A Devil of a Duke

by Madeline Hunter

  He had known it would be the last night. Not together, but in this chamber. The last before they turned a page and began the last chapter of this story they were writing together.

  She was glad he had not told her and that this last night had not been shadowed for her by what was coming.

  * * *

  Brentworth read the letter, then handed it to Stratton. “You are not making this easy, Langford.”

  They all sat in Stratton’s library, sprawled comfortably on chairs and divans.

  “I am not making it anything. I did not write that letter.”

  “The difficult part will be delivering the dagger, not following it. We will be conspicuous in that area of town. There will be no good reason for our entering that establishment. Men rarely purchase at bakeries.”

  “We will have my footman, Vincent, deliver it. You will only have to watch to see who picks it up.”

  “We will be even more conspicuous loitering on that street.”

  “Wear an old, unpressed coat and no cravat. Borrow clothes from a servant if you have to. Smear soot on your face. Hell, have some imagination.”

  “He said it would not be easy. He did not say it would be impossible,” Stratton said. He tapped the letter against his head while he thought. “Ah, it has come to me. We all know this Culper Street, gentlemen. From our university days. Surely you remember.”

  “Damned if I do,” Brentworth said. “Langford?”

  Gabriel mentally paged through an autobiography full of disreputable behavior, searching for mention of Culper Street.

  “Mrs. O’Brian,” Stratton prompted.

  His mind skipped back several more chapters to a page with a lifelike illustration of Mrs. O’Brian. “I’ll be damned. You are right. That house was on this street.” Mrs. O’Brian had been celebrated among the students of Oxford and Cambridge. Scandalous poems were written about her. “You remember her, Brentworth. Black hair. Plump. Voracious.”

  Brentworth frowned. Then his brow cleared. “Now I remember. She damn near killed me.”

  “That brothel is probably still there,” Stratton said. “It should not be hard to find out. There was a tavern beside it. We could sit there and watch through the window. Anyone who saw us would assume we awaited the opening of that house.”

  “I think I would rather wear rags and soot,” Brentworth said. “I do not frequent brothels these days, let alone so eagerly that I wait for one to open.”

  “This is not a time for delicacy or pride,” Gabriel said. “No one is going to recognize you. If you worry for your reputation—and in my view a little scandalous gossip would enhance it—here is another way. For a few shillings, Mrs. O’Brian would probably let you watch from her window. You could take turns at the panes and she could take turns too. She is not so young now, but then neither are you.”

  Stratton bit back a smile. “He actually presents a very good idea. That window will be high enough so seeing who enters or leaves this bakery will be easier. As would seeing what is carried in and out. If we spy our man, we could be down on the street before he reaches the crossroad.”

  “It is not a bad idea,” Brentworth admitted. “We will have to go today and see if Mrs. O’Brian is even there now. For all we know, she is back in Ireland.”

  “If she is not there, some other woman is,” Stratton said. “Unless the house is closed completely.”

  “It is not closed,” Gabriel said.

  Two pairs of eyes turned on him.

  “I have not been there in years, but I have heard talk of it,” he clarified. “They still have that chamber with the whips and such, and references are still made to it in some circles.”

  “I find myself warming to the rags and soot all the more,” Brentworth said. “If I am going to do this, you will come with me, Stratton.”

  “Are you afraid if you go alone Mrs. O’Brian will tie you down again and have her way with you?” Gabriel asked.

  Brentworth turned red, which for him was so unusual that Stratton howled with laughter.

  “She swore the bonds would not be secure,” Brentworth muttered. “Stratton, devise some deception so we can ride over this afternoon. Tell your duchess that you are needed for some secret meeting in Westminster. She is sure to question why suddenly you do not spend hours in the nursery.”

  “I do not lie to Clara.”

  “Perhaps you should, just this once,” Gabriel said.

  “No, no, do not lead him astray, Langford. Forgive me for suggesting that you introduce deception into your marriage, Stratton. I will correct myself. Tell your duchess that you must go with me to an infamous brothel populated by women who do things with men that decent women have never even heard about. I am sure she will understand.” He stood. “In fact, Langford and I could use a lesson in such honesty with women. I am sure you won’t mind if we watch this.” He strode to the door and asked a footman to request the duchess’s attendance.

  Gabriel sat up and made himself comfortable. Even at her most pliant, the duchess was formidable. This promised to be some excellent theater.

  She entered, curious and a little annoyed at being summoned. She greeted them, then gave Stratton a look that said I hope this is very, very important.

  “Darling, Langford requests my help in a matter most urgent,” Stratton said. “It requires that I go out this afternoon, and be absent from the house indefinitely, beginning tomorrow.”

  “Does it indeed?”

  “It does.”

  She looked at Gabriel, who tried to appear worried and grateful. She looked at Brentworth. “You are involved too, I assume.”

  “I would prefer not, but the obligation of friendship demands it.”

  “May I ask what this is about?”

