Ducal Encounters 01 - At the Duke's Discretion (21 page)

“I shall do well enough alone. Just keep a careful eye on Chesney while I am gone.”

Zach quirked a brow. “Chesney?”

“I don’t like this business, Zach.” Amos settled himself on the box seat and took the ribbons from the groom holding the horses’ heads. “These people are ruthless when crossed. Look what they did to Miss Brooke’s father. If they even suspect she plans to cross them, the consequences don’t bear thinking about.”

“Nothing will happen to Miss Brooke,” Zach replied in a calmly reassuring tone that failed to quell Amos’s growing unease. Romsey’s plan seemed straightforward enough, but his main objective was to catch the mastermind. Amos couldn’t shake the disquieting feeling that in his haste to achieve that objective, Romsey had overlooked something which could place Crista in danger. “You have my word. Now go, and we shall see you again in two days’ time.”

The brothers shook hands, and Amos set his team to a brisk trot down the long, winding driveway that led to the main Winchester Road. Traffic was light, and he made good speed with his own horses pulling the conveyance for the first leg of the journey. He paused just long enough at the first staging inn to change his team, tapping his foot impatiently when the grooms worked frustratingly slowly to harness the fresh horses. Finally, back on the road with nothing to do but drive, Amos was at leisure to cogitate, his mind occupied with thoughts of Crista and the quite remarkable impression she had made upon him.

Upon his heart.

Her fiery determination, to restore her uncle’s reputation and her own pride, gave him much to admire. And even more to think about. He had not behaved well and ought not to have given into temptation and kissed her. He definitely should not have offered to show her a little more of what she would be missing if she really meant never to marry. It had been a reckless and foolhardy commitment to enter into−one it would take an almighty effort on his part to control. The sparkle had left her eye when he refused her, and she looked so endearingly unsure of herself it had been impossible to refuse her altogether. Her request was not something a man expected to hear spilling from an innocent lady’s lips. Crista would probably laugh and say she was no lady. In the recognised sense perhaps she was not, but she had still made a deep impression upon Amos, without appearing to try.

A very deep, lasting impression.

Amos curled his upper lip as he slowed to pass through a toll gate on the outskirts of London. In the cold light of day, he knew it would be foolish to keep his word but was surprised by the strength of his determination to do so. It would be sheer folly. Not because he was afraid Crista would be unable to control her passions, but because he might well not be able to harness his own.

By the time he drove into London that evening, he still had not sorted his thoughts or intentions regarding Crista Brooke into any sort coherent order. There was only one thing he knew with certainty. Regardless of his tangled feelings for the minx, his determination to be of service to her had not wavered.

He reached Sheridan House in Berkeley Square when it was still full light. Zach’s grooms came running from the mews, showing no great surprise at Amos’s unexpected arrival. He jumped down from the box seat, surrendered the barouche to them, and stretched to ease the aches that had settled upon him during the long drive. He entered the house through the side door, tired, dusty and in serious need of a drink. The head footman left to supervise the dwelling in the family’s absence materialised to greet Amos, taking his great coat and hat and bowing from the waist.

“Good evening, my lord,” Paddock said politely.

“Evening, Paddock,” Amos replied. “I need something to eat and drink and a change of clothes. Then I need to go out again, immediately.”

“I shall make the necessary arrangements at once, my lord.”

One hour later, fed and impeccably attired, Amos headed for Chelsea astride a sturdy hunter. It was not a district he was well acquainted with. He took two wrong turns and asked directions twice before he found the street, and then the small house Crista’s mother occupied. He tethered his horse to the gatepost, hoping he would still be there when he left the residence, ascended the steps and knocked. The door was answered by a middle-aged maid. She appeared rather awed when Amos gave her his card, sent his compliments to her mistress, and asked if she could spare him a few minutes of her time.

“Please come in, my lord. I will see if she’s at home.”

The maid showed him into a tiny dining parlour set with a table that could seat six at the very most. He glanced around, but the room offered up no clues about the residents of the establishment. Before he could decide if that was significant, he heard what had to be Mrs. Brooke’s voice quite clearly coming from the adjoining room.

“Lord Amos Sheridan. Good heavens, Amelia, I wonder what brings such a gentleman to this dwelling, and at this time of night, too.”

