The Most Dangerous Duke in London

by Madeline Hunter

  Adam was tempted to congratulate Brentworth. The man had always had a very sharp mind, one that was willing to consider alternatives from which others, like Langford, might shrink. Right now Langford appeared embarrassed that Brentworth had implied Adam’s interest in Lady Clara was at least two-thirds not romantic, nor even especially honorable.

  Langford kept glancing from Adam to Brentworth and back again, as if he expected a row, or worse. His whole body tensed, ready to stop fisticuffs should they erupt.

  “You have a very high opinion of me, I see,” Adam said.

  “Higher than I have of most men. However, in the end, you have a cause, and men with causes make choices for different reasons than do the rest of us.”

  “My cause does not require Lady Clara. I happen to find the lady intriguing and far from boring. She needs a bit of taming, true, but that is part of the fun. As for her eyes and mouth, Langford may find her lacking, but both features lure me into fantasies of untold pleasure. I daresay I would have plotted to have her no matter what her family.”

  “Ah, you are up to no good, it appears,” Langford said. “I am relieved to hear it. That talk of lady fair had me thinking you intended marriage. If it is a seduction you plot, there is nothing to worry about.”

  “I most definitely plot a seduction.” Which he did. She would never accept that proposal. He had known that while he made the offer. It allowed him to have an excuse to pursue her, however, and to have cause for further conversations and calls.

  Langford all but rubbed his hands together. They now broached one of his favorite topics. A master of the sport himself, he never failed to offer excellent advice. He awaited such a request now.

  Brentworth, always more skeptical and practical, peered critically again. “I hope you are not thinking to force her brother into a duel to protect her honor. It will not work. She is not a girl, and possibly not an innocent, and young Theo would never be so foolhardy.”

  “I have no interest in dueling with her brother, least of all over her honor. I am counting on him not much giving a damn about her.”

  “Good.”

  “Have you seen much progress?” Langford asked. “She is not known to suffer men’s flatteries easily, or treat admirers with kindness.”

  “Things progress apace.”

  “What the hell does that mean? Speak clearly, man. Have you even kissed her yet? If not, those jewels are too optimistic.”

  “He is not going to tell you,” Brentworth said impatiently. “He never has before with his conquests, and I doubt that has changed. Look at him, all amused and smug at our questions. Unless you get him foxed, little will be revealed.”

  Langford laughed. “Stratton, allow me to buy another round.”

  “Should I ever have something truly interesting to report, you will be the first to know. I would include Brentworth, but he is so above all of that now.”

  “I am not so much above it as glad for it. I feared you had serious intentions. After all, her own father did not think her suitable for a duke.” Brentworth spoke in an off-hand manner, as if he shared common knowledge.

  “What do you mean?” Adam asked.

  Brentworth shrugged. “The old man idly broached the notion with me about three years ago. I sensed that he felt a paternal obligation to try and match her up and saw me as a possibility, but nothing he said would encourage a man to form an attachment. It was a little like having someone try to sell you a horse but mention all the flaws in its form and temperament.”

  “Not that he needed to do that,” Langford said. “She was not a new horse in the paddock, after all.”

  “Nor did my lack of enthusiasm for the notion bother him in the least. He seemed to understand and even agree.”

  “Perhaps that mother of his put him up to it, and having done his duty he was glad of the outcome,” Adam said. “Lady Clara was his favorite, and they were very close.”

  “You would mention the dowager,” Langford said. “What a way to ruin a nice day. You had better watch yourself with that one, Stratton. If she gets wind of your intentions, she may turn you from a stallion into a gelding.”

  “I do not think Lady Clara confides in her grandmother. She is too jealous of her independence to invite advice or interference. However, your warning is well taken. As for my intentions, the arrival of her family in London is a complication. I can hardly make progress in their drawing room with the dowager watching.”

  “You need to find ways to get her alone, you mean.” Langford’s eyes brightened. “Allow me to share the five best ways to do that, as gleaned from my experience.”

  Langford proceeded to wax eloquent about strategies. Adam was not too proud to pay attention. Even Brentworth listened.

  Every man had a special talent, and only a fool would deny the one with which Langford had been gifted.

  Chapter Seven

  Clara methodically ate her meal and ignored the silence that had fallen in the dining room. She refused to acknowledge the center of that void of sound. Like the eye of a storm, her grandmother’s quiet heralded the chaos to come.

  “You will not.” The deep, sharp command sliced through the peace. “You will remain here, where you belong. Where any unmarried woman belongs. With your family.”

  Clara paused eating, out of respect.

  “Yes,” Theo said. “I forbid it. It will bring scandal on this family.”

  “I am not a girl, Theo. Not a child. There are women who live on their own. It is comical for a grown woman to remain in her family home if she has the means to establish her own household.” She spoke directly to her brother and aimed her gaze there too. “Nor can you forbid me. I am not dependent on you, nor am I your ward.”

  Thunder seemed to rumble across the table. Out of the corner of her eye Clara saw her grandmother straighten so severely she grew an inch.

