The Duke of Deception

by Darcy Burke

  Mr. Forth-Hodges coughed. “I should clarify that she’s an agreeable and biddable young woman. Since she is our youngest by several years, she and my wife are quite close.”

  That gave Ned pause. This was merely Mr. Forth-Hodges’s observation, of course, and he could be exaggerating things. Ned would rely on Aunt Susannah’s investigation to corroborate this.

  The loud, deep voice of Lord Lighton cut across the table. “Harold, do come and settle an argument about who makes a better whisky.”

  Mr. Forth-Hodges—Harold—turned his head and chuckled. “All right.” He looked at Ned and said, “Please excuse me.”

  Ned, satisfied that he’d learned what he needed to, at least for tonight, nodded. “Of course.”

  After a healthy drink of port, Ned contemplated how much longer they’d have to sit here. As soon as they removed to the drawing room, he’d hopefully collect his aunt and leave.

  Lindsell, a gentleman a few years younger than Ned but who looked far younger, moved over next to him, taking the chair Miss Knox had occupied. “’Evening, Sutton,” he said before sipping his port.

  “’Evening, Lindsell.”

  The baron held up his glass and squinted at the ruby liquid. “Excellent port.”

  Ned said nothing, wondering if the man just meant to make inane comments or if he planned to engage in actual conversation. Ned had tried to listen to what he and Miss Knox were discussing but had picked up only bits and pieces, not enough to follow along. She’d said they weren’t courting, but perhaps Lindsell was moving in that direction. Would she be in favor of that?

  Hell, why should he care? Because he found her intriguing. Far more so than any other young woman he’d put to his test.

  Lindsell set his glass down and leaned toward Ned, keeping his voice low as his gaze flicked toward Mr. Forth-Hodges, who was now seated across the table. “It seems you have your sights set on Miss Forth-Hodges. Think she’ll actually pass muster?”

  Ned was used to certain gentlemen asking him about his habit of looking as though he was going to marry and then not, but Lindsell had never been one of them. Ned knew that people talked, it was the nature of Society, and while he found it annoying, there was nothing he could do about it. Save not give them fodder, which, as counterintuitive as it sounded, he was trying to do by being meticulous about selecting a wife. She had to be capable of embracing George and keeping him from Society’s notice. People generally didn’t understand—or tolerate—the insane.

  “We are not formally courting,” Ned said. He was always careful not to make any formal declarations while he carried out his process.

  “Right, but you’re still eyeing her, obviously. Well, I hope Miss Forth-Hodges proves to be the one.” He sipped his port again. “I’m looking at Miss Knox, myself. She’s a bit eccentric, but she’s been on the market a long time. I daresay she’s eager to make a match.”

  Was she eccentric? He’d have to see for himself. He supposed she was a bit out of the ordinary given the predicament that had forced their introduction, but he liked that she was unique.

  “I can overlook her quirkiness if I just focus on her loveliness.” Lindsell took another drink of his port, almost finishing it before setting it back on the table with enough force that the remaining liquid sloshed up the sides of the glass. “Damn me, but she’s beautiful. I can’t believe some man hasn’t swept her up despite the fact that she’ll bore you to tears with her nonsensical chatter.”

  Ned suppressed the urge to smash his fist into Lindsell’s drawling mouth. It was obvious he’d had a bit too much to drink; otherwise, Ned might have let his fist fly. He didn’t suffer men who insulted women. His lip curling, he tossed a glare at Lindsell’s glass. “Seems as though you’ve maybe had enough tonight.”

  “Eh?” Lindsell frowned at his port. “Tasty stuff. I must commend Durant.” He threw back what was left in his glass and stood. He strode toward the head of the table, where Durant was conversing with Lord Isley. Ned glared daggers at the man’s back.

  “Good evening, Sutton.”

  Ned turned his head to see Lord Satterfield standing next to his chair. “’Evening, Satterfield.”

  “May I sit?” he asked, gesturing to the chair Lindsell had just abandoned.

  “Yes, of course.” Ned eyed him warily, wondering what he’d done to draw the earl’s attention. They were only superficially acquainted, and the only reason Ned could think Satterfield would seek him out was due to his ward—Miss Knox.

