A Devil of a Duke

by Madeline Hunter

She opened her door and approached Gabriel’s on the other side of the landing. She heard voices. He was not alone. They must belong to his friends. Perhaps it was over, or almost so, and tomorrow they could go and retrieve the brooch, buckle, and dagger.

  She entered and the conversation died. Three men sat around the chamber, Gabriel sprawled on the bed and Stratton on a soft reading chair. The last one had taken a place on the wooden chair at the small table.

  All three stood. Stratton greeted her. Gabriel introduced her to the Duke of Brentworth. He was a very tall man, and very handsome with a straight nose and firm jaw and eyes the color of steel reflecting a summer sky. He smiled, but he did not appear friendly. Unlike the affable Stratton, she suspected he did not find the world amusing.

  “Sit, Miss Waverly,” he said, offering his chair. “We are plotting, and you may have ideas that we do not.”

  She accepted his chair. “What are you plotting?”

  Gabriel told her how the cousin had dallied here for the night, and their idea that it would be better to lure Yarnell to the inn rather than go to him.

  “Our best notion is for his cousin to send a letter to Yarnell in the morning, bidding him come here due to his cousin suffering an accident,” Gabriel said.

  “But how to convince the cousin to write such a letter? Unless we hold a pistol to his head,” Stratton said.

  “Which we were debating when you entered,” Brentworth said.

  “It is good I joined you if the conversation ventured there. I am grateful for your help, but I cannot allow you to be a party to that for my sake.” She caught Gabriel’s eye and gave him a desperate look.

  “We will have to bring pistols if we go there,” he said. “That could end up far worse than a bluff here.”

  “A letter should not be hard to forge,” she said.

  “I suppose not,” Brentworth said. “If we had good examples of his writing, and if we had a forger, and—”

  “You do not need to forge the entire letter, only do a passable job on his signature. The rest could be written by someone helping him, due to an accident he had.”

  “Do we have a way to get his signature?” Stratton asked.

  “If he has been spending freely, he might have given it to the proprietor so his account becomes a note.” Gabriel stood. “I think I will go below and see if the place is as quiet as it seems. If so, I will poke around for the book I signed.”

  “I will come watch for you,” Stratton said, rising as well.

  The two of them left the room. Which meant Amanda was alone with the Duke of Brentworth.

  * * *

  Brentworth took the chair that Stratton had used. “There is wine here. It may help if you are having trouble sleeping.”

  “Thank you, but I do not want any wine.”

  “You must have been relieved to rescue your mother, and happy to see her again.”

  “Relieved, yes. Happy—” She shrugged.

  He raised an eyebrow at that.

  “I sound like a terrible daughter, don’t I? Only during these last few hours with her, the child in me was overjoyed, but the woman I am—let us say that I saw all too clearly what I had begun to see even before we parted years ago. She is my mother and I love her as such, but—” Again she shrugged.

  “If you are angry about how she pulled you into her dilemma, do not feel bad. We are allowed to be angry with family.” He smiled and it softened his entire face so he no longer appeared so severe. “In some ways, we can only be truly angry with family. Even friends—the cost might be too high. Family is stuck with you no matter how you feel.”

  “And we are stuck with them in turn.”

  He nodded.

  “There are limits to that loyalty and love, however,” she said. “There are things no one should have to do, even for family. That no one should expect.”

  “Did you have a choice, Miss Waverly? Langford says you did not. The presence of the man in the chamber above us indicates you did not lie about that. The fact you had to break into a house to free your mother proves it as well.”

  “Is that what Gab—what Langford said? That we broke in?”

  “He did not, nor did I ask. However, I can think of no other way to free a woman held in captivity.”

  “It was not as hard as you make it sound. Fairly easy, actually.”

  “I find myself believing that. A second-story window might present challenges, but not a normal door.”

  He. Knew. Everything. She realized that with shock. Gabriel had confided in his friends in a bid to obtain their help. Had he also insisted on discretion? No doubt. She guessed how he had secured that. She will go away once this is over. She will leave England. She already knows I insist on this.

