Wagers of a Duke's Daughter (The Duchess's Investigative Society Book 3)

by Samantha Holt

  “And the lipreading...”

  “Well, it helps.” She clasped her hands around the tankard and stared at it. “I notice things a lot of people do not.”

  The words struck him. He understood what it was like to know things of people and not be believed. The number of times as a child he had tried to tell people—even his mother—of his father’s treatment of him. But everyone dismissed him as a naughty child with too much imagination.

  “What I meant was how did you learn it?”

  “I taught myself.”

  “You taught yourself?” he repeated.

  “I was old enough to be speaking when I caught ill but my speech was far from perfect at that age. It helped with learning to lipread, though, when I was recovering, and my mother aided me.”

  “I imagine she did not realize she was offering you a skill that would help with something such as gambling.”

  “My mother was an unusual woman.” Her smile warmed, her eyes creasing in the corners.

  He couldn’t help himself. He didn’t need to know anything more of Demeter than that she had a skill useful to him. But he still asked, “How so?”

  Her mouth opened then closed. She shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “Demeter,” he pressed.

  She met his gaze and tilted her head as though sizing him up. “You already have one of my secrets.”

  “There are more?”

  “My sisters are going to kill me,” she muttered and straightened her shoulders. “You cannot tell a soul this.”

  “You have my word.” He crossed his heart.

  “I’m not sure what the word of a rake means...”

  “I am a rake, Demeter, not a b....” He trailed off with a smile. “Trust me, I am most excellent at keeping secrets.”

  “That I do not doubt.” She sighed. “Very well, my mother started up an investigative society. And my sisters and I have carried it on.”

  “An investigative society?” he repeated. “And you do...what?”

  “Investigate things,” she said as though he were exceedingly simple.

  He felt it, if he was honest. He’d never expected such words to come from her. The woman was determined to astound him at every moment. How had he never truly noticed her before? How had he not seen what she was hiding or at the very least had an instinct about her? She was more interesting than every woman in the ton combined and yet she had always passed his notice.

  “Like...private investigators?” He frowned. “Female private investigators?”

  Her chin lifted, her shoulders squared. “Yes. We help other women with matters that no one will aid them with. We help people who have nowhere else to turn.”

  He lifted his brows.

  “You might be surprised, Blake, that us delicate young ladies would do such things but it is a necessary service. There are so many women who are never listened to, never believed.”

  Holding up one hand, he reached across then stopped himself, recalling she was dressed as a man and he could not very well be holding her hand tenderly. “I understand.”

  She eyed him warily.

  “I really do.” What he would have given to have been believed as a child. Perhaps then he would be different. He wouldn’t have suffered at the hands of his father and he wouldn’t be as he was.

  He’d have a chance at deserving a woman like Demeter.

  Oh hell.

  He cleared his throat, shifted back against the hard wood of his chair, and gave himself a mental shake. He didn’t want a woman like Demeter. Ladies like her wanted marriage to stable men without scandalous pasts. Marriage meant old age. Maturity. Death.

  Old age meant being like his father.

  No, thank you.

  “Well, it seems you are in an excellent position to help me then, Lady Demeter,” he said formally.

  She blinked, glanced at him for a moment then drained the rest of her ale, cupping the empty tankard in both hands. “Yes,” she said, her voice slightly strained. “Yes, it does.”

  His gut panged. His instincts told him he was courting trouble here. He’d have to tread exceedingly carefully.

  Chapter Twelve

  For someone who claimed to have excellent observation skills, Demeter couldn’t believe she’d never noticed the flicker of pain in Blake’s gaze before. He hid it well but after years of watching him, how had she missed it? His shoulders were tense, lines furrowed his brow and his jaw ticked. Gone was the quick, easy smile and the amusement perpetually creasing his eyes.

  She tried to concentrate on the conversation as it turned to following his cousin and finding out why he was meeting with unsavory people, but she could not help wondering...what had caused the pain there?

  She held up a hand as he rattled out his plans. “Slow down. How do you expect to be there? Your cousin shall recognize you.”

  “I shall take advice from you, of course.”

  “From me?”

  “I shall disguise myself.”

  She shook her head. “It will never work.”

  “Of course it will. Look at you...” He waved an open palm up and down her. “It’s obvious you are a girl—”

  “Woman,” she corrected.

  “Woman,” he said. “But only when one knows what to look for. No one expects a beautiful girl—woman—to be disguising herself as a man just as my cousin will never expect me to do be doing such things.”

  “I think I should go alone.”

  He jabbed a firm finger at the table. “I am many things, Demeter, but I’m no fool. The inn this meeting is taking place at is no welcoming tavern like this. I would never forgive myself if you came to harm.”

  She wanted to argue but the fact was, even Pidgeon’s was usually safe and easy to walk to. With the exception of being accosted the other week, she had never run into trouble. If Blake thought this inn dangerous, she believed him.

  “Very well. So we shall arrive in disguise and try to find out what the meeting is about.”

  “Indeed.”

  “A-and you shall send word when it is to take place?”

  “I need to speak with that, uh, woman. She spends...time with one of the gentlemen I saw Foster with.”

