The Duke's Fallen Angel

by Amy Jarecki

  “What do you require of me?”

  “I want you to find her a secure apartment. West End, of course. She’ll need a cook, a housekeeper with experience as a lady’s maid, and a butler—I envision the butler to be an ox—someone skilled at boxing. I’d like the arrangements to be made in confidence.”

  “With a private exit as before?”

  “A private exit, yes. But let me make it clear I am not taking Miss LeClair as a mistress, I am merely taking steps to ensure her safety.”

  “Rooms will be difficult to find at short notice, but I have my sources.”

  “Thank you.”

  “When will she move in?”

  “Today.”

  “Today?” Pennyworth’s voice cracked.

  “Make it happen.” Drake tugged on his gloves and headed for the mews. There, he took his horse and paid a visit to the hackney driver. It only took a few inquiries to find the coachman at a rundown public stable in St. Giles, bent over and picking his horse’s hooves.

  Drake stood for a moment, his arms crossed, debating whether or not to kick the lout in the arse. Deciding to take the high road, he spoke in a low growl, “I asked you to report your findings after your hack threw a wheel.”

  Like lightning, the man dropped the horse’s leg and straightened. “Yer G-grace. I didn’t expect to see ye ’ere.”

  “Obviously. But when I ask a man to do something, I expect it to be done.” Drake placed his palm on the hindquarter of the gelding to ensure the horse knew where he stood.

  “I stayed away ’cause I thought ye’d be angry.”

  “You thought correctly. And now I’m doubly angry because I had to go to the effort of finding you.”

  “I didn’t do nothing.”

  “That’s right. You sat on your laurels and did nothing. You owe me a report on what happened that night. You told me you checked your hack before taking Miss LeClair and Miss Renaud to the ball. What were your findings the next morning?”

  “I tell ye true, I ’aven’t a lick of proof, but the linchpin was missing. It was snug when I set out. I check my gear thoroughly every morn, I do.”

  “So you’re saying the pin was tampered with?”

  “I reckon so, Yer Grace.”

  “You knew this, but you did not come forward?”

  “I cannot prove it, I just know. What would ye ’ave done to me if I’d come claiming the linchpin was missing and I suspected tampering?”

  Before he answered, Drake took note of the poor state of the stable. Not only was the building in shabby repair, manure covered the floor. Bloody hell, anyone could pick up a shovel and keep the place tidy. “I might have paid you a healthy reward, but now you will receive nothing. Because you did nothing.”

  Drake mounted his horse and rode away without a backward glance. No wonder the driver was having difficulty making ends meet. He was his own worst enemy and thicker than ox hide.

  After arriving at the theater, he used the stage door. Carpenters were busy making repairs to the fire-damaged timbers.

  “Ravenscar.” Perkins stepped around the laborers. “I suspected I’d see you here this morn.”

  “What have you found?”

  “This.” He held up a burnt cinder and sniffed it. “It has a potent odor of fish.”

  “Whale oil?”

  “It is.”

  “So you have proof then, someone tried to kill Miss LeClair.”

  “Or give her a good scare. I reckon the culprit would have lit a bigger fire if he was serious.”

  “I want to know who was back here, how did he...or she get in? I want a guard on Miss LeClair’s door whenever she’s in the theater.”

  “Already arranged. I hired two men-at-arms. One for the stage door, and one to keep an eye on our ballerina. They start tonight.”

  “Good work. And the culprit?”

  “I’m still digging into his identity. If the bastard was seen, I’ll know about it by the day’s end.”

  “Send word as soon as you learn anything.”

  “Straightaway, Your Grace.”

  BY MIDAFTERNOON, PENNYWORTH had made the arrangements for Britannia’s new accommodations. For discretion, Drake reversed the doors of his town coach from displaying his family crest to solid black. He wanted no one to know what he was up to or where he was going.

  He asked the coachman to drive up in the alley behind the boarding house. Wearing an unpretentious Benjamin top coat, Drake slipped in through the kitchens, tipping a lad a half crown to escort him to Miss LeClair’s quarters.