  “Capital dinner party,” Satterfield said as he dropped into the chair with his port.

  “Yes.” Ned finished his drink and set his empty glass on the table. He was more than ready to move to the drawing room.

  “You were seated next to Miss Knox. She’s our ward, you must know. We’ve grown quite fond of her this Season.”

  Ned wanted to ask why they were sponsoring her. Had something happened to her parents? “She’s a charming young lady.”

  Satterfield contemplated his glass for a moment and when he at last spoke, his voice was low and gruff. “I wanted to ensure that nothing adverse would come of what happened the other night. We appreciate your assistance.” He looked at Ned with more question than appreciation.

  Ned wanted to put the man at ease. “You needn’t be concerned. Miss Knox’s welfare was—and still is—my primary goal. I only sought to help her in a desperate situation. I do think we handled it as best as possible.” Really, he dared the man to come up with a better outcome. No one was aware of anything. Ned suddenly wondered how much Satterfield knew. Had Miss Knox told them of their extended conversation, of his lending her his coat?

  He rather hoped not. But perhaps that was why the earl was here expressing his concern.

  “Yes, I agree,” he said. “You acted very quickly. Thank you.” He shook his head, smiling before sipping his port. “I can’t imagine what she was thinking dashing out of the ballroom like that.”

  Ned bit back his defense of her before he exposed just how much time he’d spent with Miss Knox. “I’m sure she had a good reason.”

  “Perhaps. To be young again, I suppose.” He exhaled. “She’s a good sort. I hope we’ll be able to find her settled before the end of the Season. It looks as though Lindsell may come up to scratch, which would be a boon for her.”

  The hell it would. Ned couldn’t let that comment go without addressing it. “I’m certain she could do better. Lindsell is a fool, and I’d wager he would not have rescued Miss Knox as discreetly as I did the other night.”

  Satterfield’s brows drew together, and he looked at Ned sharply. “Is that so? I hadn’t heard anything untoward about his reputation.”

  “I don’t think it’s well known.” In fact, Ned wouldn’t have made this observation if the cretin hadn’t insulted Miss Knox a few minutes ago. “I’m not certain his opinion of women is tolerable. This is not a rumor but my own deduction after conversing with him.”

  “Egad, I’m glad you said something. I will take this under advisement, thank you.”

  At last, Lord Durant stood and announced it was time to repair to the drawing room. Ned exhaled with relief.

  “Excellent chatting with you,” Satterfield said as he got to his feet.

  “Likewise.” Ned stood, straightening his coat, and gestured for Satterfield to precede him.

  They filed out and entered the drawing room, where the ladies were seated in small groups. Ned’s gaze went immediately to a settee in the corner, where not his aunt, nor Miss Forth-Hodges, but Miss Knox was seated. She chose that precise moment to look toward the doorway, and their eyes connected. She looked a bit surprised, and he felt that same emotion, as if he’d just received a gift he hadn’t asked for but was nonetheless delighted to receive.

  Most peculiar.

  He looked for his aunt, finding her in another grouping with Miss Forth-Hodges and Mrs. Forth-Hodges. Aunt Susannah’s eyes met his, and she nodded imperceptibly before excusing herself and standing.

/>   Ned moved into the room to an unpopulated area near the darkened windows facing out into the back garden. Aunt Susannah joined him there, frowning slightly. “You look annoyed.”

  “Do I?” Because he was, but he hadn’t meant to show it. This evening had left him feeling unsettled.

  Ned wiped a hand over his face. “My apologies. I’m afraid Lindsell irritated me following dinner.”

  “Indeed? How so?”

  “He insulted one of the young women. I can’t tolerate that.”

  “No, you can’t. Was it Miss Forth-Hodges? I can see how that would trouble you.”

  His gaze flicked toward Miss Knox. “No, it wasn’t.” He seized the opportunity to move to that topic. “How was your conversation with her and her mother?”

  “It went quite well. She’s a very charming young woman—truly the best one yet. I do think you may have your match.”

  “Actually, I believe it’s time to conclude the evaluation.”

