The Duke of Her Desire: Diamonds in the Rough

by Sophie Barnes

  “Such as?” A keen interest gleamed in Guthrie’s eyes.

  “The solicitor who arranged the sale of the house mentioned another buyer—some individual willing to outbid Lady Amelia until I stepped in and threatened the solicitor with ruining his career. He must have seen me as a more immediate threat because he immediately gave in and Lady Amelia managed to complete her purchase. Since then, however, there has been a fire and today an act of sabotage causing one of the workers to get seriously hurt. The solicitor has also quit town—his office has been vacated. I came here with the hope that you might be able to give me some idea as to who might be behind all of this.”

  Guthrie leaned back in his chair, reached for his beer and took a slow sip. When he set the mug down, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before saying, “I can still give ye my opinion.”

  “I would be happy to hear it.”

  “That house was once very grand. Its location is of particular interest since it sits between the good part o’ town and the not so good part.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Well . . . let’s say that ye want to take advantage of both sides. Let’s say ye’re in the business of prostitution and ye’d like to start caterin’ to a richer clientele. A house like the one Lady Amelia purchased would make a prime location.”

  “I suppose that is true,” Thomas muttered. He wasn’t quite sure where Guthrie was going with this.

  “Now, let’s also suppose that ye’d like to gain a foothold in St. Giles.”

  “Disregarding the various assumptions you are making, I don’t suppose a name comes to mind?”

  Guthrie beamed. “Now that ye mention it, I do believe one does.” Crossing his arms, his eyes narrowed above a smirk. “If I’m to theorize, I’d say Bartholomew’s yer man. He ’as the means to do it. He’s also been after me territory fer years. Tried to win it earlier this summer when ’e had ’is man, The Bull, fight Huntley, but failed. I wouldn’t put it past ’im to try an’ acquire a house like the one Lady Amelia bought an’ turn it into a brothel or opium den.”

  “Are those his primary sources of income?”

  “Aye, but in the worst way possible.”

  “How so?”

  Guthrie started to look uncomfortable, which was disconcerting. “Aside from the expected romp, he’s known to offer the sort of experiences that those with particular tastes will pay good blunt to enjoy. With that house in his possession, I believe ’e’ll be lookin’ to offer the wealthy somethin’ only the lowliest bawdy ’ouses provide at the moment.”

  “You imagine a twisted, drug-infused El Dorado for the rich and perverse?” Thomas asked and Guthrie nodded, his mouth now set in a flat line. “You could be wrong.”

  “I bloody well hope I am, but if I’m not and ’e somehow manages to take control of that house, a lot of me people will suffer. Which is why you can count on me to do me part. I’ll try to look into the matter, now that ye’ve made me aware of it.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate the help since Lady Amelia and I have no plan on quitting our own plans for that house. We intend to turn it into a school for the children of St. Giles, and not even Bartholomew is going to stop us from doing that.”

  “I’ll certainly wish ye luck,” Guthrie said. “A school would be welcomed. But don’t underestimate a man like Bartholomew. He’s a ruthless villain if ever there was one, and with fewer scruples than me.”

  Taking his warning to heart, Thomas left the Black Swan after offering Guthrie ten pounds for his trouble. He then collected his carriage and made his way back to Huntley House so he could brief Lady Amelia just as he’d promised.

  Chapter 18

  Sitting on a chair in Coventry’s study two days later, Amelia eyed the man whom her brother had only ever mentioned when referencing someone worse than Carlton Guthrie. Bartholomew. She did not know his full name, nor did she care to. When Coventry had mentioned his possible involvement in the recent events pertaining to her house, her concern had left her with a deep chill in her bones.

  She looked to where Lady Everly and the dowager duchess sat and was grateful for their presence. Perhaps it would prompt Bartholomew to act with some decorum even if she and Coventry failed to do so.