  He had to stoop as the boy led him up four flights of rickety stairs.

  “This is it here.”

  After Drake gave a nod, the lad knocked on the door. “Miss LeClair, you have a visitor.”

  “A moment,” she called through the timbers and, after much rustling, she opened the door. “Goodness me, Your Grace. Should you be up here?”

  Why on earth did she always make him affect a lopsided grin like a schoolboy? He ran a hand across his mouth. “I am standing here, am I not?”

  She popped her head out to the corridor. “Did anyone see you?”

  “No, miss,” the lad replied. “I brought him up the servants’ stairs.”

  “You did what?”

  Drake pointed to his temple. “I only knocked my head once.”

  “But why are you here?”

  He glanced to the lad. “Thank you, I can manage from here.” He leaned to the side and looked around Britannia. “Where is Miss Renaud?”

  Looking sheepish, a red blush spread across her face. “Keeping company with Lord Saye...ah...yes. She is.”

  “I see.” He saw only too well. “How long has she been away?”

  “Not long.”

  “He’s putting her up, is he not?”

  Britannia gave a defeated nod.

  “That just serves to cement my decision all the more. May I come inside?”

  “Must you?”

  Drake understood her reluctance. The last time they were together behind closed doors he’d scarcely been able control himself—pulling her into his arms and devouring her with kisses. Well, this time he was in complete control as a duke should be. “I could say what needs to be said out here in the passageway, though I deem a certain amount of confidentiality is necessary.”

  She stepped aside and ushered him in. “Very well.”

  With no more than two steps, he was in the center of the room with nowhere to go without bumping his head. “Good Lord, you’ve been staying in this hovel? It is smaller than Ravenscar Hall’s china closet.”

  “It suits me fine. At least up here Pauline and I have a modicum of privacy.”

  “Had I known you were relegated to the servant’s quarters, I would have made other arrangements sooner.”

  “Sooner?” Bria scooted backward, managing not to thump her head on the eaves. “What arrangements?”

  “I’ve done some investigating. The fire at the theater was not an accident.”

  “No?” Gasping, she clapped her hands over her mouth. “Who would do such a thing?”

  “My very thoughts as well.” He spotted a portmanteau under the bed and tugged it out. “I also found your hackney coach driver this morning—the miscreant from the Hughes ball. The thrown wheel was no accident. He thinks someone tampered with the linchpin.”

  “Heavenly stars. Someone is trying to scare me?”

  “Or kill you.” Drake tossed the case on the bed and unbuckled it. “I am taking immediate action. I will not sit idle while there’s a madman out there threatening your life.”

  “This is terrible.”

  “And that is exactly why we must act swiftly, alerting as few people as possible.” The only place he could stand straight in the damned attic chamber was between the beds, but he did so with command. “Now tell me, is there anyone in the troupe who could be responsible for these crimes?”

  Wide eyed, Britannia clutched her fists beneath her chin. “I cannot think of a sou
l. True, some of the dancers in the corps are jealous, but they wouldn’t resort to attempting murder.”

  “What about your understudy?”

  “Florrie? I thought she—” Shoving the heels of her hands against her temples, she shook her head emphatically. “No! She was on stage when the fire was lit—so was the rest of the cast.”

  “Blast.” He gestured to the open portmanteau. “I have secured private rooms for you where you shall be under my protection at all times. You’ll have a housekeeper, a cook, and a butler who is also able to act as a bodyguard. There will be an unmarked coach available for your personal use at all times.”

  Still holding her head, she craned her neck, those whisky eyes filled with shock. “How am I expected to pay for all of this?”

  “Chadwick Theater will assume all of your expenses. It is only fitting.”

  Without lifting a finger to pack her things, Britannia sat on the bed opposite. “The theater will foot the bill for me to live like a queen?”

