that and this one here.”

  “That emerald is rather large. A small memento is in order, not something to be worn to the theater.”

  “I am always so grateful for your advice on matters of taste. What would I do without your exercising restraint on my behalf? Still, I cannot decide.”

  “Take them both, and decide later, so I can be spared another half hour here.”

  “A splendid idea.” He gestured to the jeweler and made his lack of choice known.

  Five minutes later, they mounted their horses with both lockets secure in Gabriel’s pocket. The duchess would receive the discreet, simple one. Another woman would get the jeweled, flamboyant one. Assuming she had seen that notice and would arrive at the place designated.

  Also assuming the night went as he intended. His thoughts about his mystery woman had shifted slightly. A deep sense had emerged that something about that meeting had been not quite right. He had only himself to blame for drinking too much and falling asleep, but . . . he could not avoid the suspicion, born of his long experience with women, that she had in some way manipulated him. If so, she would not a second time.

  She might not even show up, of course. He kept telling himself that the odds were she would not. All the same, the shawl remained neatly folded and waiting in his dressing room. His instincts also said its owner would want it back.

  If not, he had enjoyed making the plans and playing the game. Last night, in his anticipation, he had even worked out a few creative details for additional fun.

  First and foremost, he would not drink more than one glass of wine this time.

  * * *

  “I need your advice,” Amanda said.

  Katherine raised her eyebrows. They sat in Amanda’s chamber, where Amanda had invited Katherine to share a late supper. Amanda had carried the food, which was better than either of them normally ate, back from Lady Farnsworth’s. It had been a gift from the cook, left from a little luncheon Lady Farnsworth had held.

  “I have to meet someone. A gentleman. I need you to look at the two dresses I laid out and tell me which one is both presentable but . . . discouraging.”

  Katherine’s eyebrows went higher yet. “A gentleman, you say. Will this be a private meeting?”

  “Yes, I regret to say.”

  “If you regret it, why not decline?”

  “I can’t explain why. However, I want it to be a very brief meeting. A few minutes at most.”

  Katherine laughed so hard that her red curls bounced. “No man requires a private meeting if he intends it to last five minutes. And no man can be discouraged by a dress. Most of them will be more interested in what is underneath it.”

  “Are you going to help me or not?”

  “Of course I am.” She walked over to the bed and peered at the two dresses. “Use this blue one. It is cut higher, and its fuller bodice will hide most of your shape. Not that it will matter.” She returned to the table and picked up a chicken leg. “Are you in some trouble?”

  “Why would you ask that?”

  “No other explanation, seems to me.”

  Amanda poked some herbed potato pieces. “There is some cake after this. We may as well eat it all. I doubt it will keep long.”

  “You are in trouble, aren’t you?”

  “It was a small misunderstanding that unfortunately allowed this man to come to know me. Now I must see him—do not ask why, please.”

  “You think he has dishonorable intentions, I gather. Well, they all do, so that did not take a big leap to figure out. You wear the blue dress, but make sure he doesn’t get it off you, not that a man needs to in order to have his way.” She bit into her chicken. “You are green still, aren’t you?”

  “A bit.”

  “Has there been anyone since that scoundrel who lied to you?”

  Amanda ate some potatoes and looked at Katherine while she chewed.

  “Do you like this man? Do you find him handsome or fun? If you don’t, you should be fine, but if you do, welllllll . . .” Katherine shrugged.

  “I do like what I know of him. I also think him handsome. None of that matters because I cannot become entangled. It would ruin what life I have. My employer would let me go in a snap if she learned of it, I am sure. Any employer would.”

  “So your objections are practical ones. Not, shall we say, physical ones.”

  Amanda knew her face reddened. No, not physical ones if she was honest with herself. She thought Langford extremely attractive, with that cocky smile and those dark curls and sapphire eyes. She found his conceit more amusing than annoying.

  She’d also enjoyed his kisses more than she should. She had not thought of a man that way since the heartbreak over Steven, but now she did with a man she dared not dally with even for conversation, let alone more.

  And yet, for all of her mental warnings and distress, an excitement simmered inside her about this meeting.