  “I cannot imagine why you would wish to see me, Your Grace,” Bartholomew drawled. He was an older man and shockingly well-dressed, considering his profession. Apparently crime had served him well, and the time he’d spent in Newgate years ago had not affected his fondness for proper tailoring. Rumor had it he’d been imprisoned for only a few days because of his good connections and a few well-placed bribes.

  “Really?” Coventry asked with a note of sarcasm. He leaned back and studied Bartholomew with a keen eye that Amelia found rather reassuring. The villain was not about to get the better of him, of that she was quite sure.

  “I’m afraid so,” Bartholomew said. Smirking, he looked up at his associate—a heavyset man who probably served as Bartholomew’s protector when out about town.

  Coventry drummed his fingers against his desk for a moment, then said, “A house was recently sold on the corner of Bainbridge and High Street. Two parties bid on it, Lady Amelia being one and the other being yourself.”

  Bartholomew snorted. “You’re wrong about that, Your Grace. I never tried to buy such a building.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Of course it is.” Bartholomew suddenly grinned. “One house would never be enough for me. Not when it comes to St. Giles. I’m rather looking to take the entire neighborhood, you see.”

  “So Guthrie says.”

  “Oh? You spoke to my favorite rival, did you?” Shaking his head, Bartholomew stretched out his legs and sighed. “I suppose he’s the one who brought you sniffing around my feet, hoping to catch a scent of something nefarious. Well . . .” His eyes hardened, and Amelia suddenly saw the man so many people feared. “Perhaps you ought to take a closer look at Guthrie himself. That gin business he’s in may need a new location.”

  “The house caught fire last week,” Thomas said, ignoring Bartholomew’s comment, “and two days ago one of the workers fell through the roof. Turns out the beams had been cut to allow for the accident.”

  “And I suppose you’re going to blame me for that too?”

  “I probably wouldn’t have, but Mr. Gorrell’s sudden disappearance does seem to raise some suspicion.”

  “Forgive me,” Bartholomew murmured, “but who is Mr. Gorrell?”

  “The solicitor in charge of the sale.” Coventry narrowed his gaze. “He mentioned another buyer—someone wealthy enough to make the sort of offer that was meant to dissuade others—an exorbitant amount, considering the state the house is in and its location.”

  “Yet you paid. There is no doubt a long line of other individuals willing to acquire the place for whatever strange reason they might have. I, however, am not one of them.”

  Amelia pondered that statement and the convincing manner in which Bartholomew delivered it. Perhaps they were wrong about him? All they had was an idea cultivated by Guthrie.

  “I rather suspect you might be,” Coventry said.

  Bartholomew sighed. “Very well, let us suppose that I am. You still have no evidence to prove it, do you?” When Coventry failed to answer, Bartholomew shook his head. “Honestly, I cannot imagine what you hoped to achieve by asking me to come here. If a confession was your aim, you ought to know that I never confess to anything.” He stood and turned toward the door. “Come along, Mr. Smith. The duke has wasted enough of our time today.”

  “I will be launching an investigation,” Coventry added.

  His words made Bartholomew pause with his hand on the door handle. He looked back at Coventry. “Feel free to do as you please. I certainly have no plan to stop you.”

  “That man is a snake,” the dowager duchess proclaimed as soon as Bartholomew and his compatriot had quit the room. “Those light green eyes made my skin crawl.”

  “He is right though,” Co
ventry murmured. “We cannot prove that he is involved, and he certainly will not be making a confession.”

  “But perhaps confronting him like this will warn him off,” Lady Everly suggested.

  “It is a possibility.” Coventry looked across at Amelia and met her gaze. He gave her a regrettable smile. “I am sorry I could not achieve more.”

  “Don’t be. Now that we know we’re being targeted, we’ll hire some watchmen to keep an eye on the building both day and night. If someone tries to cause harm again, they will hopefully be caught.”

  “Perhaps you ought to refrain from visiting the house in the meantime,” Coventry said. “I do not like the idea of subjecting you to possible danger.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She could feel her entire person revolting against the idea. “I need to stay apprised of what is going on.”

