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

by Samantha Holt

  ***

  Blake slapped the book shut as Ashford marched into the drawing room, quicker than the butler could keep pace. He peered at his friend from his seat by the occasional table and grimaced. First his mother, now Ashford. The news of his engagement had spread quicker than anticipated.

  Blake held up a hand and rose from the chair. “If you’re—”

  “What the devil are you reading?” Ashford demanded, pulling out the chair opposite, sweeping back his tailcoat and sitting. He placed his hat and gloves upon the table, obscuring the gold lettering on the front of the book.

  He should have flipped the damned thing over. Sinking back onto his chair, he motioned to the butler. “Something strong please, Hammond.”

  After his mother had descended upon him, eyes shimmering, squealing so loudly about his engagement that he’d scarcely been able to understand much between the words engagement and grandchildren, he should have broken out the alcohol. Now Ashford was here, staring at him as though he’d sprouted a second head, he most certainly needed a drink.

  “Have you fallen recently?”

  “Fallen?” Blake echoed.

  “Because the only reason I can think for you reading...” He shoved his gloves off the cover of the book, “floriography is because you have hit your head and are utterly addled.” He leaned back and eyed him with such frankness, Blake felt rather like a specimen being studied. “Been anywhere with low beams recently? Fallen from a horse perhaps?” He turned to Hammond. “Heard any bumps in the night?”

  The butler ignored Ashford and set out the crystal glasses and poured a generous helping of whisky before setting the matching decanter in the middle of the table.

  Blake would have to remember to thank his butler for his taciturn behavior later.

  “I have not hit my head,” he insisted. “Nor fallen from a horse. There is nothing wrong with me, Ash. I am in perfect health.”

  “Then why are you reading books like this?” He jabbed a finger to the leather bindings. “And proposing to Lady Demeter Fallon?” He shook his head vigorously. “I nearly fell off my own damned horse when I heard the news. I called Lady Fossbury a liar.”

  “Well, the woman has been known to stretch the truth.”

  “Yet this time, it is true!”

  “It is,” he admitted.

  Ashford took a long drink, emptying the glass down to the tiniest sliver of amber liquid then set it down with a thud so hard Blake feared for the antique crystal. “I warned you, Blake. I told you things would not end well. What is going to happen to the poor girl when you call things off and she’s left utterly ruined? No man shall touch her again.”

  “They’d be fools for one,” Blake muttered, “but it does not matter. I am not going to call things off.”

  Ashford paused halfway through pouring another drink. “You are going to go through with it?”

  “Not exactly.”

  His friend gave up with the decanter and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You have been acting strange ever since we came to London. I can only think it has to do with Demeter.”

  “Well—”

  “She’s a fine woman and I shall not see her hurt.”

  Blake scowled. “Since when do you care for her feelings? You’re not her brother.”

  “I’m not blind either. She’s attractive, sweet, damned clever, and—”

  “You stay away from her,” Blake snapped.

  “Blake.” Ashford fixed him with a hard look. “I’m not the one going ahead and getting engaged. I am still wonderfully and perpetually a bachelor. However, that does not mean I want to see the girl hurt. I know you, Blake, perhaps better than you know yourself.”

  “That’s not true,” he muttered.

  “No? Well then, do you know why you are reading a book about flowers?”

  “It’s...” Blake blew out a breath. “Well, it’s...” He snatched the book and leaned back on his chair to shove it on the nearby bookcase. “It’s just a blasted book.”

  He never should have bought the damned thing but when he’d seen the title in the front of one of the London bookshops, he had been unable to resist.

  “You love the girl.”

  Blake blinked a few times. Love? He didn’t even know what the word meant. He’d never heard it uttered from his father nor his mother. He was fairly certain he didn’t know how to love, let alone be in love.

  And, yes, there’d been a woman or two who had uttered the word but it never meant anything. It was in the throes of passion or because they hoped to tame him. None of them really knew him, so how could they love him?

  How could he love another? How could he love Demeter?

  He smirked. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it?” Ashford motioned to the book that still sat at an angle in the bookcase as though mocking him.

  “It’s a book, Ashford.”

  “And an engagement, and an increasing amount of time spent with Demeter.”

  “We’re investigating my cousin,” Blake snapped. “There is no love there. Not from me and I’m certain not from her.”

  “Well, she is far too sensible to fall in love with a rake,” Ashford admitted.

  Blake tried to ignore the cold dart of misery the declaration sent through him.

  “Anyway, investigating? What does that even mean?”

  With a deep breath, Blake explained how he’d wanted to use Demeter’s skills with lipreading, forgoing exactly how he’d discovered the skill, and his doubts about his cousin. He even explained the engagement.

  Furrows appeared between Ashford’s brows for some time and the man stared at the glossy tabletop while carriages rolled past the front of the house, their wheels clacking on the dry road. It gave him too much time to ponder the word. That word. The one that kept repeating with the clack clack.

  Love, love, love, love.

  Damned Ashford. He did not love Demeter.

  “You’ve certainly wrapped her up in your mess good and tight have you not?” Ashford finally said.

  “I’ll release her from it, do not worry.”

