Title Sinful Tales of Desirable Ladies

by Lucinda Nelson

  “Is not the pork excellent?’ His Grace asked.

  “Indeed, yes,” she agreed, eating slowly as protocol demanded while wanting to stuff her mouth. “The Count and Countess have a wonderful cook.”

  “Perhaps you and your brother,” the Duke said, smiling faintly, “might join me for supper at my home. My cook is far better than this one.”

  Teresa gazed deep into his green eyes. “That would be wonderful, Your Grace.”

  As happy as that invitation made her, Teresa still reminded herself of His Grace’s own words – he has difficulty with forming relationships. Slow is best I suppose. Do not trust him too quickly, for he may yet vanish like a phantom. Guarding her heart, yet thinking about how wonderful a one on one supper with him might be, she was startled by the presence of a woman next to her.

  Glancing up, she stared into the green eyes of Miss Calhoun.

  The Duke instantly stood. “Miss Calhoun,” he said, no smile anywhere in sight. “I did not expect you here this evening.”

  “I came out of boredom, Your Grace,” she replied, her eyes speculatively on Teresa. “Is this the young lady you told me about?”

  “Miss Calhoun, please meet my guest for this evening, Miss Wolcott.”

  Teresa stood and shook fingers with the beautiful actress, giving her the same appraising stare she received. “How do you do,” she said politely.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Wolcott,” Miss Calhoun replied. “His Grace mentioned to me he was seeing a lovely lady. But you far exceed my expectations.”

  “And you are as beautiful as rumors of you say.”

  Miss Calhoun smiled, and Teresa studied it closely. Is she mocking me? “I do hope we see each other again, Miss Wolcott. Perhaps we might even grow to become friends.”

  “I would like that,” Teresa replied, not knowing if she meant it.

  “I must circulate,” Miss Calhoun said. “Until later. Your Grace.”

  She curtsied, and offered Teresa another quick smile. “Miss Wolcott.”

  Strolling away, her hips sashaying seductively, Teresa observed many male eyes on her with admiration, their ladies scowling dangerously. Glancing up at Thornehill, Teresa lifted a brow in silent inquiry. He made a face with a quick eye roll.

  “I just adore being caught between two women,” he stated as he gestured for Teresa to sit.

  Teresa batted her lashes at him. “Do I detect sarcasm from you, Your Grace? I would think you would enjoy women quarreling over you.”

  He continued to eat, his eyes glinting with amusement. “While that would indeed be entertaining, it does tend to make me uncomfortable. I prefer to do the choosing as opposed to being chosen.”

  “As a powerful Duke, I might wonder if you would like to relinquish your power for a short while and permit another to make your decisions for you.”

  “Why, Miss Wolcott,” he replied with a grin. “That sounds delightfully amorous.”

  Flushing, Teresa glanced around to make sure no one overheard her say that, but refused to back down. “Men always have to be in control,” she said dryly. “Women should have some say in things, especially when marriage and their future are concerned.”

  “I could not agree more,” the Duke replied, still grinning. “Why I can envision strongminded women like you one day ruling a government.”

  Teresa stared at him. “Are you mocking me?”

  “Certainly not. I would never make fun of you or your views. Why not remember our own history? Queen Elizabeth made a very excellent monarch and guided England into some of her best and most lucrative years. We are still benefitting today from her wisdom.”

  Teresa nodded slowly. “I just thought a man might not ever admit that a woman can be an equal to men.”

  “Some might even rule better than men,” His Grace went on, sipping his wine. “Unfortunately, I am but one who thinks that way. My gender can be seriously stupid sometimes.”

  Teresa lifted her glass to him. “Then here is to a future when more men agree with you.”

  His Grace touched his glass to hers. “Hear, hear.”

  Thoroughly enjoying herself, Teresa forgot about the crowded room as she and Thornehill discussed some of the issues of the day, the King’s madness, Aldric’s vision of helping the Whitechapel neighborhood. “Your friend is right,” Teresa commented. “By improving the neighborhood, it can have a greater impact all across London. With more people having jobs, taxes pour into the government coffers, who can then use it to improve more neighborhoods.”

  “If we had a government willing to do that,” His Grace replied. “Not all the elite want to see the slums and the poor rising from their stations. Too many want to keep the peasants crushed under the heels of the landlords.”

  “I know. Change never comes easy, and for those who do not want change are the ones who can make it happen.”

  “You are wise as well as beautiful.” His Grace smiled and gestured toward the dance floor. “Will you dance with me?”

  “I was waiting for you to ask.”

  The Duke guided her onto the dance floor as the musicians picked up their instruments and began to play. Other couples joined them, putting plenty of space between themselves and the Devil Duke. Teresa eyed them with humor, grateful for their snobbery as it meant she will not panic among them. “What will the scandal sheets read tomorrow?” she asked lightly.

  “That the wonderful and beautiful Miss Wolcott was the life of the party.”

