This was his plan? She scrubbed her cheeks trying to move the sluggishness from her mind. “I met him briefly. I had no idea he was…” she searched through several words. Daft came to mind. Imbecile was another. “Interested,” she finally murmured.
Her mother shrugged. “Where did you meet him? When? Were you with Mary?”
Mary’s eyes widened but she remained silent.
“In the village,” Fleur answered without elaborating. “Will he also be at tea?”
“Yes,” her mother answered. “He’ll be at tea and so we’ve been asked to attend.”
Fleur gave a single jerk of her chin in understanding. He was going to feign interest in order to get information from her? She had to confess; it wasn’t the worst idea. Although, when it inevitably failed, because it was nothing but a ruse, her aunt was going to add it to the reasons that Fleur and her mother were a disappointment to the family. Of which, she had many.
Perhaps she was right. Fleur hadn’t solved the murder, hadn’t even come close.
And tracking down one killer had seemed easier than running an entire business. If she couldn’t do this…
“Is he handsome?” her mother asked.
“I hardly remember,” she replied, looking away. Handsome didn’t even begin to describe the arresting man she’d met this morning. He was handsome to be sure. And a bit brooding and large and strong with a will that seemed as though he could bend the entire world to suit his needs. “And of course, I will attend tea but I’ve no intention of allowing him to court me. We’ve only just begun grieving and—”
Her mother reached for her hand. “Your commitment to your papa is admirable, but Fleur,” her mother paused, drawing in a long breath, “he would have wanted you to move forward with your life. An English lord would make an excellent match for you.”
Fleur looked back at her mother. “You didn’t marry a lord. You followed your heart.”
Her mother winced. “There wasn’t a war then. I was free to do so. Now…” Her mother squeezed Fleur’s fingers. “I worry about your safety.”
“Uncle will keep me safe enough.” Fleur sighed as she tossed back the covers. She appreciated her mother’s concern. Even if Fleur were to take her mother’s words seriously, she didn’t know how to tell her mother that Destrian was not here to actually court.
Her mother nodded. “Still. Be ready in an hour. And wear your crepe mourning gown with the purple stitching. It compliments your eyes.”
“I will,” she smiled. “Can you talk to Aunt and see what you can learn about my would-be suitor?”
“Of course,” her mother said as she stood again. “That’s an excellent idea. You’re always thinking. I’ll go see her directly.” Then, crossing the room, she headed for the door once again.
Fleur slid into the seat of her dressing table. Dez was attending tea to extract information from her not because he wished to see her again. He might come to calling hours until he knew everything he needed to know and then she’d likely never see him again.
An odd niggle of disappointment travelled down her spine, but she ignored it as she crossed the room to begin her morning toilette.
Destrian White was not here to shower her with attention or affection, but rather to help her catch a murderer. Which was further complicated by the fact he still clearly thought she was the spy. But if she were going to convince him otherwise, she might as well look her best.
She ignored the voice that said she wanted him to find her attractive. She couldn’t care a whit. Destrian White might be able to help her find her father’s killer and that was what she cared most about. Why she’d been doing all of her sleuthing during the past several weeks. Sneaking about, putting herself in increasingly dangerous situations.
He’d be an asset in her hunt. She’d admired his broad shoulders because she’d need his strength of body and will to see her through this. That much was clear.
When he’d discovered her last night, he’d made it achingly clear how ill equipped she was to complete this task on her own.
Three quarters of an hour later, she left her room, dressed, her hair elaborately coifed, a veil resting delicately on her hair, while leaving her face uncovered. Her black gloves had a touch of lilac ribbon. She sighed to see them. The clothes were all a reminder of what they’d lost.
She found her mother in the morning room, waiting for her. “Fleur.” Her mother reached out her hands.
“Mother,” she replied, taking her mother’s hands and kissing both her cheeks. “I dressed as quickly as I could.”
Her mother nodded her approval. “You look as wonderful as can be accomplished in such times. Forgive me skipping the niceties, but I’ve learned a great deal and there isn’t much time.”
They both sat as Fleur waited silently for her mother to continue.
“It would seem Lord White owns a local shipping business.” Fleur remained silent, not bothering to tell her mother she knew that already. “He transports gunpowder.” Her mother’s hands pressed together. “Which is apparently a dangerous business during the war.”
Fleur nodded. She knew far more about his business and its dangers than she could ever tell her mother. “Go on.”
“Despite his status, it would seem he built the business on his own. Like your papa. Not something the English aristocracy prizes, but I’m of the opinion it can say a great deal about a man’s character.” Her mother looked down at her hands. “Though, he’s not regarded as particularly charming or likable, Maribelle says he is the primary caregiver for his only sister.”
Millicent…he’d mentioned her last night. “He takes care of his sister? That is good. No?”
Her mother gave her a weak smile. “I think so. But his family…they have a reputation as wild, uncompromising men.” Her mother hesitated. “Their father was referred to as…the Dark Duke.”
