by Stacy Reid
“The team has tasked me to, ah…” He blushed, and her throat went tight. “I’m to make discreet inquiries… Ah, that is to say we were not aware the duke had intended to take a duchess.”
The team wanted to find out if the engagement was real. Of course.
But why had they approached her and not the duke directly? Could it be that he was reclusive even with the people who managed his estates?
“Has Alexander not informed everyone of the happy news?” she asked with a small smile, desperate to portray a serene countenance, hoping her probing was on point. Kitty was very deliberate with the intimate use of the duke’s name, and Mr. Pryce stiffened. “Why haven’t you written to him? I am sure he will respond. He did promise it.”
“He did?”
She took a sip of her tea and then responded graciously. “Of course.”
Mr. Pryce’s shoulders relaxed. “My superior Mr. Fielding did send an inquiry to the duke, but we’ve received no reply.”
“How odd, and perhaps not so unlike His Grace.” Kitty hoped the duke was an indifferent correspondent and she hadn’t just blundered. Her pause was deliberate. “But how may I help your office?”
He glanced around, his gaze landing on the worn-out sofas and the threadbare peach carpet. “It took some time to find you, and I did not expect to see the fiancée of the duke residing in Cheapside.” The man was now watchful, his light blue eyes calm and calculating.
Her composure was rattled, and she took a delicate sip of her tea, her thoughts churning furiously. “My father’s solicitor’s office is currently seeking a more suitable establishment at the duke’s behest. Mr. Walker of the Dunn and Robinson firm…you are familiar with them?”
“I am,” he said tightly.
“Yes, Mr. Walker found the most delightful town house in Mayfair, but I am afraid Alexander was not at all pleased with the selection. I believe his words were that only the very best was suitable for his betrothed.” There, that would explain why she still resided in Cheapside, and yet the terrible sense of unease lingered. There were days she hated the depth of deception she weaved, and today was such a day. Why did this man have to show up here?
Still, better him than the duke…
Adolphus Pryce blanched, and he sat straighter on the lumpy sofa. “His Grace…His Grace went to another firm to handle this matter?”
The man’s shock had alarm flipping in her belly and a realization dawning. They had been concerned because the duke hadn’t used their offices to draft up any sort of agreement, or even an offer of the marriage contract. They were worried the duke may not be satisfied. Of course they had thought it prudent to investigate these new rumors. It occurred to her then they must have investigated the other past rumors as well.
Drat. She frowned, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “It was my suggestion to go with that firm, for they dealt with my papa’s estates. Alexander does indulge me, shamelessly.” She paused in the act of selecting a cake. “Do you believe your firm is capable of finding a house that would please His Grace?”
Relief lit the man’s eyes, and he nodded eagerly. “Of course, of course, Smith and Fielding is always honored to cater to His Grace’s needs. We will get on the matter right away. By the end of the week, I’ll find a town house in Piccadilly or Grosvenor Square and open a line of credit for you, Miss Danvers, at various shops. You may assure His Grace you will want for nothing, and the offices of Smith and Fielding will gladly serve all your needs.”
A line of credit? Dear God. This was going too far.
But who would genuinely believe she was the fiancée of a duke as powerful as Thornton if she lived in Cheapside and wore last season’s modes? Or only the three new ball gowns recently procured?
If she refused this offer, would they then write to the duke? Vast holdings such as the Duke of Thornton’s had several stewards and solicitors dancing attendant to his orders. Minuscule affairs were not brought to his notice. If she rejected this offer and insisted her father’s solicitor would deal with the matter of a town house, the office of Smith and Fielding would feel compelled to bring the matter to the duke, for fear of losing even a bit of his patronage.
Doubts once again rose in her. But would they not also alert the duke that they had found her suitable apartments? “I cannot credit that Alexander did not respond to your office’s queries. I will speak with him.”
Another grateful sigh issued from the man. So their client was an ogre, was he?