  His injured arm did not seem to trouble him as he swirled Teresa around in the intricate dance, amazing Teresa again as to his agility for such a big man. “You flatter me, Your Grace.”

  “It is the truth. I have been on the receiving end of many jealous glances from the young men here.”

  Taking a swift look around, Teresa observed many eyes watching them, and not all of them were calculating or sneering. Many, from both women as well as men, were envious. “Astonishing.”

  “Not at all. You are a wonderful dancer and a beautiful woman. No wonder the others look at you as though they wish they had been the ones to bring you.”

  “But you were the one who asked.”

  His Grace grinned. “Lucky me.”

  His face lifted from hers, and his smile faded into a dangerous scowl as he ceased dancing. Confused, Teresa glanced over her shoulder, her hand dropping from his shoulder, to see the Baron Beaulieu approach, his own expression thunderous. Stepping to the side to face him, she kept her fingers entwined with Thornehill’s.

  “How dare you show your face here, Thornehill,” Beaulieu snarled. “You killed my wife.”

  All around, the dancing slowed and halted. The music trailed off in bits as the musicians in the corner saw the drama unfolding on the dance floor. The Count and Countess, as the hosts, approached with identical expressions of distress on their features.

  “I have little reason to hide,” the Duke replied, his tone dangerously low. “After all, my hands are clean.”

  “Are they?” Beaulieu sneered. “You wantonly destroy lives and marriages with your scandalous behavior. And now murder. I will see to it you hang, Duke.”

  “It will not be me who hangs, dear boy,” His Grace drawled. “For I will be proving your hands are bloody, Beaulieu.”

  The Baron’s hot, angry eyes rested on Teresa. “Is this your new strumpet, Thornehill? Quite a delectable piece. At least you show some taste at last.”

  The Duke’s fist lashed out and connected solidly with the Baron’s upper jaw, knocking the man backward, stumbling and almost falling. Shaking free of Teresa, Thornehill strode forward, furious, his fists clenched. “Care to insult the lady I am with again, Beaulieu?” he growled. “Another word and I will toss your arse into the privy where you belong.”

  Gasps of shock resounded throughout the ballroom as the Baron regained his footing, his upper lip curled as he glared at the Duke. “Is that a challenge, Thornehill?”

  “Yes, should you have the guts to face me.”
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  The Count of Eau Claire strode in between them, as did Thomas and a few other men. “Stop right now,” the Count ordered, yet his expression reflected more fear than anger. “I am sorry, but both of you must leave the premises. I will not have fighting here.”

  Beaulieu bent his head and spat blood on the floor, drawing more gasps of shock and condemnation from the watching crowd. His left cheekbone had already begun to swell. “The company you invite has quite soured my inclination to stay, Eau Claire. Do not bother. I will show myself out.”

  Forcefully shoving his way through the midst of guests circling around, the Baron stormed out, wringing no few angry stares and mutters from those he jostled. Then the footmen opened the doors to bow him out and he was gone. Teresa glanced at Thomas, who shook his head, his mouth tight.

  “I will not tolerate rude behavior and insults to my guest,” the Duke snapped loudly, glowering at the watching crowd. “Anyone else wish to try?”

  “Baron Beaulieu was most rude and uncouth,” stated an older woman with a heavy necklace of diamonds enclosing her throat, but Teresa had no idea who she was. “He was at fault and His Grace was quite right to defend his guest. My Lord Count, if you demand His Grace leave, then I go as well.”

  Murmurs of assent grew around them. “This was not the Duke’s fault,” “Thank God someone stood up to that horrid Beaulieu,” “Do not go, Your Grace.”

  At last Lord Eau Claire nodded, and bowed to the Duke. “I was indeed wrong to ask you to leave, Your Grace. You are not at fault here, and be welcome to remain as long as you like.”

  “Thank you, Lord Eau Claire. Miss Wolcott and I have a few more dances to share.”

  ***

  Solomon Eli Dunn, the Duke of Thornehill

  Percy grinned as he joined Solomon at the breakfast table. “For once, you are not the object of scorn in the scandal sheets,” he commented, pushing the paper across the table toward Solomon. “You have become the hero, defending the lady against insults by the nasty Baron.”

  Solomon eyed him sourly. “He had no right to behave the way he did. And he insulted Miss Wolcott.”

  Percy’s brow rose. “Will you issue him a challenge for a duel?”

  Sitting back, Solomon nodded slowly. “I have the right to defend my honor and the honor of Miss Wolcott.”

  Percy whistled through his teeth. “Do not get caught, Your Grace.”

  “I know of a place where the police do not frequent,” Solomon replied with a grin. “I will write the letter shortly. Will you deliver it and act as my second?”

  Percy bowed his head. “I am honored to be so chosen. Of course.”

  “I doubt he will choose swords,” Solomon went on, thinking. “He knows I am expert swordsman as well as a marksman. He may not even accept.”

  “And be branded a coward?” Percy shook his head. “He will. He is not known for his pistol skills as you are, but then, not many know him at all.”