Fleur sat straighter, her lips parting. On the one hand, she’d gotten the impression that Dez looked and acted rough, but underneath his tough act there lived a decent man. One who returned her to her family last night all the while saving her reputation.
Was that the way his father had been or was there a more sinister explanation of Dez’s past?
Chapter Five
Dez straightened his cravat as he stood just outside the Countess of Aberdeen’s drawing room. The house was large and lavishly decorated with heavy brocades and shiny, polished mahogany everywhere he looked.
His family owned a home in Dover, as well. It had come as part of his mother’s dowry and that house spoke of her warm nature, her love of family, with intimate corners and bright colors.
This house practically shouted opulence and a need to display wealth. A crystal chandelier winked at him from the two-story foyer at eye level where he stood on the second story as the butler announced his arrival.
He’d never liked this sort of thing.
And by thing he meant social events involving society.
He grimaced. Actually, he didn’t know if he liked them or not. He’d refused to partake in them his entire adult life.
Which just went to show how one Fleur Dupont had turned his life upside down. Though to be fair, the explosion was really the cause and her culpability in that had yet to be determined.
He’d thought of little else this morning. Had she set the fire or was she the bystander she’d claimed?
His gut told him that she was the latter.
The more he considered, the more he realized, she’d been damn bad at subterfuge on the day the boat had exploded and again last night. Still, he’d keep a wary eye and listen to her explanations closely.
He entered the room to find several ladies already present and one elderly gentleman who already looked half asleep.
The cadence of female chatter caught his ears and he frowned, realizing he did, in fact, hate these sorts of events.
That was until Fleur rose in greeting.
His breath caught in his throat.
He’d noted her
beauty the night before but here, in the full light of day, she made it difficult for him to breathe.
He took her all in at once and then part by part, the rich shine of her thick blonde hair, the emerald green color of her eyes, the rose blush of her cheeks and lips, the curves of her body, thin and yet lush, and then back up to her face.
Her small, straight nose, the way her lips tipped into the smallest smile.
Under his shirt and cravat, the warm weight of her amulet rested against his bare chest. His fingers itched to touch the metal, then touch her.
Introductions were made, but Dez couldn’t remember a single name other than Fleur’s.
The seat next to her was vacant and he joined the party, being poured tea in a delicate cup.
The thing was so damned small. Proportionally, his hands were as large as the rest of him, and the fine china looked ridiculous in his massive hand.
He’d grown up with such finery, of course, and he learned how to grace a drawing room. But he far preferred the deck of a ship, a rough wooden cup, and swearing sailors.
Except when he looked at Fleur, delicately perched on the settee next to him and, for the briefest moment, he could picture a life that was a bit finer. His eyes widened as he continued to stare at her. He had no right to think that way about her. Or about his future. And why would he anyway? He wasn’t the marrying kind. Not after the lousy example his father gave him.
Still, he could enjoy the view while it lasted.
Her veil was clipped into her hair at the top of her coif, waves of blonde spilling over one shoulder.
Every muscle in his body tensed. He’d like that hair across his chest.
He gritted his teeth together, felt a flash of pain in his temples. He needed to focus. He was here to save his business and that was all. He had no intention of bedding a woman like Fleur and he most definitely didn’t wish for any more than that.
He had a simple home now, what he’d been able to afford when he’d left his father’s estate. And he was gone so much of the time, there hadn’t been a need for more. There still wasn’t.
The sun shone outside, the salon opening to a large balcony by a series of doors. As the conversation continued, he leaned over. “May I escort you for a walk about the room, Miss Dupont?”
She looked at him, one eyebrow rising. “Of course, my lord.”
He stood offering his elbow. He noted the woman on her other side, also in black, looked like an older version of Fleur with brown hair. She gave him a wary glance. It must be her mother and he had to confess, he regretted not being more attentive to the introductions. Fleur’s hand slipped into the crook of his elbow and he directed her toward the open doors. “You look recovered after some sleep,” he murmured as they reached the doors. He stepped outside but stayed in clear view of the rest of the party.
“Thank you, my lord,” she replied. Her fingers tightened. “You look exactly the same.”
Imp, he thought, but he relaxed. Somehow her teasing put him at ease. This was not a woman attempting to convince him of anything.
The question now was what did she know, and would it help him solve his mystery?
* * *
“The same? Is that good or bad?” He gave her a devilish smile that made her stomach flutter with butterflies.
That was not a question she was prepared to answer. It was good. She’d wondered if the shadows last night had added a mysterious quality that made him more intriguing, but he was equally entrancing by the light of day.
Now she could see the masculine planes of his face, his square jaw, dark piercing eyes, and the strong cords of his neck.
Her breath caught. She willed the attraction away, looking out over the cliffs to the ocean beyond, unable to look at him and concentrate. Instead, she studied the crystal blue water as the waves undulated against the shore. “This is your plan?”
But even as she looked away, Fleur felt his gaze as he studied her profile. A shiver ran down her spine.
His deep voice reverberated through her. “This is my plan.”
