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

by Samantha Holt

  “I do know her but she has not been here in days. Usually I’d see her at least twice by now and she always comes in by Sunday.” He shrugged. “Figure something bad has happened to her.”

  The nonchalant shrug made Chastity tighten her fists. How worthless the woman’s life was to this man made bile rise in her throat.

  “Is there anyone who would know where she might be?” Valentine pressed.

  “Annie.” He thrust a thumb toward a woman in the corner. She wore breeches and carried a stick in a hand that she tapped rhythmically against the floor. Chastity suspected she might only be a few years older than herself, but life had taken its toll, leaving fierce lines around her mouth and upon her forehead. Her hair was a strange orange—the product of trying to dye her dark hair with lemon juice most likely.

  When Chastity turned around, the barkeep had pocketed the coins and turned his attention to the other patrons waiting to be served.

  “Charming fellow.”

  Chastity nodded and motioned for Valentine to remain at the bar. “Let me speak with her.”

  “I got that chap to talk.”

  “Barely.”

  Besides which, she had far more experience questioning people. The temptation to tell Valentine about what she and her sisters did grew by the day but simply because they were lovers did not mean she could trust the man, did it? What if he mocked her just as John would have done? She shuddered. It would be unbearable.

  Motioning for him to stay, she worked her way past the tightly clustered tables toward the woman. Her astute gaze raked Chastity, but her expression remained tight and impassive.

  “Looking for some fun with your man, I imagine?” She pushed away from the wall and leaned heavily on the stick. The woman’s knuckles clenched tightly around the wooden top, so well-used that the handle shone, smooth and sleek from wear.

  “I was looking for a specific woman actually.” Chastity forced a sultry smile. “We heard Daisy Miller was the woman to ask for.”

  She shook her head vigorously, sending ratty curls bouncing about her cheeks. “You’ll want Astrid.” She nodded toward a petite, fair-haired girl who could be no more than sixteen. “She has plenty of experience at pleasing couples.”

  Chastity swallowed hard. At sixteen she had been playing piano and practicing her Latin and following her mother’s duties closely, preparing for becoming a wife. “I want Daisy,” she said firmly.

  “Daisy ain’t here, love, and there are plenty of other girls here who will do you well.” She tapped her cane firmly on the floor, so hard that Chastity felt the vibrations. “If you want an older girl, Betty will pleasure your man well.”

  “I can pay well,” she offered.

  The lines between the woman’s brows deepened and she leaned forward. “What do you know of Daisy anyhow? Why are you asking for her?”

  “I simply heard—”

  “If your man wants something else, he won’t get it here,” she warned.

  “Something else?”

  The woman snorted. “You spend time with rich men—you know how their tastes run. I will not give up any more girls to the vile tastes of rich men.”

  “I do not know—”

  “Daisy ain’t here,” she snapped, “and I doubt she will ever be here again. You’re more likely to find her at the bottom of the Thames and I’d wager one of the fine men you no doubt spend time with ensured she met that fate.”

  Chastity took a few steps back, her cheeks so warm she felt as though she’d been slapped. How ignorant she must seem. Did men really pay to hurt or...or kill women? The bile building in her throat reached her mouth and she coughed, a hand to her stomach to prevent herself from throwing up.

  “She’s dead then?”

  Cocking her head, the woman sighed. “Of course. And I ain’t handing over anymore girls to the likes of you.”

  “But who...?”

  “Who did it?” Her dark brows lifted. “How am I to know? One day she was here, the next she did not show up. Chances are she didn’t want to share her earnings. Fool girl. We have to stick together to protect one another.” She nodded toward Valentine. “Don’t trust them, girl. They’ll hurt you one way or another.”

  Chastity glanced over her shoulder at Valentine’s glowering expression. How had she forgotten such a fact? Had her years of marriage meant nothing as soon as she had fallen into Valentine’s arms? She swallowed hard and made her way back to Valentine, looking briefly back at the woman who gave her a little nod of reminder. Men were not to be trusted. He would never hurt her physically, but she knew all too well the damage a man could do to her mind and she was weak when it came to Valentine already. Now was the time to shore up her defenses.

