The Illegitimate Duke

by Sophie Barnes

  But Henry held him back. “You seem distraught. What’s going on?”

  The man Florian was chasing paused halfway up the stairs and looked out across the sea of people, the edge of his mouth lifting the moment their eyes met. Dread and fury pooled inside Florian’s chest. “Why is he here?” It was all he could think to ask.

  “Who?” Henry asked. He followed Florian’s gaze. “Mr. Mortedge?”

  Doubt crept in once more, even as the man nodded ever so slightly in Florian’s direction. Turning away, he took the remaining steps leading up to the door and disappeared out of sight. Blood roared in Florian’s ears, the urge to make chase and discover if it really was his father straining his muscles until they burned. But it was futile. The man was long gone. And then Henry’s words sank in and Florian turned toward him, aware of an empty void expanding inside.

  “Mr. Mortedge?” Uncertainty cemented itself even further. Of course it had to be someone else. For Bartholomew to actually be here at Hawthorne House made no sense.

  “He’s an American investor. Came over about six months ago and bought a gorgeous town house on Bedford Square.”

  He’d been wrong then. It wasn’t Bartholomew after all. Heat seemed to close in around Florian. He tugged at his cravat while trying to locate the nearest exit. Air. That was what he needed. Right now. This second. And perhaps a fortifying drink or two to calm his jangling nerves.

  “Get me a brandy, please, would you?” he told Henry. Without waiting for him, he started walking away. “I’ll meet you outside on the terrace.”

  Circumventing the cluster of people who stood in his way, Florian reached for the closest door and pushed it open. An uplifting breeze hit him, invigorating his senses and clearing his mind. He took a deep breath and crossed to the spot where he’d stood with Lady Juliette earlier in the evening. A wretched sigh escaped him and he muttered an oath. How things had changed since then, just in the course of the last five minutes.

  He allowed his breath to float past his lips and escape into the night. Memories, so many he wanted desperately to forget, rose to the surface. The first of a beautifully bound encyclopedia he’d received on his eighth birthday and of his mother’s stricken face when he’d read the inscription.

  I hope this will help with your education. Study hard and there is no doubt in my mind that you and I will enjoy a decent discussion.

  Until we meet in person,

  B

  She’d snatched it away from him without explanation and asked a maid to dispose of it while confusion, betrayal and loss overwhelmed him.

  Later, when he was fourteen, there had been the incident in the park when a man had approached him during his afternoon ride. He’d complimented Florian on his horsemanship and asked a few questions about his interests and education. Florian could still recall the discomfort he’d felt and the panicked look in his parents’ eyes when he’d mentioned it to them later.

  Two more years had passed before he’d learned of his true identity, before his mother had felt the need to explain after they’d been approached by the same man again while taking a walk in the park. Nothing had been the same since, the life he’d known until then torn to shreds in a second.

  “Is everything all right?”

  He stilled in response to Lady Juliette’s voice, almost too afraid to turn because he feared she’d want to know why he’d quit her company as quickly as he had. He couldn’t be honest. Not without the risk of her discovering his connection to Bartholomew. Which was not the way he wanted to end the evening.

  Christ, what a mess!

  He swept his palm across his forehead and turned to find her standing a few feet away, beautiful as ever in her blue silk gown. The wind tugged playfully at the sheer fabric layers and at a few stray strands of her hair.

  “Yes,” he lied. “Everything is fine.”

  He couldn’t even confide in Henry, he realized. Florian knew what it was to have the comfortable life you knew snatched away in an instant, and he refused to do that to his brother.

  “You don’t look fine,” Lady Juliette said, her voice dragging him out of the faraway place his thoughts had gone back to.

  “The heat was too much.” Another lie, but what else could he do? “It made me feel ill.”

  She studied him for a drawn-out moment and he realized he was holding his breath in anticipation of her response.

  Eventually she took a step toward him and said, “Yes, it is a bit stuffy in there.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief and strove to be the gentleman he ought to be in her presence. “I hope you can forgive my hasty departure. It had nothing to do with you.”