It wasn’t the worst one, but it wasn’t great either. They could only be out here a few minutes before her aunt and mother would start to question his behavior. And the more attention he paid her, the more expectation they would have for the future. “What do you want to know?”
“What did you overhear the night you met Le Serpent?”
She sucked in a quick breath. He was going to use their time together to get straight to the heart of the matter. She would too. “It’s not something I’m proud of,” she whispered. “What I overheard about my father. And I don’t think my mother knows.” She glanced over her shoulder. Her mother’s back was turned to them. Taking a breath, she looked back over the water. “My father had smuggled in his wine and hid it within tunnels in the cliffs.” Her breath caught. “I overheard them arguing about percentages. As near as I could tell, Le Serpent wanted more money for his help in hiding and reselling the wine. My father refused.”
“I see,” he said close to her ear.
Her fingers were still wrapped about his arm and she tightened her grip. “That was the day before his death.”
“Did you just hear him or see him too?”
“I saw him,” she replied, closing her eyes as she pictured the man in her head.
“Describe him to me.”
Keeping her eyes closed, she gave him the description. “He’s tall, thin, has a scar under his right eye. He had a patch that he was wearing but he’d pulled it up onto his forehead.”
His breath whispered across her cheek, but his arm was like granite under hers. “Did he see you?”
Her eyes snapped open as she shivered at the thought. “I don’t think so.”
“And you’ve not seen him in Dover since?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“That’s good.” His hand covered hers, the one resting on his arm. “How do you know he was responsible for the explosion of my ship?”
“My father’s friend…he told me. He works for the Prince Regent.”
* * *
Dez frowned. A word from a friend? That was suspect information at best. “What friend?”
She shook her head. “I can’t tell you. I’m sorry but the least I can do is protect him.”
Protect him? Who was protecting her? The more he learned, the less he liked this situation. Fleur’s dark lashes rested on her cheek as her face turned up toward the sun. She looked as vulnerable as an actual flower and he had the distinct urge to tuck her away and…keep her safe.
“Some man that was a friend of your father’s sent you down to the docks alone at night to track your father’s killer?”
She shuddered. “Don’t blame him. It was all my idea. He knew I needed to do this.”
Dez snorted. Because if what Fleur said was true then that was the most ridiculous pile of hogwash he’d ever heard. Any man worth his salt would never allow her to go alone,
He was suddenly glad his brother Ben had come back into their lives when he’d taken over the dukedom. Even if something happened to Dez, Ben would be there to care for Millie. Who was watching over Fleur?
Certainly not her pompous uncle. Fleur was sneaking in and out the house at will.
His chest tightened. “Fleur, no half decent man would ever—”
“Dez,” she said his given name, her lilting accent around his name causing a riot of pleasure to course through him. “Not all men are as…determined as you. He’s not malicious, just…kindhearted.”
He grimaced. “Regardless, I don’t think you should take any more advice from him.”
She frowned, her forehead creasing. “He won’t give me any more advice. He said so himself. But just so we’re clear, you think I should listen to a man who literally stole me from the docks over a man I’ve known for years. A friend of my father’s.”
A growl of dissatisfaction rumbled around his chest as he started walking down the balcony, Fleur still on his arm. He needed to mo
ve. The more he heard, the more his skin itched with the feeling that something was terribly wrong.
“If all you have said is true—”
“It is.” She opened her eyes then, her bright green gaze meeting his. The tension in her eyes pulled at him.
“Then I am worried for you.” He stopped, leaning closer. He needed her to understand.
She softened. “Thank you.”
“Please tell me his name. I’m no spy, just a business owner trying to protect his boat and his business.” And you, he silently added.
She nibbled her lip, indecision marking her brow as she looked at him. Finally, she answered, “LeBeouf.”
A Frenchman who had information about a French spy that he’d willingly given Fleur. That made even less sense. “He’s a spy for the Prince Regent? And he’s your father’s friend, the man who was smuggling wine into the country against the tariffs?”
Fleur’s mouth opened and closed, her brow furrowing. “I hadn’t thought about it like that.”
He tightened his hand over hers. “Fleur, please don’t gallivant off again. I’m worried for you.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Thus far the only real danger I’ve encountered is you.”
That made him chuckle. “Thank you for telling me about your father’s friend.”
“You’re welcome,” she whispered. “I have to confess. I’m glad you found me last night. I feel safer knowing you’re investigating with me.”
“You shouldn’t feel safer.” His gaze swept the large estate. “You were able to get in and out of this house undetected for the past several nights. I’ve seen your skills with stealth. They’re negligible at best. Which means others could get in. Easily.”
She shook her head. “I’m on the third floor,” she pointed to a pair of French doors just above them with their own small balcony overlooking the sea. “See? That’s me.”
“Your point?” he asked, looking up and noting her room was the second from the end.
“No one could climb up there.” They’d stopped again, in front of another open set of doors.
Her Willful White: Dark Duke’s Legacy Book 2 Page 4
