One Fine Duke

by Lenora Bell

  “Then perhaps you would be so kind as to interview the rest of the servants. Someone might have seen or heard something. Ask them about any remnants of papers in the fireplaces, something Lord Rafe might have burned, any snippets of words or any behavior that struck them as more strange than usual.”

  “Does His Grace know about your assistance in this matter?”

  “He does.”

  “Then it will be my great honor to assist. You shall have your report by this afternoon.”

  “You may give the report to the duke.”

  “Very good, Miss Penny.”

  “Now I should like to search Lord Rafe’s study again.”

  “Of course.”

  He must have a hiding place—all spies did—and it wouldn’t be as easy to find as a false bottom to a desk or a loose floorboard.

  This would be something cleverly hidden. Something only another person with a knowledge of espionage could find.

  Chapter 14

  When Drew returned home he found Miss Penny walking slowly around the perimeter of the study, lost in concentration. He watched her for a moment just for the pleasure of it. She wore a conventional gown of dotted yellow muslin. He liked the way it moved with her as she walked, molding the enticing shape of her limbs.

  She mumbled to herself as she trailed her fingers over the books on the shelves. Her hair was caught up in curls on top of her head with tendrils wending a spiral path from her ears to her neck. A blue ribbon cinched the hourglass curve of her waist.

  An hour earlier he’d presented his card at Frances Flynn’s door, giving the sophisticated beauty time to array herself on a low couch in a practiced state of dishabille that had been calculated to heat his blood.

  His blood had remained icy as he questioned her about Rafe’s whereabouts and activities. She’d told him nothing he hadn’t already known, so he’d left, eager to return to the house. To this. Miss Penny searching for clues.

  She stopped walking and turned toward the bookshelves, providing him with a very appealing view of her generously rounded bum.

  She plucked a book from the shelf with a flourish, as if she expected something to happen.

  Nothing happened, except that he imagined pressing her up against the bookshelf from behind, savoring the way the soft curve of her bottom cradled his hard . . .

  “Good day, Your Grace,” she said, turning toward him. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

  I can’t stay away.

  She had a red rose tucked behind her ear. He wanted to taste it—the rose, the curve of her ear, follow the trail down her throat, inside her bodice . . .

  The sight of her immediately destroyed his calm, chipped away at his ice sculpture of a heart.

  “Good day, Miss Penny,” he said in as bland and businesslike of a tone as he could manage.

  He was impervious. He felt nothing. They had a mutual goal—that was all. “I conducted a thorough search of this room earlier today. You won’t find anything.”

  “Not thorough enough, Your Grace.”

  “Is that so?”

  “You weren’t searching in the right places.”

  He stopped short, several paces away, even though he wanted to be closer.

  “What do you expect to find?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure yet, but I’ll know it when I see it,” she said, resuming her slow walk along the bookshelf.

  “Where’s Beatrice?”

  “Reading a book. We left my great-aunt and your mother in the parlor for a long gossip session. Beatrice told them that she wanted to show me her collection of female authors.” She paused and glanced at him over her shoulder, her eyes like polished silver. “Beatrice thinks that I want time alone with you. Can you believe that?”

  “But of course. She probably thinks you want to steal a kiss.”

  “I’m not after kisses. I’m here for secrets.” She slid another book from the shelf, then replaced it.

  Too bad, thought Drew. I’m here for kisses.

  “I spoke with Crankshaw,” she said, “and he couldn’t recall anything out of the ordinary, but he’s going to interview all of the servants to see if anyone noticed anything. He’ll give you a report tonight.”

  He followed along as she slowly made her way from book to book, studying titles and selecting volumes to remove and replace, seemingly at random.

  What was she searching for?

  “I visited my club and spoke with Rafe’s friend the Duke of Westbury. Found your turtledove.”

  “Oh?” She stopped walking and gave him her full attention.

  “Frances Flynn, Rafe’s former mistress, and one I knew nothing about. Apparently he ended it with her months ago. I visited her at her house.”

  “And was she beautiful and sophisticated?”

  “Very.”

  “I suppose she was wearing a scarlet gown.”

  “She wasn’t wearing a gown at all, only a lacy negligee and a thin silk wrapper.”

  “Oh.” She blinked. “How scandalous.”

  “Very.”

  “And did you want to steal a kiss?”

  Was she jealous? He studied her face. “I wasn’t there for kisses. I was after secrets. Unfortunately, she had none to tell. It seems we’ve come to a dead end. Until the author of the note sends another communication, we’ve exhausted all avenues.”

  “We haven’t come to a dead end, Your Grace.” She smiled. “We’re just getting started. You’ll see.”

  We’re just getting started.

  It usually started with a kiss. Books helped. He wasn’t precisely sure why, but he’d always found that well-stocked library shelves were a surefire method to enflame a female’s passions.

  “You know these are my books, not Rafe’s, right?” For some reason he wanted to make that very clear. “He’s not a great reader. He prefers gaming hells to libraries.”

  “Interesting.” She studied the shelves. “Then we’ll be looking for a book that’s out of place. Something you never would keep in your library. How tall is Lord Rafe?”

