Between the Devil and Desire

by Lorraine Heath

  “You’re acquainted?” Olivia asked, stopping her frantic patting.

  Dodger grinned with a touch of malice. “I told you, Duchess, I’m familiar with the aristocracy.” He sat in a nearby chair, slouching back slightly, placing his ankle on his knee. She’d never seen a man sit in such an impolite manner. “Have a seat, Briarwood. We can discuss all the reasons why we don’t want to do as you suggest.”

  To her surprise, her husband’s cousin did sit. But his back was straight, his posture excellent. Breeding was so important. She could only begin to fathom the difficulties Henry would face if he was taught behavior by Dodger. His peers would laugh at him, insult him, and afford him no respect.

  “Now, as I see it,” Dodger drawled, “we have three reasons not to take this matter to the courts: the expense, because you will have to hire a solicitor; the terrible scandal that will be created, because something of this nature is certain to incite gossip; and the fact that the matter can be easily rectified if you but marry the duchess.”

  “M-marry her?” Briarwood stammered, clearly shocked by the notion.

  “Yes, did she not mention that? I forfeit guardianship when she marries a man willing to take over the role. So, you see? You merely have to wed her—”

  “I’m in mourning, Mr. Dodger,” she repeated for what seemed like the thousandth time, through clenched teeth. How was it that the man failed to grasp so simple a concept?

  “The ceremony itself could be handled very discreetly with a special license. Just as Lord Claybourne arranged his marriage while his new bride was mourning the loss of her father. Then off to the country you go. In two years, you return to London with tales of your insatiable love, and all is forgiven. Ladies excuse all manner of indiscretion when love is at its core.”

  “I’m not going off to the country—”

  “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

  “I want to be rid of you.”

  “Marriage achieves that end.”

  “I have no desire to marry Lord Briarwood.” She jerked her gaze to Briarwood. “My apologies, my lord. I’m certain you were not considering marriage, but I am only newly widowed.” And if she ever married again, she hoped duty wouldn’t be involved. On the other hand, Dodger was correct. Marriage would effectively get him out of her life. She cleared her throat. “I hope I didn’t offend you if you were consider—”

  “No, I-I’d not entertained the notion. That’s not to say I wouldn’t, only that I hadn’t considered it up until this moment.” He shifted his gaze to Dodger. “I believe you’ve effectively distracted us with this marriage nonsense. How did you manage to convince my cousin to name you guardian?”

  “I can take no credit for convincing him of anything. As to the reason he named me guardian, I haven’t a clue. However, I have an inspector from Scotland Yard making inquiries. Do you know of any threats that might have been made?”

  Briarwood seemed more shocked by that news than by the notion of marrying her. “Threats? What sort of threats?”

  “Threats to kill the lad.”

  “Why would anyone kill him?”

  “To acquire his titles.”

  “As I’m first in line for the titles, I suppose that puts me first in line as your suspect. Has it failed your notice that I already have a title?”

  “Viscount. Hardly the highest of ranks. And it is but one, while young Henry has three.”

  “Mine is a higher rank than you possess. And one is sufficient for me.”

  “I’d have thought you a man of more ambition.”

  Briarwood leaped to his feet, none too agilely. “I resent the implication, sir, that I would greedily clamor for more and use illicit means to take that which does not rightfully belong to me. I shall be on my way.” He bowed slightly toward Olivia. “Good day, Your Grace. If you have need of me, please do not hesitate to send word.”

  She rose to her feet. “My lord, I apologize for Mr. Dodger—”

  “Don’t be daft, Olivia,” Dodger rudely interrupted. “You can’t apologize for something that’s not your doing. Besides, my behavior requires no apology.”

  “We’re certain to disagree on that matter. And I may apologize if I wish,” but Lord Briarwood was already heading for the door.

  Jack Dodger twisted around in his chair and called out, “By the by, Briarwood—”

  Lord Briarwood stopped and looked back, his eyes fairly fuming.