Amos did not hear what Crista’s sister said in response.

“Show him in at once, Meg. Do not leave his lordship waiting about. Oh, how desperate he must think us to be living in such a hovel. Does my hair look all right? Sit up straight, Amelia. Do not let his lordship catch you slouching.”

When Meg reappeared, she offered to take Amos’s outdoor garments, which he surrendered to her care.

“Please to come this way, my lord.”

Amos was curious to meet the woman who had given birth to Crista and then took little interest in her. He stepped into an equally small drawing room and was confronted by a starkly beautiful woman in her middle-years. He could immediately see a resemblance to Crista in the shape of her mouth but for all her beauty, Mrs. Brooke lacked Crista’s expressive eyes and natural grace. She was dressed in a fashionable evening gown that showed off her figure but had nothing of half-mourning about it. Mrs. Brooke could had not been expecting visitors. Even so, she ought to observe the proprieties. Amos noticed all these things in a few seconds before turning his attention to Amelia Brooke. She was also strikingly pretty, and her dove grey gown more closely reflected the recent loss of her father. Both ladies curtsied low to Amos, who offered them a slight bow in return.

“Thank you for receiving me, Mrs. Brooke.”

“You are very welcome, Lord Amos, although I am quite unable to account for the honour of seeing you here. This is my daughter, Amelia.”

Again Amos inclined his head.

“Please take a seat, my lord. You are come from Winchester?”

Amos confirmed that was the case, waiting for Mrs. Brooke to remember she had another daughter and enquire after her health. She did not do so.

“You must excuse these lodgings. They are temporary. Very temporary,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Whatever must you think of us? Will you take refreshment, my lord?”

“I did not come here to drink your wine, or concern myself with your living arrangements,” Amos said, holding on to his temper with difficulty. “I came because Miss Brooke has urgent need of you.”

“Miss Brooke.” She glanced at Amelia, looking genuinely perplexed. “But she is here, and perfectly safe. My daughter is soon to be advantageously married.” Mrs. Brooke seemed genuinely confused. “I fail to understand.”

“I was referring to
the
Miss Brooke. Miss Cristobel Brooke.”

“Crista.” A shadow of suspicion passed across Mrs. Brooke’s face. “I do not know how she came to be noticed by you, my lord. I do hope she has not put herself forward, or troubled you unnecessarily, but I can assure you Crista is very independently minded and constantly rejects any advice I offered her. She would never seek my help.”

“Then I seek it on her behalf.” Amos fixed Mrs. Brooke with a look of determination. “You and Miss Amelia will oblige me by returning to Winchester with me at first light.”

“First light!” Mrs. Brooke shook her head. “I am sorry, Lord Amos, but that won’t be possible. Besides, I have no idea why you would come all this way and make such an extraordinary request.”

“Then let me speak plain. Your daughter is putting herself in danger by carrying on with the work your husband started.”

Amelia gasped. “Mama!”

All colour drained from Mrs. Brooke’s face. She flapped a hand at Amelia, silencing her. When she spoke again, her voice took on a hard edge. “I cannot imagine what you mean.”

“And I don’t have time to bandy words with you.” Amos stood and paced the length of the small room, his progress impeded by an excess of furniture. “Your daughter does not need you, you are quite right about that, but if you remain in London, you could both be in danger. Miss Brooke asked me to take you to safety, and that is precisely what I plan to do.”

“My husband never should have got involved with those vulgar people,” Mrs. Brooke said savagely. “I told him so quite forcefully, but he would not listen to my advice. Thanks to him, we are reduced to living like paupers.”

“Your husband paid a very high price for his mistakes,” Amos replied in a glacial tone.

“Oh, do not imagine me unsympathetic. He only did what he did to please me. We were quite devoted you know.” She lifted a tiny square of lace-edged cambric to her face and wiped away a non-existent tear. “I gave up so much, all I was brought up to expect in life, to be with him and never had cause to regret it until…well, until−”

“Do not distress yourself, Mama. It does no good and will only bring on one of your headaches.”

