The Duke of Lies (The Untouchables Book 9)

by Darcy Burke

  “Mama, aren’t you coming?”

  She stood from the blanket and walked down to the edge of the pond. “My dress would get soaked. Your father is right—I need a bathing costume.”

  “We don’t have bathing costumes, and look, my clothes are already a bit damp,” Beau argued.

  “Yes, I can see that,” Verity said with a smile. “While your father is not.”

  Beau looked over at him, then, without hesitating, dragged his hand through the water and splashed a fair amount of water across Rufus’s legs. “Now he’s wet!”

  Rufus laughed before narrowing his eyes playfully at Beau. “We’ll see who’s wet.”

  Beau trudged through the shallow water seeking to get away, but his efforts were making him wetter, so it was a hopeless endeavor. Verity giggled as she watched them in the silliest chase she’d ever seen.

  But suddenly Rufus went down, landing backside first in the water. Verity rushed forward, and Beau looked over his shoulder.

  “Are you all right?” she asked with concern.

  “Better than your shoes.” Rufus looked down at her feet, which were submerged in the edge of the pond.

  She hadn’t paid attention to where the water started. She’d been too focused on him. Her gaze found his, and she realized he knew it too.

  Beau walked to Rufus’s side, his little face scrunched up with worry. “What happened, Papa?”

  “Well, it wasn’t a sea monster,” he said with a wink. “I just slipped.”

  Beau’s eyes grew round. “Are there really sea monsters? Why haven’t you told me about them before?”

  Rufus laughed. “There are no sea monsters. There are very big fish and whales and sharks and octopuses, but they aren’t monsters.”

  “What’s an…octo-puss?” Beau dragged out the last letter.

  “An eight-legged sea creature.”

  Beau cocked his head to the side, unsurprisingly interested in anything to do with animals. “Like a spider?”

  “No. I’ll draw a picture for you. You need a book about sea creatures,” Rufus said. “And I need to get out of this pond.”

  “I’ll help you, Papa.” Beau took Rufus’s hand and pulled. Verity knew Rufus rose of his own accord, but smiled nonetheless when he thanked Beau and complimented his strength.

  “Come, let’s get your shoes and stockings on,” Verity said, taking Beau’s hand as he walked from the water. “I’ll dry your feet with the blanket.”

  While she administered to Beau, Rufus took care of himself and finished packing up the basket.

  Beau looked Rufus up and down. “I’m sorry you got all wet. I didn’t make you fall, did I?”

  “How would you have done that?”

  “Because you were chasing me. I’m very fast, and you tried to keep up.”

  Verity saw the slight quirk of Rufus’s lip, but he didn’t laugh. “You are very fast,” he said, “but you are not responsible for my clumsiness.”

  Beau gave him a dubious look. “Are you sure you didn’t fall just to make me feel better since I fell earlier?”

  Now Rufus laughed. “You’re a suspicious lad, aren’t you? No, I didn’t fall to make you feel better. Should I have?”

  “I didn’t feel bad at all. I didn’t even cry.” The pride in his voice made Verity proud too.

  Rufus picked up the basket, and when he tried to take the folded blanket from Verity, she shook her head emphatically. “You won’t let me carry it because I’m wet?” he asked.

  “Not at all. The blanket is damp from drying your and Beau’s feet. I’m carrying the blanket because you don’t have to do everything.”

  “I like doing everything. You’ve done everything by yourself for so long. I only want to ease your burden.”

  “Nothing has been a burden.” Not since you disappeared. And I thought your return would be horrible, and it isn’t. She felt as though she were in an opposite world.

  “Good,” he murmured, his gaze warm and intense. A cloud moved over the sun, casting a shadow over them, and a shiver shook his frame.

  “We need to get you out of those wet clothes,” she said firmly. “And into a warm bath.”

  “Do I need a bath too?” Beau asked, taking both their hands again as they started up the hill.

  “At least the parts of you that were in the pond, I think.”

  Beau exhaled, knowing better than to argue with her about it. Which wasn’t to say he wouldn’t, but for now, he’d decided not to, and Verity appreciated that.