  “—you are correct,” Dodger continued. “If any misfortune befalls young Henry, you will be the first one Scotland Yard interrogates.”

  “Then I have no worries. The lad is safe from me. I’m not certain I can assure you that you’re safe from me. I’ve never liked you.”

  Dodger had the audacity to smile. “Then do be sure to bring money with you tonight. You’ll find your credit at Dodger’s has been canceled.”

  Briarwood’s face grew a blotchy red and his eyes fairly bugged out of his head. “Devil take you.”

  Dodger laughed in a velvety soft manner that seemed to hint he was as amused with himself as with Briarwood. “He did that long ago, so he’s no longer a threat to me. And I suspect you aren’t either.”

  Briarwood swore harshly and stormed from the room.

  Olivia was shaking with outrage. “You provoked him on purpose.”

  Jack Dodger was still sprawled in the chair. With his thumb, he rubbed the underside of his jaw. “Why would he want to be guardian? That is the reason he came to see you, is it not? To find out who had been given the great honor of overseeing your son’s journey into manhood?”

  She swallowed back her need to lash out at him. “He thought it would be he.”

  “He thought, or he hoped?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “What would he have gained?”

  “Not everyone is like you, Mr. Dodger. They do things because they are the right things to do, not because something personal is to be gained.”

  He slowly unfolded his body and in his movements, she saw power leashed. He prowled toward her, his face set in an unreadable mask. She desperately wanted to decipher his thoughts, his intentions. She didn’t want to retreat, but suddenly weak legs gave her no choice. She sank into the chair, pressing back as she had last night in the coach. He placed his hands on both arms of the chair and leaned in, effectively trapping her.

  It was an odd time to realize he had the longest eyelashes she’d ever seen on a man. Thick and spiky without an ounce of delicateness to them, but still so incredibly alluring. She wondered if they tickled a woman’s face when he kissed her.

  “Are you aware he is in considerable debt? Not only to me. If he were guardian, he’d not only be responsible for the welfare of your son but his estates as well. A very desperate man might think nothing of using those estates for his own gain.”

  “A man such as yourself?” she threw at him, her breathing labored, as though she’d just finished playing a game of tag with Henry.

  “I’m not desperate, Duchess. Yes, I’m greedy. Yes, I want to die smothered in gold coins. Yes”—he held up his hand so she could see the horrid brand—“I have stolen in the past. But I’ve found a man can gain more wealth through legitimate means, and he never has to look over his shoulder while doing it. And perhaps your husband’s choice of guardian was as simple as that. If you need someone to guard the coffers, you want someone who doesn’t need what the coffers hold.”

  Abruptly he pushed back and started walking toward the door.

  “Do you truly think that’s the reason he chose you?” she called out after him.

  He stopped and faced her. “No. I just know that’s the reason he didn’t choose Briarwood.”

  “Your assumption only works if Lovingdon placed as high a regard on money as you do.”

  “In the end, Duchess, the only thing anyone cares about is money.”

  Watching him leave with a confident swagger, she fought to squelch the tremors that his nearness had wrought. For one insane mo
ment, she’d thought he was going to lower those fascinating lips to hers.

  For one shameful moment, she’d hoped he would.

  “What the devil was Lovingdon thinking?”

  Rupert Stanford watched as his cousin agitatedly paced his library. As he was prone to do, Edmund had arrived without announcement or invitation. He had the unfortunate habit of releasing flying spittle when speaking with such forcefulness. Rupert did wish Edmund would sit so his maid-of-all-work would have more success at cleaning things up when his cousin left. Rupert had an aversion to filth.

  “Jack Dodger, you say?”

  Edmund came to an abrupt halt. “Yes, Jack Dodger. The Jack Dodger.”

  “I’m not familiar with him.”

  “How can you not be? He owns a gambling establishment, Dodger’s Drawing Room. He refers to it as an exclusive gentlemen’s club, but everyone knows what goes on inside.”