  “I do. He is a coward, and may show up to apologize so I will not kill him.”

  “Will you kill him? Or be satisfied with blood drawn?”

  “I do not know. It depends upon how angry he makes me.”

  “With him dead, you may always be thought of as the man who killed the Baroness.”

  “No. Thomas Wolcott already knows I did not and he will prove it.” Solomon shook his head. “But killing Beaulieu now might stop the investigation into Elize’s death, and I want it made clear that the Baron murdered her.”

  “If he is afraid of you killing him, then he may apologize and keep his life and some honor.”

  “If I accept it, that is.”

  “A pity he would not cross blade with you,” Percy said with a laugh. “I certainly would like to see you skewer him.”

  Pushing his plate away, Solomon stood. “While you are delivering my challenge letter, I must pay a call on Mr. Wolcott. See if there was anything he learned about Beaulieu at the party last night.”

  Percy bowed. “I will deliver your letter straight away.”

  His arm still burning with an unrelenting throb, Solomon wrote out his challenge and sent Percy off to the Beaulieu mansion with it. Ordering his grooms to saddle his stallion, he paced the foyer, wondering if Mr. Wolcott would still be at home. Solomon had no idea if he had an office or where it might be.

  Riding through the streets and the traffic toward the Wolcott townhouse, he tried to ponder what information Thomas Wolcott might have discovered the previous evening. His thoughts were constantly drawn to his sister, however, and how she was suddenly the insulted heroine at the Eau Claire ball. He smiled to himself as he recalled how the two of them were talked about favorably the previous night, and the glances they received were envious.

  “And she took it all in stride without a panic episode and the grace of a true lady,” he murmured.

  A maid answered his knock and informed him that yes, Mr. Wolcott was in residence. Thomas came to the foyer where Solomon stood, his smile filled with welcome. “Your Grace,” he said with a bow, “come in. Care for some tea?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Thomas directed him toward the small drawing room, calling for tea to be served. “Teresa is not in at the moment. She and my wife went searching for baby items.”

  Solomon let himself be guided into the attractive room, but halted to stare. “Your wife is with child?”

  Thomas grinned. “Yes, we are expecting our first.”

  “Congratulations,” Solomon told him with a grin, shaking his hand. “How wonderful.”

  “Please sit.”

  Solomon sat in an armchair while Thomas took another. “I actually came to speak to you,” Solomon said. “Did you manage to gain any information last night?”

  “Perhaps, Your Grace, but I am not certain how significant it might be.”

  The cook brought tea and served them both, then departed swiftly after a quick dip of her knee. “Go on,” Solomon urged.

  “First of all, one of Beaulieu’s cronies saw us together at Whites,” Thomas said, pouring milk into his cup. “While they know you are seeing Teresa, they do not know if that is why we spoke, or if I am working for you in other ways.”

  Solomon sipped his tea, frowning. “If we let it be known we were discussing your sister, you may learn more if no one knows you are investigating matters for me.”

  “My thinking exactly. Now the Baron made some quiet accusations to his friends that you killed Elize Beaulieu, yet I found it interesting that none of them agreed with him.”

  “Not a one?”

  “No,” Thomas went on with a smile. “It is almost as though they know he did it, but were unwilling to either defend you or accuse him.”

  “No, they would not dare. Beaulieu might do something to harm them either physically or socially.”

  “That tells me he is most likely the guilty party, but it is not concrete evidence. Now a few of the Baroness’s friends have told me she kept a diary. I think I am going to find it and examine its contents.”

  Solomon lowered his cup and raised his brow. “By infiltrating the Baron’s house?”

  “Yes. I just have to be careful to do it when he is not at home.”

  “I believe I can help you with that.”

  Thomas eyed him with surprise. “You will lure him out?”

  “Not exactly.” Solomon hesitated, then realized Thomas trusted him not to reveal he was planning to commit burglary. “I can trust you not to reveal what I am about to tell you?”

  “Of course, Your Grace.”

  “I wrote Baron Beaulieu a challenge letter this morning. He will be at the new Regent’s Park at dawn two days hence before the workers arrive.”

  To his shock, Thomas grinned, and it was not a nice expression at all. “I only wish I could be your second.”

  Chuckling, Solomon shook his head. “What you are doing is more important. How will you get past his servants?”

  “If the duel is at dawn, he will be forced to leave his home
hours before to prepare. I am a rather agile climber, and will scale the outside of his house and gain entrance on an upper floor. The servants will be only then getting ready for the work day. I can find out which rooms belonged to the Baroness, and they will not have any servants in them. Save when a maid comes to clean.”

  Solomon nodded. “Very clever. Unfortunately, Beaulieu’s valet will be in his rooms, so you will not be able to search them.”

  “Unless he goes to the servants’ quarters for breakfast.” Thomas answered with a grin. “I will watch, and when he does, I will conduct a brief search for any evidence.”