  “As long as I’m taking a bath, you should too,” Rufus said. “You can be quick, and do you know how I know that?”

  “How?”

  “Because we’re going to fill one tub and you’ll bathe first, and I’ll make sure you’re fast so the water is still warm enough for me.”

  Beau looked up at his father. “Shall we race?”

  Rufus glanced over at her for approval, and she nodded. “You can use the bathing chamber that adjoins my bedroom,” she said. “It’s the closest to the kitchen since the stairs go right down next to it—that’s where I usually give Beau his bath.” She’d be sure to stay very far away until she was sure they were done.

  “We’ll race to the kitchen,” Rufus said. “Go!” He let Beau start, then flashed a grin at Verity before taking off after him, the basket swinging in his hand. She ought to have taken it from him but hadn’t even thought to offer. She was too caught up in how normal this felt.

  No, not normal. It felt wonderful. It felt like a family. She’d never had this, not beyond her and Beau.

  And they were a family. This man treated Beau as his son, playing with him, teaching him, bathing him. She’d considered preventing the latter, but she knew he would care for Beau the same as she would. She trusted him—with Beau. With herself? She wasn’t ready to address that yet.

  She watched them crest the hill and race toward the house. Rufus kept up but didn’t overtake Beau. By the time she reached the stable yard, they were gone from view, disappearing into the lower courtyard. She went directly to the kitchen to ask who won. The cook laughingly said Beau did, of course.

  Because she couldn’t go to her chamber or her study, she went to the library to pass the time. When she thought it had perhaps been long enough, she went upstairs to the Guinea Room, where Beau took afternoon lessons. Finding him there with still-damp hair, he told her they’d finished their baths and Papa was getting dressed. She kissed Beau on the forehead before she went along the corridor toward her room at the end. The middle chamber belonged to Rufus, and since the door was shut, she assumed he was inside.

  Was he clothed or still nude?

  The thought brought a hot, fast blush to her face, and she hurried to her chamber and then into her study. She was so confused! She was somehow attracted to Rufus—or whoever he was. Not just because he was physically handsome, which he very much was, but because of his behavior and his actions. His character.

  Planning to write a letter to Diana in which she could unburden her distressing thoughts, she first poked her head into the bathing chamber. The staff had not yet come to empty the tub. The clothing had all been cleaned up, however. Had Rufus done that? And had he helped Beau to get dressed? She should have asked her son.

  Her eye caught a swath of white fabric near the corner on the floor. She went and picked it up—a length of silk. His cravat. Her gaze moved to the hook on the wall above from where it had surely fallen.

  The silk was soft and smooth between her fingers. She imagined the flesh of his neck feeling the same way—warm too. Except near the end of the day when his whiskers sprouted. Not quite smooth, then, and maybe not soft. Perhaps rugged and appealing to the touch.

  She brought the fabric to her nose and inhaled. It smelled faintly of pine and grass and more strongly of male. Not just any male, of him. Not that she’d ever been close enough to smell him. No, this was as close as she’d been, and perhaps as close as she’d ever get.

  A gentle cough drew her to t
urn.

  Her heart paused as her eyes met his. His hair was also damp, and she had the disappointing answer to her earlier question—he was dressed.

  She abruptly lowered the cravat from her face and knew her embarrassment at being caught was evident. Still, she held her head high and ignored the heat in her cheeks.

  “I, ah, left that.” He inclined his head toward the cravat in her hand.

  “Yes, I just found it on the floor.” She walked to the doorway and held it out to him.

  His bare fingertips grazed her palm as he took the garment. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you.” She wanted to say more, to expand on that. Thank you for looking after the estate. Thank you for taking care of Beau. Thank you for respecting me. Thank you for coming home.

  Only this wasn’t his home. And that should’ve frightened her to pieces.

  What frightened her more was that it didn’t.

  He gave her a faint smile, said, “You’re welcome,” then turned and left.

  Her shoulders sagged as the anticipation of the charged moment fled her body. In its wake, there remained a latent heat, a prurient curiosity she was desperate to explore.