  “Why would it bring scandal?” Emilia asked. “I do not understand.”

  “As well you shouldn’t,” Grandmamma said. “Please leave us now, Emilia. I have much to say to your sister that is not appropriate to your hearing.”

  Emilia looked forlornly at her half-finished dinner. With a pout, she slid off her chair and left the dining room.

  “You could have allowed her to eat first,” Clara said.

  “You could have announced your intentions elsewhere, but you did not. You did so here, now, and I will not permit your reckless notion to survive one more minute.”

  “I love you, Grandmamma, and respect you. However, I have made up my mind.”

  “Have you indeed! Am I and your brother and sister to be subjected to the whispers that will disparage our family because of such a move?”

  “Whispers,” Theo echoed, frowning. “We will be lucky if it is left at that.”

  “I cannot imagine why anyone would whisper.” Clara lied. She knew all too well that people always whispered if given the chance. “What is the worst they could say? That we are estranged? Our behavior will prove the lie of that. That I am unruly? I daresay that has been said so often as to be boring.”

  Her grandmother glared at her so indignantly that those pale blue eyes almost turned the color of steel. “They will say your father was a fool to leave you a fortune, for one thing.”

  “A fool,” Theo snapped, his deep frown revealing agreement on this point.

  “Be quiet, Theo,” Grandmamma ordered. “They will say that if you live thus, no man will ever marry you because living alone puts your virtue in question. Do not feign shock with me, young woman. You know as well as I that when an unmarried woman leaves her family home, the question always is why she would need to? What does she want to do in her own home that she cannot do in her family’s?”

  “Perhaps she merely wants to live her life as she chooses, and not according to someone else’s plans,” Clara said. “That is my only reason. I am sure you know that. What others may ask or say does not signify. Now, I will move in two days. You can try to browbeat me into changing my mind, but
I will not do so.”

  “I said I forbid it.” Theo slammed his hand on the table the way Papa used to.

  “Oh, Theo, please stop the histrionics,” Clara said. “You have enough to concern you with your new duties. You do not need to look for trouble with me.”

  Her grandmother looked ready to explode. Within her fury there shook a good deal of confusion and shock. “Willful, reckless girl. If you do this, no one will receive you. No one will invite you to balls and parties. You will be alone in this abode to which you claim to escape. You will be an outcast, an—”

  “Are you threatening me, Grandmamma? Listing the punishments you will yourself visit on me for disobeying your commands?” Clara barely kept her own temper in control. “This was why he left me that property, so I would not be under your thumb forever. Did you never realize that?” She stood. “As I explained, two days hence, I will leave. You are both invited to visit me if you so choose, or not, if you prefer to treat this as a hanging offense.”

  She maintained her composure until she was well out of the room. Her emotions swelled while she ran up the stairs, however. Finally in her apartment, she threw herself on her bed and gazed up at the blue draperies while doubts about her decision wracked her.

  Was she being too bold? Reckless? She had not really minded living with them before, but now every assumption regarding her expected behavior had become an irritation. While Papa was alive, he served as a shield. If Grandmamma started a campaign to find her a husband, and none of the men appealed to her, he would let his mother know that he did not care if she married, ever. That would end it, at least for a while.

  In so many ways he did battle for her, on matters big and small. How she missed him now. The grief was no longer new, but the ache still turned raw when she thought about him, especially when she felt alone like this. She wished she could go to him and have him soothe her unhappiness. He would probably suggest they ride out, to the park or beyond, and leave her grandmother’s overwhelming interference far behind.

  People would question why she wanted to leave? She found that hard to believe. Everyone knew her grandmother. Everyone had seen the force of her will and the ways society allowed her free rein rather than risk being the object of her social machinations. A bulwark, Stratton had called her. That word hardly sufficed. Few men could stand up to the dowager’s power. Almost no women dared try.

  Would she use that influence against her own granddaughter now? Clara worried she would.

  “Are you sleeping?” Emilia’s quiet voice came from the doorway.

  Clara sat up. “No. I am just contemplating my future.”

  Emilia came and sat on the bed. “I understand why you want to do this. I would go with you if I could. I do not hate Grandmamma, or even dislike her, but she can be like the most strict governess ever imagined, and one never outgrows her the way one does a real governess. Perhaps that is why girls marry. To get away from their mothers and grandmothers.”

  “Don’t you dare marry for that reason. Promise me. Take the time to choose carefully, even if it means suffering her meddling.”

  “She frightens me sometimes. I am not as strong as you are.”

  “She frightened me too, when I was your age. A lot. She still does sometimes. I am not as brave as I appear, Emilia. With time, however, I learned not to bow so quickly, that is all.”

  Emilia traced the pattern on the coverlet beneath them. “Two days, you said. I suppose you will not be coming with me to the dressmaker on Friday now.”

  Clara slid her arm around Emilia’s shoulders. “Of course I will be with you. We will have a grand time. And I reminded Grandmamma about your attending some small parties yesterday, and she was agreeable, so I think you will not miss out on everything.”

