The Duke's Dilemma

by Nadine Miller

  “It is surely something to consider,” Brummell agreed when he recovered from a sudden fit of coughing. Emily shuddered, remembering her horror when she ‘d read the terrible news in the Times, and once again a picture of Jared lying dead in a pool of his own blood flashed through her mind.

  “And,” Lady Sophia continued in the same grim tone of voice, “if Montford persists in his autocratic ways, I fear he may end up with something far more life threatening than a bump on the head.”

  Emily’s thoughts were as tangled as the embroidery skein she had tried to unravel for Lady Cloris before dinner. She suspected she was being led down another daisy path, this time by Lady Sophia. As Lady Cloris had reminded her, Montfords would do anything to get their own way. Still, as before, there was enough fact woven into the fiction to confuse even the most astute listener. How could she know what to do? And if she chose the wrong course, would she be able to live with herself if some day, safe in her little cottage in the Cotswolds, she picked up the Times and read the Duke of Montford had taken a Luddite bullet?

  She turned to Lady Cloris and saw the same look of indecision in her troubled eyes. “Very well, Lady Sophia, you win,” Emily said with a sigh of resignation. “We will proceed as planned.”

  A smoky yellow heat haze hung over the streets of London and the stench of sun-ripened horse droppings and human garbage was so overpowering, most pedestrians held cologne-scented handkerchiefs to their noses. It had been years since Jared had been in the city during the summer; he remembered now why he had made such a point of avoiding the dratted place during the dog days—which in some years extended from the first of June until October. This was evidently one of those years.

  The handsome grays he had purchased at Tattersall’s just the day before were prime goers and required only the softest of hands on the ribbons to control them. He wheeled his stylish new high perch phaeton along St. James Street, nodding pleasantly to acquaintances he passed. But a knot of anger tightened his stomach when he noted the snide grins with which they returned his greetings. Apparently the Brynhaven scandal was still the most juicy on-dit of the summer and would remain so until some other member of the ton provided a new bit of titillation.

  A fresh wave of guilt swept through him. If he received such a reception, he could well imagine what Emily had been encountering in Mayfair and Kensington while he languished in the country. He would make it up to her, he vowed, knowing full well he had purposely put off his return to London to give her time to calm down. A bad mistake. She was probably livid by now, and he dreaded their first meeting under this cloud of scandal almost as much as he looked forward to their first lovemaking as husband and wife.

  What could he buy the little firebrand that would pacify her sufficiently to smooth over the first awkward moments? Any other woman he knew would melt in his arms at the sight of an expensive bit of jewelry, but somehow Emily did not strike him as the sort to be swayed by diamonds and emeralds.

  Books. Emily was definitely a book person. He felt inordinately pleased with himself for remembering that helpful little tidbit and decided, if he had to, he would buy every first edition in London to bring a smile to her face.

  In fact, he would make a detour to Hatchard’s book shop right now and find some particularly fine volume on ancient myths and legends to take as a peace offering when he called on her later that afternoon.

  The afternoon sun was at his back when Jared finally turned the grays in the direction of the Earl or Hargrave ‘s townhouse. He was hot and tired and hungry, and his temper was as short as that of a hunt-bred hound on a short leash—not the best of moods in which to offer for a lady. But he had spent an extremely annoying day thus far. To begin with, his visit to Hatchard’s had been most disappointing. With a seemingly inexhaustible supply of books on every other subject imaginable, they had managed to produce nothing but useless pap on ancient myths and legends. He had read Farley Haliburton’s erudite pamphlets on the subject, which Emily had apparently edited. Presenting her with one of the volumes from Hatchard’s would be like offering an infant’s primer to an Oxford professor.

  Then he had stopped in at White’s for a cool drink and a bite of lunch, only to discover Emily and he had made the pages of the betting book. Men he had known for years were actually laying down wagers on the outcome of the “Brynhaven Scandal.” The very idea had so infuriated him he had stalked out, leaving a prime cut of beef untouched.