  That frightened her most of all.

  Chapter 11

  After traversing at least three miles from the castle, Kit crept toward Cuddy’s lodging on the edge of town, grateful for the nearly full moon—and the mostly clear night—to light his way. Last night, he’d had to abort the mission because the cloud cover had been too thick. Visibility had been terrible and then it had started to rain. He’d returned to the castle and spent half the night staring at the canopy over his bed, thinking of Verity. Of the way she’d blushed when he’d caught her with his cravat. Of the slight tremble she’d displayed when their hands had touched. Of the fire burning deep in her eyes when she looked at him—so deep that he doubted its presence, but hoped for it just the same.

  He banished the thoughts from his mind. He couldn’t afford to be distracted.

  The building where Cuddy lodged housed a shop on the ground floor. Another building flanked one side while the other side was an open space. Kit prowled to the back and found a locked door. Thankfully, that didn’t prove a hindrance as Kit easily picked the lock.

  Closing the door softly behind him, Kit adjusted his eyesight to the darker interior. A window to his right let in some of the moonlight, which helped. This appeared to be the back room of the shop, and a flight of stairs rose to his left.

  Kit gingerly put his foot on the first stair, testing for noise. The wood gave slightly, but it was fairly quiet. He ascended slowly as the staircase doubled back on itself, careful not to find a wayward creak. Near the top, he finally found one, freezing as the sound pierced the silence.

  With light feet, he hurried up onto the landing and spied two doors—one on the left and one on the right. Recalling that the groom had said Cuddy enjoyed a view of the river, Kit surmised his room was the door on the left, which would afford such a view.

  Moving quietly, he went to the door and carefully checked the latch. Also locked and also not a problem. Before he sprang the lock, he took a deep breath and prayed Cuddy was still at the Sheep’s Head. He’d thought of trying to verify that first but decided it didn’t matter since he couldn’t control when the man would show up. This would have been easier with a first mate. He thought of Barkley, who’d served him the past four years and who had opted not to come to England with him after the ship had burned. Barkley would’ve made an excellent accomplice in this endeavor.

  The lock picked, Kit pushed the door open slowly, wincing as it made a low moan. He only opened it as far as necessary to squeeze himself inside. He slipped into the apartment and closed the door with a soft snap. He stood inside a large main room and saw a doorway leading toward another room at the front of the building. Glancing around, he would judge that to be the bedroom, and since the main room was empty, he listened intently for any sign that Cuddy was in the front chamber.

  Nothing but silence greeted him.

  Exhaling, Kit made his way toward the doorway and peered inside. A lantern from the street below offered meager illumination of the chamber, which contained a narrow bed, a dresser, and a dilapidated chair.

  Kit immediately went to the dresser and began searching the drawers. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for but would investigate anything of note. There was nothing but clothing and an empty bottle until he reached the bottom drawer. Alone in that space sat a black leather-covered ledger.

  Withdrawing the book, Kit went back into the main room where the light was better thanks to the moon. He walked to the window and held the book open. Right away, he saw there were entries. Pages and pages of entries—money coming in and money going out.

  Victory surged in his chest, but he wouldn’t stop now. Glad he’d left his coat a little ways from the house, Kit tucked the ledger into the back of his breeches beneath his waistcoat. He went back to the front chamber and quickly searched the bed, lifting the mattress and looking beneath the frame. Satisfied that he’d done all he could in there, he moved back into the main room, all while keeping his ears open for the slightest sound. He knew that top stair would creak and the door would moan, both notifying him of Cuddy’s arrival.

  He glanced out the window and decided the leap to a pile of shrubbery below would likely be his easiest and best escape.

  A desk in the corner beckoned Kit. He moved stealthily across the room and saw several papers sitting on top. The bulk of them were to do with seeking a new steward position—advertisements and letters informing Cuddy the position had been filled. The final letter, however, was from one Horatio Kingman, Verity’s father.

  Before Kit could read the contents, he heard the telltale moan of the door. Somehow he’d missed the stair creaking. Or Cuddy knew to avoid it.