“That would be very satisfactory, Miss Danvers.”
Mr. Pryce then opened a slim black leather case and retrieved a sheaf of paper, a small inkwell, and a pen, then got down to business. He was quite thorough, even demanding to know the type of drapes she desired to frame the windows, the furniture required for each room, and if a seven-roomed town house would be sufficient for her needs. They discussed how many servants she would need to staff the house and the shops she would need for the lines of credit. An hour later, Mr. Pryce departed with a confident spring to his steps.
She dropped the faded damask silk curtains as the hackney rolled away down the street with Mr. Pryce. The web she had woven had just gotten so frightfully tangled, Kitty doubted she would ever be free.
She hugged an arm around her waist. There was a ball to prepare for, and she must not dawdle.
When the news had appeared in The Scruntineer, she had found the gumption to visit one of London’s reigning modistes and ordered three new ball gowns and most delightful riding habits for herself and Anna. Then she’d suddenly been offered a considerable discount on the bill and found that they were able to add some new day outfits as well.
Being the duke’s fiancée had more than one advantage.
That night she had cried in her pillows, for her heart had been heavy with uncertainty at using the last of the monies Papa had left. Come winter, they wouldn’t have two shillings to rub together.
Now a line of credit was being opened at the most famous shops in London. She would have to be very careful not to make any purchases, even if the situation became dire. While she would borrow the man’s reputation and connections, taking money felt sordid and far too nefarious. But what was she to do about the town house? Kitty fretted as she made her way from the parlor, down the small hallway, and up the stairs to her bedroom.
I will pay him back every penny, she vowed.
…
Several days later, Kitty strolled through Hyde Park with Ophelia. The day was quite dreary for a spring afternoon. The morning had dawned cold; intermittent rain had fallen in a listless, icy drizzle. That had not prevented numerous callers from descending on her newly occupied town house. Her mother had been beside herself at the duke’s generosity, even though such a gesture stretched…more like shattered the bounds of propriety.
Her mother had sniffed and declared that it was not as if the duke intended to reside under the same roof. And he was the soul of kindness and gentlemanly honor to be so concerned with their welfare. “Of course, no man of his stature would have his fiancée’s family living in Cheapside!” her mother had declared, marshaling them to pack their few belongings like a general.
Still, Kitty had not expected the bevy of nosy bodies who had descended a few hours ago. Her mother had basked in the attention and had taken to her role as hostess quite effortlessly, managing cakes and refreshments adroitly and keeping the conversation surrounding the mundane and light gossips, skillfully deflecting all questions pertaining to the duke.
A suffocating dread had risen inside her. The success had felt too surreal, too alarming, with unalterable consequences stalking her, promising ruin and scandal. Kitty had mumbled some nonsense and had escaped as if the devil had been nipping at her heels.
Grabbing her bonnet and parasol after donning sensible walking shoes, she had made her way from the house. A carriage had paused by her several minutes later; she had been q
uite glad to spy Ophelia, and her dear friend, sensing her turmoil, had suggested a stroll through the park despite the inclement weather.
They walked along a winding path, and Kitty was grateful the park was not overly crowded. Dear Ophelia appeared resplendent in a fetching dark green pelisse and a walking dress a shade lighter, but there was a bit of forlornness about her eyes.
“Are you well, Ophelia?” Kitty asked softly. “It has been several days since we last spoke.” And it made her wonder if Ophelia was perhaps hatching her own daring plan.
“I believe we should call a meeting of our group soon. Perhaps a saloon of sorts? There is much I would like to discuss with everyone, and I can sense that you are troubled.”
“Oh, we shall,” Kitty declared, truly wondering how everyone fared. “There is much to discuss.”
Ophelia slid her a considering glance. “And can your troubles wait until then?”
Kitty sighed. “I never imagined such success with my ruse. It is frightening.”
A wide smile lit her friend’s face and her eyes glinted with mysterious allure. “But it is wonderful to be so daring, yes?”