  “About my height.”

  “I’m searching on the wrong bookshelf. It would be on the next one up. And it will most likely be brightly colored, so as to differentiate it from other books.”

  “What the devil are you talking about?”

  “The book that will open the secret chamber hidden behind the wall.”

  “I hate to disappoint you but there’s no secret chamber. I have the working drawings for this entire house. It was designed by an architect who didn’t have a secretive or imaginative bone in his body.”

  “Shhh.” She held a finger to her lips. “Let me work.”

  He trailed behind as she chose books at intervals, this time rising on her toes to remove them from the shelf above her head. They were nearly to the end of the last row of shelves.

  He overtook her easily and braced his hand on the shelves, cutting off her path.

  She stopped, inches from him.

  “There’s no hidden chamber. See? End of the line,” he said.

  “That book. The red one your hand is resting on. What does it say?”

  He moved his hand. “Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure.”

  “And did you purchase it and place it there?”

  “I most certainly did not,” he said indignantly. “I may have been a rake but I didn’t keep lewd books out in the open on my library shelves.”

  She giggled.

  “Have I said something funny?” he asked.

  “I knew it would be a bawdy title—that’s Lord Rafe’s sense of humor. That’s the one.” She stood beside him, her shoulder touching his upper arm, her eyes bright and clear with interest. “Your Grace, attempt to pull that book off of the shelf.”

  He pulled the top edge of the book toward him. “It won’t move,” he said, puzzled.

  “I knew it!”

  Miss Penny moved a few steps and ran her fingers along the edge of the narrow section of shelving. “It must
be fixed to the mechanism that will open the door. Angle the book down and toward you and pull again.”

  He followed her instructions and a small crack opened up between the edges of the shelf sections.

  He stared, dumbfounded. “That’s not possible.”

  “Confronted with the evidence of sight and he still says it’s not possible. Here, exchange places with me, Your Grace. You pull on the edge of the shelves while I work the book.”

  They switched places. She pulled down on the book with both her hands. “Now,” she said.

  He grabbed the edge of the shelf and pulled and the entire thing slid toward him, revealing a dark hollow beyond. “Well, I’ll be twice damned. There’s a secret chamber.”

  Chapter 15

  “I told you so,” Mina crowed. “I may not be completely stealthy, but I do know a likely location for a hidden room. My uncle has a similar one at Sutton Hall. Many houses have them to protect precious documents or jewels.”

  “Not this house,” said the duke, gazing into the darkness behind the shelf with a disbelieving expression. “This was not in the floor plans.”

  “Lord Rafe must have had the room modified while you were gone. Does the study appear smaller to you?”

  He glanced around the room. “Now that you mention it, the room does seem slightly off center. But why would he have this built, and why wouldn’t Crankshaw have informed me of it when I asked him if anything strange had happened?”

  “Perhaps Mr. Crankshaw is more discreet than he appears.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Let’s explore, shall we?” She was dying to go inside. This was where Lord Rafe would keep confidential documents. The entire mystery of his mission could be solved in the next minutes.

  The duke hesitated outside the entrance to the narrow space. “I’ll fetch a lamp.”

  “There’s one over there.”

  He followed her gaze, his eyes gone dull and lifeless. Something was wrong.

  “Miss Penny. I . . .” His throat worked visibly.

  “You look pale. Is something the matter?”

  His face closed like a door being slammed shut. “Nothing’s the matter. I’ll fetch the lamp.”

  It was dark inside the small space, but she could see the outline of a desk and what looked like a box on top of the desk.

  He returned with the lamp and held it high, illuminating the narrow elongated chamber. “Nothing to see here. Just a desk and a chair. We should go find Beatrice. We’ve been alone together too long.”

  “No one’s worrying about us, Your Grace. My great-aunt and your mother are gossiping and they think I’m reading books with Lady Beatrice.”

  He eyed the hidden chamber. “Maybe we should bring two lamps with us.”

  He was acting very strange. It was almost as if . . . could he be scared?

  Suddenly she realized that this fear of a small and an unknown space could be related to his kidnapping.

  “I see a wooden box inside the room,” she said gently. “We must open it.”

  “Must we?” he asked, his face a study in conflicted emotions, none of them his customary arrogance.

  He hunched his shoulders, staring at her instead of at the room. “Very well then.” He took a deep breath. “Let’s go explore.”

  “Wait.” She wedged a book under the door. “That’s usually the first mistake people make with hidden chambers. Now we won’t be trapped inside.”

  “Excellent,” he said shakily. “Though a secret chamber behind a bookshelf might make a perfect location to steal a kiss.”

  “Or the perfect location for your brother to hide information about his clandestine activities.”

  Though another kiss would be equally thrilling.

  Although the duke didn’t look amorous at the moment. He stood so still that he could have been a statue. The hand that held the lamp trembled.

  She moved closer to him and placed her palm on his chest. “Your heart is beating so fast.”

  “I’m excited to see what the room will reveal.”

  “So am I.”

