by Darcy Burke
Kit’s shoulders bunched with tension. There’d been an undercurrent to their conversation in the ballroom—Kit mentioning criminals and Cuddy, and Horatio responding with Cuddy’s murder. Not death, but murder. Kit had already wondered about Horatio’s involvement with Cuddy’s embezzlement, and that grew into a full and weighty suspicion.
Horatio walked to the fireplace, where he seemed to study a figurine atop the mantelpiece. “First, let me say how pleased I am to see that you seem much changed with regard to my daughter. This is excellent, for I didn’t want to have to remind you of the importance of not embarrassing her as you did last time you were here. I won’t meddle in what you choose to do within your own home, but here in London you must behave appropriately. If you want to have affairs, be discreet. And for the love of God, don’t drink and gamble excessively.” He turned, and his nose wrinkled, as if he’d just stepped in horseshit. He looked like an arrogant prince with his embroidered coat, diamond stickpin nestled in the folds of his cravat, and the singular, but quite large, jewels he wore on each hand. How the hell did the second son of a baronet afford to dress like that?
Because he stole from a profitable estate.
“Second, and more importantly, now that you’ve returned, I’ll need you to reinstate the stipend you agreed to give me when you wed my daughter.”
Shit. What had Rufus agreed to? Had Horatio actually extorted him to marry Verity? It certainly sounded like it. Kit had to pretend he knew about it. “I’m not going to do that.”
Horatio frowned. “We had an agreement. I know things. Things you wouldn’t want made public.”
And there it was. “I also know you and Cuddy embezzled thousands from Beaumont Tower over the past six and a half years. And I have proof.”
The older man’s eyes narrowed to dark, beady points. “That’s unfortunate. I see we both have secrets we’d prefer to keep buried. I would argue, however, that yours are a bit more damning. You aren’t the Duke of Blackburn, and I can prove that too.”
Kit stalked toward him, stopping a few feet away when the man flinched. “How the hell can you do that? Unless you know where he is.” Kit saw no point in trying to keep up the charade. They’d moved far past that. This man had other damaging information about Rufus that had nothing to do with Kit not being the duke. He could, it seemed, ensnare Kit as himself or as Rufus. Either way, he was damned.
“I don’t, but Cuddy determined you weren’t him, and, though our association has been brief, I concur. What I can’t understand is how you fooled my daughter. I thought she was smarter than that, but perhaps she’s just so relieved to have someone other than that blackguard, she doesn’t care. Can’t say I blame her.”
His casual discussion of Verity’s pain and suffering nearly drove Kit to hit him. “Whatever comes of this, you aren’t to speak of her. She detests you, and I can easily see why.”
Horatio drew back in offense, his lips parting. “She’s my daughter. Of course I’ll speak of her. But I’m glad you care enough to be protective.” He cocked his head to the side. “In fact, I can see you care for her greatly. So agree to the arrangement—it works well for both of us. You have my daughter, and I continue to live in the manner in which I deserve.”
“Deserve.” Kit spat the word. “You deserve to be drawn and quartered for sacrificing your daughter to meet your own ends. Even now, you’re willing to trade her to me—a stranger—for money. You don’t know who I am or what I’m capable of.”
“Murder, it seems,” he said softly. “Yes, I’m convinced you killed Cuddy, especially since you knew of our scheme. And I know precisely who you are. You look far too like Augustus Beaumont, and I’m aware he had a bastard hovering about somewhere.” He made Kit sound like an annoying insect. “Do you really want all of England to know Verity accepted the prior duke’s bastard son into her bed as a replacement for her missing husband?”
Unable to contain himself a moment longer, Kit lunged forward and gripped Horatio by his lapels. His fingers crushed the expensive fabric as he drew the man inches from his face. “How can you claim Verity’s happiness is important to you while threatening to ruin her life? You’re despicable.” Kit released him savagely, and Horatio stumbled backward until he smacked into the mantelpiece. If not for that protruding piece of wood, he might have fallen over the hearth and at least against the fire if not into it. Pity.