  Emilia’s expression lightened. “How good of you to do so before you made that announcement at dinner today.”

  “It is called strategy, Emilia. I like to think I have a knack for it.”

  “She may change her mind now, though.”

  “I do not think so. You see, if you attend those parties, she will have to as well. I believe she is itching to do so.”

  Emilia rested her head on Clara’s shoulder. “Thank you. I don’t need a grand ball every night, but a few small parties would be nice.”

  Clara was sure her grandmother would be glad to chaperone Emilia to a party or two. If she remained out of society for a whole year, society might forget her power, after all.

  * * *

  Adam handed his card to the servant at the house on Park Lane. Without a pause the man turned and led the way into the soaring expanses of the mansion built by the last Duke of Brentworth.

  The current one greeted him when he entered the library. As big as a ballroom, the chamber rose over thirty feet to accommodate a gallery level that wrapped around the sides. Fruitwood bookcases covered every wall, filled with volumes collected over the centuries.

  “You look quite small in here,” Adam said. “I suppose that means any man would.”

  Brentworth stretched out his legs, finding some comfort for his height in the upholstered chair where he lounged. “It begs for another twenty bodies, doesn’t it? Perhaps I will start a lending library so it fills up.”

  “It will be the best one in London, if you do. There is talk of starting a university here in town. You can offer free use to the students too.”

  “A splendid idea. I will consider it. Now perhaps you will tell me what brings you here. I am glad for the company, but I suspect there is a reason for it.”

  Adam had debated how to raise the reason. He had considered for days whether to even broach the subject with Brentworth. Their conversation in the tavern had decided the matter for him, but that did not make it any easier.

  “I am sorry I was not here when you inherited,” he said. Langford had received his inheritance first of the three of them. Then Adam. Brentworth was last, a mere two years ago. “Your father was ill for a long time, I know.”

  “You heard much while in France. Yes, it was a long time. A difficult time. He spent most of it here.” He waved his hand, gesturing to the magnificent library. “Reading. Receiving callers. He and I had many long talks, so some good memories came out of it. And he passed peacefully. Compared to you, I was blessed, I suppose.”

  Adam had no idea if that was true. He had witnessed no long decline. Nor had there been long talks. Had there been, he wondered what might have been said. Confessions? Regrets? Final lessons on responsibility? A good deal of his anger after his father’s death had been with his father himself. To end things abruptly before it was time had struck him as very selfish.

  “Did he say anything about my father?” There was no good way to ask, so he just set it out there.

  “I have been waiting for that question. I had begun to think you would never ask it.”

  “I did not think you had anything to say until recently.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “Our conversation at the tavern. Your surprise and interest in my pursuit of Lady Clara was different from Langford’s. More complicated.”

  “I wondered if I had prodded your attention without intending to. Well, damnation to being right about that.” Brentworth stood. He ran his fingers through his hair, then shook his head. “I would do you no favors in satisfying your curiosity. Nothing good will come of it.”

  “I still ask that you tell me what you know.”

  Not a happy man, Brentworth aimed for the door. “I need fresh air. I am going to the garden. Follow if you insist on interrogating me.”

  It was not an invitation, but Adam followed.

  Out on the garden terrace, Brentworth finally halted his determined stride. He assumed the stern, uncompromising expression that made ingénues fear him.

  “He was ill. Very ill. I must emphasize that. At such a time, things are said that are old memories, and perhaps not accurate to the facts.”

  “I understand that. What did he say?”


  Brentworth speared him with a glare. “You have no idea? I find that unlikely.”

  “I know what I know. I need to find out what others knew and said, and why. Put yourself in my place, and you will understand why.”

  Brentworth’s expression softened. He looked away. His gaze drifted over the perfectly tended garden that covered over two acres. It was a rare indulgence in London, spread on property that if developed into another house would bring in thousands. The last duke had been a man of educated, refined taste, as evidenced in that library and this garden, and an art collection among the finest in England.

  “He felt some guilt over your father’s death. Shadows of cowardice haunted him, that he had not objected to the rumors or at least demanded a fair investigation. He was already sick then, of course, but—”

  “He of all of them could not be blamed.”

  “Yes. Well, he told me that he believed if there had been a real and fair investigation, it would be learned that your father never provided support to Napoleon when he left Elba. Had never helped his new army. Those were his words, Stratton. I was astonished. Those of our generation had heard rumblings about disloyalty, but this was specific, and I gather known only among some of the older peers.”

  The older ones, which meant the most powerful ones. The ones in government. The ones who could ruin a man with a raised eyebrow. Adam was astonished too. He had speculated on what the accusations of disloyalty meant, but he had never expected them to be so damning.

  “Who accused him of doing this? What proof did they offer?”

  “He did not say, and I did not press him. At least as to who made the accusations. He did say that the Earl of Marwood kept stoking the fire, however. He assumed it was because of that old animosity between your families. So you can see why I found your interest in Lady Clara either peculiar, or . . .” His speech drifted off.

  He did not need to complete the sentence. Adam knew the rest. Either peculiar or an act of revenge. A small way to even a big score.