  Her situation suddenly struck her as very precarious. Hopeless. If she had harbored any dream that Gabriel would change his mind about that, it disappeared while she looked at Brentworth’s kind but knowing smile.

  The door opened, and Gabriel and Stratton strode in. Gabriel carried a blue account book. He waved it. “One signature, delivered. Now, who is going to write the letter?”

  “I think we should let Miss Waverly dictate it,” Brentworth said. “I think she knows what to say better than we do.”

  * * *

  Gabriel read aloud the letter he had just penned according to Amanda’s instructions.

  “Come at once to Colton’s Black Knight Inn. Bring a carriage to transport me back. I’ve been injured and a surgeon sent for. I hardly made it this far what with the pain, and a traveler here agreed to write this down for me.

  “You need to get the item I brought before the surgeon comes. A servant is eyeing my valise, and if I’m given laudanum or some other dose I’ll not be able to guard it.”

  “Sounds fine,” Stratton said. “Not too formal, not ignorant but not concerned, in his pain, with the niceties of tone and form. The concern about laudanum is a nice touch, Miss Waverly.”

  Brentworth opened the blue account book, paged through, and stopped. “Here is Pritchard’s signature. Can you manage this too, Langford?”

  He took the book and studied it. “After a week of practice, perhaps.”

  “Unfortunately, you will have to do it after an hour at most of practice.”

  “Any variation from the one Yarnell normally sees will probably be attributed to his injury,” Stratton said.

  “He may know my mother is gone by the time he receives this,” Amanda said. “He will be angry, and suspicious of anything and everyone. The signature must be as close as we can make it. I will do it, and not need much practice at all.”

  Brentworth and Stratton greeted that with blank, studied, indifferent faces. Both slid glances in Gabriel’s direction, however.

  “She is a secretary,” he said. “Of course she would need the least amount of practice.” He rose and offered her the chair at the table.

  Amanda studied the signature, then took the pen, dipped it, and tried to copy it on a sheet of paper.

  He looked over her shoulder. She did very well. Remarkably well. Better than any of the rest of them could have done even after a week of practice.

  She squinted at the real signature, then her copy. She tried again.

  Even better this time. He would be hard-pressed to notice any difference from the real signature even if he had good and forged side by side.

  She set down the pen and stretched out her arms. She rolled her shoulders like a boxer warming up for a bout. She picked up the pen again and dipped it in ink. Then in quick succession she quickly wrote the signature five times. By the fourth one, the slight hesitation visible in the lines of the first two was gone.

  She held out her hand. “The letter, please.”

  Stratton gave it to her. She set it down, dipped, wrote, and blotted. She handed it back.

  Silence reigned for a ten count. Stratton handed the letter to Brentworth, whose eyebrows rose when he saw it.

  “Well done,” Stratton said. “Lady Farnsworth inde
ed had a prize in you with such a hand as that.”

  Amanda’s expression remained impassive. Gabriel placed his hand on her shoulder. She had agreed to do this in order to finish things with Yarnell, but he could tell that demonstrating this other skill in front of others had embarrassed her.

  “We will leave you now,” Brentworth said. “Early morning, I will personally serve as messenger and deliver this to Yarnell. Stratton will ensure our culprit above does not abscond, should he wake before noon, which, considering his feast and wine, is unlikely. We should all be prepared for Yarnell to arrive by ten, however, if he comes at all.”

  He and Stratton left.

  “If they had any questions about me, that should have answered them,” Amanda said.

  “You cannot be blamed for something your father taught you when you were a child.”

  “Actually, Mama taught me this part.”

  “Perhaps we should have had her do it instead.”

  She shook her head. “I am far better at it.” She looked up at him. “It sounds like tomorrow it will be over at last.”

  Her words, and their real meaning, twisted the knot he had carried for days beneath his heart. “Come lie in my arms and sleep with me and leave tomorrow for another day, Amanda.”