Amelia Brooke laid a gentle hand on her mother’s shoulder. Neither woman had, as yet, asked what difficulties Crista had encountered that placed them both in danger. If fact, neither of them had enquired after Crista at all.

“My husband’s reputation was ruined by a false accusation, which forced him to do what he did. And now Crista is following in his footsteps.”

Amos had heard enough. “Please be ready to leave at first light.”

“Mama, what if Mr. Devonshire returns early?”

Amos fixed Amelia with a probing glance. “Devonshire is the man you are to marry?”

“Yes. He has gone to the country and we do not expect to see him for another week, but he is so devoted to Amelia, we would not be surprised if he found a reason to return early. We were just now talking about that very possibility. What will he think if he finds us not here?”

“You cannot under any circumstances tell him, or anyone else, where you have gone.” Amos quelled his anger and turned on the charm. “I feel persuaded you are both patriots.”

Mrs. Brooke blossomed beneath the devastating smile Amos bestowed upon her. “I flatter myself we both put the affairs of our country before our own concerns.”

“Then you will oblige me by writing to Devonshire, inventing a reason for a trip to…oh, I don’t know. Your relations, perhaps?”

“Alas, my family and I are not on the best of terms, Lord Amos. An unfortunate misunderstanding.”

“Then we shall think of something else. How many servants live on the premises?”

“This house is so small that only Meg lives in. We have a cook who comes in daily.”

“Then Meg will have to come with you. Leave a note for the cook to say you have been called away, and be ready to leave at first light.”

“The duke is very generous to invite us to Winchester Park, my lord.”

Crista had been quite right about her mother. She clearly thought she would be a guest of the duke’s and was preening at the thought. Amos did not set her straight.

“You ought to assume you will be away from London for a week,” he said. “Pack sufficient clothes for that amount of time.”

“We shall set about it right away.”

Satisfied they would do so, Amos stressed upon them the importance of being ready when he arrived in the morning.

“I would like to make the journey in one day without having to stay on the road overnight.”

“Oh, I so agree,” Mrs. Brooke said. “Posting inns are shockingly uncomfortable places.”

“Until tomorrow then.”

Amos took his leave but lingered in the hallway, taking his time donning his hat and gloves.

“Amelia, this is the very best of good fortune,” he heard Mrs. Brooke exclaim. “Lord Amos’s brother is the Duke of Winchester. Only imagine that! There are four brothers, all as good looking as Lord Amos, and all of them single. I could see at once Lord Amos was taken with your beauty, my dear. You must make yourself agreeable to him tomorrow. You will have an entire day in a carriage with him. Only imagine, you might finish up doing much better than Mr. Devonshire.”

“But I
like
Mr. Devonshire very well.”

“Ah, but surely you would like to be the next Duchess of Winchester even more?”

“Well, I suppose−”

Amos had heard quite enough. Mrs. Brooke was everything Crista had warned him to expect and worse. Tomorrow would be a long day.

***

Crista settled at her workbench at first light on the day following the party, still reeling from Lord Romsey’s revelations. She wondered if Amos had yet set out on his journey to London, and if he had spared her a passing thought. Her own mind was consumed with memories of
that
kiss. Amos had caused dormant feelings inside of her to spring to life, filling her with an acute longing that, even in the cold light of day, refused to subside. She blushed when she recalled how she had brazenly responded to his advances and then asked him to show her more.

Dear God, how could she have been so bold?

Whatever must he think of her? Well, she didn’t much care. Besides, it was all his fault. He was the one with all the experience. He was the one who instigated the kiss and made her forget who she was supposed to be. She blamed her unmitigated relief at being able to restore her uncle’s reputation and ease her own conscience for her temporary lapse. In fact, she placed the blame everywhere except where it belonged, which was squarely on her own shoulders. Lord Amos should not have kissed her, it was true, but she most assuredly should not have kissed him back.

Now that she was again firmly in control of her common sense, she would not repeat her request; but if he instigated the promised tuition, she would not claim a change of heart either. She was no coward, and remained as curious as she had ever been. Even more so. But she would not lose sight of the fact Lord Amos was a duke’s brother, and she was the daughter of a disgraced jeweller. The gap between their respective social situations was an unbridgeable chasm, and that was an end to the silly notions taking up residence inside her tired brain.