  “Coventry can easily do so,” Lady Everly said. “I think he is right to insist on keeping you away from there until all threats have been eliminated.”

  “But this is my project, and the threats are not as big as all that when all I am doing is assessing the progress for a few minutes here and there.” She could hardly believe what was happening now.

  “Even so,” the dowager duchess chimed in, “caution is advised. Especially because this is your project, Lady Amelia. If anything were to happen to you, it would probably be the end of it.”

  Disliking that ominous thought, Amelia reluctantly agreed. “Very well,” she said, “but if a week passes without incident, I am going back for a quick visit.”

  With a sigh, Coventry looked to his mother, then to Lady Everly before eventually meeting Amelia’s gaze. “Fine.” His curt affirmative spoke of deep apprehension on his part.

  The dowager duchess rose, signaling an end to the conversation. “It has been a trying hour. Perhaps you would like to have a refreshing cup of tea?”

  “Oh indeed, that would be welcomed,” Lady Everly said. She preceded the dowager duchess out of the room.

  “I was actually wondering if I might be able to see Jeremy again,” Amelia said.

  Turning in the doorway, the dowager duchess raised an eyebrow and then looked toward her son. “Perhaps you can engage Lady Everly in a bit of conversation, Coventry, while I show Lady Amelia up to the nursery?”

  “I would be delighted to,” Coventry said. He circumvented his desk and came to a halt before Amelia. “Thank you for taking an interest in him.” The appreciation with which he spoke was profound.

  “Having made his acquaintance, I cannot imagine not doing so,” she said. “He is a bright child.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  There was something about the way Coventry spoke that almost appeared insightful. She found that a bit strange since he was Jeremy’s father and would obviously know just how wonderful Jeremy was.

  “After you,” Coventry said, his words scattering her thoughts.

  She glanced at him, producing a smile in response to the warmth that shone in his eyes, and then followed his mother from the room.

  Entering the nursery, Amelia searched the room for Jeremy until she spotted him by one of the windows. A cushioned bench there allowed him to sit and look out at the street below, his arms crossed against his chest while his small frame rocked gently back and forth.

  “We’ll be all right,” Amelia told the dowager duchess. “If you would like to return downstairs, I will join you in a few minutes after I give him the gift I’ve brought with me.”

  “You brought him a gift?” The dowager duchess’s voice was but a whisper of incredulity.

  “It’s nothing much, but I saw it in a shop window earlier today and thought he might enjoy it.”

  “Well then. I will leave you to it.”

  Thanking her, Amelia walked toward the window announcing her presence by speaking Jeremy’s name so as not to startle him. “May I join you?” she then asked. He didn’t respond nor did he look at her. She paused for a second, then lowered herself to the vacant spot beside him on the bench and turned her gaze outward. “I thought there would be more people out walking at this time of day.” Still no response. She considered a couple of ladies approaching from the northern end of the street. A gentleman coming from the south tipped his hat at them as he passed.

  “Thirty-seven.”

  Amelia glanced across at Jeremy. “Thirty-seven. . . . people?” She could only guess.

  “Thirty-seven ladies since noon and forty-three gentlemen. Five children and eleven dogs.”

  “I see. You live on a busy street.”

  He looked at her with a blank expression. “That is ten fewer people than yesterday, but the same number of dogs.” He turned away from her again.

  They sat in silence for several minutes. Amelia watched a bird land on the roof of the opposite building, then opened her reticule and pulled out a wooden cube. “I brought this for you,” she said, holding the item toward him.

  “What is it?” His eyes remained fixed on something outside.

  “A puzzle. You have to take it apart and then put it back together again. I thought you might enjoy it.”

  Abandoning whatever it was that had held his interest, he dropped his gaze to her outstretched hand. A long moment passed during which Amelia wondered if the boy would accept her offering or not. In the end, she placed it on the bench between them and stood.

  “I must return downstairs now, but I do hope to see you again soon.”