  She smiled then, wide and lovely and without any pretense. “Thank goodness for that! For a moment there I feared you might have tired of my company, which would have been a pity since I’ve really been enjoying yours and—”

  “Here you are,” Henry said, announcing his arrival as he crossed to where they were standing. “Took me a while to acquire this. It’s not as readily available in there as one might expect it to be.” He handed Florian the glass of brandy.

  Thanking him, Florian took a long sip, savoring the calming effect and the heat spreading out through his chest. And yet, as good as it felt, part of him regretted asking Henry to bring him the drink, because if he hadn’t, he might have been able to enjoy his conversation with Lady Juliette a little while longer without interruption.

  Her comment had squeezed his heart and made him feel . . . more. As strange as that was, it was really the only way he could think to describe it. And then there were her unspoken words, the ones she’d been about to say when Henry had arrived. Florian knew he would wonder about them later tonight and perhaps even for a few days after.

  “Better?” Henry asked when Florian lowered his glass.

  He nodded. “Yes. I think it was just what I needed.”

  His brother appeared on the verge of saying something more, then glanced at Lady Juliette and kept silent, for which Florian was grateful. He really didn’t want to discuss what had happened. Not when he couldn’t be honest about it.

  “Will you be attending the Wilmington Ball on Friday?” Henry asked.

  Florian shook his head. “I don’t think so. The only reason I came here tonight was because our parents insisted on it.”

  Catching the fleeting look of disappointment in Lady Juliette’s eyes, he shifted and straightened his spine. Whatever fanciful thoughts she was having, it was best she rid herself of them right now. He wasn’t interested in courtship or marriage, no matter how compelling he found her. It was best if she realized that, so she didn’t waste any more time on him.

  “There are more important matters for me to attend to,” he added while telling himself he felt no guilt over Lady Juliette’s crestfallen expression.

  “I see,” she muttered, then turned her full attention on Henry. “Do you plan on going, Mr. Lowell?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Henry declared. “Least of all if it gives me the chance to dance with you, my lady.”

  Lady Juliette chuckled in response to the easy flirtation while Florian dug his nails into the palms of his hands and forced down a growl. He would not be possessive. Not when he had no right to be. And yet there was no denying the way his muscles flexed and strained beneath his jacket and shirt or the way his heart ached in response to the emptiness stealing straight through him.

  “She dances exceptionally well,” he forced himself to say. “And Lowell isn’t bad either, so I’m sure you’ll both enjoy yourselves.”

  Henry gave him an odd look while Lady Juliette frowned, no doubt because he’d failed to keep the bitterness he felt from seeping into his voice.

  “Considering how gracefully you executed the waltz with Florian,” Henry told Lady Juliette, “I do believe I would like to try that particular dance with you myself. If you agree?”

  “I’d be delighted,” Lady Juliette replied without the slightest bit of hesitation.
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br />   Florian stared at her, the violent urge to step between her and his brother, to keep them apart somehow, so overwhelming it caught him completely unawares.

  Thankfully, Liverpool arrived at that exact moment, ridding Florian’s mind of the elemental compulsion to hit something. Like his brother. Which wouldn’t do at all.

  The prime minister’s expression was bleak, his eyes filled with the burden of too much responsibility. The look did not bode well. It made Florian’s heart rate escalate and his nerve endings scream with trepidation.

  “Florian,” Liverpool said, his eyes locking onto him and ignoring Henry and Lady Juliette as if they weren’t even there. “A word, if you will.” He swallowed and took a sharp breath. “Right away.”

  Liverpool’s urgency and blatant disregard for proper manners increased Florian’s unease tenfold. “Of course.” He glanced at Lady Juliette and at his brother. “Please excuse me a moment.” He moved a few paces away from where they stood and gave them his back as he stepped as close as he could to Liverpool. “What is it?”

  “I just received word from an apothecary surgeon in the Camden area. A Mr. Tibs?”

  “I’m familiar with the name,” Florian said, the unease he already felt now pricking at the nape of his neck.