  ∞∞∞

  “She’s probably dead.”

  The hard tone of Chastity’s voice belied the slump in her shoulders and her failure to meet Valentine’s gaze.

  “Pardon?”

  “Daisy. The woman thinks she’s dead.” She jerked a thumb toward the door. “Let’s go. We are wasting our time.” She twisted on a heel and squeezed her way between patrons and tables before he uttered a single syllable in response.

  He hurried after her as a surge of new customers spilled through the doorway and slowed him down. Grappling to shove past two extremely inebriated men who swayed and leaned against the doorway, one muttering some vague threats at him, he finally emerged into the fresh air after giving them both a forceful jab or two of an elbow.

  He scanned the empty dirt road and cursed, then spied her a little way ahead. Two of the men from the crowd also moved in her direction and he could not hear what they were saying but they were calling to her.

  She ignored them, head down. Was she simply upset because they were no closer to freeing her sister from these rumors or was there more?

  When the men picked up their pace, so did he, coming up behind them. There was no chance he was letting them anywhere near her.

  “Pretty lady,” one cooed to her back. “Talk to us.”

  “The pretty lady wants nothing to do with you,” he said through gritted teeth.

  Chastity stilled and turned at the sound of his voice.

  “Ooh, she’s very pretty,” said the other man. He moved toward her and grabbed for her arm. Chastity darted back, her eyes wide.

  The man’s friend laughed. “And quick too.”

  “I suggest you leave,” Valentine ordered the men. “Or there will be trouble.”

  Chastity lifted her chin. “I can handle myself.”

  He’d witnessed her handle many a situation herself. Become a maid? Certainly. Dress as a mistress? Indeed. Change clothes at every opportunity? Absolutely. But that was entirely different to handling two drunken men who were no doubt enchanted by her appearance.

  He could not blame them, however, there were better, less primitive ways to behave around a beautiful woman. He could not claim to be much less affected by her and his actions had certainly had a primeval tone to them. Dropping to his knees in a carriage where they might well have been seen? Yes, to claim to be better than these men might be wrong. That did not mean he would let them get away with it, though.

  “The lady can handle herself.” The man in a worn cap flashed a toothy grin. “And we can handle her too.” He reached for her once more and Chastity moved forward so quickly, Valentine hadn’t figured out what happened until the man was crumpled on the floor, clutching his groin.

  “Little bitch.” His companion snatched the back of her gown, hauling her backward toward him.

  Valentine lunged, grabbed the man by the collar and ripped Chastity from his grip. Using the momentum, he ploughed him back against the brick of the nearest building. The whites of the man’s eyes bulged in the meagre light of the nearby window when Valentine pressed lightly on his windpipe.

  “I suggest you apologize to the lady and go back to your drinking,” he pressed between his teeth.

  The man tore at his hand while his friend rolled around on the fl
oor in the periphery of Valentine’s vision, groaning. Finally, he nodded, and Valentine hauled him away from the wall and shoved him back, making him stumble over his friend’s prone body.

  Taking Chastity’s arm, he led her swiftly away with the briefest glance at the two men to ensure they did not follow. Both remained stumbling to regain their footing.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” Valentine asked when they emerged onto the main street, the lit streetlamps and presence of a few respectably dressed patrons a welcome relief from the dirt streets around the tavern.

  “A woman must protect herself,” she muttered.

  “I do not disagree with that, but it is hardly something that is taught to young ladies at finishing school.”

  Her gaze shimmered with unshed tears when she glanced at him, making him pause. Had the encounter scared her more than he thought? She ducked her head and continued down the quiet street.

  “Chastity, stop,” he commanded, stepping in front of her. He had little experience with crying women, but it could never be a good thing. He had to fix it. Somehow. “Chastity,” he warned, when she tried to step around him. “What the devil is going on?”