  So, here he was about to rap on the Hargraves’ door empty-handed and evil-tempered before he ever felt the sting of Emily’ s well-earned wrath. The Hargraves’ butler was a seedy - looking old badger who, when Jared offered his card, stared at him with such malevolence Jared felt his skin crawl. The fellow even had the gall to leave him standing, hat in hand, in the vestibule while he inquired if the lady was receiving.

  Furthermore, when he was finally ushered into a rather bare-looking salon, he found Lady Hargrave and Lady Lucinda, but no Emily. He gritted his teeth. How many such annoying developments could a man stand in one day?

  Lady Hargrave met him at the door, her eyes wide with something that looked suspiciously like hope. Jared groaned. Could the silly old fool actually believe that after all that had happened there was still a chance of an alliance between Lady Lucinda and him?

  “Your grace, how delightful to see you again, and looking so well,” she gushed. “I was just this very morning telling Lady Lucinda how much I hoped you had no lasting effects from your…your accident.”

  She flushed pink as a schoolgirl. “Just you wait, I told her. Montford will call on you. He is too great a man to hold the disgraceful actions of a shirttail relative against us. Didn’t I, my sweet?”

  She made a vague gesture toward Lady Lucinda, who sat white-faced and silent on a shabby-looking loveseat which, except for two Hepplewhite chairs, was the only piece of furniture in the room.

  “Your servant, Lady Lucinda,” Jared said, crossing to stand before her with the idea of doing the pretty and kissing her hand since she might one day be his cousin-in-law. She did not offer it, and the eyes she raised to him fairly blazed with hatred.

  Jared stepped back, shocked by the girl’s reaction, and nearly tripped over one of the chairs.

  “You must excuse our lack of furniture, your grace,” Lady Hargrave prattled on. “We’ve sent most of the really good pieces out to be recovered. Renovating the entire house, you see.”

  Jared nodded stiffly. He’d seen the Earl’s bay stallion on the auction block at Tattersall’s just yesterday, and he suspected the furniture had gone the same way, if the rumors he’d heard of Hargrave’s financial straits were true. Lady Lucinda was still glaring at him, and he found himself wondering if she somehow blamed him for her father ‘s troubles.

  “I would like to speak to Miss Haliburton if she is at home,” he said, cutting directly to the purpose of his visit.

  “Emily?” Lady Hargrave’ s face fell and all at once she appeared to be having difficulty swallowing. “I am sorry, your grace, but she is not here at present,” she said stiffly.

  Jared smiled to himself. The stubborn little minx was apparently still nursing her anger and had decided to punish him by refusing to see him. She was probably hiding out in her bedchamber while her aunt sent him on his way.

  “When do you expect her to return? he asked innocently. “Perhaps I should wait.”

  “Oh no! That would not be at all wise. For I have no idea when she will return. She didn’t really say, you see.” Beads of perspiration broke out on Lady Hargrave’s forehead and she cast a frantic glance at Lady Lucinda, as if begging for help. Two spots of color flamed in the girl’s pale cheeks, but her lips remained firmly closed.

  Jared felt the first twinge of alarm. Something was wrong here. “Miss Haliburton is well, I hope?” he ventured.

  “Emily? Oh yes, I am certain she is. Emily is always well.” Lady Hargrave’s heartiness sounded as empty as the denuded room in which they stood, and Lady Lucinda ro
se abruptly, tossed her embroidery onto the loveseat and marched out of the salon without so much as a by-your-leave or a simple curtsy.

  A sudden spate of shivers crawled Jared’s spine despite the sweltering heat. Something was decidedly smoky here, and he had had his fill of Lady Hargrave ‘s Banbury tales.

  “I want some answers,” he said. “And I want them now. Where is Miss Haliburton and when may I see her?”

  “As to when you may see her, I cannot say, your grace. Because she is…she is visiting relatives. Yes, that’s it. Emily is visiting relatives.”

  The woman was obviously lying, but he had to ask. “And the direction of these relatives?”

  “I haven’t a clue. Emily is annoyingly secretive, you see. Didn’t have the common courtesy to tell me how I could reach her.” Lady Hargrave was sweating profusely now and she had the look of a fox cornered by a pack of hounds.