  A half-smile quirked his friend’s lips. “Will you, though?”

  “Of course,” Blake replied swiftly, ignoring the doubt beating its drum in his heart. He didn’t love her, and he’d let her go. Love and marriage were decidedly not on the cards for infamous rake Jacob Blake.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  If Demeter had to smile and thank another person for their congratulations, she might well scream.

  Fine, she probably wouldn’t. Screaming and drawing attention was not exactly something she was wont to do. But she might run away and hide somewhere. There had to be a spot somewhere where she and Blake would not draw attention.

  She scanned the park. Was it just her, or had everyone in Society decided that, despite the cloudy day and slight breeze, they would go for an afternoon stroll? Her cheeks hurt from smiling and her teeth ached from being clenched. If she did not clamp them tightly together, however, she feared the truth would burst from her, especially when someone next gave her that odd look as though they could not fathom why Blake would propose to her.

  Truthfully, she could not fathom it either. His reasoning had been sound, she supposed, but it annoyed her he really thought her capable of falling into the arms of the first man who asked.

  She blew out a breath and focused on Ernest as he trotted along beside her. That confused her, too. Not the dog exactly but why Blake had taken it in and essentially told her he was hers. It was the kindest, sweetest act anyone had ever done for her. And it made no sense.

  Blake made no sense.

  What she’d always known about Blake was being eroded, like a cliff edge being beaten by a storm. He was a rake, he was charming, he cared for little else other than his own pleasure. Those facts were caught up in the tempest of her mind and were being tossed around.

  Well, he was a rake and charming but she didn’t know there were these other facets. Like how much he cared fo
r his aunt, or how soft and compassionate he could be with a dog. Or how he made her feel like more than a wallflower with a stutter.

  She was beginning to conclude the man she’d fallen in love with didn’t really exist. The trouble was, the man she had come to know was far more appealing than whoever she’d thought him to be.

  “Why are you scowling, Demeter?”

  “We look too much like a family.” She motioned to Ernest who had paused to take a long sniff around a bench.

  “Well, we are engaged. That is a family of sorts.”

  “I do not like it, Blake. My aunt will be heartbroken when this ends.”

  “I cannot imagine Aunt Sarah being even remotely melancholy.”

  “Oh she will be,” Demeter assured him. “She was talking about wanting me to have a lo—” She clamped her mouth shut swiftly. What was wrong with her? Why would she even tell him such a thing?”

  Blake’s brows lifted. “A lover?”

  She swallowed. “Yes.”

  “You did not take her advice, did you?” His tone was strange, as though he’d just swallowed something.

  “Of course not!”

  “Good.” His dimple flashed.

  Demeter rolled her eyes.

  “That is...”

  “It is fine for you to have a lover but not for me. I know.” She waved away any excuses.

  Her and her sisters had contemplated the hypocrisy of society and the sexes many a time and Demeter had never come to a firm conclusion as to why the standards were different except that it was because men ruled the world. Besides, she had rebelled once and it had not turned out well. The rules might be silly but it was far easier for her to abide by them.

  “It’s not that—”

  “Blake, I am not discussing this with you.”

  “Even though I am your fiancé?”

  “Temporarily.”

  “You know, it we were truly to be married, I would wish to discuss such matters with you.”

  She narrowed her gaze at him. “You would?”

  “Is that so odd?”

  “Well, even Aunt Sarah has never discussed the, uh, m-marriage bed with me. And I highly doubt my mother would have wished to either. Most girls I know are entirely in ignorance on their wedding eve.”

  “I fail to see the appeal in a nervous, terrified bride. One’s wedding night should be for both of us.” He paused. “That is, it would be, if it were to happen.”

  A fluttering sensation swept through her, starting in her stomach and spreading to every limb as she pictured how it might be to have a wedding night with Blake.

  “What is it?”

  Demeter puffed out her cheeks briefly, trying to bring some coolness into her face. Confessing her thoughts would only make her look a fool. “Nothing.” She shook her head vigorously and gave Ernest a little tug on his lead, encouraging him to walk away from the bench and follow her. “We should be discussing Mr. Foster, you know, and not this silly engagement business.”

  “Yes. Of course,” he said in a flat tone.

  She ignored the odd tension in his expression. “You know, I think I’ve discovered his tell.”

  “His tell? But you haven’t played cards with him, have you?”

  “No, but he blushes perpetually.”

  “I noticed.”

  “It can seem endearing.”

  “It damned well isn’t. The man is a fraud, Demeter, do not forget that.”

  “Not to me,” she protested. “But it adds to his whole new money, finding his feet in society act.”

  “Yes...”

  “Well, it seems to me it occurs when he lies.”

  “He blushes all the time,” he pointed out.

  “Yes, because he is lying most of the time.” She paused and faced Blake head on. “But when he called me, um, lovely, the blush went.”

  “You are lovely,” he concurred. “But that could just be a coincidence.”

  She shook her head and forced the compliment to the back of her mind. “I do not think so.”

  “How do you know?”

  She grinned. “Instinct, Blake. I have an instinct.”

  ***

  Armed with this new knowledge, Blake strode over to his cousin as he bid some new friends farewell. If it was true, he might be able to tell when his cousin was telling the truth and when he was lying.