  “He believes we might have a serious case of typhus on our hands.” Liverpool’s words were hushed but firm. “He claims he’s already seen two patients from St. Giles, both of whom were showing symptoms.”

  The unease became an all-encompassing numbness and the world seemed to still around him. A roaring silence echoed in Florian’s ears while he thought of his previous encounter with the disease. He blinked, felt his chest contract against a deep exhalation of breath. And then the rush of music and chatter from inside the ballroom, the feel of the breeze against his skin and the keen awareness of imminent danger assailed him as his senses awoke to his surroundings.

  His jaw tightened and medical intuition took over, banishing the fear. “Where are the patients now?”

  “The message didn’t say.”

  Florian gave Liverpool a hard look. “I need to see them immediately.” Because if Mr. Tibs was right, then time was of the essence. Typhus was not the sort of thing to take lightly. It took several days for symptoms to show and often resulted in death.

  With this in mind, he quietly said, “Let’s keep this between the two of us for now. The last thing we want is unnecessary panic.”

  “Agreed,” Liverpool muttered.

  Florian glanced over his shoulder at where his brother and Lady Juliette were still standing. Although they were chatting amicably, he noticed that her attention remained fixed on him with the sort of tenacious curiosity he’d rather do without at the moment.

  “Can you have a carriage readied?” he asked Liverpool.

  “Of course. Give me ten minutes.”

  They parted ways and Florian took a deep breath, schooled his features and returned to his companions. “I’m afraid something has come up. A matter I must attend to right away.”

  “Nothing too serious, I hope,” Henry said.

  “No,” Florian told him as easily as he would deny any connection to Bartholomew. “Just a couple of patients in need of treatment.”

  Lady Juliette’s eyes narrowed and he sensed she didn’t believe him. Not completely. So he hastened to bid her and his brother a continued good evening, and then strode away quickly, before she could question him further.

  Bartholomew poured himself a large glass of brandy and took a seat in his favorite armchair. When he’d had to start over, he’d been prepared, killing the man he’d been for over three decades and claiming a new identity as William Mortedge. A humorless grin tugged at his lips. Bartholomew might be dead, but Mortedge was very much alive.

  “Florian was there this evening, just as we predicted,” Bartholomew said, addressing Mr. Smith, his most trusted employee.

  “Did he recognize you?”

  Bartholomew sipped his drink, savoring the spicy flavor as it trickled slowly down his throat. “Yes. I’m sure of it. Looked like he wanted to rip my throat out.” He smacked his lips together and smirked. “I was lucky the crowd prevented him from getting to me.”

  Mr. Smith narrowed his gaze. “What’s the next step?”

  “We toy with him. Let him wonder if it really was me he saw. Keep him on edge.” Bartholomew set his glass aside on a table. “And we try to uncover his weaknesses so we’re ready to make him suffer when the time comes.”

  “You want his punishment to drag out then?”

  “He deserves it.” Bitterness made Bartholomew’s chest tighten. “Had it not been for his interference last year, I would have gotten my hands on that house Amelia Matthews bought. We’d already pushed her hard. I doubt it would have taken much more to make her abandon her dream of opening a school there.” He scoffed. “But Florian couldn’t resist the urge to hurt me for something that’s not even my bloody fault!”

  “Perhaps you should tell him the truth,” Mr. Smith suggested.

  “It won’t solve anything.” Bartholomew sighed. “That house, located where it is on the edge of St. Giles, offered the perfect opportunity for me to start taking over Guthrie’s territory.” He clenched his jaw. “Florian ruined everything when he chose to tell Coventry about my tax evasion. God knows how he knew about that, but it was the only thing I could be charged with at the time. It gave Coventry the reason he needed to seek the king’s help with my arrest. And after that everything fell apart.”

  “You were lucky to find a man who was willing to hang for you.”

  “He was dying anyway. Promising I’d look after his family once he was gone ensured his cooperation.” Bartholomew glanced at Mr. Smith. “Most people can be bought at the right price.”

