How to Deceive a Duke (22 page)

Chapter 51

“G
ood afternoon, Gardiner, is Temberlay at home?” Hector asked, looking around the cavernous hall of Hartley Place.

“I’ll inquire, if you’d like to wait in the salon, my lord.”

Nicholas entered a few moments later, looking none the worse for his kidnapping.

“I was planning to call on you this afternoon, Bryant. You’ve beaten me to it.”

“Flora heard rumors that you were back in Town, and wants news of Meg,” he said.

Nicholas crossed and poured two tumblers of whisky and handed one to him. “Are you wondering if she’s still alive after kidnapping me and dragging me to Wycliffe?”

Hector scanned his face. “Yes, as a matter of fact. We expected you’d be away for some time.”

“I had things to see to here in London. Meg chose to stay at Wycliffe for the moment.”

Hector felt alarm. “Is she—”

“Too bruised to appear in public? Broken in body and spirit? She’s perfectly well, I assure you. I asked her to return with me, and she declined. I think that might be better, for the moment.”

“I see,” Hector said, though he didn’t. “I have a note for her from her mother.”

Temberlay dropped it on the table. “I’ll see she gets it.” He reached into his pocket, and handed over a piece of paper. “Have you seen this?”

Hector read the contents of the bill of sale, and looked up at Temberlay in surprise.

“Did Meg—”

“She imprisoned me in the earl’s apartments. I found that tucked in a book. I assume she hasn’t seen it. Did you know of it?”

“I knew he’d sold the horses before his death, but—” He felt fury gather in his chest. “They were the finest horses in England, worth ten times this amount!”

“Did you know of his other business dealings with Charles Wilton?”

“Wilton? No. Marcus asked me to invest in a new scheme he was entering into with several other gentlemen, told me it was a sure thing. My fortune is modest, and my capital was—and is—tied up in navy bills and the three percent consolidated annuities. That’s why I couldn’t be of more help to Marcus’s family after his death.”

“My brother was involved in that sure thing as well—” Nicholas began.

The door opened and the dowager duchess entered. She fixed her gaze on Hector and raised her brows.

“I’d hoped you’d brought Marguerite home at last. Do you at least have word of her?”

Hector glanced at Nicholas. “I understand she’s still at Wycliffe Park, Your Grace.”

She glared at Nicholas. “What have you done?”

Hector bowed. “Perhaps I should be going. The countess will be waiting for news.”

“No, stay, Bryant. I wish to discuss things with my grandmother that concern Meg. I think you should hear them as well,” Nicholas said.

“Oh?” the dowager said. “I do hope the news is good. Is Marguerite with child, perhaps?”

“Did you make having a child a condition of our marriage contract? I did not see that clause included,” Nicholas said mildly.

The dowager pursed her lips. “Isn’t producing legitimate heirs the usual reason for marriage?”

“In time, if the match is fruitful. Meg seems to be under the impression that something dreadful will happen if she does not have a child immediately.”

Hector watched the old woman smile. She looked like a cat with prey in her paws, and since Temberlay didn’t look afraid in the least, it meant Meg was the prey. He swallowed bile.

“You are the last of the Hartley line. You need an heir, just in case something should happen to you. Marguerite—” She shot a sharp glance at Hector. “—and her family have profited from this match. She has a responsibility.”

“What did you threaten her with?” Nicholas asked. “To leave her penniless again? I won’t let that happen, Granddame.”

The dowager sneered. “You? You have the money I give you and nothing more. I can still cut off every penny, and you will be as poor as your wife. I want an heir. It is your duty. I don’t believe that’s too much to expect even from you.”

“Do you intend to raise my son as you raised David?” Nicholas asked.

“As a decent man, a good duke, rather than a rake and a wastrel? Of course. That child is my hope for the future, and I will not trust you with such a precious thing. You destroy everything you touch!”

“I don’t need your money, Granddame,” Nicholas said flatly.

“What?” the dowager said, her jaw dropping.

“For the first time in five years, the Temberlay estates are showing a profit. Good management, a few improvements. The dukedom—my dukedom—will be solvent again by the end of the year.”