  “Are you leaving?” Blake asked, forcing a smile.

  His cousin glanced about. “Indeed.”

  “I thought we might discuss...” Blake searched his mind, “a dinner party.”

  “A dinner party?”

  “Well, you have yet to host one and it is the done thing.”

  Foster tugged the edge of his waistcoat. “Oh. Well, yes, of course.”

  “Well, then let us head to your house.”

  “I brought the barouche.” Foster waved a hand to the outer gates where the bright yellow vehicle waited.

  Oh yes. The yellow monstrosity. Somehow, he kept the disgust from his face. “Shall we?” Blake merely replied.

  Blake climbed into the carriage next to his cousin, trying not to stare at him to spot the blush. At present, his cheeks were pale. No lies detected yet.

  “You know, I did not realize you and Lady Demeter were courting.”

  Blake blinked at the hardness behind his gaze. Oh, he’d quite royally annoyed his cousin. How interesting. Maybe if he probed deeper, he could irritate Foster into revealing something about himself.

  “Well, we were not really, but she’s a lady of fortune.” He shrugged. “And hardly ugly either.”

  Foster’s lips pressed into a thin line as the carriage jerked forward. “She’s extremely elegant and lovely,” he said, his tone hard. “You are a lucky man.”

  “There are many who would say she is lucky.” Blake forced a smug smirk.

  “To be wedding a man who...?” Foster shook his head and straightened. “Well, I wish you both the best.”

  There it was, the ruddiness. The man most likely wanted to kill him for swooping in and stealing his bride. He really did like Demeter for more than her wealth.

  “Perhaps you shall find a bride this Season too, cousin. There are many eligible women and debutantes for the taking and now you are establishing yourself into Society, I have no doubt you shall have many interested ladies.”

  “I had thought I might try to find a bride but...” He pressed his lips together. “Well, none have sparked my interest.”

  Or the one he’d been interested in was now taken. The more Blake talked to his cousin, the more he was grateful he asked Demeter to marry him, out of false circumstances or not. The way his cousin’s eyes took on a strange, clouded look at the mention of her name made Blake want to fling the man out of his own carriage.

  “Surely you want a wealthy bride? Estates like your mother’s are horribly draining on one’s pocketbook.”

  “My mother had plenty of wealth.” Bitterness inched into his voice.

  Blake tried not to grin. “Odd that she did not choose to spend some of it on your education in London, Foster. I would have thought she’d want her son to have the best.”

  “I had an excellent education.”

  “Oh. Where precisely did you go to school?”

  “I thought we were to talk about this dinner party,” Foster snapped, then pressed fingers to his temples. “Forgive me, I believe I am a little tired.”

  “No doubt. You have been working hard of late, hosting balls, and finding your feet in Society. Perhaps a dinner party would not be a good idea after all.”

  “No, no.” He shook his head vigorously. “If it is expected, I shall do it. As always, I would welcome your guiding hand, Cousin.”

  Blake narrowed his eyes. Why did he suspect his cousin needed no help whatsoever? Whatever he had been doing all these years whilst hidden away from Society, he must have been preparing for this day for a long time, given how practiced his behavior was. Today was the first and only time he’d seen the visage slip
, even a degree.

  “Have you time for a drink?” Blake asked when they reached his aunt’s house. “Then we can discuss who you should invite and I can recommend an excellent cook.”

  “My cook is excellent,” Foster said tightly as he exited the vehicle. “One of the best.”

  “Oh yes, I had heard. Monsieur Lucien Baduex. Quite the catch.” And exceedingly expensive. Even the richest members of the ton would struggle to pay his yearly wages. His aunt had been a wealthy woman, but not that wealthy.

  “Precisely.” His cousin’s smile grew smug. “I am certain I can hold a dinner party that the ton shall be speaking of for months to come.”

  “I almost do not think you need my help, Foster.”

  “Oh no. Your advice shall be most valuable.”

  Blake had to conclude his cousin thought him best as an ally rather than an enemy. Maybe Foster deemed him too much a rake or too frivolous to even question Foster’s circumstances. Whatever the reasons for the continued ruse, he’d rather Foster think him a friend—at least until he had found out the truth behind his cousin’s inheritance.

  He paused in the hallway, spying a bare patch on the entrance hall wall. The wallpaper offered a large, faded square and empty hooks hung from the picture rail. “Was there not a painting there?”

  “Oh yes.” Foster’s cheeks slowly turned crimson. “I am changing things about a bit. Putting my own touch on the house and whatnot.”

  “Indeed,” Blake murmured.

  “Shall we go through to the drawing room?” Foster suggested, motioning to the room his aunt favored. It was decidedly feminine in décor, not at all the room he would expect his cousin to like.

  Frowning, he looked past his cousin, eyeing the plinth at the end of the deep entranceway. He ignored his cousin’s frantic gestures and strode over to the plinth which a blue and white vase now occupied.

  “More changes?” he asked, his voice sounding tight to his own ears.

  “Oh yes.”

  “Where is the elephant?” He did not move his gaze from the spot where a bronze elephant had once sat.