The Duke Who Knew Too Much (10 page)

“Dearies? Time’s up.”

The words sliced through the moment like a guillotine. It took a moment for Emma to recognize Mrs. Roddy’s voice. Before she could gather her senses, she was shoved behind Strathaven. His broad back to her, he faced the approaching bawd.

“Ah, there you are.” A knowing gleam lit the bawd’s eyes. “Enjoy the show?”

“We’re done,” Strathaven said.

Dazed by the sensations still coursing through her, Emma watched as he dropped a small purse in the bawd’s waiting palm, the coins landing with an ignominious
clink
.

“
Thank you
, your grace.” Fluttering her lashes, Mrs. Roddy said, “If there is anything else—”

“That is all,” the duke said imperiously.

The bawd curtsied low.

He turned, and Emma’s lungs constricted as she saw his expression. ’Twas as if a curtain of ice had fallen over him, his face frozen in hard lines, his eyes a glacial jade. She flinched when his large hand closed around her arm like a manacle.

“We’re leaving,” he grated out. “Now.”

Chapter Nine

The next evening, Emma wondered what in mercy’s name she was doing. Given all that had transpired in the past day, the
last
place she should be was here in the foyer of Strathaven’s palatial townhouse. On her last visit here, she’d been distraught over the news of Lady Osgood’s death, her assumption of Strathaven’s culpability; she hadn’t taken note of the surroundings. Now she saw that checkered marble gleamed beneath her half-boots, crystals dripped from the tiered chandelier overhead, and in front of her, the twin wings of the mahogany stairwell seemed to float up toward the paneled ceiling.

Surrounded by the incontrovertible proof of her host’s wealth and power, she couldn’t feel more ill at ease. Yet her honor had demanded that she come. Ambrose and Marianne had taken the rest of the family to a performance at Astley’s tonight, and pleading a headache—plausible, given her return visit to the magistrates earlier that afternoon—Emma had stayed home. Soon after, she’d slipped out of the house and hailed a hackney to the present address.

As much as she hated deceiving her family, she had no choice. She had a debt to settle and the sooner the better. The catastrophic mistake she’d made—the man’s reputation that she’d recklessly ruined—gnawed at her insides.

As did the memory of what had happened yesterday at Andromeda’s.

The kiss washed over her, thrill and dismay swirling in its wake. Of all the times for her to discover that she was indeed capable of feminine passion, of all the men she might have discovered it with ... why in God’s name did it have to be
Strathaven
?

The butler returned, and she noticed how shuffling and painful-looking his gait was.

“His grace will see you in the library, Miss Kent,” he said with a thick Scottish burr.

For an instant, Emma was tempted to flee—but she’d never been one to shirk duty, no matter how unpleasant it might be. She’d made this mess; she would tidy it up.

She straightened her shoulders. “Thank you, sir.”

“’Tis Jarvis, miss.” His countenance was kindly.

She gave him a small smile and followed him down a long corridor hung with gilt-framed paintings. She had no idea how Strathaven would react to seeing her. The carriage ride home from Andromeda’s had taken place in silence. He’d been white-lipped, foreboding, and she’d been too dazed to say anything herself. He’d deposited her at the corner of her street; the moment she’d entered the house, his conveyance had sped off.

Jarvis held open a door. “In here, miss.”

“Thank you.” Emma heard the uncharacteristic quiver in her own voice.

Pull your chin up. A Kent always takes responsibility for her actions.

Expelling a breath, she entered the large, high-ceilinged chamber. Only a few lamps were lit, and in the flickering dimness, she saw shelves of books lining the walls and leather furniture clustered around a glowing hearth at the center of the room. At the far end was a desk framed by tall bow windows. Strathaven stood there, staring out into the dark gardens.

His still, solitary pose wrought an oddly resonant pang in her breast. Juxtaposed against the starry night sky, he looked ... alone. As if he carried the weight of the dark heavens upon his broad shoulders.

At that moment, two shapes darted from the shadows, and Emma let out a startled breath as large paws planted onto her thighs. She found herself looking into the shaggy, grinning faces of two Scottish deerhounds. Their cheerful welcome was infectious.

