by Burke, Darcy
The butler, Hedge, greeted Graham as he arrived at the house. Hedge had been a footman Graham had promoted when the prior butler, like so many other retainers at Brixton Park, had left upon the death of the previous duke. The man was young to be a butler, or so Graham supposed, but he still had five years or so on Graham.
“Good afternoon, Hedge.”
“Good afternoon, Your Grace. I trust you had a pleasant day in town.”
“I did, thank you. Tell me, did the former duke spend much time in London?”
“Not much, as far as I could tell,” Hedge said, seeming to ponder the question. “He did go to Westminster regularly.”
“What about entertainment? Did he attend many social occasions? Visit his club?”
“I believe he went out in the evening at least once a week. I’m afraid I can’t say for certain, nor can I say where he went.”
Graham handed him his gloves and hat. “Quite all right. I was merely curious.”
Hedge nodded once in affirmation. “I placed a stack of correspondence on your desk.”
“Excellent.” Graham went upstairs to the office the former duke had used. Situated next to the sitting room that led into the ducal bedchamber, it completed the three-room apartment where the duke had apparently spent much of his time. Graham had learned that the office had been moved upstairs to make it easier for the duke who suffered from arthritis and detested the stairs.
For now, Graham had no plans to relocate the office to downstairs. He was far too focused on other things. Besides, why should he go to such trouble when he might not even live here in a few months?
Stop that!
The voice of his father echoed in his brain. Graham couldn’t think negatively. Things would turn out as they should—they had to.
He went to the desk and sifted through the letters. The first was from the bank. His entire body tensed as he read the missive. They were giving him until the end of the month to pay a substantial sum, or they would force him to leave. Which they had every right to do since they held the deed. That they hadn’t yet taken possession of the property was a testament to their faith in the prior duke. Graham was fairly certain they didn’t have the same trust in him.
Scrubbing a hand over his face, he set the letter aside and loosened his cravat. Perhaps he should go back into town tonight. He couldn’t afford to waste any time.
Yes, he’d go back and spend some time in Covent Garden, then he’d spend the night at David’s town house. That would allow him to be near the park for his morning appointment with Miss Stoke.
His body thrummed at the prospect of seeing her again. He mentally chided himself. Whatever had sparked between them had to be forgotten like any plans he’d had before he’d inherited this bankrupt dukedom.
Graham plucked up the next letter. It was from Miss Lennox. His pulse picked up speed, but not in the same way it had for Miss Stoke.
Stop that!
That admonition came from him, not his father.
He scanned the note and was pleased to see that Miss Lennox wanted to introduce him to a potential spitfire. He smiled at her use of the word. He liked it. Except when he thought of it, he thought of Miss Stoke. Of a woman who ignored propriety by walking her mother’s dog and fooled the entire ton when it came to matters of her family’s financial state.
Stop it. Really.
The spitfire Miss Lennox wanted him to meet was a widow with a young son—an earl—who needed paternal guidance. An earl… Chances were she was wealthy.
He continued reading. Yes, she was “charming, beautiful, and wealthy, if slightly eccentric.”
She sounded perfect. But then Miss Lennox had sounded perfect too, and she wasn’t. Or she wasn’t yet. Graham still wondered if he might be able to change her mind about marriage. He ought to spend more time with her. Yes, that would be another facet of his plan as he hunted down Tibbord.
Miss Lennox concluded the letter by inviting him to meet Lady Clifton on Friday. Of course he would. This would give him the opportunity to pursue two women who would suit his needs.
As Graham sat down to write a response, he pushed away the shame his predatory behavior wrought. He wasn’t doing anything unusual, he reasoned. This was how all people participated in the Marriage Mart. It was, at least, how most of them did.
How he wished it wasn’t necessary. But it was that or give up now and let the bank take Brixton Park. He could feel his father’s anguish crushing his bones. Graham refused to give up.
He dashed off a note to Miss Lennox, then composed, more slowly, a response to the bank, saying he would have no problem meeting their deadline. He would do whatever was necessary: frequent gaming hells, romance wealthy, marriageable women, sacrifice his own hopes and desires.
Desire.
That word summoned a vision of Miss Stoke, and Graham had to yell at himself a third time to leave off such futile thoughts. He couldn’t pursue her. He couldn’t even think of pursuing her. And yet, he would see her tomorrow and would continue seeing her until this disaster was reconciled.
He only hoped it ended the way they both wanted—the way they both needed.
Chapter 7
Arabella made her way to the area of the park where she’d met Halstead for the first time. Armed with treats for Biscuit, to lure her back should she bolt away again, Arabella walked quickly and with great anticipation. She couldn’t wait to share what she’d learned with him.
Or maybe she was just eager to see him fencing. Both, she decided, and she refused to feel any shame about it.
Any plan she might have had to sneak up and watch him for a moment was destroyed by Biscuit’s sudden yapping as soon as she saw him. Halstead, who had been fencing, lowered his sword and grinned widely upon seeing them.
“A most ferocious beast!” he declared, looking down at Biscuit, who was quite pleased to see him.
“Actually, that’s her happy bark,” Arabella said. “She clearly likes you.”