  Her cheeks blazed hot, though she could not tell if it was because of the topic of conversation or because she hated the thought of him being with another woman.

  He glanced around as a group of loud men entered the pub, likely having come from the docks. They were filthy, sweaty, and demanding, with the man at the head of the pack snatching one of the serving girl’s waists and dragging her into him.

  Blake went rigid, his expression hardening. She’d never seen him look so...primal. It made her feel breathless.

  “We should leave,” he said. “This inn is not as pleasant as usual.”

  There was no reason to argue with him so she didn’t point out that she would appear as a boy to them and likely draw no hassle. She wished their evening did not have to come to an end. She wished she could press him further, find out quite why his expression had hardened, especially after he’d seemed so…interested in her. It was an utterly new sensation and she could not help but like it. She wanted more.

  He rose so sharply, his chair screeched against the wooden floor, drawing a few looks their way and giving her no chance to change her mind on arguing with him. He strode with bold steps to the door and she scurried to catch up with him.

  “I hardly think...” she said breathlessly as they spilled into the cool night air, “we needed to run away.”

  “I never run.” He adjusted his jacket and looked up and down the road. His carriage must have parked in the stables behind the building or on a quiet street as the only vehicles were a passing hack and several small wagons. “But you are trouble, Demeter.”

  “I really do not think I am,” she protested. “No one has ever called me trouble in my life. If anyone is likely to court trouble it is you. Did you not partake in a duel only last year? And the year before that, were you
not injured in a fight and spent the Season convalescing in the country?”

  He shot her a look. “Do not believe everything you hear.”

  “All I am saying is that if anyone is going to get us in trouble it is most certainly not me.”

  “You are trouble,” he repeated. “And I had an—”

  “If you say instinct again...”

  “I had a feeling.”

  She snorted but cut the sound short when a pathetic yelp pierced the air and Demeter’s heart gave a kick. A dog. In pain.

  “Did you hear that?” She didn’t wait for his response before turning on her heel.

  “Demeter!”

  She hurried toward the source of the sound and stilled at the entrance to a dark alleyway where a man jeered and yelled obscenities. He looked to be part of the group that had come into the inn, his build stocky and covered in grime. In front of him, a boy cowered, and it took a moment for Demeter to realize he was shielding the dog. The man threw a stone and it hit the boy’s arm.

  “Just leave us alone. He didn’t mean harm,” the boy whimpered.

  He could not be more than twelve and disgust rose up her face in the form of blazing hot heat. How could a grown man behave so to a mere child?

  “The mongrel tried to bite me,” the man spat. “He should be killed.”

  “He was scared. You tried to kick him.”

  “Demeter.” Blake came to a stop beside her. “Oh hell,” he uttered when he observed the situation.

  “We have to do something,” she hissed.

  “Told you I had a feeling.”

  ***

  For a quiet woman, Demeter certainly courted trouble. He observed the man’s muscular build. The rumors of duels and convalescing after an injury weren’t true but he’d fought when necessary in his youth. These days, less so. He glanced at the boy and the whining dog, releasing a long sigh.

  By the looks of it, he was about to find out if he could still fight.

  Striding forward, he put himself in between the boy and the man. “May I suggest you cease bothering this child?”

  “The damned dog tried to bite me.” He looked him over and took a step closer. “What business is it of yours anyway?”

  “You are picking a fight with a boy,” Blake replied tightly. “A child. Surely you have better things to do with your time?”

  “That mutt needs teaching a lesson.”

  “He was scared,” the boy cried, still huddled behind him. “He doesn’t normally bite.”

  Demeter moved closer too, effectively shielding both boy and animal.

  And giving him even more reason to win this argument.

  “Come, have a drink and let the boy go.” Blake gestured with both hands open. “It’s not worth the trouble.”

  “Scram,” the man spat. “This is nothing to do with you.” He bent and picked up another loose stone, this time the size of a small apple. If he threw that he’d do real damage to the mutt, let alone the boy. Or Demeter.

  Heat surged through him, making his muscles tight. He was not about to let that happen.

  “Demeter, take the boy,” he ordered. “Now.”

  He didn’t know if she moved when he did but he hoped so. He struck out quickly, punching the man in the nose. Bone cracked. The man howled, his eyes watering, and immediately put a hand to his nose. Blake didn’t wait to see if there was any damage.

  Instead he turned, saw Demeter dashing off with the boy, and snatched up the dog. The scrawny creature weighed more than expected and fought his hold, yelping at the sudden contact. Teeth dug into his sleeve and Blake cursed aloud as he raced after Demeter.

  They came to a stop at a well-lit corner of one of the streets where Blake’s carriage awaited. He’d never been so happy in his life to see a blasted carriage.

  Demeter released the boy’s hand and bent double to take a breath. “I-I don’t think...he followed us.”

  “Likely nursing his broken nose,” Blake muttered.

  The boy grinned. “You sure taught him a lesson.”

  “With any luck.”

  Blake eased the trembling dog to the ground. It had at least stopped biting his arm, finally comprehending Blake was one of the good guys, but the damage was done. The fabric of his jacket and even his shirt flapped about.