She scratched them both behind the ears. “Friendly boys, aren’t you?” she murmured.

“Phobos, Deimos—
down
.”

At their master’s sharp command, the dogs obeyed at once, padding off to curl up in front of the fire. She looked up, her smile fading. Before now, she’d never seen Strathaven in anything but impeccable attire. In his shirtsleeves, his potent virility was even more pronounced. The fine lawn shirt stretched across his wide shoulders, draping over his narrow hips. It was partially unbuttoned, revealing the corded column of his throat, an intriguing glimpse of his muscled chest …

“Why are you here?” he demanded.

She dragged her gaze up. Strathaven’s pets were aptly named after the companions of the mythical Ares. With his face set in harsh lines, his eyes cold and glittering, the duke looked every bit as ruthless as the God of War.

Pulling back her shoulders, she said, “We have unfinished business to discuss.”

“Is that so?” He took a casual sip from the glass he held.

While his indifference grated, she reminded herself that she
had
wrongly accused him of murder, and thus probably didn’t deserve a warmer welcome ... even if they had shared a kiss. To a rake like Strathaven, such intimacies probably meant nothing. He probably kissed women like that all the time. Besides, she knew that his purpose in kissing her had been to demonstrate his superiority—and her inexperience—when it came to sexual matters.

He’d succeeded spectacularly.

Her lips pressed together.
Fool me once
.

She’d learned her lesson. Even as she now recognized that her disturbing awareness of him was sensual in nature, she knew she was no wanton. ’Twas a boon, actually, that she’d gained a better understanding of carnal impulses. Knowledge was power. She now knew what to guard against.

After all, attraction was just an appetite like any other. Curbing urges had never been a problem for her. During the years her family had been mired in poverty, there’d been plenty of times when she’d practiced stringent economies, chose practical options over indulgent ones.

Just because one craves a piece of cake doesn’t mean one has to have one.

Resolved, she said, “I wanted you to know that I withdrew my testimony today. I told the magistrates that I misjudged what I saw between you and Lady Osgood in the garden.”

His dark eyelashes veiled his gaze. “Why?”

“I was wrong,” she admitted. “About what I thought I saw. I came to offer my sincere apologies for the hardship I have caused you.”

“My forgiveness. That is why you’ve come?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice.

It wasn’t the only reason. In truth, she’d come with a proposition in mind.

Anticipation took root as she considered her brilliant plan to grow two trees from one seed. She could make things right with Strathaven
and
secure her own future. The proposal was perfect, would benefit all parties involved. She’d spent the last day strategizing how to broach the subject; she didn’t want to repeat her failed negotiations with Ambrose.

Consequently, she said with care, “Actually, there is another reason as well.”

“I thought so.” Strathaven’s mouth had a hard, cynical bent. He tossed back the contents of his glass and set it down with a
clink
on the desk before advancing toward her.

Although her heart pounded like a drum, she held her ground. He stopped mere inches away, his hands on his lean hips, his booted legs set in an aggressive stance. His clean, spicy musk drifted to her, and her body reacted of its own accord. Her breathing quickened, her mouth pooling as the memory of his dark masculine flavor tingled over her tongue.

One dark brow quirked. “Well, Miss Kent? If you’ve come to exact the devil’s price, you’d best get on with it.”

Devil’s price? What is he talking about?

She marshaled her wits. “I have a proposal to make, your grace. A plan that I believe will benefit both of us.”

“Save your breath. You’ll get no offer from me.”

She stared at him blankly. “An offer ... for what?”

“Well, now, there
are
other kinds of offers, are there not?” His pale gaze roved insolently over her. “I didn’t think you were in the market for that sort of arrangement, Miss Kent.”

His meaning sunk in.

“You’re either foxed or mad,” she said in outrage. “I wouldn’t marry you—much less consider the other ... Not if we were the last two people on this earth! It’s absurd to even suggest—”

“On that we agree.” His freezing accents cut her off. “So what is this
proposal
of yours?”

Her fists balled at his unbelievable arrogance. “I’m offering to help you find the murderer, you conceited nodcock!”

“What?” he bit out.