  Her gaze lifted to his, her lips pulled into a grim line. “That young woman is dead at the hands of a man.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. There was no denying it. Being a prostitute was hardly a safe position and there were men who would think her an easy target. After all, who would miss a whore?

  “I hate men,” she muttered.

  “Ah.” After that experience and hearing of what happened to Daisy Miller, he did not much like men either at present. Add in the blackguard who had dishonored his sister and those friends who turned their back on his father, and there weren’t many he liked.

  “Why must we be so worthless? Why are we merely there to be torn down?” Her voice wavered.

  His throat tightened. There was more to this than what had happened to a woman she did not know. He should have known when she spoke of her husband.

  “You are not worthless,” he assured her, his voice husky. The words were useless but she needed to know. “You are intelligent, and loyal, and caring, and damned quick-witted. But never worthless.”

  She kept her lashes lowered and she wrapped her arms about herself. “I do not think many men would agree.” Her gaze lifted to his. “Goodness, you did not even like me when we first met. You thought me vapid, I know it.”

  Valentine grimaced. He had, there was no denying it, and he hadn’t cared if she knew it. He’d judged her before knowing her and he regretted it now. He could apologize—on his behalf and on the behalf of the entirety of his sex, but he did not believe it would fix this.

  “Is there anything I can do?” he asked softly.

  She shook her head and swayed slightly toward him. He smiled slightly. Strong woman that she was would never admit it, but she needed his touch. Who would have thought it? The reclusive Earl of Kendall offering out…hugs. He took her in his arms and pressed her head to his chest.

  She sniffled, then lifted her head to eye him, her brow furrowed. “You do not smell of Floris anymore.”

  “I ran out,” he lied. After all, he could hardly admit he’d thrown the stuff away the moment she’d declared a disliking for it now, could he?

  Chapter Eighteen

  The scolding bellow of the cook made Chastity pause on the bottom step to the kitchen. If the housekeeper was in a foul mood, she had little desire to cross her. Especially as Chastity had already found herself in trouble with her for dallying upstairs after receiving another letter from Demeter.

  She absently rubbed the smooth surface of the porcelain jug she held with her thumb and furrowed her brow. Somehow, she would have to find a better way to communicate with her sister.

  Maybe she would ask Valentine to handle the correspondence. Charlotte questioned her quite closely about the contents of her letter and could tell the maid did not believe her when she said it was nothing important.

  It likely did not help that the contents of the letter was distressing. For some reason, the question of Eleanor’s lineage had become the topic of the week. Chastity shook her head to herself. She had the horrible suspicion the incident with Julian had given Society an excellent excuse to unleash all their vileness upon Eleanor without fear of reprisal.

  Clutching the empty jug to her chest, Chastity braved a peek around the corner and jumped back when a child barreled over her toes. She stepped forward only to be knocked into by two other children. The tallest could be no older than six whilst the two girls were quite a bit younger. They ran in circles about the large table while the cook, Mr. Baudelaire, waved a spoon and yelled a string of mild curses at them.

  Sarah met her gaze, her hands deep in a bowl of dough. She rolled her eyes. “They’re Jenny’s nieces and nephews,” she explained. “Her sister might have the smallpox and she’s waiting for her parents to take them to the country.”

  “Oh dear.” One of the children stopped behind the cook and pulled at Mr. Baudelaire’s apron strings.

  Mr. Baudelaire released a less mild curse and batted them away, sending a spray of creamy sauce about the kitchen, one splotch landing straight on his face and making his cheeks redden to the point Chastity feared he might explode.

  “They’re excited to be here.” Jenny entered the kitchen behind her and grimaced. “I am sorry. Mrs. Cooke said they could remain but that the earl must not know they are here.” She took the arm of the oldest boy and dropped down to wag a finger at him. “You promised me you would be good, George, do you remember? If you aren’t, Mr. Baudelaire will spank you with his spoon.”