Horatio straightened, adjusting his clothing and smoothing his hands over his wrinkled coat. “Better behaved when it comes to my daughter, but also a brute, I see.” He cleared his throat and calmly looked Kit in the eye, seemingly unaffected by Kit’s barely leashed violence. “Your hands are tied here. Do you want to be the duke or not? Even without the prize of my daughter, you’re gaining a powerful title and, as you said, a profitable estate. I daresay you’ll barely miss the stipend you’ll send me.”
“Of course we’ll fucking miss it. How do you think I discovered the embezzlement? And rather quickly, I might add. There are many improvements that have been ignored and tenants who need assistance. But you don’t comprehend any of that because it doesn’t affect you. And stop calling her your daughter. She’s nothing to you.” How Kit longed to wipe the arrogance from the man’s gaze.
“She is, however, everything to you. What is it going to be?”
Fury raged through Kit. “I will not be extorted.
“Don’t think of it like that. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
Kit couldn’t help prodding for definitive confirmation for his many suspicions. “Like the one you made with Rufus when he wed Verity? What did you have on him? Did he kill my half brother Godwin?”
Horatio wrinkled his nose as if he were smelling vinaigrette. “Let us not revisit ancient history. None of that matters. You aren’t Rufus. But you can be. Take the deal I’m offering. The alternative would crush Verity and likely see you in jail for fraud, if not something worse.”
The walls seemed to close in around Kit. “Verity will never agree to give you funds from her estate.”
“So don’t tell her. I’m quite confident in your ability to deceive. With the exception of me and Cuddy, you seem to have done rather well with your masquerade. All you need do is sign the contract I’ll send over in the morning, shake the Lord Chancellor’s hand, and take your seat in the Lords. Then you’ll be the Duke of Blackburn forevermore.”
“Until you decide to change the terms,” Kit spat.
“Not at all, which is why there will be a contract. I will testify from now until my death that you are the right and honorable Duke of Blackburn.”
Of course he wanted to put it in writing, lest Kit renege as soon as he took his seat. Without the contract, it would be the word of a duke against the word of this social-climbing sycophant. Kit realized they were alike—both wanting to be something they weren’t. Horatio wanted to be wealthy and important while Kit wanted the dukedom and everything that came with it, especially Verity. Who also—desperately—wanted him to be the duke. He suddenly hated himself.
Because he was going to take the fucking deal.
“You’re a self-serving prick, Horatio. But for Verity, I will accept your terms. Send the contract and be sure it includes the following: you are not to visit Beaumont Tower or otherwise contact her or me unless I give you leave. Do you understand?”
Horatio pouted, and Kit longed to wipe that pathetic look from the man’s face permanently.
He exhaled dejectedly. “I suppose if I must.”
Kit turned and quit the room before he gave in to the violence rioting through him. As he approached the ballroom, he nearly collided with Simon.
“Oh, there you are,” Simon said. “I was just coming to rescue you from Verity’s father.” He looked past Kit. “Where were you?”
Kit ignored the question. “I’ve had enough for one evening.”
“Yes, I find balls tedious. Let’s go to the club.”
“No. Not tonight. I’m tired from traveling.” He wasn’t tired at all. In
fact, he would have gladly sailed out to sea right that very minute.
“Of course. I understand. Come, let’s fetch the wives.” He turned and they went into the ballroom, where Kit put on his best performance to date—that of a man who wasn’t about to commit to a lifetime of lying to the person he loved most in the world.
Chapter 17
After checking on Beau, who was asleep in the chamber next to hers and Kit’s, Verity opened the door to see Kit staring into the fire. His face was blank, but his frame was tense—his shoulders high and the muscles of his neck tight.
He’d been quiet since leaving the ball, and when she’d questioned him upon arriving back at the town house, he’d blamed it on fatigue. Since she was rather exhausted herself, she hadn’t questioned it. Now, however, she wondered if his time with her father had affected his mood. She wouldn’t blame him if it had.