  They undressed and climbed into bed. He tried to distract them both with his hands and mouth, with pleasure and release. Afterwards he held her while she slept and watched every small movement her face and body made until dawn began breaking.

  * * *

  Amanda took the pails of water from the servant and carried them to the basin. Then she woke her mother and bid her wash and dress.

  Her mother blinked and yawned. “What time is it?”

  “Eight. You must get ready. Yarnell will be here soon, and the gentlemen will apprehend him.”

  “Gentlemen?”

  “Two of Gabriel’s friends are here to help.”

  Mama slid out of bed, dropped her nightdress, and padded naked to the basin. “Gabriel? You mean the duke, don’t you? Don’t look surprised. I asked who he was, and he told me.”

  She should never have left them alone together. Which she hadn’t, now that she thought about it.

  “Who are his friends?”

  “Stratton and Brentworth. They are dukes too.”

  Mama turned in surprise with her face covered with soap. “Why not just involve the entire House of Lords, Amanda? The king too?”

  She turned back to the basin and splashed water over her face, then wet a cloth. “Three dukes. We are doomed for certain now. One we might have cajoled into mercy, especially since you are his lover, but three together will never be moved. Each one will not want to look dishonorable to the others.”

  She washed her body, mumbling the whole time. Finished, she threw the cloth into the basin so hard the water jumped. “They will probably hang us together. That will be a sight for the bloodthirsty crowd, I’m sure. We must leave at once. I will go below and—”

  “No, Mama. You will stay, even if I have to tie you down. This began with you and you will be here for the ending too.”

  Her tone took her mother aback. “You are making a big mistake putting faith in that man. You are nothing to him, and he will hand us over and swear information that, thanks to you, he has in abundance.”

  “He told me he would not, and I believe him.”

  Mama raised her gaze upward, as if praying for patience. “Is he your first lover? Because if he is, I am sorry to have to tell you that men—”

  “He is not my first lover. I am not stupid, Mama. Not about men, not about people and not about you. I was taught how to size people up, after all. I learned much listening to you and Papa plot your schemes.”

  Her mother’s face reddened. Not from embarrassment but from anger. “If you are not willing to save yourself, at least allow me to try and save myself.”

  Amanda moved a chair against the door and sat. “You will stay.”

  “I see I exchanged one prison for another. That my own daughter would—”

  “Stop complaining, Mama. I will pay a high price for today, and I will not have you making the ordeal worse. You must remain here. You will be needed. We can hardly accuse Yarnell and Pritchard of kidnapping if you are not there to tell about it. Now, dress please. A breakfast is coming up soon. We will eat here, and wait for the gentlemen to call for us when it is time.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Pritchard’s eyes opened a slit. He startled and his lids flashed open wide. He gathered the bedclothes around him. “I’ve no money, if that is what you want.”

  Gabriel looked down from the left side of the bed. Stratton held the same position on the right.

  “We do not want money,” Gabriel said. “We have not come to rob you. We only require your company for an hour or so.”

  “My company . . . who in hell are you?”

  “Two friends of Mr. Yarnell.”

  “Did he send you because I did not go all the way to his house yesterday? I would have, but my horse was tired. Barely made it here, you see. I thought it best to avail myself of a bed and finish the journey today. I’ll be doing that now, so if you do not mind—” He began to push back the sheet.

  “No hurry. Indeed, we prefer you stay just as you are,” Gabriel said. “Would you like some breakfast? Stratton, send down to the kitchen for some breakfast for Mr. Pritchard.”

  Pritchard settled back in. “If I’m to stay here, I might nap a bit if you don’t mind.”

  “We don’t mind. Do we, Stratton? We will call for that breakfast anyway, and wake you again when it comes.”

  Pritchard nodded and closed his eyes. He soon snored.

  “Reminds me of Brentworth,” Stratton mused.

  “You are right. It sounds like geese. When did he leave?”

  “Eight, as he said he would. He should be back very soon.” Stratton walked to the small table in the chamber, reached in his coat, and set down a pistol.