  Mr. Smith nodded. “Do you still want to win against Guthrie?”

  Bartholomew tilted his head. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I’ve just heard that there might be a typhus outbreak in St. Giles. If we can ensure the disease takes its course and everyone dies, the entire area can be leveled and—”

  “I could offer to purchase it.” The prospect definitely appealed. And with the counterfeit bills they’d perfected during the last six months, he could afford any sum.

  “As long as you tell the king you’ll build some attractive properties, I’m sure he’ll agree. Especially if part of the profit you make on selling those properties goes back into the Crown’s coffers.”

  Bartholomew stared at Mr. Smith for a moment and then he suddenly laughed. “That’s genius!” Guthrie wouldn’t stand a chance—an idea that filled Bartholomew with pleasure. For years they’d been at odds. Ever since Guthrie had realized Bartholomew’s whores came from St. Giles and that they didn’t just include women and men.

  There had been good money in catering to the perverse needs of those who were willing to pay. Which was yet another reason why he’d wanted that house Amelia Matthews had bought. His intention had been to turn it into an exclusive brothel for the elite—the sort of place that offered discretion and catered to every fantasy. But if he managed to secure the entire area, the possibilities would be endless, extending to opium dens and gaming hells. All under the guise of complete respectability.

  Dipping his chin, Mr. Smith held Bartholomew’s gaze. “As long as we stop your son from doing his job.”

  “Of course.” If Florian started saving everyone, this plan would go to hell. “Let’s wait and see what he does for now. Keep an eye on him and inform me of further developments.” Picking up his glass of brandy again, Bartholomew swirled the amber liquid before setting the glass to his lips. If he played his cards right, he’d get his revenge on Florian and take over St. Giles. All in due course.

  Chapter 5

  When her sister, Amelia, came to call on her five days later, Juliette greeted her by the door and led her through to the parlor where their sister-in-law, Gabriella, sat waiting.

  “It is so good to see you,” Juli
ette said as she poured the tea. “How long has it been since the last time we did this? Two weeks or three?”

  “I am not entirely sure,” Amelia confessed. Her belly was larger than Juliette remembered, which was normal since her due date was only a little over a month away now. “It is surprising how time gets away from me these days. Having a husband and a child while running a business keeps me tremendously busy.” She’d married Thomas Heathmore, the Duke of Coventry, the previous year, becoming stepmother to his then five-year-old son, Jeremy. It was a position she took most seriously.

  “How is Jeremy doing?” Juliette asked.

  “He is thriving. Thomas made the right decision, choosing to educate him himself instead of hiring more governesses. Spending additional time together has allowed father and son to bond in a new way. It makes me wonder if it is wise, leaving your children in other people’s care for extended periods of time.”

  “I know what you mean,” Gabriella said. She’d surprised everyone by giving birth to twins earlier in the year. “It is the reason why I have been nursing David and Rose myself. Mama and Papa were both horrified by the idea of it. I believe Mama said she had never heard of a lady doing such a thing. And I have to admit it is exhausting.”

  “With two hungry babies, I wonder you have time to rest,” Amelia said.

  Gabriella smiled. “I suspect it is easier than if I had triplets.”

  Juliette and Amelia both laughed. “Oh dear,” Amelia sputtered. “I am not sure that would be manageable without a wet nurse.”

  “Truth is, I have been incredibly fortunate in my choice of husband,” Gabriella murmured with a dreamy element to her voice. “Your brother is so devoted and loving. I honestly could not be happier.”

  “Me neither,” Amelia said. “Knowing the man I fell in love with loves me in return is a true blessing. I hope you will experience the joy of it one day, Julie.”

  Taking a sip of her tea so she would not have to answer immediately, Juliette thought of Florian. She’d enjoyed his company tremendously the other evening and had missed him last night at the Wilmington Ball. Not that his ability to hold her interest or the occasional attraction she’d felt toward him meant anything at all. In fact, she wasn’t really sure why she was thinking of him in the context of this particular conversation.