“You heard me.” She tilted her chin up. “Since I got you embroiled in scandal, I’m going to help you get out of it. By conducting an investigation into who killed Lady Osgood.”

Chapter Ten

For once in his life, he had no words. None.

The chit rendered him utterly speechless.

He was already furious at himself over the way he’d lost control at Andromeda’s. He’d brought Miss Kent there to teach her a lesson, to show her the full extent of her ignorance. Devil take it, she ought to have fainted after a minute or two. Or slapped his bloody face.

Instead, she’d tempted him ...
melted
for him.

He still couldn’t believe that he’d kissed her, couldn’t believe how close he’d come to doing much more. If the bawd hadn’t interrupted, he might have found himself well and truly caught in the Parson’s snare for even his tarnished sense of honor wouldn’t permit him to deflower a virgin without accepting the consequences.

He’d assumed that she’d come tonight to demand that he pay the matrimonial piper. The notion of being manipulated by her feminine wiles had enraged him. Savagely, he’d recalled how Laura had seduced him with virginal glances and shy smiles. Aye, he’d paid dearly for losing his head over a so-called innocent, and he’d sworn never to do it again.

But apparently Miss Kent wasn’t interested in marrying him.

This ought to have improved his disposition. For some reason, it infuriated him
more
.

What does the chit have up her sleeve?

’Twas best to know one’s adversary. Waving a hand to the divan by the fire, he said caustically, “By all means, shower me with your pearls of wisdom.”

With a huff, she went and perched on the cushions. He followed and took the adjacent wingchair. Despite his suspiciousness, he couldn’t help but notice how her velvet cloak set off her creamy skin and rosy lips—lips that he’d sampled. She’d tasted as delicious as she smelled, like an apple tart, wholesome and spicy sweet ...

“I have a plan,” she announced, and he instantly grew warier. “For the last several months, I have been working at Kent and Associates, and I’ve learned something of the trade.”

What the devil?

He stared at her. “You have been employed ... as an
investigator
?”

She cleared her throat. “Not exactly. I was assisting my brother in more of, er, an organizational capacity. I have, however, learned the ins and outs of detection work. In fact, I recently solved a case on my own.”

The chit was unbelievable. Cracked. Possibly unhinged.

“As a female investigator,” she went on in a determined manner, “I may be uniquely positioned to assist you.”

Specific positions in which she could assist him flitted through his head.

Scowling, he said, “That is the most demented thing I’ve ever heard. What special female talents do you bring to bear, Miss Kent? Your skill wielding a reticule as a weapon? Or perhaps your remarkable ability to jump to the wrong conclusions?”

“I already apologized for my mistake and have rectified it with the magistrates.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you always this difficult when someone tries to help you?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had the experience,” he said shortly.

He didn’t trust it either. The only one who’d ever tried to do anything for him was the dowager duchess, and he didn’t know which had been more stifling, his illness or Aunt Patrice’s overbearing anxiety.

“That can’t be true,” Miss Kent said with a frown. “Everyone has relied upon another at some point. What about your mama?”

“She died when I was young,” he said curtly.

“Your papa then—”

“I do not discuss my family.”

She looked as if she might argue ... and apparently thought better of it. “Well,
I
am trying to help you,” she said, “and I’ve been thinking: according to the papers, Lady Clara was poisoned. Poison is oft said to be a woman’s weapon. Given that the victim was a woman as well, it seems that a female perspective is warranted in this case, don’t you agree?”

He couldn’t resist bursting her little bubble. “The poison wasn’t intended for Clara. It was in my whiskey. She had the misfortune of drinking with me.”

She blinked. “
You
were poisoned too? But you’re ... not dead.”

“Disappointed?” he said acidly.

“The papers never mentioned—”

“The fewer who know the better. I don’t want the integrity of the investigation tainted.”

Miss Kent’s gaze widened, firelight dancing in the faceted depths. Most brown eyes he’d encountered gave the impression of opacity, but not hers: they were as clear and dark as the finest tea, reflecting her rippling emotions.

“This changes
everything
,” she said.

“It changes
nothing
where you’re concerned,” he said with emphasis. “You’re not to get involved. In fact, I want you as uninvolved in my life as possible.”