Dangerous in Diamonds (11 page)
She donned a discreet hat and accepted her gloves. She reached for her reticule and noted the newspaper again.
How much power would he have? How ambitious was he now? How many others who were vulnerable would he hurt? He really needed to be brought down. She would not mind being the agent of that.
While she was in London, she would learn what she could about the evidence of his sins and discover whether they were buried where she suspected. If she were clever enough, she might even learn a few things at this meeting today to aid her.
And if she succeeded, what then? She was not sure she was brave enough to reveal Latham’s true face to the world. Worse, she did not think there would be any way to expose him without exposing others too.
She would decide what to do if she ever faced the choice. She would weigh the costs to herself and others after this little quest amounted to more than a righteous ambition.
T
he servant at Castleford’s door this time lacked all that embroidery. Daphne assumed the captain of the guard had not taken his post yet. No normal house would have visitors at this ridiculously early hour.
he servant at Castleford’s door this time lacked all that embroidery. Daphne assumed the captain of the guard had not taken his post yet. No normal house would have visitors at this ridiculously early hour.
Through the reception hall they went. Up the stairs where the Roman gods were up to no good on the ceiling. To her surprise, she was not led into the drawing rooms and back to that breezy chamber. Instead, the servant pivoted, crossed the landing, and continued up to the next level.
Most likely the duke had his study up here, near his apartment. He would have privacy then. She trusted that Mr. Edwards would be at his post. She would make sure Castleford did not find some pretext to send the young man away.
As she accompanied the servant, she girded her loins for battle. She would have to keep the duke on the topic at hand and not allow him to wander as he was wont to do when a word or observation distracted him hither and yon. Unless, of course, she led him yon through artful guidance.
She debated how to do that while she followed the wig to a set of doors. Her mind still contemplated the matter when he stood aside and ushered her in.
She froze. This was not a study. It was, from all appearances, a dressing room.
It bore a resemblance to a large sitting room, despite the wardrobes lining one wall, and the washbasin and dressing table near the windows. With all of its chairs and sofas, its tables and appointments, its dripping gilt moldings, it looked to be one of those dressing rooms owned by the very best people and used as inner sanctums where they might entertain their closest friends.
She held her temper in check with difficulty. If Castleford thought that she was going to attend a meeting
here
, he was going to learn the meanings of
strict
and
scolding
in new ways today.
here
, he was going to learn the meanings of
strict
and
scolding
in new ways today.
“This way, ma’ am,” the servant encouraged. He stood near another set of doors, waiting for her.
Relieved, she walked over. Of course the study was part of the apartment. This was merely one way in. She had reacted too strongly, but then Castleford warranted a great deal of suspicion.
The doors swung open, and she saw at once that she was correct on that point. If anything, she had underestimated him.
This was not a study either. It was the duke’s bedchamber.
She peered in. The chamber had been redecorated more recently than the others in the house. It did not sport the same kinds of visual excess. The classical style dominated, from the clean dentil moldings and sedate plaster swags to the Roman styled chairs. The colors, mostly creams and blues in a palette inspired by Mr. Wedgewood, surprised her. She would have thought Castleford would live among dark colors and reds. Lots of reds.
The duke sat at a writing table covered in papers. He frowned over a letter he composed. Light from a nearby window sliced across the table’s surface, reflecting off the metals of the inkwell and candleholders. It suffused his distracted profile and found the few deep gold streaks buried in his mussed hair.
She tore her attention away from that face and how handsome and intelligent he looked. She then noticed the rest of him: the deep blue of the loose, long silk coat he wore; the visibility of his neck above its collar; the absence of boots on his legs and the appearance of his bare feet.
He had not dressed yet. He still wore a morning robe. Unless she was mistaken—she prayed that she was—there was nothing under that blue silk except his body.
She inhaled sharply, shocked by his audacity.
He heard, and looked over. He set down his pen and stood. “Ah, Mrs. Joyes. You are punctual, I see.”
“If you assumed I would not be, and require time to become presentable, I will gladly wait until you are ready for the day.”
He looked down at himself, then shrugged. “There is no reason for you to wait. It isn’t as if I am naked in bed.”
She shook her head, exasperated. “You are unspeakable.”
“Can I trust that means you will not speak? I much prefer that I talk. I think that I will find myself more interesting than I will find you this morning, if that expression of distress on your face—forgive me; expression of extreme surprise—is the warning signal of a tiresome scold waiting to pour out.” He gestured to one of the Roman chairs. “Won’t you sit?”
She did not want to sit. She did not want the intimacy of being with this man in his bedchamber, with him dressed like that. He had done this deliberately to punish her for trying to turn him away yesterday.
She thought about The Rarest Blooms and reminded herself why she tolerated him in the first place. She sat. He did not. He just gazed down at her, those sparks of mischief showing amusement at her discomfort.
Servants entered with trays and cloth. A table in the center of the chamber turned into a small dining spot, full of silver, china, and glass.
Once the servants had withdrawn, Daphne looked pointedly at the duke’s blue morning coat.
“If I could rise and dress, so could you,” she said.
“I’ll be damned. You have managed to scold anyway. I look forward to the day when the only complaint you have with me is that the pleasure ended too soon.”
He stunned her speechless. He acted innocent, as if he had not just announced his goal in this contest.