  “He’s a good dog, honestly.” The boy dropped onto his haunches to ruffle the dog’s ears. “That man tried to kick him and that’s the only reason he bit him.”

  “He bit me too,” Blake snapped and Demeter put a hand to his arm with a warning look. “But I am glad you are both safe.” He sucked down a breath and inspected the tattered fabric. Apart from a few teeth marks, there was no real damage. “Do you have somewhere to go?”

  The boy thrust a thumb down the road. “Home is down here.” He tilted his head. “You fight dirty, sir. I didn’t expect that.”

  “Was it dirty?” He looked to Demeter who shrugged.

  The boy rubbed his forehead. “I thought gentlemen were meant to slap a glove across a man’s face before fighting them.”

  Blake chuckled. “Gentlemen get into many a fight without gloves, believe me.” He gave the lad a slight push. “Now be on your way before you get into any more trouble.”

  They waited until the boy and his dog disappeared around the corner before getting into the carriage. Hobbs his driver remained silent thank the Lord, though Blake imagined he would have quite the tale to tell the rest of his servants. Our master was dashing about London like a madman with two boys and a scruffy mongrel. I think he’s lost his wits!

  He supposed it was better than those rumors of convalescing and duels, at least.

  Resisting the urge to aid Demeter into the carriage, he climbed in and seated himself opposite her with a sigh then tapped the roof. He twisted his hand over, peeled off his glove, and eyed his throbbing knuckles. The damage wasn’t great but they’d be bruised and painful tomorrow—and it was his writing hand. No letters of business in the morning it seemed.

  Demeter shifted from her side to his, removed her own gloves, shoving them into a pocket, and took his hand in hers. He jolted at the touch as she lifted his hand to the lamplight streaming in through the window.

  “You should put some cold meat on this if you have some.”

  He jerked his hand back. His knuckles no longer bothered him.

  No, instead it was her touch that had him reeling. His fingers tingled where her delicate hands had clasped his and it didn’t take much for his mind to trip down a more sordid path, imagining what those fingers might feel like in other places. He drew in a breath, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back against the cushions. Tonight had not gone as anticipated at all.

  “I am sorry I got you involved but I could not let that dog be hurt.”

  He opened his eyes and straightened. “I know. Nor could I,” he admitted.

  “Do you have dogs?”

  He shook his head. “I had one as a child but...well, it doesn’t matter.”

  “I always wanted one but my aunt keeps a cat and I fear he would not adjust well to it. He’s incredibly spoiled.”

  “Ah.”

  She plucked the torn fabric of his jacket. “The dog did quite a bit of damage.” She peeled away the flap. “Though, at least he did not...Oh!”

  Oh? He looked down and realized the tear had revealed one of the many follies of his youth.

  Demeter grabbed his arm and jerked it closer so she could inspect it. “Is that a tattoo?”

  He snatched his arm back, closing the flap of fabric over it. “Yes.”

  “I’ve never seen one up close before.” Her wide gaze met his. “Did it hurt?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you get one? It is hardly the done thing.”

  He smirked. There were many reasons at the time, none of which seemed very reasonable now. “Mostly to anger my father,” he admitted.

  “I see,” she said but he could tell she didn’t. How could she?

  Her gaze kept f
litting to his arm and he blew out a breath, offering his arm once more. “Look again if you wish. It’s not very pretty.”

  She cocked her head. “It is quite…artistic in a way. I never thought of tattoos as art before.” She narrowed her gaze. “Is it...a bird?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does it symbolize something?”

  “Freedom,” he muttered.

  “Freedom? But you are a bachelor of wealth. You have all the freedom in the world.”

  Did he? He wasn’t so certain. When she glanced up at him, her eyes wide and curious, her lips slightly parted, he suspected his freedom of choice had long flown out the window.

  He had to kiss her.

  Blake eased a hand to cup her cheek, cradling her face. She gasped but didn’t retreat, even leaning in a little. He closed the gap slowly, urged on by the need raging through him. Throbbing knuckles, torn clothing, and all the other reasons why he shouldn’t be damned. He needed to taste that delicate mouth.

  He touched his mouth to hers. She shuddered beneath his touch. Need gripped him but it was different. He didn’t want to crush her to him or tear her clothing from her. Instead he wanted to savor and taste and learn about her.

  This was different.

  This was new.

  He jerked back abruptly, dropped his hand from her face, and shifted as far away from her as possible. Which wasn’t much given the confines of the carriage.

  She blinked a few times and stared at him, her mouth still ajar, as though awaiting him to deepen the kiss.

  “Shouldn’t have done that,” he murmured. “Many apologies. Won’t happen again.”

  “Oh,” was all she said.

  Oh was about right.

  Chapter Thirteen

  She must be a terrible kisser. Or she wasn’t appealing to men. Perhaps when Blake measured her up against all the experienced widows and elegant courtesans and opera singers, she came out wanting.

  Demeter concentrated on putting each foot before the other with such force, she felt the sting of every step through her boots. The balmy day didn’t warrant such vigorous exercise but she needed to do something or she would go mad.

  Maybe it was too late. For the past two days, all she thought of was Blake and that kiss.