  “I will not,” muttered the cook, despite his still enraged expression.

  “Yes, Auntie Jean.” George offered a contrite pout.

  “My parents should be here soon,” Jenny said. “I hope they are quick. These three are exhausting.

  “I hope your sister is well,” Chastity said.

  “I do not think it really is the pox, but we cannot take the risk, especially with the little ones.” She jerked her head toward the two young girls, both of whom were trying to dunk their hands in the bowl of dough while Sarah fended them off with floured hands. “Little Julia is prone to illness so we cannot have her sicken in any way.”

  The bell to the parlor room rang and Jenny glanced at it with a sigh. “I shall have to go. Mrs. Cooke is not in a patient mood today. Most likely thanks to these three.” She looked to Sarah. “Will you be all right to look after them for a little while longer?”

  Sarah lifted her doughy hands. “I’ll try my best.”

  “I have a few moments. I’ll watch them,” offered Chastity.

  “Lovely, thank you.” Jenny exhaled, blew a strand of hair from her face and headed back upstairs.

  Before Chastity could set the jug down, George darted around Chastity and followed his aunt up the stairs. As Chastity made a grab for him, the other two children followed, using their hands upon the stone steps to race up the stairs with astonishing speed.

  “George!” Chastity shouted, but he was gone.

  “You had better get them,” said Sarah. “Mrs. Cooke will never forgive us if the earl sees them.” She plunged her fingers into the dough. “I would go but...”

  Chastity waved a hand, put down the jug, and gathered her skirts to sprint up the stairs. She stopped at the top and glanced down the long hallway that led through much of the house and finished at another set of stairs to the main house.

  She closed her eyes briefly. If she was a naughty child, where would she go? With a grimace, she concluded they had most likely headed up the next set of stairs. Faint giggles rebounded off the walls, confirming her suspicion.

  She hastened along the corridor and up the stairs, emerging into the bright light of the rear of the house where large windows lit the entranceway.

  “George,” she hissed.

  “George?” a baritone voice repeated.

  She jolted and pressed a han
d to her heart when she spied Valentine to the right of her. He cut an imposing figure in an emerald waistcoat and open collar shirt. Only he could appear imposing without the cut of a dark jacket or a neatly tied cravat.

  “I suppose this is George.” He stepped back to reveal George and his siblings, huddled behind him.

  “He says we can have some paper and charcoal,” George said.

  She frowned. “Pardon?”

  “George tells me he is bored and is waiting for his grandparents.” Valentine looked to her for confirmation, and she nodded.

  “Jenny’s sister is sick and the children cannot be at home,” she explained.

  He motioned vaguely with his hand, waving away her explanation. “Let us get you that paper,” he offered, picking up Julia and settling her on his hip.

  George threaded his small hand into Valentine’s, and Chastity fought not to faint at the sweet gesture. There was something wildly appealing about this brooding man holding two young children so gently. She’d never seen him with children and had not considered how he might be with them really. She might have had imagined he would be completely befuddled by them somehow, but it seemed not.

  He led the children into one of the drawing rooms, retrieved some paper and charcoal which George clutched as though it was some sort of treasure then, after George had promised most heartedly to do his very best work so Valentine could inspect it, they headed downstairs to return the children to the kitchen.

  Jenny’s face paled when Valentine entered the kitchen and eased Julia to the floor, then distributed the paper and charcoal.

  “My lord, I—”

  He held up a palm. “I do not need to hear it. Just ensure they stay here. There are far too many places for them to get into trouble upstairs.”

  “Of course, my lord.” Sarah nodded eagerly, her cheeks bright patches of red.

  Valentine gave a curt nod and left just before Tom came in, waving a piece of paper Chastity recognized as the scandal sheets. Her stomach sank. What would they have to say about her sister today? Unfortunately, the servants all enjoyed the gossip and though they had never made any cruel comments, she loathed that her sister had become their entertainment.