“I daresay it is. There are times I thrill in being so positively wicked and bold. Only a couple days ago, I rode your horse astride in Hyde Park. I declare I am not the first lady to do so, but the scandal sheets were agog with my daring, and Mamma almost had the vapors.” She laughed, delighted with the reminder of how indecent and free it had felt. “Kitty Danvers must be very devilish to keep the interest of the papers and society. I want them hungry to know me, to be shocked by and attracted to my audacity. Invitations to even the most exclusive balls and events will come in more.”
“Then I declare that is where you should direct your attention wholeheartedly, Kitty. I assure you, if you let only the doubts and fear in, you will falter and possibly miss something wonderful, and quite different than the humdrum that can be the expected life of a lady,” Ophelia said with aching sincerity.
Kitty had always thought that of all her friends, Ophelia could have been married if she wished for a union. She was terribly pretty with a small, determined month, a button of a nose, and sweetly curved lips, and she had the most beautifully haunting singing voice Kitty had ever had the privilege to hear. Despite being the daughter of a marquess who was lauded in parliament for his reforming efforts, for the last few seasons only one man had made an offer for her—Peter Warwick, the Earl of Langdon. And Olivia had rejected him, for she had an artistic temperance and sensibility…and a secret identity no one could ever discover.
She was Lady Starlight, revered and worshipped as a masked and bewigged songbird.
“How glad I am we ran into each other,” Kitty said with a light laugh, brushing aside all feelings of misgiving. “I shall not falter in my thoughts anymore.”
A faint shout had them pausing and turning around. A man in a dark tweed coat hurried toward them, a notebook clutched in his hand, a briefcase dangling in the other. They shifted to the side of the path to allow him to pass, but quite alarmingly, he stopped in front of them. Kitty narrowed her eyes and gripped her parasol, not in the least afraid to slap him with it should he accost them.
Not that they had too much to worry about with Ophelia’s footmen within shouting distance.
Intelligent brown eyes landed on them. “The Honourable Katherine Danvers, I presume?” he gasped out.
“And who is asking?”
“I’m Robert Dawson, a reporter from The Morning Chronicles. I have some inquiries about your engagement to His Grace, the Duke of Thornton. May I be permitted a few questions, Miss Danvers?”
Mr. Dawson’s eyes were watchful, curious with a hint of slyness.
Kitty glanced at Ophelia and saw the message in her golden gaze. Be daring. Be bold. And be more wicked.
So she did.
Chapter Three
Perthshire, Scotland, McMullen Castle
“I hope I am not overstepping, Your Grace, when I offer my sincerest felicitations on your upcoming nuptials.”
Those murmured words from Thomas Biddleton, Alexander Masters’s most trusted steward, arrested him as nothing had ever done. Well, except for the sight of his sister chasing a pig through the woods only a week ago, screaming for it to run and be free.
The pig had been recaptured later that day, but he knew better than to tell her so.
The memory pulled a ghost of a smile to his lips, and the other men gathered in his study shared a speaking glance. Except he did not understand its language. Did they ponder the nature of his smile or the beastly mien that must have been highlighted in stark silhouette with that small movement of his lips?
As it were, the taut skin marring his left cheek down to his neck ached at the movement. There had been little reason to exercise those scarred muscles of late. Even his sister’s wild antics rarely managed to bring levity to his heart, when before a simple hug from her had made him feel whole. The echoing emptiness had become somewhat of an enigma to Alexander, for he did not perceive its purpose. He’d long accepted his fate and no longer roared his anguish at his misfortunes, yet he was also inexplicably aware of the heart of darkness that lingered within him.
He was lonely.
The stark reality of it had been a crack in the belief that all he needed was his sister, Penny. But he’d decided to send her to England for the necessary social polish and a season. She would not like it, but he would not allow her to bury herself in the wild moors of Scotland forever when the possibility of happiness might await her.
