The Dangerous Duke

by Christine Wells

  There was nowhere to go, and she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to run. God help her, this man fascinated her even more than he frightened her.

  He nodded slowly, as if he sensed her reaction and understood.

  “Lady Kate, your brother knows where the rebels who set fire to Lyle Castle are hiding. He will be released if he cooperates and tells the authorities what they wish to know. If not—” He shrugged, leaving the rest to her fertile imagination.

  So that was the root of it all! She knew Stephen could not have been directly involved in the uprising.

  “But how do you know he has this information?” she countered. “It seems unlikely these arsonists would tell my brother where they were going.”

  “My dear, he has admitted it,” said the duke, almost gently.

  Oh, Stephen! She could have howled at his naivety. He’d as good as hanged himself with that admission.

  The duke traced her cheek with one fingertip and her skin shivered at his touch. “Perhaps you could persuade him to do the right thing. I might arrange for you to see him, if you promise me you will try.”

  She held still, trying to ignore the sheer power of that light caress. She needed to think, not feel.

  The realization dawned on her. He expected her to take his side against her own brother? He must rate his attractions highly.

  She stared coolly into his eyes. “Whatever he has done, sir, my brother has my full confidence and support.”

  But she lied. She didn’t give a fig about Stephen’s principles. She would do anything to get him out of prison. But Stephen wouldn’t bend to pressure or threats if he thought he was doing right. Her persuasion would count for nothing.

  Lyle’s palm cupped her cheek, and a strange light entered his eyes. Not tenderness. Perhaps compassion?

  For the second time that evening, Kate felt as if something had sucked the air out of her lungs.

  He was going to kiss her again, and the worst part was she longed for that complete possession almost as much as she feared it. She could have screamed with frustration at her helplessness. Usually, she had not the slightest difficulty making men keep the line.

  Her gaze fixed on the trace of blood where she’d bitten him, a dash of crimson against the duller red of his lip. As he moved closer, the image blurred and swam. She closed her eyes until his breath brushed her mouth, willing herself not to lean in to him.

  At the last possible moment before they touched, he drew back.

  He laughed softly. “I can almost see the cogs whirring in that busy mind of yours. I’d like to know what you’re thinking, Lady Kate. But since I’m not certain whether you’re in earnest about publishing these memoirs, let me give you some advice. Destroy the diary and forget you ever knew those secrets. Knowledge can be a dangerous thing.”

  The next moment, he was gone, closing the door behind him with a decisive snap.

  The sound dislodged the thick haze of desire that clogged her brain. Her mind sprang into action, working furiously.

  With the duke’s disclosures in this room, all hope of persuading Sidmouth or anyone else in the government to help Stephen was gone.

  Stephen’s arrest hadn’t been based on a misunderstanding, as she’d wanted to believe. By his own admission, he knew the whereabouts of wanted criminals, arsonists who had staged a violent insurrection against the family of the Duke of Lyle.

  No one would sympathize with a man, even a vicar, who aided such felons. Perhaps Stephen believed in their innocence, or perhaps he did not want to send men to their deaths by informing on them. Either way, if he hadn’t been persuaded by imprisonment, there was no chance he’d listen to her.

  So, no help through official channels. Nor would Stephen help himself. It seemed now she had little choice but to use the only weapon she had left.

  The duke had turned wild in the ballroom when she’d mentioned writing her memoirs. The mere threat of publishing them had acted on him like a spur to a stallion’s flank.

  He was desperate to stop her seeing Sidmouth. Perhaps even as Lyle had kissed her so passionately, he’d been deliberately delaying her search until Sidmouth left. Confound the man! And confound her for letting him dupe her. She didn’t doubt she’d missed her chance.

  Anger at the way he’d used her ripped a strangled cry from her throat. She bit her lip hard, almost as hard as she’d bitten his, trying to bring her emotions under control.

  Calm. Calm. She’d save her fury at his tactics for later.

  Now, it was enough to judge that her instincts had been right. Knowledge might be dangerous to her, but she could also use it as a powerful weapon. If wielded judiciously, it might save her brother.