He turned his head as she closed the door with a soft click. He wore a silk banyan, which he’d donned while she’d gone to check on Beau. “How is he?”
“Sleeping quite soundly,” she said, tightening the tie that held her dressing gown closed.
“Good. We should probably do the same.” He turned toward the bed, and she knew something was bothering him. All day, they’d exchanged glances and touches that seemed to promise of reclaiming their intimacy now that Beau wasn’t sharing their bed.
She was more convinced than ever that her father was to blame. “What happened with my father?”
“He’s an ass.” The vehemence of his answer startled her, but she wasn’t surprised by his summation.
“Yes. What did he say?”
“He thanked me for being different, for being a better husband—he said he cares greatly for you. That’s horseshit, however.” He winced. “Sorry. He should care for you.”
She walked around the bed and went to stand in front of him, placing her hand on his chest, which was bare in the V of the opening of the banyan. “He should, but he doesn’t. I have no illusions about that. I’m sorry you had to spend time alone with him.”
“It’s all right. God willing, I won’t have to ever again.”
“That would be lovely,” she said, smiling softly. “He believed you were Rufus, then?”
“He seemed to. We shall have to be on our guard.” He looked down at her, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You were going to tell me about Mrs. Walthorpe.”
Verity made an inelegant sound and briefly closed her eyes. “Apparently, Rufus carried on an affair with her when he came to London, and she hopes to rekindle the association. So be on your guard.”
He put his arms around her waist and drew her close. “It’s becoming evident that I shall have to proclaim my love and adoration for you from the rooftop of every building in Mayfair. Or perhaps I should just make love to you in plain view of everyone so they can be assured my heart—and my body—belong to you and you alone.”
“Kit.” The vision of him shouting on high and then taking her into his arms in front of the entire ton was both terrifying and arousing. “You can’t do either.”
“No? Then what can I do to prove to everyone that I am yours?”
“I don’t care if everyone knows.” That wasn’t entirely true—she wanted the Mrs. Walthorpes of the ton to know definitively. “All that matters is that I know.”
“And do you?”
She narrowed her eyes at him and pushed the banyan from his shoulders. She sucked in a breath as she realized he was completely nude beneath. “What I know is that as stunning as you look in your evening wear, you look even better just like this.” She flattened her palm against his chest and slowly walked around to his back. She skimmed her hand over his shoulder and then down the blade until her fingers caressed his lower back. She dipped her hand lower, cupping his smooth backside, a body part she’d never imagined to be attractive but couldn’t seem to stop looking at or touching when she had the chance, like now.
She dragged her hand over his hip as she circled back to his front. She kept her hand low, bringing it to the sac between his legs, where she fondled him.
“Verity.” His voice was low and dark, almost a growl.
“I know you make me happier than I’ve ever been and that I’m so proud to be your duchess. You’ve returned honor and integrity to the title and to Beaumont Tower. Augustus would be proud too.”
He cupped her face and kissed her, his lips and tongue claiming hers with a ferocity that scorched her soul. It was a very long moment before he came up for air. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” It was the first time she’d said it out loud, though she’d felt it for him for so long. Fear—of losing this dream—had kept her silent, but she wasn’t afraid anymore.
He looked into her eyes, his fingers stroking her face. “God, I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you. I’m not entirely sure I do.”
She clutched his neck, bringing him down to kiss her again. “We deserve each other.”
His fingers dug into her hips, pulling her pelvis flush against his as their mouths met and joined. She ground against him, seeking the feel of his cock against her sex.
He tore her dressing gown open and pushed the fabric from her shoulders. She’d forsaken a night rail, anticipating that wearing one would only be a hindrance.
His hands came up and cupped her bare breasts, his thumbs dragging over her tightening nipples as desire spiraled to her core. She tingled everywhere—from her mouth where his tongue danced with hers, to her breasts where he teased her flesh, to her core where she desperately wanted him to touch.
