Temptations of a Duke's Daughter (The Duchess's Investigative Society Book 2)

by Samantha Holt

  “I left him the night he killed himself. I knew something was strange about his manner and I offered to stay but he sent me away.” He swallowed hard when his throat started to tighten. “I should have stayed.”

  Several beats of silence passed, so quiet that he heard her gentle breaths.

  She put a hand to his clasped ones. “How could you have known?”

  “I should have known. There was...gossip about him. It ruined his reputation and he feared—well, we all did—that he might end up arrested and put on trial.”

  “Gossip? Was he philandering?”

  “In a way.” He fixed her with a look.

  “But why should he end up arrested? Goodness knows there are many men of rank who are not exactly saints, but their wealth ensures their safety from the consequences of their actions.”

  “Not when one is thought to be—” Valentine paused.

  Was he really going to confess such a thing to her? Those of Valentine’s age and above knew of his father’s death under shameful circumstances as did the older members of the staff but Chastity had been a young girl at the time and saved from hearing anything untoward. He could keep things that way.

  Yet he could not help himself. The words burned in his chest, desperate for release, for someone, anyone to understand the pain his father went through—so awful that a God-fearing man could think of no other way out than to kill himself.

  “He was thought to be of a certain way,” he said slowly, meeting her gaze.

  “A certain way?” She frowned then her mouth rounded. “Oh. You mean...”

  “Yes. He had been seen with men of that type.”

  “So....he really was...that way?”

  “Indeed.” He waited for the disgust or for her to snatch back her hand. He struggled to understand why his father felt such a way, but he had always been an excellent, loving father and a good husband and he could only judge his father on that, rather than desires that were illegal.

  Instead, she squeezed his hand. “Now I understand why Mr. Harper’s death impacts you so much. It reminds you of how your father died.”

  She did not. And never would. Yes, the fact his father had committed suicide meant he comprehended all too well the impact such an event had on a family, but he would not confess the rest.

  She did not need more. No matter how tempted he was to tell her everything, to bare his soul, he must not. His sister’s memory had to remain intact, and he could not risk someone so enmeshed into society to know of his family’s sordid history. She already knew one too many of his secrets.

  Chapter Twelve

  Chastity paused at the threshold between the kitchen and the stairs, a hand to the cool stone, and closed her eyes briefly. Tantalizing scents of roasted meat tangled with the sweet, tangy fragrance of stewing apples. Her stomach grumbled so loudly she imagined it could be felt through the floor above. She missed eating whenever she wished, missed the variety of foods at her father’s table.

  Oh yes, and missed not having throbbing feet or sore fingers.

  Add her piano to the list too. How she longed to have a quick play, just to stretch out her fingers. The temptation to slip into the music room ate almost as painfully at her stomach as the hunger did. The last time she had gone this long without playing was when John had taken her piano away out of spite.

  But she could not quit now. No matter how exhausted she was with playing the servant. Eleanor needed her. Not to mention she had to prove to Valentine she was more than some spoiled duke’s daughter who cared only about shoes.

  She tapped a finger against the gently curved stone, worn to a shine by hundreds of fingers running over the surface throughout the decades.

  The furrow between his brows, the pain in his gaze. She would not forget that easily.

  Nor his confession.

  She understood, to an extent, why Valentine was the way he was. He carried a great burden upon those wide shoulders. It had taken all her control not to wrap her arms about him and rest her cheek upon his bare back. Maybe it was being the oldest sister, looking after grieving siblings after the death of their mother, or perhaps because she understood pain that cut so deep one would do anything to forget it; that she had felt weakened around him. She might not have taken to drink, but she didn’t enjoy dwelling upon her marriage any more than he wished to think of the anniversary of his father’s death.

  “Chastity?”

  She straightened her spine and offered a quick smile to Charlotte. “Yes?”

  “You received this earlier.” Charlotte handed over a carefully folded letter, secured by simple string.