  “Discretion forbids me to tell you,” Stratton said. “It will require I spend some time in unsavory parts of town, but it is not dangerous. I only tell you so, if you should hear reports of my presence in unexpected places, you will know it is part of the mission. I will leave a sealed letter in my dressing table with my expected locations, to be opened if you need to find me.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Mission, no less. A sealed letter. My, that all sounds important. Almost official. Except the friend in need is Langford, so I suspect this is unofficial in the extreme.”

  “I will ensure that Adam remains safe,” Brentworth said.

  “How good of you. Well, my dear, do what you must. Try not to let Langford bring scandal down on your name and title if it can be avoided.”

  She excused herself and started to leave. She paused beside Brentworth. “Do not act as if you are above it all. You cannot wait for the Decadent Dukes to ride into trouble again.”

  Stratton waited for the door to close behind her. He sat back in his chair, stretched out his legs, and smiled. “And that, gentlemen, is how it is done.”

  “Impressive,” Gabriel said. “I see only one small problem. If she accepts such ambiguity from you, she will expect a similar trust if her own plans can’t be explained fully.”

  “True, but it has never happened since we married. Clara is very forthright. She does not keep secrets from me.”

  “Of course she doesn’t,” Brentworth said, dryly. “So, the first step is plotted. Let us complete the plans for the rest of the scheme.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  They made it through Middlesex and most of Berkshire before they stopped at a coaching inn at nightfall. After a meal in a private room, they retired to the chambers Langford had taken.

  Amanda had changed into her nightdress and already lay on her bed when Langford arrived and stretched out beside her.

  “You appeared deep in thought since we left,” he said. “I hope you were not contemplating my sin in not telling you about the letter.”

  “It was a small sin, one committed with the kindest of reasons. I would have only started worrying earlier, to little purpose.”

  “As you are worrying now?”

  She sat and hugge
d her knees. “Wondering is a better word. I only knew my mother the way a girl knows a parent. She only knew me the way a mother knows a child. I am no longer that girl or that child. What will we think of each other when we meet again? Will we be strangers to each other?”

  “I don’t think that is possible.”

  “I fear it might be. I am so different now. She may be too.”

  “The only experience I had that was similar had to do with Stratton. He was gone five years, then returned. There was a small awkwardness at first, but very soon it was gone. The memories came back quickly. The bonds did too. Even if she is much changed, it will not matter.”

  She rested her chin on her knees. “She will not be too much changed. Oh, her hair may have grayed and her form thickened, but . . .”

  He waited for her to finish.

  “She will still be a thief,” she said.

  “You do not know that for certain. This may have all begun with a very old crime.” He could not believe he defended this unknown woman, but he did not like Amanda looking so pensive.

  “You do not really believe that,” she accused. “You said she had to leave England too. You think she may even be in league with this man.”

  “I only asked if that were possible.”

  “And I said it was not. Only now I must admit that it was very possible. I had wondered in my heart if she was not his captive, but his partner. Only her attempt to reveal her location convinced me otherwise. After all, she told him about me. None of this would have happened if she had not.”

  “Then I need to thank her, however it came about. I might have never met you otherwise.”

  The distance vanished from her eyes. Her mood lightened. “Nor I you. It is said that some good comes out of even the worst evil.”

  He reached out and encouraged her to lie down beside him. He embraced her with one arm so she nestled his side. “You are tired from the journey and it is making heavy thoughts weigh on your spirit, Amanda. Sleep now. Tomorrow we will find better lodgings than this, and I will find ways to keep the wondering at bay.”

  She closed her eyes. “Thank you for saying you are thankful that this scheme meant you met me. I am grateful too.”

  It did not take long for her to doze. He waited until she did before leaving her side. He returned to his own chamber, sat at the table, and opened his portable desk. After setting out the ink and paper, he penned a short letter to Sir James Mackintosh, the MP sponsoring the penal reform bill in the House of Commons, explaining that for reasons he could not disclose it would be better if he removed himself from efforts to change the criminal laws and penal code. He listed the peers who had shown positive interest in the bills, then signed and sealed the letter.

  * * *

  Amanda strode alongside the carriage. At her request, they had stopped so she could climb out and stretch her cramped limbs. Long summer days meant long hours jostling around inside the cabin, and she’d finally had enough.

  The carriage rolled slowly beside her. Langford rode his horse a few steps behind her. “I should have considered that you would want some relief,” he said. “I should have brought a sidesaddle and a horse for you.”

  “It would have been inconvenient. Also unnecessary. I do not ride, having never had the opportunity to learn.”

  “That was careless of your parents. There are times when only a horse will do.”

  It probably had been careless. She could imagine situations when a thief had to move quickly, and a horse would be the best transportation.

  “We will rectify that,” he said. “In the least, I will make sure you become comfortable in a saddle, even if you will not become expert.”

  It was not the first such pronouncement during the last few days. Yesterday their conversation had sometimes veered towards such practicalities.

  Did she know how to cook? Barely, but well enough to feed myself.

  Had she ever disguised herself as more than a shepherdess? There had been no need before.

  Had she been taught how to defend herself?