  “Will you give me another ride then?”

  She nodded, even though he wouldn’t see, his attention now fixed on the cube. “If you like.”

  When he said nothing further, she backed away before turning around and leaving the room. It was hard, trying to engage with a person who showed no hint of what they were thinking or feeling, and it was so much worse when it was a child whom one expected to laugh and play. It made her wish there was more she could do to help, except she was not really in a position to do so. She was merely a friend, and that was probably all she ever would be.

  “What is your impression?” Lady Everly asked on their way home in the carriage. “Of the duke’s son?”

  Startled, though she’d known the question would come, Amelia considered her answer carefully, then said, “He is extraordinarily bright for his age. I enjoyed his company very well indeed.”

  Lady Everly stared straight back at her. Amelia forced herself to hold her gaze. “They are opening up to you. More so than to anyone else. Her Grace’s attentiveness to you is also quite noticeable. I cannot help but wonder why that might be.”

  “I do not know. Perhaps you were right when you suggested that her invitation to tea had something to do with my need to marry more quickly than Juliette. She might simply be studying me in order to find my most appealing qualities.”

  “Hmm . . . I do not think it is quite that simple.”

  “You do not?”

  “No.” Lady Everly’s expression turned pensive. “I think she is laying the foundation for something else, like pairing you off with her son.”

  Amelia’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

  Lady Everly nodded. “Yes. That has to be it. She has obviously taken a liking to you, and with the death of her daughter in mind, she may be hoping to keep you around. Which she would be able to do if you were to marry the duke.”

  “I think that is quite a conclusion to make on the basis of one private visit and my introduction to Master Jeremy.”

  Lady Everly smiled. “Not when nobody else I can think of has ever laid eyes on the boy. He is fiercely protected, and yet you managed to ingratiate yourself enough to obtain a private meeting with him.”

  Unwilling to explain that she’d only been allowed it because she understood Jeremy’s behavior and would never judge him for it, Amelia averted her gaze and looked out the window. “You are mistaken about the dowager duchess’s intentions, my lady. She knows as well as I that I would not make a suitable duchess. To presume otherwise would be a mistake.”

 
“If that is what you truly believe, then there is something wrong with your self-esteem. Because it is my opinion that you deserve to marry the man of your choosing, even if that man does happen to be a duke.”

  Chapter 19

  It wasn’t particularly warm, Amelia decided the following day when she entered the tent that had been erected in her garden. The fund-raising event Lady Everly was helping her host was proving to be a remarkable success, however. Most of the people who’d been invited had arrived, many of them providing gift baskets that had been raffled off a few minutes earlier. She would have to count the revenue later, but with several items going for one hundred pounds, she knew she would be pleased with the result.

  Shivering in response to a chilly breeze, she drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders. At least the sun was shining, but there was still a brusqueness to the air that made her wish she would have worn a spencer.

  She reached for a jug of lemonade.

  “Allow me,” a deep voice said at her shoulder.

  Turning, she saw it was Mr. Lowell who’d approached. Amelia moved so he could have the honor of pouring. “How have you been?” he asked, handing her a full glass.

  She took a sip, then told him about the fire and the accident, which she felt he had a right to know about as an investor.

  His face became a mask of concern. “Thankfully you are all right though. It could have been worse.”

  “Yes, I suppose that is true.”

  An amicable pause followed until he asked, “What about you and Coventry? Are there any developments there?”

  She looked away and began regarding the finely dressed people who mixed and mingled on the lawn. Coventry was conversing with his mother. She’d greeted them both upon her arrival, but had quickly excused herself to come here—an easy escape from the man, but not from her feelings.

  “No. Not really.”

  Lowell stuck one hand in his pocket and looked out over the crowd. “That is a pity.” When she didn’t respond, he said, “I am not the sort of man who would wish you ill because you turned me down. On the contrary, I like both of you well enough to hope that everything works out to your advantage. And Coventry is a good man. He deserves to find happiness.”