  He was obviously fighting for control over his emotions. He clasped her hand where it lay against his heart and threaded his fingers between hers until they were holding hands. “Are you ready for an adventure, Miss Penny?”

  “Always, Your Grace.”

  They walked into the room hand in hand. He set the lantern on the desk, never letting go of her hand. The light from the lantern and the dim light from the study showed all sides of the room.

  Thorndon appeared even larger in the tiny space, his head nearly reaching the low ceiling. The enticing scent of his cologne teased her senses.

  Perhaps they would have time for just one stolen kiss in the dark. Or she could reach her arms as far around him as possible and give him a hug. It might help calm him.

  It would have the opposite effect on her. Her body thrummed with the awareness of how near he stood. How their hands were linked.

  She slid her thumb along his knuckles in a soothing rhythm.

  “It’s very Spartan and spare, like a monk’s cell,” he observed. “Not very Rafe-like.”

  She led him to the far wall and rapped upon it with her knuckles. “Walls intact. Nowhere else to hide anything.” She bounced up and down on the floorboards, one by one, the duke following at her side. “No loose floorboards.”

  “Then it’s just the box,” he said.

  That’s where Rafe would keep his coded messages. They would be coded because agents were extremely cautious about what they entrusted to paper.

  The duke’s face was ashen and his breathing was ragged. He clutched her fingers so tightly it almost hurt.

  “Let’s take the box into the study and examine it there, Your Grace.”

  He relinquished her hand and passed her the lamp. He pounced on the box and carried it out of the room and over to a table near a window. He stared out the window for a few moments, his back to her, shoulders rigid.

  “Your Grace?” She touched the back of his shoulder. He flinched. She sensed that he was fighting for control over his breathing, unwilling to betray any weakness.

  He turned. His brow was beaded with sweat. She longed to ask him about his reaction but she could see from the closed, forbidding expression in his eyes that he wouldn’t appreciate any prying.

  “Are you going to open the box?” he asked, his voice harsh.

  He watched intently as she opened the box and lifted out a leather-bound book. There was no lock. She spread it open. It was a coded diary. Each day had a date in English, but the entries were written in a cipher consisting of numbers and letters.

  “That’s Rafe’s handwriting but what does it mean? It looks like gibberish,” Thorndon said.

  “Not gibberish. It’s coded. In order to decipher it, we’ll need to find the key. Are you familiar with the work of General Sir George Scovell?”

  “Not specifically.”

  “General Scovell was a linguist who cracked the Grande Chiffre French code in just under two days.”

  “Sounds like a hero of yours.”

  “I’ve read everything by him and about him. When the Great Paris Code was sent to French army officers in eighteen eleven he had a much more difficult task. But eventually he understood enough of it to decipher critical French dispatches and aid Wellington’s victory at Vitoria.”

  “Are you saying that my brother writes his diary in French military code? How are we going to crack that?”

  “We. You said we.”

  “I did, didn’t I?”

  She was becoming addicted to that sly smile of his, the one that lifted a corner of his mouth and left the other one stern.

  “I suppose we’re in this together now, like you said. We’ve formed a temporary alliance.” His breathing returned to normal. Whatever had happened in his mind, whatever dark, fearful place he’d gone to, he was back now.

  And they would solve this mystery together.

  “This is writte
n in your brother’s own cipher,” said Mina. “My guess would be that he used a book from your library as the key. If we can find the book, we can crack the code by determining the pattern of pages, columns and words. For example, Scovell developed a common cipher for our forces to use by sending the same dictionary to each headquarters.”

  “You certainly know a lot about ciphers.”

  “It’s a hobby of mine. I like puzzles, codes, and anagrams. Anything I can take apart and put back together. Words, timepieces, weaponry. It’s interesting to find the hidden meanings, or to find new uses for ordinary items.”

  “Weaponry?”

  “For example, the pistol you saw in the garden shed: I modified its mechanism to fit my small hands perfectly.”

  “Not a very normal occupation for a debutante.”

  She gave him a quelling look. “Do I appear to be an ordinary debutante?”

  “Not in the least.”

  “I like anagrams in particular. As a girl I was always dissecting words and putting them back together in different ways. I’ve already anagrammed your Christian name, Your Grace.” She’d found an iteration that fit him perfectly. “Andrew becomes Warden.”

  He frowned. “I don’t like that one. Andrew could be . . . warned.” His eyes glinted. “Or wander.”

  “Warden,” she said, though he did make her think of wandering down forbidden paths.

  “And Wilhelmina?” he asked. “With so many letters you must have some interesting results. Let’s see . . .” he said, staring out the window.

  “That’s easy. My favorite one is: Ahem, I’ll win.”

  He smiled. “Very appropriate.”

  “I anagrammed Lord Rafe’s full name.”

  “Raphael. And what hidden meaning did you uncover?”

  “Ale harp,” she pronounced.

  The duke laughed. Finally. She wanted to help chase the darkness away.

  “It fits him,” Thorndon said. “I believe it was Dryden who said that anagrams are the ‘torturing of one poor word ten thousand ways.’ ”

  “And now we’re going to have to torture all of the books in your library in order to find the key to this coded diary.”