  She was being a fool. He had been a means to an end, nothing more, and she was merely a passing dalliance for him. She needed to remember that and not dwell on phantom sensations of how she felt when he kissed her. She would get back that shawl and make sure he never saw her again.

  Katherine put down her food and leaned in. “You say he is a gentleman. If he truly is, and if you like him and find him attractive, you have only one hope that I can think of because the urges people have are almost impossible to resist.”

  “What one hope?”

  “You must make him swear as a gentleman that he will not have his way with you. A real gentleman will never break his word, even when only you would know that he did. At least that is what is said. I wouldn’t know myself.”

  “What if he isn’t a real gentleman, but only one in name?”

  Katherine grinned. “Then I hope he knows what he is about so you enjoy yourself.”

  Chapter Seven

  The same conditions, the notice had said. Amanda tried the garden door to see if it was unlocked. It gave way.

  She had not worn the blue dress after all, or any dress. After further thought, she had realized that if she arrived in a dress tonight, it would not be the same as last time. He might not mean “the same” down to the garments she wore, but she did not want any reason for him to keep that shawl or demand yet another meeting.

  She had also created an elaborate story for why she’d worn men’s garments last time. If she showed in a dress tonight, he might find it suspicious that those reasons suddenly no longer mattered. She did not want this duke wondering about that or anything else, and he was smart enough to notice the inconsistency.

  Instead of the dress, she once more wore the black pantaloons and brown shirt. She hoped they made her almost invisible in the night. She carried nothing she might leave behind. No wrap, no hat. It had been easier last time, with that long shawl covering her from shoulders to knees. That extra layer had provided protection, although she knew better than to believe it would make any difference if a man behaved like a scoundrel.

  She eased through the kitchen and up the servant stairs. Silence surrounded her like a fog. One could always tell if people were about, even if they only slept. One felt them even if one did not hear them. Tonight, the house carried only a little of that energy. She knew from whence it came.

  She found the library door open. She stepped inside. No fire tonight. No lamps. The drapes had been drawn back, however, and moonlight created a deep dusk.

  He sat where he had before, on a divan facing the cold hearth. His frock coat lay on a nearby chair. His boots stood alongside it. She saw no cravat at his neck but instead a deep, dark V of an open collar above his unbuttoned waistcoat. He might be halfway through preparing for bed.

  That thought made her swallow
hard. Yes, Katherine, now that you ask, I am in trouble.

  One unopened bottle of champagne stood on the nearby table. He held no glass this time. It seemed one thing would be different tonight. He was not already drunk.

  “Ah, there you are,” he said. “Promptness is a virtue, I am told. I rarely match you in it.”

  Yet tonight he was here on time, wasn’t he? “I did not want you to think I had not seen the notice.”

  He lifted a bundle of cloth from the divan beside him. “You must want it back badly if you risked coming here again. Are you worried someone might recognize it? If so, our circles must intersect in some way.”

  He had indeed begun wondering.

  “It is the best wrap I own and the only one that is silk. I was sorry to lose it. Thank you for arranging to return it to me.” She ventured a few steps closer and held out her hand.

  He placed the shawl back on the divan. “I think if I hand this to you that you will disappear without fulfilling the conditions.”

  She barely saw his slow smile form, but she knew it heralded trouble. The air in the library all but crackled with his naughty intentions.

  “‘The same as last time,’ your notice said. I am here at the time named. I will share champagne if you want, and chat a while. Then I must leave.”

  “And one kiss. You forgot the kiss.”

  “Of course. One kiss.”

  “I see you are wearing those pantaloons again.”

  “For the same reasons. I apologize if you find them unsightly.”

  “Not at all. You are fetching in them. Distinctive. I also don’t think you wear stays with that ensemble. The image of you free of them appeals to me.” He gestured lazily to her shirt. “That could use some improvement. It is too large for you. Too . . . voluminous.”

  “You mean that you regret you can’t see anything of my breasts that you picture so free of stays.”

  “So much for my attempts at delicacy. You are a most direct woman.”

  “So direct that I will now ask you to hand over that shawl. It is why I am here, after all.”