A Deal with a Duke

by Christie Kelley

  “Emma, just answer the question.” Louisa had lost patience with her sister’s flair to compare her issues with Harry to some story of romance.

  “Ainsley is the duke’s friend. If you were to marry Lord Ainsley, then the duke would see you all the time. And quite honestly, Ainsley is a very handsome man. You might come to love him.”

  Her mouth gaped as she realized Emma was right again. Louisa’s intellect was nothing compared to her sister’s ability to figure out relationships. Harry would be miserable if he truly loved her and had to see her falling for Ainsley. Perhaps there was still hope.

  However, it still didn’t explain who paid Collingwood.

  “We need to determine your costume,” Emma said, opening the linen press. “We need something...special.”

  “Isolde,” Louisa whispered.

  Emma glanced back at her with an arched blond brow and a smile. “Isolde it is. Though many might mistake you for Guinevere.”

  Harry would not. He would expect her to dress as Caroline Herschel or Elizabeth Fulhame or even Joan of Arc. The last lady he would expect her dressing as was one of ancient legend. “Do I have anything that might work?”

  Emma shook her head. “Not really. To be authentic, you would need handspun wool. It’s doubtful that the Irish would have had much else back then.”

  “She was the daughter of the Queen of Ireland. Surely some muslin would work. How about the sage? We could rework it to lower the waistline. Add a few strands of pearls, a mask, and perhaps some curls in my hair.”

  Emma laughed. “Curls? In your hair? I shall never manage that.”

  Louisa missed Lily’s touch with her hair. Harry’s maid had been magical, putting curls in Louisa’s hair that stayed the entire day. No one had ever matched Lily ability with Louisa’s hair.

  Emma pulled out the green muslin and stared at it. “I don’t believe it would be that difficult. But we will need Mary’s assistance. She’s a far better seamstress than either of us.”

  “True.” While Emma rang for Mary, Louisa prayed this would work. She had to avoid Harry until she knew for certain. Her shoulders sagged. You should trust him. Her damned conscience poked her. Deep down, she did trust him. She didn’t actually believe he’d paid Collingwood, mostly because he’d admitted his part with Ainsley. But she had to discover who had.

  After conferring with Mary, Emma sketched a few enhancements to give the gown an older look.

  Two days later, Louisa stepped into the ballroom of Lady Holcombe’s Berkeley Square home. Masked ladies and gentlemen filled the room, leaving Louisa awed by the costumes. She felt dowdy in her simple green low-waisted gown. Mary had managed to give her hair a bit of curl, but Louisa knew it would be straight by the time she left tonight.

  Emma dressed as Anne Boleyn in red silk.

  “You do realize Anne had dark hair, not blond,” Louisa said as they followed their mother into the room.

  “Hush. Isolde most likely had blond or red hair,” Emma shot back. “Where is he?”

  No need to ask which he that she was speaking of. For once, Emma wasn’t thinking about her fiancé. Now that Louisa thought about it, her sister had barely said a word about Bolton in days.

  “I don’t see him yet,” Louisa replied. “But it is a crush in here.”

  Spying a tall man with brown hair, Louisa assumed it was Harry dressed as King Arthur, but wasn’t positive it was him. At least not until she noticed a man with black hair dressed as Lucifer speaking with him. Her heart pounded. She wondered if he’d spotted her yet.

  They were both moving toward her position near the entrance to the room. But instead of stopping to speak to her, they continued out the door as if they hadn’t even seen her. What was that about?

  “Wasn’t that the duke and his brother?” Emma whispered.

  “I believe it was,” she answered flatly.

  “Where are they going?”

  “I have no idea.” She released a long sigh. Once again, she’d been thwarted in her quest.

  “WHY TONIGHT, SIMON?” Harry asked again as he followed Simon out of Lady Holcombe’s home. “Louisa had to be in there.”

  “Because I happen to know that Collingwood is at the ball tonight. And that the back window to his house will be left unlocked.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Collingwood’s butler is in rather deep at Hell. Dismissing the servants early and unlocking a window will greatly reduce what he owes me. And not force me to speak to his employer,” he added with a wink.