  Even if Lyle was right and she put herself at risk by threatening the government, the risk would be worthwhile if it meant Stephen might walk free.

  She narrowed her eyes and started to plan.

  Oh, yes. Knowledge could be a very dangerous thing.

  MAX spent the rest of the evening in the card room, but his mind couldn’t have been farther from the play.

  He brooded over that scene with Lady Kate. Why had he let her goad him like that? Why hadn’t he restrained himself? Instead of taking her in a slow, smooth seduction, he’d frightened her with force and hungry kisses.

  He had rather disconcerted himself, if it came to that. He’d almost made a scene, stealing that dance from Sidmouth, something he’d never felt remotely tempted to do in his entire life.

  Fortunately for him, his hostess was a consummate lady. She hadn’t betrayed her fear or her fury to anyone watching. Only he had felt her go rigid beneath his hands, seen the pulse that beat in her throat, heard the little gasp she gave when he took her in his arms to dance.

  He had to admit it. He’d been jealous. Jealous of Sidmouth!

  Not a rational reaction, but when Lady Kate had smiled at the Home Secretary like that, and almost commanded him to waltz, the need to keep her to himself had overtaken him. He’d almost punched Daniel in the face when he’d claimed his dance. The older man’s suggestion of pistols at dawn had struck him as far too civilized. What the hell was wrong with him?

  He was a professional. There was no excuse for rushing his fences like that. He couldn’t afford to let passion rule him. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake.

  But he’d already been soft with her, hadn’t he? The most efficient way to get the information he wanted was to abduct Lady Kate and hold her to ransom against the brother’s cooperation. Had he not found her so likeable and appealing, he wouldn’t have hesitated.

  And he couldn’t even plead the likely consequences that deterred him from carrying out the plan. He could abduct her without fear of reprisals. Lady Kate would be anxious to maintain her spotless reputation, so she’d hardly raise a hue and cry about her kidnapping once he set her free. In condemning him, she’d ruin herself, and Lady Kate was a woman who prized her honor highly.

  When the hand of cards came to a close, Max scanned the room, surprised to find it almost empty. The other gamesters must have departed for their clubs. He saw his cousin Romney lounging in the corner and made his way to him.

  He jerked his head. “Come on. We’re leaving.”

  With an acquiescent grunt, Romney followed. As they reached the landing, he cocked an eyebrow in Max’s direction. “Did you speak with her?”

  “Lady Kate? Yes, I did.” He paused. “She is far more trouble than I’d expected.”

  Romney’s mouth quirked up appreciatively. “Gave you curry, eh? Easy on the eye, though, ain’t she? Brains, too, if you like that sort of thing.”

  Max barely suppressed a growl. In spite of himself, it seemed he did like precisely that sort of thing. More than liked it, in fact.

  He shouldn’t have been so rough with her, but the way she’d babbled on, getting herself deeper and deeper into hot water, he had been fierce with fear on her behalf. Anyone could have overheard those thinly veiled threats.

  Suddenly, he wondered if Daniel h
ad heard them. Was that why he’d come to Lady Kate’s aid in the ballroom? It was a possibility he couldn’t ignore. He’d deal with Daniel later.

  Besides the danger she posed to his own cause, Lady Kate was a danger to herself. If she made good her promise of blackmail, one of two things would happen—either Sidmouth would cave in and free Stephen Holt, an outcome that would throw Max back to square one in his investigation, or Sidmouth would refer the matter to Faulkner, head of covert operations.

  Faulkner would have no compunction. If Lady Kate posed a threat to the security of the realm, he would order his men to silence her.

  Either way, it was imperative to stop her getting to Sidmouth. He’d been successful tonight. Tomorrow, Sidmouth left London to attend a house party, so that would give Max time.

  He needed to think of a more final solution. In the meantime, he must find that diary. Max was not so naive as to think Lady Kate would follow his advice and burn the damned thing. In any case, it might be best to find out what she knew. He’d read the diary and then decide how to dispose of it.