  Aunt Susannah’s light blue eyes sparked with glee. “That’s wonderful. I’m delighted for you.”

  “I think you misunderstand. My interest in Miss Forth-Hodges is at an end.”

  Her gaze dimmed, and she gaped for a brief moment before pressing her lips together. “I’m very sorry to hear that. Don’t you want to hear what I learned about their relationship?”

  “It won’t signify. I spoke with her father, and while I appreciate her charm and nerve, I’m concerned that she and her mother are too close. I can’t risk Miss Forth-Hodges sharing the truth about George with her mother. I can’t be certain she’d keep our secret.”

  “I do understand your reservations. You have to be completely comfortable with your bride and her family situation.” Still, she sounded disappointed.

  Ned glanced around. “We can’t discuss this here.” Besides, they’d completely belabored the topic over the years. Aunt Susannah bore the burden of his family’s secret with relative ease, but then it hardly affected her the way it did him.

  A footman approached them, his expression serious. “Excuse me, Lord Sutton?”

  Ned pivoted toward him. “Yes?”

  The retainer offered him a folded parchment. “This just arrived for you. It is urgent.”

  Ned’s heart immediately started to pound as blood rushed through his ears, momentarily deafening him. “Thank you.” Somehow, the words came out calm and normal in spite of the tempest that had kicked up inside him. He opened the paper, afraid of what it might say. If his butler had directed the missive be sent here, the news must be dire. He read the short message and closed his eyes briefly, his pulse slowing a bit, but not completely.

  “What is it?” Aunt Susannah’s tone echoed his own distress.

  “George believes the house is under siege. Dr. Paget is doing his best but has requested I come at once.”

  She touched his arm. “Do you need me to come with you?”

  Ned shook his head. “I’ll go now and send a note as soon as I know more. You can come tomorrow if necessary. I’ll send the coach back here later tonight to fetch you.”

  “Thank you.” She looked up at him with love and concern. “It will be all right.”

  Ned stroked her arm fondly before locating Lord Durant to say good night. As Ned made his way to the door, he once again looked toward Miss Knox. She was deep in conversation with another woman. He wished she would turn her head. No, he wished he could bid her good evening.

  Reluctantly, he turned and left the house. A short while later, after exchanging his coach for his horse, he was racing south toward Sutton Park.

  The situation didn’t sound ominous and certainly wasn’t as terrible as what George was capable of. It had been well over a decade since he’d set fire to the house, when he’d irrevocably changed all their lives. Ned wasn’t sure what he would do if something similar happened. He couldn’t allow him to return to Bethlehem Hospital.

  Anxiety about George warred with a mild sense of anticipation. He’d typically wait before turning his attention to another young woman, but Miss Knox was there. She was lovely, unique, and Satterfield had indicated that she should find a husband this Season. Ned couldn’t let that be Lindsell. Was that the reason spurring his interest—a desire to save her from Lindsell?

  Perhaps, but it was only one facet. She’d intrigued him the other night. He liked her lack of guile and sharp mind. He already knew that she met his most basic criteria—she was over the age of twenty-one, and this was not her first Season. She possessed the maturity and experience to hopefully be discreet and make sound decisions.

  For the first time in ages, maybe ever, he looked forward to this process. And he genuinely hoped Miss Knox would turn out to be what he was searching for.

  Wind splattered rain against the window, drawing Aquilla’s attention momentarily away from the letter in her hand. Tossing a scowl at the nasty weather, she returned to the missive and quickly devoured the remaining words penned by her dear friend Lucy. She was beyond happy in her new married life, but missed Aquilla and their other friend Ivy. Aquilla missed her too, but took solace in the fact that she had Ivy and that she would be arriving shortly—provided this storm didn’t delay her.

  Lady Satterfield breezed into the sitting room, her gaze settling on Aquilla, who was seated near the windows in her favorite high-backed chair. “There you are, dear. Aren’t you expecting company?”

  “Yes, Ivy will be here soon.”

  The countess smiled. “Lovely.” She glanced at the window and shook her head. “What a ghastly spring we’re having. Is it just me, or has it gotten worse in the past couple of weeks?”