She glared at him. “You make it sound as if your brother mismanaged things. If it hadn’t been for you—”

“We both know that isn’t true,” Nicholas said.

She raised her chin. “I can still destroy you. If you refuse to give me a child, I shall expose what I know, ruin the Lyntons, and they will never rise from the disgrace!”

“What can you possibly know?” Hector dared to ask. “There is nothing—”

The old lady glared at him. “Your stepbrother didn’t die accidentally, did he?”

Hector felt his skin heat. “I understand he fell from a horse . . .”

She looked smug. “Nonsense. He hanged himself when he sold his pretty horses. He took the coward’s way out and left his family to face his shame.”

Hector felt his guts turn to water.

The old harridan cackled. “You didn’t know? Even you? It was in the doctor’s report, plain as day. I can direct you to him if you’d like to speak to him yourself. For a small fee he’s happy to tell what he knows of the matter.”

Hector stared at her, too stunned to speak.

She swung her obsidian eyes on Nicholas. “You don’t look surprised. I assume you know, then. Did she tell you, beg you to make me keep my silence?”

Temberlay knew?
That meant Meg knew. Hector shut his eyes. He didn’t want to think of what that meant. He was certain Flora had no idea. It would kill her to hear that Marcus had taken his own life, left her alone and destitute.

“Yes, I know the truth,” Nicholas said calmly. “And if you say one word about it, I will tell the world how David died, Granddame.”

Hector gaped. Another secret? He’d heard the last duke’s death was an accident as well, a broken wheel on a carriage. A bead of sweat crawled down his face, and he mopped it away. He had feared Meg would be marrying into perpetual scandal and misery, but not like this.

“You wouldn’t dare!” the dowager said, and thumped her stick on the ground. “It’s your fault, your sins that killed him! You took money, invested badly, and the scandal with the Leighton chit—”

“It had nothing to do with Julia. David died in a duel with three men.”

Hector gaped again, and she made a strangled sound.

Nicholas’s eyes flicked to Hector. He blinked. “The men involved lied to him, cheated him, used my name to do it. You could easily have discovered that, if you wanted to, Granddame. You found out about Lord Wycliffe easily enough.”

The dowager paled. “You wouldn’t expose such a secret. Think of the scandal!”

Nicholas smiled, and crossed to pull the bell. “Indeed. It would be devastating to you and to David. I believe it would exonerate me of a number of imagined crimes if the truth came out. You wouldn’t want that, would you, Granddame? That would make David—”

“No!” she croaked. “I will never believe that!”

“Then you will leave Wycliffe’s ghost at peace as well.”

Gardiner entered. “Tea for the dowager, if you please, and sherry,” Nicholas ordered. When the butler had gone, he turned back to her.

“I thank you for Marguerite. She will make a fine duchess, and a good wife, and in time and with luck, an excellent mother, but not on your terms. I won’t have three people in my marriage bed.”

The dowager glared up at her grandson with such malevolent hatred that Hector shivered.

“Care to join me in the library, Bryant? I believe we have further matters to discuss. We’ll leave you to your tea, Granddame.”

Hector bowed stiffly to the old lady, but her face remained cold and impassive. She didn’t acknowledge him. He followed Temberlay down the hall to the library.

T
he dowager took her tea up to her study. This wasn’t over. She wasn’t ready to retire to the dower house at Temberlay and live out her dotage while Nicholas ran the duchy into the ground again. If it was making a profit, surely it was due to her money, her influence. It had nothing to do with him. He was the second son, the spare. He had no idea how to run the vast Temberlay holdings.

She had loved David, spent her life training him, molding him into everything a duke should be. He depended on her, needed her, trusted her.
Were
there things she didn’t know?

Impossible.

She stared at the bloodstain on the rug, the place where David had died in her arms.

It’s all Nicholas’s fault.

Nicholas had been in Spain, at war, David had taken large amounts of money out of the estate. Dodd had shown her. He hadn’t known where the funds had gone, but she knew. He must have sent it all to Nicholas. There were surely as many harlots in Spain as England, as many men to gamble with. She had heard rumors that he’d been careless enough to get himself captured by the enemy, not once, but twice. David had probably paid to ransom his brother.