  “Hardly a queen. A princess, perhaps.” Drake turned full circle, scarcely able to move. “And had I been aware that you were living in hovel too small to be called a room, we would have done so two months ago.” He’d have words with Mr. Perkins about this arrangement—or was it Travere who thought so little of his protégé? Whomever was responsible, Drake would ensure the theater didn’t commit such errors in the future.

  “At least I will not be a burden for long.” Bria sat on the bed. “As soon as La Sylphide’s Season is over I will return to Paris. Good heavens, why is this happening?”

  Drake’s mouth grew dry. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about the end of the ballet and Britannia’s return to Paris. But as the words escaped her mouth, his heart twisted. How could he protect her if she was on the Continent? But on the other hand, how could he keep her in London when there was a madman on the loose?

  “Are you afraid?” he asked, keeping his voice steady to mask his emotions.

  “Who wouldn’t be? You’ve just informed me I am being stalked. With the scoundrel’s every act, things grow more perilous. I-I’m terrified!” Curling over, Britannia grabbed a pillow and buried her face. “I try so hard. Why does someone want to do me harm?”

  As her shoulders shook, Drake slid beside her. “This shouldn’t be happening to you. It should never be you.” He pulled her onto his lap and rocked, clutching her to his chest for dear life. “Believe me, I want to find this scoundrel more than anyone.”

  She nestled against him, a tear spilling onto his coat. “But until then, I will be forced to live in fear. M-my freedoms stifled.”

  “Not stifled but protected.” He smoothed his hand over her hair. God, she was more precious than any passion or any human being he’d ever met. “Please, Britannia. Let me do this for you.”

  An anguished sob caught in her throat while he continued to hold her. “I hate this.”

  “I know, my dearest,” he whispered into her hair. “It is not fair that you should suffer. You are the kindest, most selfless person I know.”

  Closing his eyes, Drake pressed his lips to her temple—merely her forehead and not her lips. “The devil be damned if I allow one more malfeasance to befall you.”

  “No, none of this is your doing.” She slipped her arms around his waist.

  “Nor is it yours.” He captured her face between his palms. “Allow me to take care of you—to put an end to this madness.”

  “But people will think the worst.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes, to me it does.”

  “You are a woman of great conviction and I respect that. Wear a veil. My carriage doors have been turned to hide my crest. We shall slip out through the rear entry to the mews.”

  As she raised her tawny eyelashes, her hypnotic gaze made Drake’s good intentions fade into oblivion. It took every ounce of strength in his body to resist her pert lips, the lithe, feminine form perfectly molding to his lap. He lost himself in whisky and woman. With an unexpected wildness, Britannia closed the gap and kissed him. Drake’s low growl rumbled through his soul as his heart raced, consuming her with the pent-up desire he’d been suppressing for weeks.

  Just one kiss, one bone-melting, savoring kiss and then I’ll apologize and take her away from here.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “ONE THING I’LL SAY about Ravenscar is he has very good taste,” said Pauline, twirling through Bria’s new drawing room. “And you deserve to be pampered more than any member of the cast.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Bria patted the red velvet settee beside her. “Come and sit before the tea cools.”

  Executing pirouette, Pauline gracefully landed on the seat. “But isn’t it wonderful to have your own suite of rooms with your own servants?”

  “Wonderful and daunting.” Even the silver tea service engraved with ornate filigree wasn’t hers. Yes, the suite of rooms lavishly exuded wealth from the matching settee and chairs to the mahogany table, to the marble hearth—wealth she didn’t have. When she left for Paris, Bria would leave it all behind.

  “Why do you say daunting?”

  Over the past few weeks, Ravenscar’s generosity had been nothing short of knightly. But the whirlwind of changes had been overwhelming as well. Now situated in secret rooms where Pauline was the only guest aside from the duke, she felt as if she’d been placed inside a gilded box. And no one was at fault. Someone had tried to kill her more than once, and His Grace had pulled out every stop to ensure her safety.

  Shrugging a shoulder, Bria poured. “You and I managed just fine without servants, and now I have a butler, a cook and a housekeeper—”

  “Who also acts as your lady’s maid.”