  Harry thought over Simon’s plan and finally nodded his agreement. Once they reached the mews behind Collingwood’s house, they stopped speaking and cautiously made their way down the alley. Harry counted the houses until he came to the fifth, which he was sure was Collingwood’s home. They ducked into the shadows as a stableboy walked back from the house to the stables.

  “Are you certain the window will be unlocked?”

  “Yes,” Simon whispered back.

  Simon waved Harry closer as they crossed the small terrace to the back windows. He tried the first window to no avail.

  Harry lifted the next window, and it slid upward with only a slight stickiness. Relief that at least one part of their plan had been successful. “Come along.”

  “Where is his study?” Simon asked.

  Harry stopped in the middle of the receiving salon and glanced over at his brother in the dim light of a half moon. “I thought you knew!”

  His brother leveled him a quick grin. “Not one clue. Do you think he might keep any papers in here?”

  “Not likely. We must find Collingwood’s desk.”

  “Your study is the front of the house,” Simon commented, peering into the corridor.

  “I thought you said the servants were in bed early.”

  Simon grinned back at him. “The butler is a gambler. Never trust a gambler.”

  Harry shook his head but followed his brother into a small room with books and a large cherry desk. The only light in the room was from the embers glowing in the fireplace. He lit one candle on the desk to help him read a note if he found one. Large bookshelves lined one wall. Simon went to the shelves and searched while Harry checked the top of the desk.

  Finding nothing but some correspondence from his estate steward, he reached for a drawer pull. The middle drawer of the desk opened but yielded nothing that would help. The side drawers were locked.

  “Please tell me you know how to pick a lock,” Harry whispered.

  “Let me,” Simon said quietly. He expertly picked the lock and opened the top drawer. Shuffling through papers, he shook his head. “Nothing here.”

  “Try the other drawer.”

  Simon worked his magic on the drawer and opened it slowly. After scanning one letter, he exhaled slowly.

  “What?” Harry asked as apprehension trickled down his back. Seeing two letters in Simon’s hand, he grabbed them. Harry felt frozen in place, unable to believe what he read.

  “Is it as I fear?” Simon asked.

  “No. Far worse.”

  Chapter 25

  IT WAS NEARLY MIDNIGHT, and Harry hadn’t returned to the ball. Louisa tried to focus on finding Collingwood, but her mind returned to Harry. Where had he been going with his brother? It made no sense. They both had dressed for the masked ball. Unless Mr. Kingsley had received word that Charlotte had taken ill. It seemed the only logical conclusion.

  “Over there, talking with Cinderella,” Emma said. “I think Cinderella is Mary Gardiner. Collingwood must be the man dressed as King Henry.”

  “You’d best watch yourself. He might try to lop off your head, Anne.”

  “Ha, ha,” Emma replied.

  “They are about to dance,” Louisa said, frustrated by the entire night. “I do believe Bolton is looking for you. He does know it’s supposed to be a masked ball, does he not?”

  Emma sighed and gave him a little wave. “He refuses to come to a ball in disguise.”

  Lord Bo
lton found his fiancée and escorted Emma to the dance floor. Louisa stood against a pillar and watched the rest of the room. She supposed she must become accustomed to being a wallflower.

  “Dance with me.”

  A familiar male voice forced her to look up. Hoping for Harry but finding Ainsley dressed as Robin Hood, she replied, “I’m not dancing tonight.”

  “Yes, you are,” he replied with a smile. “Now. With me.”

  “How did you know it was me?” she asked.

  “When Bolton danced with Anne Boleyn, it was perfectly obvious you were Guinevere.”

  “Isolde.”

  He shrugged and held out his arm to lead her to the dance floor. They joined in with the other dancers as the waltz began.

  “Why are you dancing with me?” she asked. “I heard you recently came into five thousand.”

  Dimples creased his cheeks. “I would never accept a bribe from a friend. Even if he has everything wrong about you and me.”