He should have left Nicholas to rot in prison.

She could no longer control Nicholas, that was clear. She’d never been able to control him. She thought she had him when he agreed to marry the Lynton girl sight unseen. But he no longer needed her money, and he would never ask her for advice.

She sipped her tea. She still had Marguerite.

“When the cat’s away, who knows what the mice get up to?” she murmured, and smiled.

Chapter 52

“I
s it true? About Marcus’s death?”

Nicholas nodded, and watched Hector Bryant run a hand through his hair. “And Meg? Meg knew? She told you?”

“John Ramsbottom did.”

Hector sank into a chair, and got up again. “She didn’t even tell me. She handled even that on her own. I wasn’t close to my brother. I didn’t agree with his philosophies. But Meg—my God, she was barely nineteen! How did she endure that?”

Hector scanned the bill of sale again. “Arabella was her mare. She was the one thing that gave Meg pleasure,” he said. “Marcus didn’t deserve a daughter as fine as Meg. I hope you understand how very fortunate you are that she decided to take Rose’s place, Temberlay.”

“I’m beginning to.”

“If the truth comes out, it will destroy Flora,” Hector said, pacing the rug.

“Why do you think Meg drugged me, kidnapped me, and dragged me off to make me do her bidding? She’s protecting everyone but herself.”

“Shall I apologize on her behalf?” Hector asked. “You removed yourself from the situation quickly enough. May I ask what you said to her?”

“I invited her to return to London with me, but it’s probably better that she isn’t here. I intend to deal with Wilton and Howard first. It’s time someone took care of things for her.”

Hector swallowed. “I’d hate to be the man who crossed you, Temberlay. I almost—only almost, mind you—pity Wilton and Howard. Who was the third man involved in the duel?”

“Wycliffe,” Nicholas said.

Hector gaped. “How is that possible?” he whispered. “Marcus was a moral crusader, a fool, but he wasn’t a killer. He didn’t believe in duels.”

“He deloped. Wilton and Howard delivered the killing blows.”

“Over horses?” Hector said.

“Over money and lies.”

“What can I do to help?” Hector asked.

Nicholas looked at the dapper, middle-aged lord. He was of small stature, medium weight, and kind, not ruthless. “I want to do what I can now, for Meg’s sake,” Hector said. “For Flora, and for Marcus. I should have been there to protect them. I would have been if I’d known.” He drew himself up to full height. “I know now.”

“A duel,” Nicholas said. “After I do to them what they’ve done to us—take away what they love most.”

Chapter 53

“T
here’s mail for you, Meg,” Amy said, bringing several letters into the library where Meg was reading to Minnie and Lily. “And no, before you ask, there isn’t one from Nick. They’re all from the dowager.”

Meg gritted her teeth. The old harridan had been inundating her with daily deliveries of the latest scandal sheets, London newspapers, and letters filled with gossip about Nicholas.

She read the newspapers, since Napoleon had escaped from the island of Elba and was once again gathering an army, but avoided the society news.

Amy waved a scandal sheet that showed Nicholas with a dozen of the Season’s prettiest debutantes on his arms, grinning lustfully above a caption that read “Fresh Spring Blossoms.”

Other notes linked him with several actresses, and one very notorious widow. There was a drawing of Angelique Encore wearing Nicholas on one arm and a magnificent diamond bracelet on the other, with the words, “Will the famous sapphires be next?”

The dowager wrote emphatic letters insisting that Meg must return to London at once. She would have to go eventually. When her pride healed.

She hid her hot cheeks behind the newspaper, pretended to read it.

She had scrubbed Nicholas’s presence out of the house. She hadn’t heard a word from him directly. She found one of Nicholas’s shirts that Mr. Partridge had left behind in his haste to return to the conveniences and comforts of London, and slept with it under her pillow. The scent of his skin rose around her like a ghost, tormenting her.

She was all too aware that time was running out.

She found a dusty pile of old London papers in her father’s study, and searched them for old news of the war, and of Nicholas. He was a hero indeed. How sheltered her life had been. Her father’s philosophy had been worse than wrong. A wife should be a partner, a helpmeet to her husband, not a mere ornament. She searched out the books on French, history, and science and set about giving her sisters a proper education.