  Jared could see he was getting nowhere. He was tempted to wring the truth out of the old harridan, but he could not bring himself to lay hands on a woman—not even this disgusting creature.

  “Hear this,” he said with quiet menace. “I will give you two days to locate Miss Haliburton and inform me of her whereabouts, after which time I will contact Bow Street.”

  So saying, he bowed slightly and turned to leave the room. He stopped at the door to offer one last admonition. “For your sake, madam, I sincerely hope Miss Haliburton has come to no harm at your hands. For if she has, I will make certain both you and the earl live to curse the day you were born.”

  He did not bother to pick her up when she collapsed to the floor, but merely informed the evil-eyed butler on his way out.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Jared paused for a moment outside the Hargraves’ townhouse to gather his troubled thoughts. Where in the name of God was Emily? And why did the very mention of her name make her aunt look as guilty as a murderer about to swing at the end of Tyburn’s rope? He would give anything he owned for a minute alone with Lady Lucinda; he knew he could pry the truth out of her.

  A tight smile crossed his lips as it occurred to him how such a meeting could be accomplished. Unless lovesick young pups had changed a great deal since the days when he was prone to such foolishness, Percival would be meeting the little pretty on the sly. He would coerce the earl into arranging things for him.

  He tossed a coin to the bundle of rags he ‘d hired to watch his cattle and reached for the ribbons.

  “Hold up, guv,” the boy cried, his thin young face alive with mischief. “There’s an old bird what wants to chirp at you a bit. Leastwise she give me a first-rate mutton pasty to twig you to where she be hidin,’ which be right round the corner of this very ‘ouse.” He grinned broadly. “But you been square wi’ me so I’ll give you fair warnin’. A nasty-lookin’ piece o’ goods she be. Never seen none nastier.”

  Jared glanced toward the spot to which the boy pointed and found himself staring into the sulfurous eyes of the old she-devil who had refused him entrance to Emily’s bedchamber at Brynhaven.

  “Pssst,” she hissed, crooking a bony finger at him. “If it’s news of Miss Emily you want, I can tell you as much as her nibs; maybe more.”

  Jared moved quickly to the old woman’s side. “Where is she, old mother? I’ll make it well worth your while if you can tell me.”

  She drew herself up to her full height, which brought the top of her head not quite to the middle of Jared’s chest. “I don’t want your blunt. Miss Emily’ s a friend of mine.” She studied him closely. “But before I tell you what I know—which ain’t all that much—I need to know why you’re lookin’ for her. Seems to me you done her enough harm to last her a lifetime already. “

  Jared swallowed hard. “That I have, old mother, but I swear I mean to make it up to her.”

  “Words is cheap, but then maybe you’ll do at that. Me and the old butler listened at the door whilst you brangled with her nibs. Done our hearts good, it did.” She brushed away a tear which rolled down her gaunt cheeks. “The Good Lord knows it’s time someone showed a bit of kindness to the poor scrap.”

  Jared caught her by her thin shoulders. “For God’s sake. woman, spit it out. Where is Miss Haliburton? “

  “How can I know, what with fourteen days gone by since she was turned out into the streets, a ruined woman.” She stared accusingly at him. “And we both knows the why of that, don’t we, your dukeship?”

  Jared felt a telltale flush heat his cheeks, but steeling himself, tightened his hold on the old woman, forcing her to look up into his face. “Hell and damnation, what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I heard, with me own ears, the earl tell the coach-for-hire lad to drop Miss Emily off at the Haymarket and no questions asked. ‘Let the little tart try selling her wares on the street, ‘stead of givin’ them away at my expense’ is what he said. Though you just have to look at Miss Emily to know she ain’t that kind. “

  She shook her grizzled head. “And the poor little thing without a shilling to her name.”

  It took Jared a moment to absorb the full impact of the old woman’ s words, but when he did, he felt as if he’ d just taken one of Gentleman Jackson’s famous punches to the solar plexus. He braced himself against the wall of the townhouse, his legs suddenly too shaky to hold his weight. “I’ll call him out,” he growled, sick with shock and rage. “So help me, I’ll put a bullet through the swine’s evil heart.”