  Gabriel stared at it. Stratton’s casual attitude with the weapon could probably be explained by his history with them. Of the three Decadent Dukes, only Stratton had ever dueled.

  “We agreed not to use them,” Gabriel said, aware that Stratton had not explicitly agreed to anything of the sort.

  “I don’t intend to use it. Assuming Yarnell does not do something reckless, all will be well.” He threw himself into the reading chair. “He sounds like a bitter man who convinced himself that he is much aggrieved, Langford. So much that he turned criminal in order to find justice. I’ll not risk our lives to his deformed sense of fair play.”

  “Just don’t leave it in view when he comes. We do not want to provoke gunplay if we can avoid it.”

  “It will be back under my coat.” He cocked his head. “Bootsteps on the stairs. That would be Brentworth. There’s no one else up here but us. The other chamber’s occupants left at dawn.”

  The door opened and Brentworth strode in. He gave the sleeping Pritchard a long look, then settled his gaze on the pistol, then turned to Gabriel. “He is on his way. I could not resist waiting to see the carriage roll, then galloped ahead. The letter must have worked, because he is coming alone.”

  “He may not be aware yet that Mrs. Waverly is gone. It is still early and whoever serves her may not have gone in if her habit is to sleep late.”

  “Let us assume he does know, however,” Stratton said.

  Brentworth walked to the bed and bent over Pritchard. “Sound asleep. Did you not wake him?”

  “We did, and on hearing that we came from Yarnell and would wait here with him for his cousin’s arrival, he decided to make further use of the fine mattress,” Gabriel explained.

  “He must be very stupid.”

  They waited in silence after that. Not total silence. Pritchard continued snoring. Brentworth frowned every time the man exhaled.

  “Dreadful noise,” he muttered.

  Stratton grinned. “Do you pity me now?”

  “I don�
�t sound like that.”

  “You are louder. When you marry, if your wife insists you leave her bed after you take your pleasure, you will know I am telling the truth.”

  “There will be no insisting. I will leave, of my own choice. Human beings are not presentable in the mornings. No man should wake with another beside him. Even if that someone is you, Stratton. Especially if that someone is you.”

  “If you marry for love, you will think differently, Brentworth. Or if you find yourself entangled in an affair that is not so well managed.”

  “I am happy that you still live in a mist of loving sentiment regarding your wife, Stratton. I hope that it lasts at least another year since it brings you such joy. Langford and I are made of different stuff. It is unlikely we will lose our hearts, and certain that we will not lose our heads over any woman.”

  “Langford and you? Considering our present circumstances, I think you should speak for yourself alone, don’t you?”

  Brentworth pivoted and peered at Gabriel. “Surely not.”

  “He dragged us across England on her behalf,” Stratton said. “Is that typical behavior when he has a new lover? Can you think of one other woman in his entire life for whom he would have done this?”

  Brentworth examined Gabriel closer yet. “Hell. He is right, isn’t he? You are in love with this woman.”

  “Yes.” So there it was, spoken here, now, when it should have been said to Amanda days ago.

  “Well. Damn,” Brentworth said. “I trusted you never to fall, Langford. I assumed that when we were old men, I could count on you to be working your charm on half the women of the ton.” He turned thoughtful. “This isn’t because of that essay by Lady Farnsworth, is it? Her influence did not go so far as that, I hope.”

  “It has nothing to do with that damnable essay. I am going to thrash the next person who mentions that essay or that infernal journal to me for any reason.” He glared at Stratton, who chose that moment to examine his coat sleeves and give them a few brushing gestures.

  “This complicates matters, of course,” Brentworth said. He pointed to the sleeping Pritchard. “Today’s actions, and others.”

  “Yes,” Gabriel said.

  “Not too much, as I see it,” Stratton said. He lifted the pistol while he spoke, stood, and slid it under his coat. He held his finger to his lips, then gestured to the door. Steps sounded, getting louder as they mounted the stairs, a beat now playing beneath the rhythmic honks of Pritchard’s snores.