Halstead sheathed his sword and leaned it against a tree, then squatted down to pet Biscuit, who was more than happy for the chin scratches, then promptly plopped on the ground for belly rubs. “How nice that she remembers me, but then dogs have an uncanny ability to remember things, especially people. There was an old man at Huntwell who took care of my dog one day when he was a puppy—he’d run off after being spooked, not long after I got him. After that, Zeus insisted we visit the man regularly and when he died, Zeus was very sad. In fact, when the man took ill, Zeus seemed to know, as he made sure we visited him that very day.”
“Zeus sounds like a wonderful dog. I take it he is no longer with you?”
Halstead finished petting Biscuit and rose to his full height. “He’s been gone some time now. I got him as a boy. We had many wonderful adventures together—along with David.” He glanced away briefly. “St. Ives, I mean.”
She thought of that awkward moment when he’d called on her and St. Ives had come up in the conversation. Looking at Halstead now, seeing the sudden discomfort in his expression, she assumed he was thinking of it too.
Perhaps they should confront the topic directly. “You said you were raised with St. Ives?” she asked softly.
“As close as brothers, really.” He grimaced. “I’m terribly sorry for any hurt he caused you.”
“I was not hurt. I barely know him. Furthermore, I would have hated to marry him if he was in love with someone else. What a horribly tragic situation that would have been.” She was fortunate to have avoided it.
“I’m glad to hear it. He felt absolutely awful about the whole thing.”
“I will tell my father that, though he will likely never forgive him. He and the previous earl were the best of friends, and my father considers the current earl’s failure to marry me a betrayal.” She seized the opportunity to shift the conversation. “Speaking of my father, I have news.”
He grinned, his eyes glittering with excitement. “I was hoping you’d say that.” When he looked at her like
that, her belly fluttered and her heart flipped.
Biscuit tugged at the leash, eager to explore. “Let me just tie her leash to a tree,” Arabella said.
“Allow me,” Halstead offered.
Arabella handed him the leash, her gloved hand brushing his bare one. He guided the dog to a young tree and squatted down to fasten the leash around the trunk. From this angle, it was impossible not to appreciate his backside.
He straightened and turned. “Now, your father?”
“Yes.” Arabella shook herself from staring at him, hoping he hadn’t noticed. “He was quite helpful. He said he heard of Tibbord in a gaming hell in Covent Garden.”
“I learned the same thing from Lord Satterfield,” Halstead said. He squinted one eye at her. “I don’t suppose he told you which hell?”
“The Thundering Stag.”
His face lit with such jubilation that she couldn’t help but smile in response. He took a half step forward as if he meant to do something, but then stopped himself. “Wonderful. I visited a few hells in Covent Garden last night—not the Thundering Stag—and didn’t learn a thing. No one had heard of Tibbord—or didn’t want to admit it.”
“It wasn’t even Tibbord,” she said. “My father confirmed he used an intermediary, a man called Osborne.”
“Bloody hell, your father was deuced helpful.” He shot her a look of apology. “Didn’t mean to say that in front of you. I got carried away by my enthusiasm.”
“I understand. I was so anxious to tell you everything, I could hardly wait until this morning.” Her gaze found his, and the air around them seemed to still as mutual understanding bloomed between them. There was a connection and then, just as quickly, the realization that it couldn’t ever strengthen or lead anywhere.
He coughed and looked away toward Biscuit, who was busily sniffing every inch of ground she could reach. “Did you learn anything else?”
“Yes, he said the investments were smaller at first and went very well. So well that he was eager to do more and more and had to in order to ‘stay in the game.’ That’s when the investments started to turn bad and when my father began losing heavily.”
“That aligns with what Satterfield told me—he knew of gentlemen who lost money. Satterfield also confirmed there was an intermediary.” He cocked his head to the side. “I don’t suppose your father described Osborne to you?”
She should have asked, but then she’d run out of time when her mother had returned from walking Biscuit. “No, but I’ll find out.”
“That would be most helpful for my next foray into Covent Garden.”
Envy pulsed through her. She wished she could go to Covent Garden gaming hells and help with the investigation. Sometimes being a woman was truly awful. Or an unmarried woman anyway. She wondered if Phoebe or Jane would ignore propriety and go. Her envy shifted to them.
She forced her attention back to the matter at hand. “When do you plan to go?”
“Tonight. I’ve plans with Lord Ripley and Lord Colton.”
“Ripley? I’m surprised you’d go out with him.”
“I don’t know him very well. In fact, I barely know Colton, but he’s a friend of David’s.” He grimaced and apologized again.
“If you apologize to me every time you mention St. Ives, it will become most tedious. He is clearly one of your dearest friends, and I have no quarrel with that.” Besides, it wasn’t as if their association would last forever. It likely wouldn’t even last the Season.
“You make a good point. I will endeavor to cast that absurdity away.” He inclined his head and gave her a charming half smile. “As I was saying, Colton is a friend of David’s, and David’s wife is a close friend of Colton’s sister.”
