She jumped with a squeak, not recognizing the man and ready to slam the door closed and bolt.
“Lady Pipworth, please, wait.” The man sat straight, his foot thumping to the floor as he stood.
She stopped, the voice vaguely familiar, and stared at the man’s face.
It took several seconds for the face to register.
Theodore’s friend. The one from the funeral. What was his name? She never had bothered to recall.
She glanced over her shoulder at the maids, who hadn’t even noted her slight screech. They were close by, and Logan was only a scream away. She was still safe—mostly.
Warily, she stepped fully into the room, but left the door ajar behind her. “Mr. . . . sir, I must ask what you are daring to do in my office, sitting behind my desk.”
His head instantly cocked to the side, his look searing into her. “You do not recall who I am, do you?”
She waved her hand in front of her. “Of course I do. You are Theodore’s acquaintance. The one who so rudely approached me at my husband’s funeral. Just because you knew my brother does not give you free rein to stroll into my home and hide in corners, sir.”
“I thought the Revelry’s Tempest gaming nights were open to all members of polite society.”
“Yes. Polite society. That you are not, sir.”
“You know this because . . . ?”
“Because of the funeral—because of this.” Her hand swung manically in the air. “Because this is my office and you have no right to be in here.”
His harsh look shifted to one of perplexity as he watched her hand flit about. “Because I waited until you were not busy to talk to you?”
“You sneaked in here and waited until you could pop out of a dark corner and scare me half to Hades.”
“I assure you, Lady Pipworth, I did not skulk into a corner to surprise you. I thought it generous of my time to wait until your guests of the evening had departed to speak with you. I ended up in here merely because I grew tired of the abundant foolery afoot.”
He was judging her guests? Judging her affair? The hairs on the back of her neck spiked. “Sir, my brother’s friend or not, you go too far with your presumption that I welcome a chat with the likes of you. Especially when you think to walk into my home and judge my guests—judge the entertainment.”
“Entertainment?” The side of his mouth twitched. “That is what you call these games of chance? Do you realize how many fortunes were lost here tonight?”
She stepped forward and slammed her hands onto the desk, leaning forward. “No one asked you to be here, sir. I do attempt to keep the supercilious, pious ogres out of my home, and it appears as though I failed on that account this night.”
There was not the slightest reaction to her insult. Not a raised eyebrow. Not a frown. Not a curdled forehead on the man’s face. Without her brothers around, she was out of practice with her barbs.
His look staid, he stepped around from behind the desk, stopping next to her. She hadn’t realized he was this tall. The world had been askew at the funeral with the black veil in front of her eyes, and in the back shadow of her office he had not appeared the good head and a half taller than she that he was. And broad in the shoulders. His height did not come at the expense of a wiry frame. Solid. Most likely strong.
For the first time since she’d stepped into her office, a spike of fear cut into her gut.
Just as she was about to open her mouth to yell for Logan, the man leaned past her and clicked the door to the office closed. Without the light from the ballroom, his face fell into the dark shadows, only the dim light from two sconces illuminating the small room.
“You still do not know who I am, do you, Lady Pipworth?”
Her eyes flickered to the doorknob as she assured herself Logan would still be able to hear her if she screamed. She set her spine straight, as tall as she could manage without rising onto her toes, and met his look with a glare. “No. I do not recall.”
“I thought not. I am the Duke of Dellon.”
“The Duke of Dellon?” Her eyes grew wide. “The One-Faced Duke?”
She blurted out the nickname so quickly she didn’t consider the boorishness of speaking it out loud in front of the man. She had only ever heard of the Duke of Dellon in passing, as he spent little time at society’s functions. If she recalled correctly, he’d earned the name because he didn’t show emotion. One face. That was all he offered the world.
And she couldn’t for the life of her recall Theodore mentioning the duke was his friend.
His face remained composed, offering only a mere blink at her rude words. Adalia decided the nickname was fitting.
“Yes.” His countenance remained unmoved, but his stare managed to shift its intent, searing into her, expecting.
Her jaw shifted to the side, unnerved as she was by his stare. He didn’t need to move his face. Even in the shadows his eyes were enough. “And you think I would like to retract calling you an ogre now because I know who you are?”
“Yes.”
Adalia gave herself a shake, ire seeping back into her chest. The man had entered her office. Sat down behind her desk. And now he wanted her to apologize? She smiled sweetly up at him. “I do not wish to retract a single word, as every one of them was honest, and I will not lose integrity merely because you think to stare at me. But do tell me what you are here for, Your Grace, and be done with it.”
He sighed, his hand motioning to the chair behind her. “Would you like to sit?”
“This will be quicker if we stand. What did you want to speak with me about?”
His head cocked slightly to the left, his expression again puzzled as he looked at her. “I am here to again offer my assistance in your time of need.”
“Time of need?” Her fingers tapped along the edge of the desk. “My, you are a presumptive one, Your Grace. How have you come about the belief that I require assistance—again?”
His hand lifted, pointing toward the ballroom through the door. “The Revelry’s Tempest, my lady? Opening a gaming hall in your ballroom? This is not becoming of a lady of your station, and you need to cease your operation.”