  Rupert sipped his brandy, fighting off the urge to go wash his hands. The presence of his cousin always made him feel as though he needed a good scrubbing. “Gambling is not my vice. I’ve never been there.”

  “Now I might never be able to go back. He’s canceling my credit, blast him, simply because I let my temper get the better of me. How else was I to react, I ask you? I couldn’t let the insult go unanswered. He insinuated we’d kill the boy to acquire the titles.”

  “It’s not the titles you want.”

  “No, dammit.” Edmund finally dropped into a chair. “I was depending on Lovingdon appointing me to serve as guardian, to oversee…” His voice trailed off as though he was reluctant to admit what he coveted.

  “His finances,” Rupert finished for him. “So some of his wealth could miraculously, perhaps accidentally, become yours.”

  Edmund glared at him. They might have nothing in common, might possess different addictions, but they knew each other well. Or at least Rupert knew Edmund as well as any man, but he’d taken great care to ensure Edmund didn’t know everything about him. Edmund enjoyed living above his station. Rupert preferred living below it.

  “I’d not have stolen from him—merely borrowed,” Edmund said glumly.

  “You’ve been playing that game for so long, I think you’ve forgotten that to borrow means you must return it at some point.”

  Edmund tossed back his brandy in a single gulp. What a waste of fine liquor—on several levels.

  “How old is Henry now?” Rupert asked, maintaining an air of boredom. “I’ve not kept in touch with the family.”

  “Five. And you didn’t even bother to attend the funeral. That seemed rather odd, even from you.”

  “I fear I was not Lovingdon’s favorite cousin. That honor fell to you.”

  “Which is the very reason I thought he’d appoint me guardian. What was Lovingdon thinking?” he repeated. “Jack Dodger is likely to have the lad working in his establishment.”

  “When he’s older? I can’t see that happening.”

  “Because you’re blind, man. You live in this little world of yours and don’t look beyond it. The man employs lads to take care of things for him. They gather our chips or fetch us a drink. Then he has his boot-boys. I’ve heard he has a pair of boots for every day of the week and has a lad for each pair.”

  “That seems a strange thing to do—to have that many boys around. Doesn’t seem natural.”

  “There’s nothing natural about Jack Dodger, I tell you. But now that I think on it, he does seem to have a peculiar interest in boys. Of course, this isn’t the sort of thing you talk to a lady about. I suppose I should have a word with the solicitor.”

  “Have you evidence that Dodger has wronged any of these lads?”

  Edmund held his tongue, but Rupert could see all the calculations going through his little mind. Edmund tended to bully people. Rupert’s strength rested in persuasion. He possessed the devil’s own tongue.

  “I’d be careful of starting a rumor you cannot prove,” he warned softly.

  Edmund leaned forward. “Ah, but you see, there’s the beauty. Perhaps I can’t prove it, but then he can’t disprove it. And in the court of rumors, who is going to be believed? A titled gentleman or a purveyor of sin?”

  Chapter 8

  He’d wanted to take possession of her mouth with a fierceness that astounded him. Leaning over her in the parlor, Jack had momentarily forgotten why he’d gotten up and gone over to her to begin with. Briarwood had completely slipped his mind, and all he’d been able to do was absorb her fragrance, lose himself in the gold of her eyes, ponder what it would take to make her rapid breaths come more quickly, and anticipate knowing the taste of her when he ravaged her mouth. But acting on his desires would have given her expectations he wasn’t prepared to meet. He suspected the prim and proper duchess was not a woman who dallied with a man she had an aversion to marrying.

  So he’d delivered his conclusions and walked away.

  But she’d haunted him for the remainder of the afternoon while he sat in the library and met with the different men who were responsible for overseeing various properties: entailed and not. They handed over their books with grim expressions. He assured each that his services would be retained unless Jack discovered flaws in the recordkeeping.

  By the time the evening shadows crept into the room, his head ached, his neck and shoulders were stiff, and his stomach was grumbling. He was anticipating opening his finest bottle of claret and sitting down to a well-prepared meal. If breakfast had been any indication, the duke had hired an excellent cook.