Perhaps sensing her need, he trailed one hand down to the apex between her thighs and stroked along her heated flesh, provoking a moan low in her throat. He pushed a finger into her and she gripped him harder as she spread her legs. Tearing his mouth from hers, he swept her onto the bed. He followed, his mouth clamping hard on her breast as he slipped his fingers into her. She moaned, closing her eyes as she reached for and found his cock. He was hot and hard and so deliciously smooth. She pulled him forward, more than ready for him to drive into her.
He didn’t hesitate, his cock finding her sheath with fast and eager abandon. He speared into her, filling her completely. She wrapped her legs around him as pleasure rushed over her, pushing her toward release.
She grasped his backside, squeezing his flesh as he thrust deep into her body. Crying out, she urged him harder and faster just before he claimed her lips once more. They fought to kiss and breathe and drive the other to the edge and beyond.
For Verity, it came quickly, ecstasy slamming into her in waves. She moved with him, never wanting the sensation to end. As it began to ebb, she was tossed again into the darkness of passion, ascending to the peak of pleasure alongside him.
Stroke after stroke, he filled her with rapture and love. When she came again, she cried out his name over and over as nearly unbearable sensation swept her away.
He pumped into her one last time and shouted before collapsing over her. She held him close, kissing his cheek, his temple, his lips.
He rolled to his side and carried her with him, keeping her tight against his chest as he stroked his hand along her back. “I swear to you, I will spend my life making you and Beau happy. Nothing else matters to me.”
She listened to the strong beat of his heart, slowing into a steady, reassuring rhythm. As she drifted to sleep, she didn’t think she’d ever felt more secure, more protected, more loved.
Kit jolted awake with a start. His skin was flushed, his heart pounding. After staring at the canopy most of the night, he must have finally fallen asleep. For a time, anyway—long enough to dream.
No, to have a nightmare.
In it, he became the Duke of Lies, a man who kept things from his beloved wife. A man Kit couldn’t bring himself to be. He’d embarked upon this miraculous journey under the shadow of deception, but he’d pledged to be honest with Verity, and by damn, he would do that.
He waited until his pulse slowed and his bod
y calmed. When he was able to draw a deep breath, he crept from the bed and found his banyan. Drawing it around his body, he turned back to the bed where Verity slept.
Rather, where she had been sleeping. She sat up and brushed her hair from her face, blinking at him. “You’re awake rather early,” she said in a sleep-roughened voice.
He’d realized many things in the night: He loved Verity and Beau; he’d do anything to protect them; he wanted her father to burst into flames. And he couldn’t sign the contract and lie to her again.
Moving to the bed, he perched on the edge near the end, angling his body toward her. “I didn’t tell you everything about my meeting with your father last night.”
“But you’ll tell me now.” There was a hint of question in her suddenly alert eyes.
“Yes. I promised you I would be honest, and I’m sorry I wasn’t last night. I’d thought to try to protect you from your father’s machinations, but you’re strong enough to know—and you should know. You’ve every right.”
She paled slightly. “You’re worrying me.”
How Kit hated her anguish—damn her father. And damn him for complicating her life. “He’s the other person who knows I’m not Rufus.”
“How?”
“He says Cuddy told him, so I must assume he realized my deception. However, the night I went to see Cuddy, he gave me the impression someone had told him. I have to suspect your father somehow knew without even meeting me. How is that possible?” Kit had an idea, particularly since Horatio said he could prove Kit wasn’t the Duke of Blackburn.
“It isn’t possible.” Her eyes widened. “Unless he knows what happened to Rufus.” Her jaw dropped for a moment. “How can that be?”
Kit shook his head, his mind swimming. “I don’t know, but I mean to find out.”
They were both quiet a moment. At last she broke the silence. “What does my father plan to do?”
“He wants me to continue the stipend Rufus agreed to when you wed.”
Her eyes widened. “Rufus gave him a stipend?”