  Max glanced around. No time like the present.

  The crowd had thinned considerably and there was a steady stream of guests flowing downstairs. He and Romney joined them. When they reached the door, Max accepted his hat and coat from a footman and stepped into the cool air outside.

  When they stood in the lee of his barouche, Max stopped. “Romney,” he murmured, still holding his accoutrements.

  “Aye.”

  “Take the carriage. I have business here tonight.”

  Romney threw him a quizzical look, but he nodded. “Right.

  “Here.” Max handed Romney his hat and coat. “Send the carriage back to wait for me at the King’s Arms, will you? I’ve no idea when I’ll be finished here.”

  Romney tugged an imaginary forelock. “Whatever you say, Your Grace.”

  Max shot him an irritated glance and melted into the shadows. He had reconnoitered the house the previous evening, but he hadn’t guessed how soon he’d need to know the lie of the land.

  The house stood on its own grounds, reportedly a gift to Lady Kate on her marriage from her father, the Earl of Stratham. Max skirted around to the west wall and slipped through the shrubbery to the small, paved courtyard at its heart.

  Gravel paths radiated outwards from the courtyard like spokes of a wheel. Screened by this well-ordered wilderness, he’d hear anyone else’s approach long before they knew he was there. He’d sit on the ornately carved stone bench that graced the small space and wait until the household was abed before making his move. Max hoped the dawn wouldn’t catch him or he’d be obliged to return the following night.

  When he told Lady Kate to beware of eavesdroppers, he’d been sincere. He had assumed responsibility for inquiring into the fire at Lyle, but he wasn’t naive enough to believe he was the only one with an interest in the investigation’s outcome.

  In fact, he sensed someone had been shadowing him for days. Possibly one of Faulkner’s minions. Max didn’t trust anyone, not even his esteemed head of operations. Faulkner hadn’t fought his way to the top by taking chances or taking anything on faith.

  Remembering he’d brought a flask with him to the ball, Max pulled it from his pocket and unscrewed the cap. He took a sip of brandy, and the ferocious sting in his lower lip brought his mind back to the reason he was there.

  Lady Kate and her mouth.

  Heat flashed through his body. He hadn’t played that scene in the parlor very well, but he couldn’t regret kissing her. All he regretted was that circumstances prevented him taking their passion further.

  He wondered how soon he could persuade her to bed. Just thinking about it made him hard as the stone bench he sat on.

  Why must he want her so much? In all the years he’d worked for the Home Office, he’d never allowed his personal interest to hold sway. He’d been confident he could approach the Lyle Castle fire in the same detached way he approached all his cases.

  He’d read the reports from the coroner and the local magistrate, viewed the charred remains of the poor souls who had died so horribly, inspected the seat of the fire, interviewed tenants and staff at the big house.

  Sensing his presence was needed, he’d stayed at Lyle longer than he’d anticipated. But he’d been incapable of offering comfort to these strangers, the family and dependents of the old duke. He’d never excelled at that emotional palaver. If only his brother, the silver-tongued Alistair, had been there to help him, he would have soothed the natives in no time.

  But Alistair was in Paris, nursing a broken heart. All Max could do was assure the grieving he would find the perpetrators of this horror and make them pay. And then do his duty by the legacy that should never have been his.

  The noise of linkboys and carriages clattering over the street cobbles finally quieted. More time passed before the lights were doused, one by one, throwing the house into darkness.

  He was about to move when he heard gravel crunch, so softly, it could have been a small animal rustling in the bushes.

  But he didn’t think so. He tilted his head to pinpoint the sound. It had come from the path to his right.

  Silently, Max rose and moved to a place shielded from the path by a high hedge.

  He heard nothing more before a figure stepped cautiously into the clearing.

  Max couldn’t tell whether the man was armed, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. He launched forward, and as the figure heard him and turned, Max’s fist clipped his chin.

  The man crumpled where he stood.

  Three

  From nowhere, he appears. A dance? Deep as the darkest forest, his voice echoes through my soul.