“Please forgive my impertinence, Your Grace,” the man hurriedly said at his lack of response.
Positioned in a high wingback chair by the fire, Alexander swallowed the last of his brandy, schooling his expression into impassivity. “My nuptials? To whom?”
Startled owlish eyes cut into his, and Mr. Biddleton seemed lost for words. “Miss Katherine Danvers, I believe she prefers to be called Kitty…is she not your betrothed? Everyone has said so.”
“Then it must be true,” Alexander said caustically, dismissing yet another intrusive rumor into his life. In the ten years since he had withdrawn from society, he had heard it all—the exotic French mistress he had to throw off a cliff, that he had perished in the fall that had broken his body, then damn his black heart, he had done away with his heir presumptive. Those were the rumors that had reached him in his cold corner of Scotland.
Mr. Biddleton’s furtive glance cut to the three solicitors seated around a massive oak table. They were meticulously packing up reports in the proper order for his perusal later. From the stiff manner in how they held themselves, he surmised they were discomfited. Perhaps they dreaded the invitation for dinner he would extend, as was his custom. They were too afraid to refuse him, and they were aware he knew their discomfiture.
Something ugly scuttled across his thoughts, a black awareness that he was lonely and had only these retainers resembling obsequious cockroaches who sat without spine, bowing to all his whims because he was the duke.
Mr. Pryce, a new addition to the law offices, and who was aiming to leave his mark on the world, cleared his throat. “I had the privilege of finding a suitable town house for Miss Danvers when her late father’s lawyer was unable to do so, Your Grace. Miss Danvers was quite pleased with the house in Portman Square.”
Alexander was momentarily transfixed. A member of his team had seen and spoken to this creature?
Then a peculiar stillness settled over his mind. It seemed this was more than gossip crafted from the silver tongues of boredom and spiteful pettiness. It was quite astonishing. He took a few minutes to assess the strangeness of not having his mind darting in several directions, calculating profits, or penning some inflammatory letter to Britain’s parliament.
“Was she?” he murmured in a deliberately disinterested tone.
The pup, evidently eager to please,
and dismissing the cautioning look from his superiors, hurried to extrapolate. “Miss Danvers has been declared incomparable, Your Grace, and the story of your courtship is splashed in every newspaper and scandal sheet. They do admire her for her charm and kindness. The story of your meeting and secret courtship has become a sensation. You…you’ve become the rage…”
Mr. Pryce’s voice left him as he became aware of the heavy disapproval beating down on him from his two senior lawyers.
None of that mattered to Alexander, as for the first time in years, a pulse of raw, vibrant emotion stirred beneath the controlled surface he presented to the world. A young lady had deliberately claimed to be his fiancée; she had either been struck with madness or ingenuity.
He felt an unfamiliar twist of curiosity.
He turned the crystal brandy glass slowly between his hands, absently tracing the puckered scars dissecting his thumb. “This meeting is over, and I will see you all next month.”
Mr. Pryce and his senior lawyers stood, bowed, and made their way from the study.
“Not you.”
Somehow sensing that it was he, the young buck faltered. “M-me, Your Grace?”
“Yes.”
Everyone else shuffled out, the last one closing the door to the study quietly.
“Tell me, Mr.…”
“Adolphus Richard Pryce, Your Grace,” the young man hurriedly answered.
Alexander could feel his uncertainty and did nothing to put him at ease. “You’ve personally met Miss Danvers.”
The man hurriedly explained how he had found the town house for her and had tried to open a line of credit with the best dressmakers and milliners, but she had refused.
How interesting. A charlatan who was not interested in his money? Who are you and what do you want?
The lawyer’s voice droned on in his eagerness to please. Certain phrases caught at the sharp edges of Alexander’s mind; others he dismissed as he stared into the flickering flames. The scarred half of his face throbbed, as it always did whenever he looked upon the force of nature that had caused his greatest pain.