  Kit set the letter on the desk and turned to the door, ready to confront the thief. Cuddy stepped over the threshold, his mouth curling into a nasty sneer. “How did you get in here?”

  “Helped myself,” Kit said pleasantly. “Just as you did with a portion of my estate’s profits. I’m here to collect.”

  The blackguard’s eyes widened, and he closed the door as he moved inside. Kit tensed in response.

  Cuddy wiped a hand over his mouth. “Careful what you’re accusing me of.”

  “I should be careful?” Kit clicked his tongue. “I’m not the criminal in this scenario. I can prove you stole from me.” He hadn’t studied the ledger in depth yet, but he expected to be able to use it to his advantage. He hoped he’d be able to.

  He enjoyed watching Cuddy’s face turn a dull shade of gray. “I could go to the constable, but I’d prefer you return what you owe me and leave Blackburn. Oh, and tell me whether you’re working alone. I suspect not.”

  “I’m not telling you anything.”

  Kit shrugged. “Fine. Then you can go to jail. Or perhaps you’ll be transported. Where’s my money?”

  Cuddy’s face passed gray and went full white. But only for a moment before scarlet tore over his flesh. “I don’t have it. Spent it all.”

  Kit was well aware of how much the man had grifted over the past six and a half years. He looked around at the ramshackle room with its meager furnishings, all of it damaged or threadbare. If Cuddy had spent the money, it sure as hell hadn’t been on his dwelling or comfort. “I hope you have a nice house somewhere. Don’t tell me you spent it on drink and women.”

  Cuddy’s dark eyes narrowed as he regarded Kit with disdain. “None of your business how I spent it.”

  Now Kit was starting to grow irritated. “It’s entirely my business. Because it’s my money. From my estate.”

  The edge of Cuddy’s mouth quirked up as he stalked forward. He was a large man with shoulders wider than Kit’s and a barrel-shaped abdomen. He was a bit shorter, however, with squat legs that didn’t look as if they could run very far—or very fast. But it didn’t look as if Cuddy was going to run. And anyway, Kit wasn’
t going to let him.

  Cuddy removed his jacket and tossed it to a chair, then did the same with his cravat, leaving him garbed in a plain waistcoat and wrinkled shirt. His dark hair was matted against his scalp, and from the smell of him, Kit guessed he hadn’t bathed in a few days.

  “Your estate? Is that right?” Cuddy’s confident tone and smug expression made Kit’s skin prickle with apprehension. “I have it on good authority you aren’t really who you say you are.”

  Fuck. How the hell did this cretin know that? “Someone has been feeding you lies.” Kit needed to know who.

  “Maybe I puzzled it out all on my own.” He tapped his fingertip against his temple. “I’m smart enough to swindle a decent sum of money for a long period of time without getting caught.” He chuckled low in his throat. “Seems like we both have things we’d prefer to keep hidden, so why don’t you just go on back to your castle, and we’ll forget this conversation ever took place.”

  Kit donned the haughty, glacial smile he gave the captain of an opposing ship just before he seized his goods. “Or, you’ll give me the money you stole, and I won’t have you transported across the world. That’s your only choice, Cuddy, and you’re running out of time to make it.” Kit lifted his waistcoat to reveal the pistol tucked against his side.

  Cuddy launched quickly, aiming straight for Kit, who just managed to pull the gun out and cock the hammer. Cuddy ducked low and shoved his shoulder into Kit’s stomach as his hand wrapped around Kit’s wrist, squeezing viciously until Kit dropped the pistol.

  Kicking the weapon away, Kit focused on the brute, who drove his fist into Kit’s cheek. Kit pushed him hard, sending Cuddy flailing backward. But the man didn’t fall.

  Kit took advantage of the moment’s reprieve and reached into his boot for his knife. Cuddy came at him, also wielding a blade. Kit arced his hand out, slicing the blade across Cuddy’s chest and catching a bit of flesh as he cut through his clothing.

  Cuddy’s free hand rose to his chest as he leapt back. “Son of a bitch.”