  She smiled at the complex folds. The work of Demeter no doubt, who prided herself on the skill that meant one could tell if anyone had opened the letter. This one remained untouched, thankfully. Her ruse would be discovered if anyone read what her sisters had to say.

  She only hoped it was good news.

  “That’s nice paper, that is.” Charlotte nodded toward the letter as Chastity unfolded it.

  Glancing up, Chastity twisted enough so that the maid could not see the contents. Cassie had not been silly enough to use a wax seal, but it likely had not occurred to her someone might recognize expensive paper. It certainly had not occurred to Chastity.

  She scanned the neat writing and kept her expression neutral as the burst of triumph made her want to give a little leap. Luke had discovered Mr. and Mrs. Harper’s address. And they were not far from London—a two hour drive if that. She glanced at the clock. Her next day off wasn’t for another five days and sneaking out at night for two hours would most certainly be noticed, though she had been lucky Charlotte slept through her having fallen asleep in Valentine’s room. The woman slept so heavily that she imagined not even the largest of mail coaches driving down the corridor could wake her. A small blessing indeed.

  Regardless, even if she could be assured of not being missed, she did not wish to wait.

  “Is something the matter?”

  She made her decision then. “Yes. It’s from my mother’s doctor.” She affected a trembling bottom lip and issued a quick silent prayer for forgiveness. Hopefully God would offer it, considering she had good motives. “She is dying and he fears she does not have long left.”

  Charlotte put a hand to her mouth. “Oh Lordy. I am sorry.”

  “You do not think Mrs. Cooke—” Chastity shook her head. Mrs. Cooke had yet to warm to her, despite her hard work and attempts at winning the housekeeper over.

  The maid leaned in, putting a hand to her arm. “Mrs. Cooke’s mother died some five years ago. She might be kinder than you think.”

  It was either appeal to the housekeeper for a day off or slip out and risk her job. No matter how much power Valentine had, he could not intervene if she absconded or else the servants would be certain indeed she was his mistress.

  “I shall try.”

  “Shall I come with you?”

  Guilt jabbed its sharp needle into her chest. Perhaps when this was all over, she would buy Charlotte some sweetmeats or a new book. The maid had been so kind to her, and she regretted lying to her.

  “I can handle Mrs. Cooke,” Chastity said firmly. There was no need to bring her into her lies.

  “If you need anything...” She gestured widely, palms open.

  “Thank you, Charlotte. Truly.”

  Chastity hastened to Mrs. Cooke’s office, thankful to find her there instead of having to track her down in the vast house. She explained the letter’s contents—or false contents, she supposed—to a stoic Mrs. Cooke, who kept her fingers twined together on top of the mahogany table.

  Stacks of ledgers were piled neatly to the right of the desk and a small, empty glass sat on the other side. A tiny sliver of brandy stained the bottom of the glass. The housekeeper enjoyed a small tipple when noting down the food brought into the house it seemed. Chastity only hoped it meant she would be in a good mood.

  Mrs. Cooke lifted a finger and Chastity held her breath, her throat
tight, aware of the sickening sensation in her gut. The last time her movements had been controlled by another had been when she was wed.

  “One day,” she said firmly. “I need you tomorrow. The rugs from the east wing will be needing rolled and beaten.”

  Chastity let her shoulders sag. “Thank you, Mrs. Cooke. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

  “Ask Mr. Grover for use of the wagon.” She dragged one of the ledgers across the table and flipped it open, the leather covering thudding against the desk. “But do not tell anyone I offered it, you hear?”

  “I won’t,” Chastity vowed and allowed herself a tiny smile.

  The Mrs. Cooke she met when she’d first arrived at Heath Lodge remained, and that meant there was still a chance she could get the housekeeper on her side.

  ∞∞∞

  One of the benefits of being an earl was the ability to do whatever he wished without so much as a raised eyebrow. Well, Valentine supposed he’d received at least one raised eyebrow from Lane, but his valet wisely kept his mouth shut when Valentine announced he intended to saddle his horse and take a ride—immediately and despite the late hour.

