A Devil of a Duke

by Madeline Hunter

  Stillwell left then. Harry bounded to the library door. “Come with me. I will show you the window.”

  Gabriel followed him. At least something had finally distracted Harry from his misery over Emilia.

  They went up to Harry’s bedchamber. Harry strode to one of the windows and pointed. “Up there. That one. His ceilings are much higher than mine, so his first story is above this one. I expect the moldings and such allowed the thief to climb up.”

  Gabriel looked out the window. He opened it and stuck his head out. Just as he had after that first night with Amanda. He gazed at the window across the narrow separation of the buildings. Then he looked down at the hedge where a dark shawl had lain that morning.

  The sensation in his gut churned.

  He examined Sir Malcolm’s house. Could a man climb all that way with nothing more than moldings and mortar depressions as holds? Down, perhaps one could lower from sill to sill. But up?

  Again he looked down at the hedge. He brought his head in and looked at his brother and saw a shepherdess pursuing him. He heard a woman in his own arms suggest an assignation on the other side of town after learning that Harry would be gone.

  “Excuse me, Harry. I want to see something. Wait for me in the library, will you?”

  Perplexed, Harry left. Gabriel waited a few minutes, then followed, only he went up the stairs to the third level.

  A row of chambers lined the side of the house up here. Servants’ chambers, he expected, most of them unused by his Spartan brother.

  He entered the last one at the back. He moved a table from in front of the window and looked out. The window to Sir Malcolm’s dressing room could be seen just below across the wall and hedge. He looked down on the hedge not far from where the shawl had lain. He opened the window to see how high the sash rose.

  He saw Amanda at their first meeting in this house, in pantaloons. Her insistence that her face not be seen suddenly made much more sense.

  An odd emotion broke through him, one that combined raging anger and profound sorrow.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Amanda sat in her single chamber, waiting for the night to pass. The buckle, swaddled in muslin and set in a pasteboard box, faced her on the small table. Silence pressed on her.

  She went to the fireplace and threw a bit of fuel in. The embers flared, then subsided. Warmth leaked toward her. She moved her chair closer.

  The chills plaguing her did not come from the damp, although this cellar had proven far inferior to the last. The owner had agreed to let it for only two weeks, however. He probably thought her a whore. Certainly enough of those women lounged about the neighborhood. Two plied their trade in some of the rooms above.

  If she were not a criminal, she could have gone to Bedford Square and slept in that fine chamber Mrs. Galbreath offered her. That would mean more lies, however, and she had tired of speaking them. Nor could she risk bringing scandal down on those women, and if she were caught, that would definitely happen.

  She did not mind this cellar. After tomorrow, she hopefully would no longer live here. If her plan worked, she would probably not even remain in London another night.

  She dozed off on her chair. A loud shout woke her. Outside, on the street, two men argued about a mule.

  She went to the one high window and gazed out. Day had broken. She removed her dress and washed with water she’d carried in last night. She donned the ugly green garment that marked her as a servant, bound her hair into a knot, and tied on her simple straw bonnet. She had never unpacked her small trunk and valise, and she now returned to them those few items she had removed.

  She again sat in her chair and waited for the sounds outside to indicate the city had fully woken. Then she picked up the box and left.

  Morris’s Grocery did not lie far away. She had chosen her cellar due to its being in the same neighborhood. She reasoned that whoever would claim the box probably lived nearby too.

  She placed the box on the shop’s counter. The white-haired, flush-faced man behind it finished serving another woman, then approached. He took her in with one quick glance, then set his attention on the box.

  “Are you Mr. Morris?” she asked.

  “I am.”

  “I was told I could leave this with you so it could be delivered to its owner, Mr. Trenholm.”

  “With what was offered in payment, I expected a box made out of gold.”

  It relieved her that he had already been offered coin to do this service. She had feared she would have to pay herself. “The box may not be impressive, but its contents are important to Mr. Trenholm. I trust you will take good care of it.”

  “I will, although it’s not likely anyone would steal it. See, I’ll put it down here out of sight. I can’t do better than that.”

  “I suppose that will do. Mr. Trenholm should call for it today.”

  “That is how I was told it would go.”

  “Did he make the arrangements himself?”

  “A gentleman came and did it. Voice thick with the country. I don’t know if it will turn out he is the same who comes for it.”

  His reference to a gentleman gave her heart. With any luck, it was the same man who had her mother. She might even learn where her mother was held today and that she was right here in London.

  Spirits high, she left the shop. She gazed the length of the street, deciding how to loiter without raising suspicions. Best to keep moving if you are watching a house, Mandy girl. If you just stand and stare, someone will notice.

  She kept moving, slowly. She idled near shop windows and pretended to lust over the goods displayed. She strolled to the end of the lane like a woman with a destination. She peered in windows again. She trusted that, like Mr. Morris at the grocers, no one ever gave her more than a cursory glance. Dress down when choosing a house. Wear dull garments and nothing of note like a bright ribbon on your hat. No one sees the poor. No one remembers the face of a servant.

  One person did notice. While she gazed for the third time at the sweets in a confectionary shop, the proprietor came outside and gave her a bonbon.