  That question made her pause and consider all of them. She realized that Langford tried to reassure himself that she would not be vulnerable as well as alone, that she would have the skills to survive whatever life she chose after she left England’s shores.

  “You will be relieved that we will not stop at an inn tonight,” he said in late afternoon. They were both back inside the carriage. “I have a property here in Somerset. It is called Liningston Abbey. We will stay there, then continue into Devon when we know where we are going.”

  “We already know where we are going. I think we should move with all speed.”

  “We possess the name of a man. That is all. Tomorrow I will send Vincent across the border to purchase a county directory. In it, we will find exactly what we need.”

  Vincent had joined them in early morning, riding after them to report that the dagger had been picked up from the bakery on Culper Street, and was on its way with Langford’s friends following. He rode beside the carriage like a sentry most of the time, but a short while ago, had galloped ahead of them.

  A half hour later, they turned off the road and rolled up a lane.

  He pointed out the window. “We are almost there.”

  She looked out to see the house. “Oh, I don’t know if this will do at all.”

  “Don’t you think so? It is not grand, but—”

  “It can’t have more than a dozen bedchambers. Why, it is little more than a cottage.”

  He realized she teased him and laughed.

  The closer they got, the more she sensed the sea. “Are we on the coast?”

  “Near it. There is a spot where you can swim if you want. You do know how to swim, don’t you?”

  She shook her head.

  He frowned. “That will never do.”

  The house grew larger with each minute. Not modest at all to her eyes. It appeared to have grown large over the years as chambers were added and the rooflines merged. The central block had visible timbers crossing its façade, indicating its ancient origins.

  “There will not be many servants. It is not used much.”

  “How many such houses do you own, that are not used much?”

  “Twenty.” He shrugged. “Maybe twenty-five.”

  She kept her gaze on the house. She rarely thought about their differences in stations anymore. Oh, she would see him at times and notice how he stood and how he knew well his place in the world. One could never forget completely. But it did not imbue every minute they spent together.

  Now she accepted that in her ignorance she had not realized just how big that difference was. Here was a man who owned twenty houses. Or maybe as many as twenty-five. He did not even know exactly. He held one of the highest titles in the land, so of course he also held wealth. But in her ignorance, she had not understood just how much. A feeling of despair seeped into her heart.

  * * *

  Vincent waited for them along with the housekeeper and caretaker when they stepped out of the carriage. He had ridden ahead to alert them of the pending arrival.

  Gabriel accepted the servants’ greetings. “Mrs. Braddock,” he said while an elderly lady curtsied. He had scoured his memory all day before plucking that name out. “Our arrival was precipitous. It must have caused you undue concern.”

  “Not at all, Your Grace. I hope you will find that all is in order. I have sent for a girl from a neighboring house to serve your guest. Your man here said he would do for you. There’s also a cook and two women coming to help with the house. The meals may be simpler than you are accustomed to, but this cook is quite good in her own way.”

  Gabriel eyed Vincent, who barely hid his glee at arranging this promotion to valet for himself. Gabriel envisioned the mishaps awaiting. “I suppose he will do well enough. I am sure your other arrangements will be perfect.”

  He turned to the caretaker. “Tell the groom that we will need my horse, and another for the lady, in two hours.”


  He escorted Amanda into the house. They paused and looked around the old hall that now served as the reception chamber. A large hearth filled one wall of the square space, and tiles lined its floor. Heavy, dark beams ran across the high ceiling and paneled the walls.

  “I don’t remember it as quite this dark,” he said. “We will use chambers in a wing to the left that are more fashionable, so don’t be discouraged by this first look.”

  “When were you last here?”

  “Fifteen or so years ago, I think.”

  “I find it more interesting than dark. I am glad this section was not changed over time.”

  “It sounds like you are a budding antiquarian. My brother will regret not meeting you. There is another estate holding, a castle just over the Scottish border, that he would insist you see.”

  “I will regret missing that. Every girl dreams of living in a castle. Now, before this woman pulls me away to my chamber”—she gestured to Mrs. Braddock, who waited at the staircase—“did I hear correctly that you called for a horse for me?”

  “I did. Do not try to beg off by saying you own no riding habit. No one will see you but me. You will ride today, Amanda. You will not leave here until you know how.”

  “In that case, I may prove very clumsy. Be careful what you decree, Langford.”

  The servants had drifted to the edges of the hall, maintaining a discreet distance from the man and woman talking in the center of the tiles. “There is one other rule, Amanda. I would prefer that you address me as Gabriel. When you use my title, it increasingly sounds inappropriate to me.”

  “When we are alone, you mean.”

  “Whenever you like, but especially when we are alone.”

  “I will try. It may prove . . .” She turned and took a step toward Mrs. Braddock without finishing her thought.

  “Difficult? Surely not.”

  She looked back. “Not difficult. Heartbreaking.”

  She accepted Mrs. Braddock’s escort and began to wind her way to the eastern wing.

  * * *

  Gabriel looked down while Vincent knelt by his feet, feverishly rubbing his riding boots. “Would it not be more efficient to do that before I put them on next time?”