  It had been the announcement that Lane should not wait up to undress him that had caused the eyebrow to twitch. My master has lost his wits, was perhaps what the valet thought. Or else, he assumed Valentine’s celibacy had driven him to the edge and he needed to slake his lust immediately.

  Neither assumption was entirely wrong. He suspected his wits had fled him the moment Chastity had put her foot under his boot. And celibacy was becoming tiring indeed with her around, taunting him with curves that should be hidden away under a huge grain sack. Or preferably three.

  Gripping the reins so tightly they likely left imprints through his leather gloves, he set his jaw and squinted against the rapidly setting sun. Dustings of pink clouds dotted the sky while the sunlight dappled through the trees, blackening the trunks against the golden light. The last time he’d taken this road had been immediately after Julian’s death. Curse Chastity for making him take this path again.

  He’d known as soon as he’d overheard one of the maids discussing where she was. He should have known sooner really. There had been a distinct lack of Chastity today. Despite being determined to keep his distance after his unwitting confession, he found himself watching for her. First the blasted woman practically blackmailed him into talking of his father and now she taunted him with her presence.

  Or lack thereof.

  Then he’d heard it.

  She’d gone to see her dying mother.

  Valentine would laugh were his jaw not so tight. She had no mother. She’d died nearly a decade ago. It didn’t take a nose for investigation for him to figure out where she had decided to go so abruptly.

  Mr. and Mrs. Harper’s.

  The manipulative little witch. Lying to Mrs. Cooke and going to their house when he’d explicitly said no.

  Oh yes, not to mention vanishing for an entire day.

  The hour had to be late—about nine now, considering the sun was giving up on the day. By his calculations, even having taken Mr. Grover’s slow wagon, she should have been there and back by now, even if she had shared tea with the Harpers and persuaded them to give up all their secrets.

  Damned fool woman. Who in their right mind went off alone through the country roads where any vagabond or blackguard could set upon them? For all he knew, some highwayman found her and would keep her for ransom. He’d heard of a spate of kidnappings recently where wealthy women were taken and ransomed.

  He frowned. The highwayman would have to be clever indeed. She certainly did not look wealthy in her unform—at least to the untrained eye. He saw the confidence that came with rank in her every movement.

  He even admired it, damn it.

  Whatever had happened to her, his stomach would not untangle itself until he knew she was safe and he’d given her a good scolding for making him feel this way.

  The first gray wisps of night descended over the country road. She’d better be tucked up in bed at the Harpers for some reason or else he would—

  “Woah.” He drew the mount to a halt and swiftly jumped off, his boots landing hard on the dry mud.

  Angled toward the edge of the road, the wagon was empty. He circled it and came to a stop by the broken wheel. One of the spokes had splintered, rendering it useless. He resisted the urge to throw his hat to the ground and stomp on it.

  Damn and blast.

  Who knew how long she had been stuck out here? Had she been frightened? Approached by strange men offering aid? Had she been foolish enough to take it? As boldly as Chastity had stepped into the role of servant, it did not change who she was—a rich, spoiled young woman who had suffered few—if any—setbacks in life. She could not fathom the depths people might go to in desperation.

  Valentine pressed a finger to his lips. He had to find her.

  Swinging back into the saddle, he urged the horse on until the inviting glow of the windows of a coaching inn flickered through the trees. He’d never stopped at The Red Lion but perhaps Chastity had gone in for help or a ride home. If she had, someone would have noticed.

  Even in her plain cotton gown, Chastity would draw attention—most especially from men deep in their cups. By the sounds of the tinkling piano and the raucous singing, plenty of the inn patrons were so deep they’d need a ladder to climb out of their stupor.

  Lips pressed tightly together, he settled his horse with the stable hand and walked around the front of the brick building. Likely expanded several times, the tavern’s offered ramshackle appearance of different blocks attached to one another, topped with sloping tiled roofs. He ducked under the low door lintel and the scent of sweat, hops, and straw tangled about him.