“You had to leave a house and ride in a carriage, Mrs. Joyes. Dressing is obligatory then. I, on the other hand, intend to sleep once this is done, so dressing would be inconvenient.”
His logic was not acceptable, even if it made an odd sort of practical sense. “You have not slept at all yet?”
“Not a wink, although I did have my valet get me out of my boots and such. For me, it is still yesterday.”
He had been whoring and drinking all night was what he meant. She might have been ushered in when he was indeed naked in bed.
She stood. “Then I should come back when, for you, it is today.”
He sighed dramatically and looked to heaven for patience. “Stop acting like a schoolgirl. I am hardly indecent. Sit and have some breakfast, and we will address the matter that brings you here. Unless, of course, you never want to talk about it. If I am never to call on you, and you are not going to call on me, I do not see how anything will progress, however.”
Accepting that she would have to indulge him his outré behavior, up to a point, she sat at the table. He joined her and poured her some coffee.
“Do not worry about scandal,” he said. “I promise that the servants who enter this apartment and who serve us today are rigidly discreet.”
“It is good to know that your servants care about my reputation even if you do not.”
“I care a great deal about it. That is why we are here. Even a meeting in my study would be more public. I have faith in the servants who saw to you this morning, but I cannot vouch for the others.”
She leaned forward and looked him right in the eyes. “That is not why I am here. I would appreciate it if you remember your first impression of me—that I am not a fool.” She straightened. “And if you think your dishabille in any way makes you more seductive, you are mistaken. It only reminds me what an inconstant, irresponsible hedonist you are.”
He served himself some eggs and offered some to her. When she declined, he spooned some on her plate anyway. “Another scold. I am astonished that I don’t mind more than I do. I am keeping count, however, should I ever be inclined to discipline you in return.”
He ate his meal. She removed her gloves and picked at hers. The domesticity of the situation pressed on her. This private breakfast insinuated intimacy even more than his dishabille had.
Finally he set aside his silver. “I am sending men out to The Rarest Blooms to investigate what of value might be there besides pretty gardens. They will also look at the plot you never used.”
“They will be looking for metals and such, you mean.”
“Yes. It would be best if you had your housekeeper and that young woman Katherine come and stay with you in London. They may find the presence of these men intrusive.”
“And what of those pretty gardens? And the income that derives from them? They require constant care. What you request is ruinous.”
“Can you not hire some man for the time needed? I thought there was one already in your employ, who accompanies the plants that are brought to London.”
“He drives a wagon. He is hardly fit to manage the entire business. If I could hire some man to tend the flowers and the plants without depleting the profit entirely, my hands would not look like this.” She held one out. For all her care, its skin showed the labor over the years in subtle but noticeable ways.
He decided that her gesture invited him to examine her hand closely. He took it in his own. She barely managed not to jump in alarm as soft skin and tense strength enfolded her fingers. He turned her hand this way and that under his scrutiny. His thumb caressed both palm and back, checking the roughness.
She suffered it. She maintained her poise. She did not allow the way that stroking thumb affected her to show. But lively shivers worked their way up her arm from where he gazed and touched. They rose higher with every thoughtful stroke until they tingled her neck and began a downward path in her body.
Her breasts turned sensitive, ridiculously so. It was as if she could feel that thumb brushing them.
Did he know what he was doing to her? Was he so confident as that? She worried that he did, even if his expression showed no triumph but only thoughtful investigation of labor’s effects on her.
She could hardly bear the way the tease seemed to affect all of her skin now. Her mind began betraying her badly, and she could not block speculations of other caresses and more direct sensations. Deep now, low and deep, prickles of desire began beckoning—
“You deserve better.” He released her and sat back in his chair, oblivious to her arousal, it appeared. “If the women cannot come here, I will have to ensure their privacy there. I will send Mr. Edwards down with the others. He will make sure your household is in no way annoyed. He will stay at that inn in Cumberworth and accompany the men every day to the property.”
She felt she should object, only she did not know why. He had been sly enough so far that she sensed that he must have some ulterior motive for this too. Of course, even his stated one—to discover if that land held hidden value—was hardly good news for her.
“How long do you think this will take? I should like to inform Katherine and Mrs. Hill.”
He shrugged lazily. “If nothing is found, a fortnight. Somewhat longer if discoveries are made.”
A fortnight. Apparently she would now remain in London at least that long.
“I will write to them and explain everything.” She stood to make an escape before he made any other attempt to touch her. “I thank you for informing me.”
He stood. As they faced each other, her composure returned.
“How did you know about the man who drives that wagon, Your Grace?”
“Damned if I remember. It must have been mentioned by one of our mutual friends.”
Undoubtedly. But not in passing.
“Have you been asking questions about me?”
Other books
Witches' Waves by Teresa Noelle Roberts
High Plains Promise (Love on the High Plains Book 2) by Beaudelaire, Simone
Sweet Olive (9780310330554) by Zondervan Publishing House
His Little Tart by van Yssel, Sindra
Place of Bones by Larry Johns
Revenge of the Assassin (Assassin Series 2) by Blake, Russell
The Pink and the Grey by Anthony Camber
Regency Spymasters 01 - Spy Fall by Diana Quincy
Too Good to Be True: The Colossal Book of Urban Legends by Jan Harold Harold Brunvand
Arms and the Women by Reginald Hill