  He clasps my hand. The startling touch rips through me like a gunshot. A flash of heat and light.

  MAX gripped the man’s shoulder and rolled him over. Perry. What was he doing here?

  Darting a quick look around, he dragged the young man’s unconscious body to the stone bench and hauled him onto it. He reached into his pocket for his flask.

  Damn the boy! Until now, he’d tolerated Perry’s slavish devotion, his awkwardness, his habit of getting in the way at critical moments. But it was one thing for Perry to accompany Max on jobs, observing and learning the ropes. Quite another to spy on him without his knowledge.

  Was he spying for Faulkner?

  Fear punched Max’s gut. If Faulkner found out about Lady Kate’s veiled threats, he’d stop at nothing to silence her. Max glanced down at the open, youthful features of the man who remained unconscious on the stone bench, laid out like an effigy.

  Perry was not the tool he’d have chosen to shadow a hardened operative, but then perhaps Faulkner thought Max less likely to suspect the inexperienced youth. If Perry were under orders to keep an eye on his mentor, it begged the question—why? What did Faulkner have riding on Max’s investigation?

  He shook Perry, who groaned and rolled his head from side to side. Max shook him again and the boy’s eyes opened to stare at him blankly.

  “Get up.” He yanked Perry upright and put the brandy flask to his lips.

  Perry choked and spluttered as if he’d never tasted the stuff before. Half the brandy dribbled down his chin. What an innocent! Not for the first time, Max wondered what had made Faulkner employ the lad in the first place.

  “Perry, what the hell did you think you were doing?” He kept his voice low, but Perry couldn’t have mistaken his irritation.

  The young man wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Looking for you. You said you’d let me help you with the investigation.”

  Relief swept through Max. Lady Kate might still be safe. Perry would report back to Whitehall, of course, but at least Faulkner hadn’t sent him.

  Still, the last thing he needed was this youngster nipping at his heels like a boisterous puppy. He’d already given him a job to do. “You were supposed to befriend the maid.”

  “I have.” Perry winced and rubbed his chin. “Thinks I�
�m sweet on her, stupid little bitch.”

  Max frowned. “Haven’t I taught you to be more respectful to women than that?”

  Perry shrugged. “She’s only a maid.”

  “Even so.” Max glanced up at the house, swearing under his breath. He didn’t have time for this.

  He gripped the young man’s elbow and helped him stand. “Go home. I’ll have work for you in the morning.”

  “Can’t I help now? I could keep watch. I could—”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Max sighed. If he didn’t throw him a bone, Perry would continue to pester him. “Go and wait for me at the King’s Arms. I’ll have something for you when I return.”

  “All right, I’m going.” The young man shrugged off his hold and turned to leave. No longer troubling to keep his voice down, he added, “Oh, and Mr. Faulkner wants to see you tomorrow, first thing. Cheerio, then.”

  Max swore viciously under his breath. He watched Perry until he was out of sight, then moved quickly. Perry could double back and follow him and ruin everything, but he’d have to take the chance.

  So, the head of operations wanted to see him. Summoned him as if he were still an underling and not a newly minted duke. Max grimaced. Faulkner couldn’t know about the diary, but he’d already expressed concern about locking up Lady Kate’s brother, since his family had such powerful connections in the government. If Faulkner found out about Lady Kate’s threats, she’d face a greater danger than the kidnapping Max planned.

  Max shut down these speculations and brought his mind back into focus. He’d think about how to deal with Faulkner once he had that diary in his hands.

  KATE couldn’t sleep. She lay among tangled covers and sheets, staring at the full moon that shafted milky light through her window. Listening to the sounds of the night, she breathed deeply, in and out, trying to calm her racing mind.

  But the clamor in her brain refused to quiet. She thought of Stephen, lying cold and alone in a dark cell, manacled to the wall like the most dangerous criminal. She thought of Sidmouth, her last hope in the bid to win Stephen’s freedom. Of Lyle, bent on stopping her.