  “It’s not just you,” Aquilla said. “I quite concur.” They’d had to cancel more than one outdoor excursion—a picnic and a pilgrimage to Hampton Court.

  Lady Satterfield perched on the settee and angled herself toward Aquilla. “I wanted to talk with you about the dinner party last night. Did you have a nice time?”

  “I did, thank you.” Aquilla wasn’t precisely fibbing—she did have a pleasant evening for the most part, especially when she considered the time she spent talking with Lord Sutton at dinner.

  There was a beat of silence as Lady Satterfield seemed to gather her words. “Is that due to Lord Lindsell?” There was a hint of a wince in the creases around her mouth that led Aquilla to believe Lady Satterfield had perhaps formed a negative opinion about Lindsell. Aquilla could only hope.

  “Not particularly, actually.”

  The countess exhaled. “I’m glad to hear it. Lord Satterfield has heard that Lindsell may not be particularly…complimentary when it comes to the fairer sex.”

  “If you mean he’s an imbecile, then yes.” She nearly clapped her hand over her mouth, but decided the countess knew her well enough by now for her to speak her mind. And she should be honest. About everything. Her throat tightened. She needed to tell Lady Satterfield the truth, that she didn’t want to find a husband. But then she’d have to return home, and heaven knew she’d rather go just about anywhere besides Henlow House.

  She wouldn’t have to if she could find a position as a companion like Ivy. Today, she meant to ask for her help. In the meantime, she ought to keep up her ruse—until she had a plan. Still, she hated lying to Lady Satterfield, who absolutely didn’t deserve such treatment after the kindness and generosity she’d shown Aquilla. More than lying to her, however, she was afraid of disappointing her.

  Lady Satterfield smiled at her characterization of Lindsell. “Yes, an imbecile indeed. We shall move on, then. There are plenty of other bachelor gentlemen.”

  It was the perfect opening…

  Aquilla opened her mouth just as Harley, the butler, came into the room and announced Ivy’s arrival. He stepped aside, and Ivy came in, her stride purposeful. She slowed as her gaze landed on Lady Satterfield, and she dipped a brief curtsey. “Good afternoon, my lady.”

  “Good afternoon, Ivy. It’s a pleasure to see you.” Lady Satterfield adjusted her cap as she stood. �
�I’ll leave you two girls to visit.” She smiled at Aquilla, her eyes glowing with warmth, before leaving.

  Ivy watched her go before drawing her gloves off and setting them on the table near the settee. “You are so fortunate the countess took you under her wing. She’s such a lovely person.”

  Guilt ate at Aquilla’s insides. She’d been about to tell her the truth—and she would. Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to a more serene state. And changed the subject.

  “I’m so glad you made it here in spite of the storm.” Aquilla took in Ivy’s costume, the hem of which was a bit wet. “You don’t look any worse for it.”

  Ivy patted the back of her reddish-blond hair and swept her hand down her neck before rubbing her palms together. “It’s quite horrid, but I was determined to come. Lady Dunn was, of course, satisfied to stay at home. I left her with a warming pan and the latest issue of La Belle Assemblée.” Lady Dunn was Ivy’s employer of the past few months, a widow in her mid-sixties.

  Ivy perched on the settee and looked toward Aquilla, her lips curving into a half smile. “Do tell me all about last night’s dinner party. Was Lindsell there?”

  Aquilla nearly did what she always did—pretend it was a smashing success and that she was one step closer to her goal of finding a husband. But the lie had grown stale. No, it was worse than that: it had mildewed and was now quite rancid. “Lindsell is an ass.” She felt freer to use a more colorful term with her friend, and damn, it felt good.

  Ivy’s green eyes widened. “Goodness, Aquilla, I don’t know that I’ve ever heard you say such a thing.” She chuckled. “I think I like it.”

  The stress tightening Aquilla’s frame into a rigid mass dissipated. She surrendered to laughter too. When they’d sobered, Ivy cocked her head to the side. “What’s going on?”

  Resolute in her decision to be truthful, Aquilla stood and moved to sit beside Ivy. “I’d like your help with something.”