  The door opened and Brittles walked in on his irritatingly silent feet. “Dinner is served, sir.”

  “Excellent.”

  He followed the butler to what he assumed was the family dining room. When they arrived, Jack discovered two footmen standing at the ready, but the table set for only one. He didn’t like to admit the disappointment that slammed into him with the realization he’d be dining alone. “Isn’t the duchess eating?”

  “She’s dining with the young duke in the nursery, sir.”

  “I see.” He took his seat, watched as wine was poured and a dish was set before him. He took a sip of his wine. “Does the young duke always dine at this time of night?”

  “No, sir,” Brittles said, standing nearby. “He usually dines earlier.”

  The duchess had no doubt wanted to make certain she was otherwise occupied during Jack’s dinner hour. Jack was growing weary of these games. He stood up, grabbed his wineglass and bottle, and headed for the doorway.

  “Is dinner not to your satisfaction, sir?”

  “It’s fine,” Jack called back. The company, however, was not. He stumbled to a stop. Company? When had he ever required company during his meals? Then again, when was the last time he’d eaten at a table? He usually took his meals at his desk. A slab of meat, a potato, enough to stave off the hunger while he plotted ways to increase his revenue. But he couldn’t return to the table now without looking like a madman. Besides, he and the duchess needed to discuss a few things. Might as well do it in the nursery.

  He took the stairs two at a time. The wine sloshed over the rim of the glass. He stopped momentarily to drain the contents, then continued up. He strode down the hallway and opened the door to the day nursery.

  Everyone gaped as though Satan had unexpectedly arrived. Jack had always relished his tarnished reputation, but suddenly it was becoming quite bothersome.

  “I didn’t realize we were dining upstairs,” he said laconically. “I would have been here sooner.”

  The young duke sat at the head of the table, his mother beside him. His nanny, who gave Jack a coquettish smile, sat at the other end.

  “We’re dining here,” the duchess said. “You’re not. Your dinner is being served in the dining room.”

  “It seemed a bit rude to deny you my company,” he said as he took a seat at the table more suited to children than adults. His knees knocked up against it. He poured more wine into his glass, then looked at the nanny. “Be a good girl an
d fetch me a plate.”

  She stood up and curtsied. “Of course, sir, with pleasure.”

  She left him with the impression she’d be agreeable to far more than that if he required it. But he had no interest in her or any woman who expected more than coins from him.

  Once the chicken and vegetables were set before him, he dug in with relish. “There are some matters we need to discuss.”

  “Must we discuss them here and now?” the duchess asked.

  He took a bite of chicken, chewed thoughtfully. “By discussing matters now, I make the most use of my time. I eat while getting business taken care of.”

  “I fear any discourse with you will greatly upset my digestion.”

  “And you think I care about your digestion?”

  “Truly, I think you care about nothing save yourself.”

  “I’ll give you ten minutes.”

  “Ten minutes?”

  “To eat without conversation. Then your digestion be damned.”

  “You are completely barbaric.”

  “Nine minutes.”

  She released a little growl and glared at him. He supposed he might need to take care in the future that she didn’t poison his food. He was pushing her, and devil take him, he couldn’t determine why.

  “D-did it hurt?”

  Jack shifted his attention to the boy, who was staring at his hand, no doubt the discolored skin on the inside of his thumb. It was quite hideous but Jack had always viewed being branded a thief as a badge of honor. His past had made him the man he was. He wasn’t ashamed of it. “Like the very devil.”

  The boy’s eyes widened. They were the same golden hue as his mother’s. His light-colored hair, from what Jack remembered of Lovingdon, he’d taken from his father.

  Suddenly Jack did feel ashamed of his past, for reasons he couldn’t fathom. “But it was a long time ago.”

  The boy dropped his gaze to his plate, then hesitantly peered up at Jack.

  “What is it, lad?”

  “H-have you been to the Cr-crystal P-palace?”