  “So why the dance?”

  “I would like you to go to the back of the gardens when this dance is over.”

  Back of the gardens? “Why?”

  “I need to speak with you alone and must not be seen or overheard.” He leaned in closer. “It’s about Harry.”

  “What is it?” Worry line her voice. Did something happen to him? She wanted this waltz over immediately.

  “After the dance. Now smile up at me like you and I are courting.”

  “But we are not.”

  “If circumstances had been slightly different, we might,” he commented with an arched brow.

  As the dance progressed, Louisa scanned the room for Harry. This set was taking far too long. “Can you not give me a hint of what you need to tell me?”

  He’d moved them toward the terrace doors and then off the dance floor. “Go now, while people are watching the dancers. I will join you in a few minutes.”

  Louisa nodded and slipped out of the room and down the stairs. Torches lit the gardens, lending just enough light to see how many people were outside. Several people milled about, waiting for others or just getting a breath of air. The muffled sound of music filled the night. Finding a small bench in the rear of the gardens, she waited for Ainsley.

  “Miss Drake, I need you to come with me and not ask any questions.”

  She glanced up to see Simon Kingsley with his hand outstretched. “Why?”

  “That is a question, my dear. Just trust me.”

  “Trust the King of Hell? Oh, why not.” She took his hand, and they escaped from the gardens to the mews. A plain black carriage awaited them. “Where are we going?”

  “Not to worry.”

  “That wasn’t an answer.”

  He smiled over at her. “I realize that, but I did say no questions.”

  He assisted her into the carriage and closed the door. She was alone in the carriage. “Kingsley!”

  “Trust me...”

  His voice faded as the horses walked down the alleyway. This was dreadful. Her sister and mother had no idea she had even left the ball. They would be worried sick! She wasn’t confident where she was going.

  But with Simon, and she suspected Ainsley, involved it must be to Harry’s home.

  She tapped her fingers on the seat until they finally arrived at the large, brick town home in Grosvenor Square. Twice the size of the other homes on the street, the house exuded ducal ownership. What was all the subterfuge about tonight? When the door to the carriage opened, she expected to see the driver, or even Jenkins standing there ready to assist her.

  “I am very glad you came tonight,” Harry said softly, extending his arm to her.

  “Yes, well, your brother did not give me much choice in the matter,” she retorted, taking his arm.

  “I did try to call on you, but you were not at home.”

  She shrugged. “Did you expect a warm welcome?”

  He released a low laugh as they walked inside. “Hardly.”

  “Good evening, Jenkins,” she said with a nod.

  The old butler gave her a nod. “Good evening, Miss Drake.”

  “I do hope you will note that I was invited tonight, Jenkins.” She gave the butler a wink.

  “Duly noted, Miss Drake.”

  Harry led her to the family salon on the first floor. Smaller and much more welcoming than the larger receiving room, she’d never been in here before now. Blue damask chairs sat near the fireplace for conversation while two cream sofas were meant for larger groups. He brought her to the chairs.

  The safe option. Here they would be close but still separated by the short distance between the chairs. Louisa sat as a shiver raced across her body. Not an overly cool night, she wondered what brought about the nervous energy in her. She glanced at the table in front of them. He’d thought of everything. The table was laden with tea, brandy, cakes, biscuits, a variety of cheese, bread, and meats.

  “What is this about, Harry?”

  Harry followed her line of vision. “I assumed supper hadn’t been called for yet, and you might be hungry.”

  He did know her too well, she thought. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  “Thank you,” she said, reaching for some bread and cheese. “But I doubt you dragged me out of the ball just to feed me.”

  He poured a brandy and looked over at her. She nodded. He handed her the snifter and poured one for himself.

  “I wanted to apologize and clear the air for that mess at Worth. I shouldn’t have become so defensive.”

  “Guilt is an ugly emotion,” she whispered.

  “Yes, I suppose you are right.” He sipped his brandy. “I owe you an apology for Ainsley, too. It was bad form to try to buy off my friend. My only excuse is I was...”