  “Even though I’m not a lady.”

  “Who says you are not?”

  “Oh please, you have brighter stars in your eyes than I do.” Bria set the teapot down and removed the top of the sugar bowl. “Would you like one spoon or two?”

  Holding up her palm, Pauline shook her head. “None. If I start sweetening my beverages, I’ll never be able to tie my stays.”

  “Me as well.” Often there had been no sugar available to add to her tea. Why start using it now? “You haven’t told me. How is Lord Saye?” His Lordship had made arrangements to be Pauline’s benefactor shortly after the Hughes ball.

  A blush sprang on her friend’s cheeks. “Marvelous, though I daresay the rooms he has given me are not as nice as these by half.”

  “My, how we live in the moment.” Smiling, Bria leaned nearer. “Are you comfortable?”

  “I am.”

  “Are you happy?”

  “Very much.” Pauline set her cup down and looked toward the hearth, not being very convincing.

  Bria clasped her hand. “I hope His Lordship is being kind.”

  “He is.”

  “Truly?”

  “He comes and goes. He’s pleasant, but keeps me at arm’s length, so to speak.” On a sigh, Pauline reclined into the cushions. “Given our arrangement, I didn’t expect to fall in love. Though he has asked me to remain in London after the Season.”

  “Surprising.”

  “Oui.”

  “How do you feel about staying here while the rest of us return to Paris?”

  “He only mentioned the idea last night. He is gentlemanly, and our arrangement is nice.” Pauline traced her finger along the settee’s golden cording. “But if you decided to stay here with Ravenscar—”

  “No, no, no.” Bria moved the tea service aside and stood. “I am not the duke’s mistress. I cannot expect him to maintain these rooms once La Sylphide closes.”

  “But imagine the expense. Surely you know he expects something more from you now—”

  “Stop right there! Do you think dancing the Sylph means nothing to him? Our ballet is bringing in revenues to his theater and after the fire and the thrown wheel, he decided the boarding house wasn’t safe enough.”

  “Though it seems to be fine for the rest o
f us.”

  “The rest of you are not being stalked by some lunatic. Besides, since you started keeping company with Lord Saye, I was staying in that attic room alone.”

  “Right, and Ravenscar is the perfect gentleman,” Pauline said, with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

  “He is our employer. He cannot take advantage of the master-servant relationship. It wouldn’t be proper.”

  “And no man has used such power to his advantage.”

  “Not the Duke of Ravenscar.” Unless kissing counted.

  Waggling her eyebrows, Pauline tossed the pillow into Bria’s hands. “But you like him.”

  Collapsing back onto the settee, Bria buried her face in a red velvet pillow. She had never discussed their kisses with anyone and now was no time to confess to Pauline. Besides, every kiss with the duke ended with an apology. Though she couldn’t deny the passion. Even she was beginning to realize the magnetism between them was as difficult for His Grace to feign indifference to as it was for her. Nonetheless, they had managed to maintain a professional relationship with only a few slips now and again.

  Thank heavens the Season would be over soon and she’d return to France. Putting the channel between her and Ravenscar was the only surefire way to ensure their fondness was snuffed once and for all.

  “You cannot hide your feelings from me,” Pauline said. “I’m not blind. Every time he is in the same room, it’s as if everyone else fades into oblivion. He’s like your very own knight in shining armor.”

  “Do not start putting ideas in my head.” Bria peeked out from the pillow while hiding her smile. Aye, he’d saved her in more ways that she cared to admit. “He is duty bound to marry a gently-bred woman of the ton, and I will not have my heart broken.”

  “I think it is too late for that.”

  She threw the pillow at her friend. “Hush.”

  “So, you’re planning to leave all this in a few weeks when La Sylphide closes?”

  “Yes.” Gulping, Bria swallowed against the thickening of her throat. Her return to Paris wasn’t forever. However, she planned to return to England and when she did, Ravenscar most likely would have found his bride. Surely he would be easier to resist if he were not a single man. “Though the duke has talked about bringing us back for another Season.”