  The old woman straightened her mobcap, which had fallen over one eye when Jared grasped her. “You do that, your dukeship, for I’m sure it will ease your own black conscience,” she said drily. “But it won’t help find Miss Emily, will it?”

  “Never fear. I’ll find her. To hell with waiting two days to contact Bow Street; I’ll have their best runner on her trail within the hour.” With a final comforting pat for the tearful old servant, Jared bounded back to his carriage, tossed another coin to the wide-eyed street urchin and headed for Bow Street.

  He knew the man he wanted. Sam Haggerty. He’d used him any number of times on sensitive Whitehall business. Sam was the human equivalent of a bloodhound and as much at home on the back streets of London as in his own front parlor. If anyone could find Emily, he could.

  But fourteen days! That was a lifetime on the streets.

  He tried not to let himself think what could have happened to her in that time, but his thoughts chased each other around his brain like rats in a cage, each one wilder and more frightening than the last. Like most other young blades of his day, he’d sowed his oats on those streets some ten years earlier. He knew all too well what evil waited to prey on an innocent young woman fresh from the country.

  It was the busiest time of day and the city was crowded with everything from elegant carriages to the meanest of produce carts. Jared paid them no heed. Cracking his whip over the heads of the grays, he sent them flying as if there were not another vehicle in sight, leaving a path of cursing coachmen and overturned carts behind him.

  He cared not a whit. For the first time in his life, Jared Neville Tremayne, Eighth Duke of Montford knew what it was to be gripped by a terrible, paralyzing fear and to face the agony of knowing that his careless arrogance had placed the only woman he had ever really cared about in terrible jeopardy.

  “La, miss, don’t you look grand. And ain’t that just the perfect color for you.” Martha’ s eyes glowed with approval as she surveyed Emily in the gown of moss green silk with matching lace overskirt which Madame Fanchon had designed for her “coming-out” at the opera.

  There were still three days until the great event, but the finished gown had been delivered just moments before and Emily couldn’t resist trying it on. “It is lovely,” she agreed, surveying herself in the mirror. “But isn’t the neckline a trifle low?”

  “Not for the gentry, miss. They’re ever so much more forward about such things than common folk. My dad says if ever he caught my mum sporting her ‘up-fronts’ the way the fine ladies do, he’d take a switch to h
er backside.”

  “But I’m common folk,” Emily wailed. “And I shall feel positively indecent going about in public with so much of my ‘up-fronts’ showing. “

  “Ask Lady Sophia or Lady Cloris,” Martha suggested. “They’ll know what’s proper and what isn’t.”

  Emily took the little maid’s advice and moments later pushed open the door of the salon where she knew the two ladies were taking tea. To her surprise and discomfiture, both George Brummell and the Earl of Chillingham had joined them.

  “I came to show you my gown,” she stammered, wishing desperately she had a handkerchief to stuff into the neck of her daring gown.

  Lady Sophia nodded her approval. “Madame Fanchon has come through as usual,” she said, which for her was high praise. “But straighten your shoulders, girl. Show off your assets. If I’d had such a bosom when I was your age, I could have toppled thrones.”

  Emily could feel a blush start at her toes and work its way up to her hairline.

  “You look beautiful, my dear,” Brummell declared. “The rest of the ladies might as well stay home, for you will be the cynosure of all eyes.”

  “Thank you,” Emily said automatically, but somehow his effusive compliment fell short of offering the assurance she was seeking.

  “You must change your gown and join us for a cup of tea.” Lady Cloris smiled her usual vague smile. “Percival has just brought us some interesting news—and there’s no use scowling at me, sister, for I feel Miss Haliburton should know.”

  “Know what?” Emily asked warily.

  “Lady Lucinda told me Montford came looking for you, Miss,” the earl told her. “Got his back up something fierce when Lady Hargrave tried to tell him the whisker that you were visiting some make-believe relatives. Gave her two days to come up with you or he’s calling in the runners. Near scared her to death. Last I heard, she’d locked herself in her bedchamber, but it won’t do her any good. Knowing Montford, he’ll just break the door down.”