“Lady Ware,” Arabella said. She vaguely knew her, and of course she’d met Lady St. Ives briefly last year when both she and Arabella had sought to gain St. Ives’s favor during one of Lord Ware’s races.
Halstead nodded. “With David leaving town, he wanted to make sure I had someone who would guide me if I needed it.”
“And he recommended Colton? He is fast gaining a rakish reputation, especially since he’s been cavorting with Ripley.”
He laughed. “Cavorting? I have no plans to cavort with them. We will visit a few hells, namely the Thundering Stag, and I will hopefully locate this Osborne fellow.”
“I wish I could go with you.” She hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but the words had leapt from her mouth before she could stop them.
His brows rose. “Why on earth would you wish that?”
“It sounds exciting. I don’t ever get to do anything exciting.” Except this. Dressing as a servant to walk her mother’s dog in order to meet the Duke of Halstead in the park during the early morning was the most exciting thing she’d ever done.
He studied her for a moment. “Would learning to fence be exciting?”
A thrill rushed through her. “I think it would.” Particularly if he was the tutor.
“Then allow me to teach you to fence.” He went and unsheathed his sword, cutting it through the air. “An introductory lesson, if you will.”
It was scandalous and wonderful, and she’d never wanted to do anything more. She pushed her shoulders back. “Tell me what to do.”
“Take the sword, for starters. It’s not too heavy. At least it shouldn’t be.” He handed her the weapon.
She wrapped her hand around the hilt and hefted it, testing the weight. “No, it isn’t heavy.”
He flashed her a smile that held just the best twinge of arrogance. “Wait until you wield it a few minutes.” Then he winked, and she feared she would melt into a puddle. She focused her attention on the sword. “What will you teach me?”
“Proper stance to begin.” He moved around behind her. “Is it all right if I touch you?”
Her breath became trapped in her chest while the beat of her heart picked up speed. “Yes.” The word came out higher than she usually spoke, and she prayed he didn’t notice.
He lightly touched her shoulder. “Drop your shoulders and relax your muscles. If you’re tense, your accuracy will suffer.” She did her best to flush the tension from her body, but it was very difficult to be completely at ease when he was so close behind her.
“I see you are right-handed,” he said. “Because when I proffered the sword, that’s the hand you used to reach for it.”
“You are very astute.”
He didn’t respond to her comment but continued with his direction. “You will lead with your right foot, so point that foot forward.” She complied, and he went on. “Put your back foot ninety degrees compared to your front foot.”
She adjusted her back foot. “How far apart should they be?”
He stepped to the side so he could see her face, and she turned her head to look at him. “Mine are usually three feet or so, but it depends on your height or the length of your legs, actually. How long are your legs?”
It was both an innocuous question and an incredibly intimate detail to share. Men weren’t supposed to see a lady’s legs, let alone discuss them. He seemed to realize this, for he quickly said, “Never mind. They are shorter than mine, so perhaps two and a half feet or so. Next, you will bend your knees so you can move quickly.”
She positioned her feet as he’d instructed, then bent her knees. “And the sword?”
“Hold that at forty-five degrees to your body.” He clasped her wrist and positioned her arm at the appropriate angle. “Like this.”
His body came close to hers as he showed her what to do. The scent of sandalwood and spice enveloped her. She wanted to close her eyes and inhale deeply, to immerse herself in his touch and scent.
She didn’t, however. She stared at the sword and tried to ignore the way her body reacted to his proximity and attention.
“Now, as you move forward, you’ll lead with your front foot with the back foot following.” He spoke softly near her ear, and now she had to contend with the sound of him as well as the rest.
> “When do I move?”
“When you lunge.”
“Isn’t that an attack?” She knew barely anything about fencing, but that much she was aware of.
“Yes. Fencing is a series of attacks and defenses and counterattacks.”
“Do you fence at Angelo’s?” she asked.
“I do.”
She wished she could watch him there, but didn’t say so. It was enough to tell him she didn’t ever get to do anything exciting and quite another to tell him that watching him excited her. Oh dear, this was becoming a problem. She’d been drawn to another man in this way, and things had not turned out well. He’d left the country, and she’d been heartbroken. She couldn’t follow that path again.
As Halstead had predicted, she could see that holding the sword aloft for an extended period of time would require practice, for it already felt heavier than when she’d first taken it from him. Lowering her arm, she stepped away. “That was an excellent introductory lesson,” she said, holding the sword toward him.
He shook his head. “If that’s your attempt at a lunge, it’s terrible.”
“It isn’t. I thought we were done.” She wanted to be done. No, she needed to be done. Spending time with him like this was not in her best interest.
“I wasn’t done, but perhaps you are. I thought to show you how to lunge.” He sounded a bit disappointed, and she hated that. Probably because she was disappointed too. Or sad. Or frustrated. Or angry at her circumstances. She decided she was all those things.
Turning away and taking a few steps, she adopted the stance he’d showed her, holding the sword at the appropriate angle. She spoke as she moved forward, extending her arm, which he hadn’t said to do, but which seemed like the natural course of action. “Like this?”
She directed her lunge toward him, with plenty of feet to spare, and his eyes widened briefly before lighting with approval.