  All the while, she kept one eye on Mr. Morris’s shop. Patrons entered and left, but no one carried out her box. She had deliberately made it too big to fit in a pocket.

  Soon, after noon, a new patron caught her eye. He did not look like a gentleman, but his clothes showed better cut than those worn by most on these streets. His flat-crowned hat made him appear to be a middling country squire. Thick in build, he came on foot and walked down the street craning his neck to read the shop names. He entered the grocer’s.

  She strode closer and waited. The man emerged quickly. He carried her pasteboard box.

  Her parents had never taught her how to follow a man for today’s purpose. They had shown her how to follow a man to pick his pocket, should she ever be reduced by necessity to relying on such a low crime.

  He never noticed her as she walked behind him. His flat hat bobbed above the crowd while he took his time and turned this way and that. She memorized the path while she walked it. Finally, he entered a building on Drover Street.

  It looked to be a house much like she and Katherine had lived in. Not a gentleman’s house, although it may have been one fifty years ago. Sounds of people talking and mothers scolding children emerged from it. Two little girls played with cloth dolls on the front steps.

  She stopped to admire the dolls. “I had one like that when I was little.”

  One girl eyed her warily, but the other beamed and held up her doll. “Her name is Sophia. She is a princess.”

  “And a fine princess she is.”

  “Mine is a duchess,” the other girl said. “Her name is Felicity.”

  “I am honored to be introduced to you, Your Royal Highness. Your Grace.” She made a little curtsy and the girls giggled.

  She fussed over the dolls a while longer. “A man just entered here a few minutes ago. I think I recognized him as a friend of my father’s.”

  “You m
ean Mr. Pritchard? He doesn’t have friends. He is always alone up there.”

  “Mama wonders what he does all day in that attic chamber.”

  “He doesn’t seem to go to business,” the first one whispered.

  “Is Mr. Pritchard’s wife with him? I met her once. She was about my height with black hair and dressed fashionably.”

  The girls both shook their heads. “We have never seen her here. He is always alone when he leaves or comes back.”

  Amanda curtsied again to the dolls and strolled away while the girls returned to their play.

  What bad luck. She had so hoped the man she sought would show himself. He still might, she supposed, unless this go-between intended to deliver that box. She began her stroll again, however, and hoped there would be a fast conclusion to this delivery.

  While she tried to appear that she belonged on that street, she calculated whether she had the money to pay someone to share the watch with her if it dragged on for days.

  * * *

  Amanda entered the building where she now lived. She removed her bonnet and shook off the water. As if standing for an entire day had not been bad enough, rain began at nightfall. She’d found some shelter under eaves while she’d watched Mr. Pritchard’s building, but the walk home had drenched her.

  He had not left his home again. No one had entered the building that did not appear to live there, except a young man delivering a big basket of food. She would have to rise before dawn and resume her observation of the building.

  She went down the stairs and let herself into her chamber. She hung her bonnet on a peg to dry, then began peeling off her soaked dress.

  She froze with the sleeves halfway down her arms when a sense of danger burst in her. Panic rose in her blood. Another presence announced itself to her instincts.

  “Do not let me cause you to stop, Amanda. Whatever you show of your body will hardly be a new revelation.”

  She pivoted, grasping the dress to her. She peered through the dark and saw the duke sitting near the far wall.

  He stood and went to the fireplace. He bent and lit some fuel. “Get out of the wet clothes and warm yourself. There is a basket of food here. Eat something.” He stood. The fire’s yellow light illuminated his expression. Her breath caught on seeing the hard edges hewn by anger.

  She made quick work of the dress and pulled on a dry one. She went over and poked through the basket. Bread, cheese, and ham. No champagne. Of course not. Its presence might have indicated he had found her for good reasons, not the one she feared.

  He retook his chair. “There was no food here so I sent to a tavern for that. Since you have been gone most of the day, I doubted you had eaten much.”

  “You have been here a long while, then.”

  “Since morning.”

  She broke off a piece of cheese and munched. “How did you find me?”

  “I had men watching you for your safety. When last Friday morning you left with a trunk, one of them followed you here. There was much discussion among them whether to tell me that. They assumed you had left for a few days to meet another man. It was not information they expected me to welcome. However, when I asked, the truth came forth.”

  “You had no right to have me followed.”

  “I did it so you did not walk to Lady Farnsworth’s unprotected. Little did I know, that was the least of the dangers you courted. At least you did not lie about that.”

  She ate while she weighed what he might know and not know. “I lied very little to you.”

  “To me, perhaps. I suppose that omitting information is not lying. Lady Farnsworth, however, believes you left due to your mother. That red-haired girl thinks you found another situation.”

  Those were not lies either, strictly speaking. Pointing that out would hardly help her. “I am sorry about that. There was no choice.”

  He looked around her chamber. “No choice but this? Well, you have not unpacked so you did not expect to stay long. I suppose it would do for a day or so.”

  “You have found me and you know me for a liar. I would think a duke had more important things to do than wait all day to confirm that a woman had not been worthy of his attention.”