“A lady of my station? Your Grace, you know nothing of my situation.”
“Enlighten me.”
Her arms crossed in front of her. “I am a widow attempting to keep the Alton estate solvent until Theodore returns from the Caribbean—and foremost within that goal is the necessity to keep food in the bellies of my nieces.”
“Your oldest brother’s children? There are two?”
“Yes. Twin girls.”
“Then you must realize you do harm to the name of the very title you are attempting to protect by turning your home into a gaming house.”
“This is the Pipworth dower house—the scandal attaches to my late husband’s name. Not to my brother’s title.”
“You believe that?” His eyebrows drew together. “And you do all of this to protect the Alton estate?”
Adalia glared at him. Why was the man so perplexed by this? Her knuckles rapped the wood of the desk. “It is called loyalty, Your Grace. Apparently you do not understand that. And yes, I will do whatever I have within my power to protect my family’s legacy. And the one thing in my power that will generate funds is this house and these gaming nights. So no, I will not be ceasing my evenings of gaming here.”
“But I am willing to offer you my assistance.”
It was Adalia’s turn to be perplexed. “Why? You don’t know me. I don’t know you. Why do you want to help me?”
“As I said months ago, your brother, Theodore, asked me to watch over you.”
“Yes, you did say that at my husband’s funeral. But I did not believe you then, Your Grace, and I do not believe you now.”
“And yet he did.” He nodded, his face reverting to the solemn, unmoving look. “Before he left for Caribbean waters, Theodore asked me to watch over you. I agreed.”
“No.” Her head shook. “Theo would not h
ave done that. And why would you agree to such a thing? And why would he have even asked such a thing of you? Caldwell was alive, and I was betrothed when he left. I needed no such thing as another man to watch over me.”
The duke shrugged. “I agree. But regardless, Theodore asked, and I agreed. I made the vow believing I would never have to act upon it. I wondered at his state of mind, but if you remember, he was grieving over the death of your brother, Alfred, and he needed that assurance for you before he left. I believe Theodore did not trust your late husband, my lady.”
“True. Theo never cared for Lord Pipworth.” Her eyes narrowed at him. “But why did I know nothing of you until the day of my husband’s funeral? Where were you when Caldwell died?”
“You married quite quickly after your eldest brother died—the news of his death reached me well after you were married. I would not intrude upon a marriage. Your husband was alive. He was the one responsible for you. But as no one has acted in that capacity in the months since his funeral, I believe I must be the one to implore you to stop the nonsense of this gaming house.”
“But why now? I have been operating the Revelry’s Tempest events for three months now.”
He exhaled, his look finally moving from her face to look at the white wall paneling over her shoulder. “Frankly, I did not expect you to make a success of it.”
She guffawed, a smile cracking her face. “You thought I would fail?”
He met her eyes. Something flickered in his dark brown eyes—actual emotion. He did not care that she laughed at him.
But only that stray glimmer in his eyes gave evidence to his thoughts as his voice stayed even. “I did believe you would fail. You did not. I looked through your books. So instead I am here to insist you stop this nonsense.”
“You rifled through my ledgers?” Her eyes whipped to the leather volumes on her desk. Incredulous, she could do nothing but let loose an angry chuckle. This man overstepped so many bounds and was so far removed from her reality—and what he thought he could do to control her—it was laughable. “You would insist?”
“I do.”
“You realize, Your Grace, that you have no bearing over my time and actions whatsoever?”
“I still must insist.” He gave a curt nod for emphasis, and his stare shifted again. Searing her. “You will stop hosting these . . . little gaming evenings . . . forthwith, Lady Pipworth.”
She jumped a step forward, her neck craning so she could meet his piercing stare with her own. “You tyrannical, overbearing fiend. You cannot just accost me in my office and demand that I bend to your wishes. I don’t even know you. I don’t even know if you and Theo were ever truly friends.”
She poked her right forefinger at him, almost touching the cut of his impeccably tailored black tailcoat. “For that matter, Theo never once mentioned you to me. What game do you think to play with me, Your Grace? Do you own a gaming hell that has had its business dented by my little affairs? Is that what you are about? You think to do me under by using my brother against me? Steal from my coffers? Take over my business?”
His eyes dropped to her out flung forefinger for a long second before he met the fire in her gaze. “The number of conclusions you have just jumped to in thirty seconds is astounding, Lady Pipworth.”
“I can concoct more, if it will rid me of your presence.”
“Your imagination does impress, my lady.”
Her hand went to her forehead, rubbing it. “Your Grace, I have been a breath away from calling for my guard since I entered this room. It has been a long night, and I still have much more to do. My restraint is now gone.”
“Then I will leave you to your accounting.” He nodded to the ledgers on her desk. “Good day, Lady Pipworth.”
Without another word, he stepped out of her office.
Good riddance.
{ Chapter 3 }
July 1813
Josalyn tucked under her right arm and Mary tucked under her left arm, Adalia tightened her holds on her nieces with the latest bump of the carriage. She had heard horror stories of travel by stagecoach, and the tales she had heard did not do the reality justice.