One morning a notice in the newspaper caught her eye, advertising the auction of several horses, to take place in London within the week. Out of habit she looked for her father’s hot bloods on the list.

“Look, it’s a picture of Rose!” Lily interrupted, putting aside her history lesson to point at one of the scandal sheets.

Meg peered around the newspaper.

Amy took it. “Why, so it is! She looks radiant, doesn’t she?”

Her mother had sent word that Rose was safe, happily married, and living in Scotland. “Since when do the scandal sheets report social news from Scotland?” Meg asked.

“Didn’t you read your mother’s latest letter? Rose is in London. Her husband has gone to sea, and she’s come south to visit.”

Meg put her nose back in the newspaper. She scanned the list. “Arabella’s Glory.”

Her heart stopped as she read the name of the foal. She hadn’t seen her mare or the foal since the day her father had sold them.

“Look, Rose was at a party with Nick!” Minnie cried, waving another drawing.

Meg’s stomach clenched as she looked at the drawing. Rose was gazing adoringly up at Nicholas—
her
Nicholas—wearing a fetching smile and a very low bodice. Nicholas was smiling back at her, that seductive, charming devil’s grin of his. “Would a wife by any other name smell as sweet?” the caption read. The delectable Mrs. Winters was described as his latest companion in another drawing, and she appeared with him in yet another caricature as “A Rose Without a Thorn.”

Meg snatched them all out of her little sisters’ hands. “Girls, go into the kitchen and get some tarts.”

“He wouldn’t dare,” Meg muttered to Amy when they were gone. “
She
wouldn’t dare! Angelique Encore is one thing, but Rose is my own sister! She’s
married
!”

“So is he. To you,” Amy said. “It might all be quite innocent, you know.”

“I don’t care,” Meg said.

“Yes, you do.”

She left the room and swept up the stairs. Amy followed her.

Meg stopped on the stairs and spun to face the housekeeper. “How dare he take advantage of someone as thickheaded as Rose? Doesn’t she see it’s all an act, that he is only interested in—?”

She couldn’t say it. She continued on and Amy hurried after her. “And what’s that, Lady High and Mighty? If you were there, she wouldn’t stand a chance. I saw how he looked at you, and you looked at him!”

Meg entered her own room and dragged a valise out of the wardrobe. “Don’t be ridiculous, Amy. He does not want me. I must find a way to live my own life. Once I’ve produced an heir, of course.” There was always that, and the dowager’s threats to consider before she could decide how to live with Nicholas, or without him.

Amy began folding gowns to put into the bag. “You’re wrong. He asked John to bring you back to him. John’s been packed to go for a fortnight, waiting on you.”

Meg added a handful of stockings, shifts, and nightgowns. “He hasn’t even written!”

She crossed to the desk and found a sheet of paper in her mother’s stationery, wrote a note, folded it, and sealed it.

“He has his pride,” Amy said mildly. “And don’t tell me you don’t want him. You’re as thin as a rail. You don’t eat, you don’t sleep. It’s about time you did something about it. Are you ready to go?”

Meg tucked the letter into her pocket and looked around the room. She hadn’t intended to go back to London today, or even been aware that she’d been packing to do so, but it couldn’t wait any longer.

“Yes,” she said.

Amy reached under the pillow and pulled out the shirt. “Then you won’t want to forget this,” she said, and smiled knowingly.

Meg’s skin heated. She snatched the shirt. “Please ask John to get the coach ready,” she said with all the dignity a duchess could muster.

Amy grinned. “It’s been ready for days. You need only get in it and go back to Nicholas. If you take my advice, you’ll use your heart this once, lass, not your head. That’ll get you what you want.” She brushed her fingers over Meg’s cheek. “You deserve to be happy.”

Meg lifted her chin. “I’m not going to him.”

“Then what are you going to do?” Amy asked, her hands on her hips.

“I’m going to buy a horse.”

“What about Nicholas, and Rose?”

Meg turned to go. “I will see what the situation calls for.”