  He stood abruptly and strode over. “I wish there had been a man here when I arrived, as Vincent and the other footmen assumed. Just as I wish you hid your identity from me because you feared losing your situation with Lady Farnsworth. But I think there is more to it. All of it. Much more.” He speared her with a dark gaze. “What are you entangled in? Something important. Dangerous. Illegal too?”

  She could not bear standing this close to him. Even her indignation at his interference could not defeat the anguish and joy incited by seeing him again. His icy anger pained her, but that would only get worse if she told him what he demanded to know.

  She moved away. “Perhaps I only left because it was a way to get away from you. I said when we first met that I feared you wanted too much, and you did.”

  He looked at her hard and long, his expression inscrutable. “You are lying again.” He reached for her. She tried to duck away too late. He pulled her into a binding embrace. “Was wanting this wanting too much, Amanda?” He kissed her. She tried to resist, but her heart betrayed her. She allowed it and enjoyed his encompassing hold on her too much.

  He released her. He walked away and out the door. She almost called after him. Misery filled her as he disappeared. Damn his pride. Damn him. He should have stayed away even if he’d learned where to find her. He should have forgotten her at once and pursued a more appropriate woman. Why hadn’t he?

  She poked into the basket, hoping it included some ale or wine. Perhaps she would follow Lady Farnsworth’s example and start imbibing in strong spirits. She certainly could use some now.

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Heavy ones. Her first thought was that a constable had come for her. Dukes could probably get anyone dragged to gaol if they suspected them of doing illegal things.

  Not constables. Instead Langford entered again with two other men.

  “This is Vincent,” he said, pointing to a young blond man. “And this fellow here is Michael.” Michael was darker, older, and bigger. Much bigger.

  “Would either of you care for some food? I seem to have extra ham.”

  “They have dined already. They are here to help me remove you from this place.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but I must decline.”

  “It was not an offer. Until I learn what you have been doing, I am not allowing you out of my sight.”

  Indignation finally achieved victory over womanish sentiment. “The hell you say.” She turned her back on all of them. “Go away. Especially you, Langford.”

  “I am serious, Amanda.”

  Her head almost split from holding in her fury. “Vincent and Michael, please go outside. I need to speak to the duke alone.”

  They glanced to Langford. He nodded. The two footmen left.

  “How. Dare. You?” She all but spit the words. “Is your pride wounded because the little servant would not be your mistress? Did you assume that if you chose her she should be grateful? Are you so conceited that you cannot accept that a bit of skirt would not do what you wanted?”

  “If you had been no more than a bit of skirt, I would not care who you are or what you have done. I would already have forgotten your name. Hell, yes, my pride is wounded, but more is at risk than that.” He strode to her. “I need to know what you have done, because I think you entangled me in it, and while I can swallow pride, I will not have my name and honor stained when the only sin I committed was wanting the wrong woman. Now tell me, or I swear you will tell me later.”

  She refused to flinch. “I am not going anywhere.”

  “There is a carriage a street over. You will walk there with me willingly or I will send it here and Michael will carry you out. No one will care if you cry out. You are unknown here and no one will stop us. If some fool tries, Vincent will hand him a few pounds and he will
forget everything.”

  Damn him. Damn him. “I have a better plan. Walk away and forget you ever met me. Give these two footmen a few pounds and they will forget everything too. We were so discreet that no one else knows you met me.”

  “I know.”

  “I am not going.”

  “The hell you aren’t.” He called Vincent’s name. “Choose how it will be, Amanda. I tire of arguing with you and the night grows old.”

  Michael loomed near the door. Vincent appeared excited, as if he hoped they would get to abduct her physically in the duke’s name.

  She looked at Langford and pleaded with her eyes. Go away and let me finish this. I promise your name will never be tied to me and what I do.

  He did not soften. He just waited, severe and uncompromising .

  Seething with frustration, she lifted her valise. “I will never forgive you for this.”

  Vincent took the valise from her. Michael lifted her trunk. She grabbed the basket of food.

  “You do not need that. You will not be on bread and water,” Langford said.

  “I should hope not.” She carried the basket up the stairs, then thrust it into Langford’s arms. “Up two more flights, the door on the left. Leave it there. The woman gave birth two days ago and will be glad to have it.”

  He disappeared up the stairs. She took the opportunity to exit the building. The rain had stopped, but its moisture still hung heavily in the air. Vincent and Michael trailed her out.

  “Where is this carriage?”

  “This way,” Vincent said, pointing left. “We should wait for His Grace.”

  “His Grace will catch us. If he doesn’t, we will let him walk back.”

  Michael looked shocked. Vincent enjoyed the notion too much. He led the way and Michael followed behind. They escorted her to the carriage like the prisoner she was.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Amanda discovered that Langford’s London home made the most luxurious gaol imaginable. She wondered what Katherine would say if she saw it.

  The housekeeper gave her a large chamber with green silk drapes. Another woman unpacked her trunk and valise, putting the garments in an attached dressing room. A man brought her a late supper of freshly cooked fowl in a delicate sauce. She almost groaned with pleasure when she first tasted the wine he poured. She sat to that meal while yet more servants prepared a bath in the dressing room.