At least they were inside the stagecoach and not sitting atop, one small jostle away from slipping off. Stuffed as they were onto a hard-backed bench between one plump fishmonger with the smell to match and a tall, skinny man with sharp elbows, the two days inside the stagecoach had been grueling. Protecting the twins from every hard jolt of the carriage. Keeping them calm. Holding her reticule tight from the boy—not even thirteen—who had been eyeing it since she and the girls had wedged themselves inside the tight quarters.
Adalia had not let herself sleep a wink in the past two days, and she was currently losing the battle against her heavy eyelids.
Her thumb and forefinger slipped past the drawstring of her reticule, fingering the letter folded inside—the entire reason she was stuck in this atrocity of travel with the twins. She would take it out and read it again if she could move her arms, but she would not give up the precious space she had captured by wedging her arms around the girls. They were finally asleep, dead weight against her torso, and she meant to keep them so.
The coach turned onto a new road, smoother, the bumps more rhythmic, and it lulled Adalia even further into drowsiness. The weight of her determined eyelids overcoming her will, her eyes slid closed against the last remnants of her struggle to stay awake.
Into blackness, and the frantic barks of Hazard at the back gate instantly filled her head. Sitting on the iron bench between the foxgloves and daffodils, Adalia looked up from scanning the Times to find their wolfhound jumping, clawing with desperation at the rear gate to the mews.
At the exact moment Adalia realized Hazard would be that frantic for only one reason—the girls were in trouble—the dog backed up and ran at the fence, clearing it with a lumbering leap.
She looked around, realizing the girls were no longer in the back garden. No longer digging around, placing shells under the wall of evergreens along the alley. Adalia jumped to her feet and ran to the back gate after Hazard.
“Auntie Ada, Auntie Ada, Auntie Ada.” The cries echoed down the alley in front of the mews before Adalia could get the gate latch open. She craned her neck out past the long line of tall evergreens to find Josalyn running, terrified, toward her. “He has her—he has Mary, Auntie Ada.”
Adalia ripped the gate open and broke into a full sprint down the alley, following the vicious growls she could still hear from Hazard. In the next instant, she was at the edge of an alley a block away, just in time to see Hazard jump on the man who was dragging Mary between the buildings. The bastard and Mary went flying, landing on the ground hard. By the time Adalia got to Mary, Hazard was fully on top of the bastard, attacking, the man screaming, trying to ward him off.
Her heart pounding, terror seizing her, Adalia picked up Mary and ran out of the alley before she whistled back to Hazard. Carrying Mary, Hazard on her heels, she sped back to the town house, snatching Josalyn’s hand along the way and dragging her with them.
Running. And running. And she couldn’t run fast enough.
Clunk.
Her head slammed into the wood behind her, and Adalia jerked awake, her heart hammering, fear choking her just as it had two days ago.
Coach. She was in the stagecoach. The girls were right next to her. Safe.
Her eyes landed on the boy crouched in front of her, his creeping fingers only a hair away from her reticule.
Her foot quick, Adalia kicked him in the gut just as he realized she had awoken and he was about to get caught attempting to steal.
With a grunt the boy fell back, landing in the lap of the man who had taken his spot on the middle bench. The man shoved him off, and with a grumble, the boy sat on the floor of the coach, smashing himself in between legs, feet, bags, and two other children sitting on the floor.
Awake. She needed to stay awake.
Her fingers tightened around the top of her reticule, cr
unching the paper within. If the near abduction of her niece hadn’t struck the fear of Hades into her, the letter inside her reticule had.
She had found the letter on the silver salver in the foyer after she had gotten the girls settled in their room—Mary valiantly attempting to be brave after what had happened, Josalyn openly crying about nearly losing her sister.
Had Adalia seen the letter earlier, maybe, just maybe, Josalyn and Mary wouldn’t have been terrorized so.
After passing it three times before she glanced at her name scrawled across the front of the letter, she finally paused to look at it closely enough to recognize the handwriting.
Theodore.
Theo had finally sent a letter. Finally, after all that time.
Her hands had trembled as she broke the seal and unfolded it, so violently she could barely complete the task to get to the contents. Had she known what was inside, she might never have opened it.
My Little Sprite,
I am journeying to you at this moment, but I am writing this letter as assurance in the event my actions do not unfold as I have planned.
If I do not return to you, alive, in a week’s time, I can surely be counted amongst the dead, and I apologize that you will learn of my death in this letter. Mourn for me, but do not do so until you and the twins are safe.
The three of you are in imminent danger, and you must trust no one. No one. Not a friend. Not a business associate. Not a servant. Not your coachman. No one.
I do not exaggerate. Do not think to defy me on this, Sprite, for I will surely come back from the grave to haunt you.
I need you to trust no one. No one, except for the Duke of Dellon. Get to the duke, as he is the only one who can assure safety for you and the girls.
I stress this because I know how you think, dear sister. I beg you, do not question, do not wonder, do not make excuses for why or how I am misguided or could be wrong. Do not. I am dead, and the duke is the only one who can keep you and the girls safe. He is currently in residence at his country estate. He will know what to do.
Of Valor & Vice: A Revelry's Tempest Novel Page 3