  He paused to eye the singing crowd—their attention fixed upon the piano player. Men and women swayed and drank in between bellowing out lines from the bawdy country tune. Several sat atop the tables and bar to get a better view of the person at the piano. Valentine rose on his toes but could not see who had them so entranced but he had to admit they were an excellent player.

  Good Lord. He hoped Chastity hadn’t set one toe in here. She would not have lasted a moment.

  He inched around the room, pressing behind the backs of the patrons to make his way toward the bar, and catching the barmaid’s eye. She smiled seductively, swiping a tongue over her bottom lip and straitening her gown to draw attention to a generous cleavage, then headed toward him. “How can I help...” She glanced over his attire. “My lord?”

  “I’m looking for a woman. Dark hair. Extremely attractive.”

  “But of course you are.” The woman nodded toward the piano player. “No other woman stands a chance with her in here tonight. She’s not yer wife, is she?” She clicked her tongue. “No, must be your mistress gone astray, eh?” She lifted her shoulders. “I wouldn’t leave you if I were yer mistress, my lord.”

  Valentine scowled and peered around the side of the crowd, then cursed. Loudly. Crassly.

  The barmaid snickered. “I think that word is on a lot of men’s minds tonight.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  How many songs she’d played, Chastity wasn’t certain. She’d been lost to playing music for the first time in far too long. However, she knew as soon as he moved close. It didn’t even take a glance sideways for her to feel him there. She twisted her head marginally, allowing her fingers to continue dancing over the keys whilst the patrons sang along—some well, some less so.

  Her heart stuttered when she met his gaze.

  Valentine.

  What was he doing here? How had he found her?

  Chastity’s cheeks warmed, then cooled quickly when she noticed how deep his scowl was. Fury radiated off him. No doubt a scolding would be coming for her attempt at meeting with the Harpers. Well, he might technically be her employer but no man owned her movements, and no man ever would again.

  Lifting her chin a little higher, she turned back to the pia
no and signed off with a final song—the most rowdy and crass one she could think of about a sailor and his lover. She only knew it because Aunt Sarah had been singing it under her breath many, many years ago and Chastity had begged to hear it. It was not the sort of a song a young lady should know.

  And precisely the sort of song to infuriate an already incensed earl.

  When the song was finished, she stood and curtsied with a mocking flourish while everyone clapped.

  Valentine stomped immediately over. “Enough of this nonsense. Come with me.” His voice growled right above her ear, so low it made her stomach twist in the oddest of manners.

  She should be furious too. He shouldn’t speak to her in such a way.

  A broad, artificial smile in place, she walked away from her adoring fans and followed his broad shoulders out toward the bottom of the stairs that led to the lodgings. His hair looked more mussed than usual if that was possible, as though he had been shoving his hands through it. His jacket was crumpled too.

  Once they were away from prying ears, Valentine whirled on her, his dark gaze digging deep into hers. “I suppose you think you’re clever, traveling here when I expressly forbade you to do so.”

  “And I suppose you think you have a say in my movements when you do not,” she responded through clenched teeth.

  “You are under my roof.” He jabbed a finger at her.

  “Not right now.” She glanced at the rickety beams above.

  His gaze narrowed. “Of course you would be so glib. Do you not understand what I thought? You could have been set upon—robbed, taken or even damn well killed. What kind of fool woman—”

  “I am a grown woman,” she interrupted. “Not a child and certainly not a fool.” She gestured toward the taproom where a new song emanated through the thick brick walls, the tune a little more clunky than her own. “I can look after myself.”

  “You are the daughter of a duke. You have no business—”

  “The daughter of a duke who has been entertaining everyone at this inn for a good hour or so.” She would not admit that the first half an hour of her arrival here had been uncomfortable indeed. Despite her simple clothing, she’d drawn the attention of many patrons. Playing on the piano seemed a good way to occupy herself until the promised arrival of a man who could aid her with the broken wheel.