  “Was what?” she pressed when his voice trailed off.

  “Bedeviled with jealousy,” he admitted slowly. “I had never felt such hot rage until I saw you dance with him. And you allowed him to call on you.”

  Louisa pressed her lips together. She was not blameless in this quarrel. “Apology accepted on one condition.”

  “Oh?” He tilted his head and stared at her with a slight smile.

  “Yes. You must accept my apology too.” Louisa stared down at her brandy, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry, Harry. I shouldn’t have made accusations against you. I was angry about the note. Confused by what had happened the previous night. Unsure of your feelings for me and—"

  Suddenly drawn up into his arms, he kissed senselessly, and she kissed him back, unable to finish her confession. When he slowly pulled away, he stared down at her. His gray eyes sparkling with, dare she think it, love?

  “That was my fault, Louisa. Instead of focusing on the beautiful woman in my bed and professing my love to her, I admitted my guilt over my late wife.”

  Her heart swelled. “You love me?”

  He smiled fully. “I have loved you since that first night on the terrace at the Marchtons’ ball. Why do you think I’d stopped the foolish ways of my youth? I wanted to prove to you that I could be a better person.”

  She reached out and caressed his cheek. “I didn’t love you then,” she admitted. “I only wanted your friendship. When you returned from India, I noticed that you had changed, but it was too late. After your wife died, I wanted to comfort you...”

  “But I never returned your letters,” he finished.

  Nodding, she continued, “I had thought to re-establish our friendship. When I arrived at Northwood Park, I realized you were not the same man I had known. And for some reason, I was attracted to the dark, cold man I’d found up north. After reuniting with you, I never wanted to find you a wife. I tried to match you with ladies I thought you would never wish to marry. I started chasing you so that you would notice me. But I’m a dreadful at flirting.”

  “Louisa,” he said softly. “I always notice you.”

  Another thought flittered through her brain. No! She prayed she was wrong, but Harry was a man of honor. “It’s after
midnight. You are officially thirty. Is this all because of that damned deal we made? I would never hold you to it.”

  Harry shook his head. “That damned deal, as you call it, is what brought you to me in the dead of winter. It forced me to return to London. It was the pact that brought us back together. While it had nothing to do with tonight, I want you to hold me to our deal for the rest of our lives.”

  “Are you certain?”

  He kissed her tenderly with a hint of the passion under the surface. “I love you, Louisa Drake. Deal or not. Will you be my duchess?”

  “Emma,” she whispered as her heart ached. “Lady Bolton may insist her son reject Emma. I cannot marry you if that might happen that to her. She loves him.”

  “Bolton is a fool if he tosses her over due to our marriage. The Drakes will now be associated with the Duke of Worthington. A most prestigious family, even if there was at least one mad duke.”

  Louisa worried her lower lip. “She told me he loves her and would never reject her. But I’m not so certain.”

  “Then she will find a better man. We can make sure of that.”

  She knew Bolton wasn’t the best man for Emma but had not pressed the issue. Emma loved the viscount and had assured Louisa numerous times that Bolton would never reject her. But Harry was right. If something happened, they could ensure she had a proper dowry and found a gentleman.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?” he asked.

  “I will marry you.” Louisa wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you, Harry.”

  “Good because I’m taking you to my bed.” He picked her up and carried her down the hall. “Goodnight, Jenkins.”

  “Goodnight, Your Grace, Miss Drake,” the butler replied stiffly.

  Louisa pressed her face into his chest with a giggle. “I believe we may have scandalized Jenkins.”

  “It won’t be the last time that happens.”

  SPENT, HARRY PULLED her close in the large bed and kissed her forehead. “You know,” he whispered in her ear. “We could run off to Gretna Green and elope.”

  She slapped his chest lightly. “We will have enough scandal with marrying each other. A church or home wedding would be better. Just not a large wedding, if you please. I understand you are a duke and might wish to have a formal wedding...just not too many people.”