Emerald Garden (3 page)

“You won’t find them, son.”

Kenton Steel, the Duke of Colverton, leaned back against Desmond’s closed bedchamber door and regarded his firstborn through tormented eyes.

“Father?” Desmond’s head snapped around, and he fought to control his mounting terror.

“Why, Desmond? Why in God’s name would you do such a thing?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t insult me. I’m not guessing; I have proof. The only facts missing are why and with whom?”

Kenton’s final query struck home, and Desmond’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, ‘with whom’?”

“You’re not clever enough to have managed this alone. Who assisted you?”

“Oh, I see,” Desmond returned with biting sarcasm. “I’m apparently not even a praiseworthy scoundrel.”

“Praiseworthy?” Kenton’s fists clenched at his sides. “Are you mad? What you did was despicable!” His appalled gaze raked Desmond, searching for a man who didn’t exist. “And even now you evade my questions, refuse to explain your duplicity. Well, it matters not. There is no explanation you could give that would alter my decision.”

Desmond went very still. “What actions do you intend to take?”

“You’ve shattered my faith—along with the few illusions I had left, where you’re concerned. To be blunt, I cannot confer my holdings or my legacy to a man I do not trust.”

Resentment pumped hotly through Desmond’s veins. “As opposed to a man you
can
trust, like your beloved Quentin.”

A muscle worked in Kenton’s jaw—his only overt reaction to Desmond’s barb. “I intend to ensure that you’re helpless to indulge in such reprehensible behavior again. Not only while I’m alive, but after. I’m changing the terms of my will.”

Colors exploded in Desmond’s head. He uttered a vicious oath, kicking the nightstand drawer from his path. “Changing your will? In what manner, or need I ask? Quentin will now inherit everything—just as your precious Pamela has always prayed he would.”

“Quentin has nothing to do with my decision.”

“Don’t expect me to believe that!” Desmond stalked across the room, flinging open the door with such impact that it struck the wall, leaving its imprint on the plaster. “Quentin might be in Spain, but his ghost is here. Every hour of every day. Haunting me with his presence. I give up. Change your bloody will. Leave it all to Pamela’s son. I don’t give a damn anymore.”

He strode into the hallway, colliding with Bentley, Colverton’s long-standing butler, just outside the room.

“Pardon me, my lord,” Bentley murmured at once, smoothing his impeccably crisp uniform. “But I heard a commotion and—”

“It doesn’t matter, Bentley,” Desmond interrupted, waving the butler off. “You know more of what transpires at Colverton than I do. You’re also in better favor.” Sidestepping Bentley, Desmond strode toward the stairs. “In fact, you too will probably inherit a portion of what was originally mine.”

Bentley stared speechlessly after Desmond, his head snapping around as the duke emerged, his stance and expression bleak.

“Can I do anything, Your Grace?”

Defeatedly, Kenton rubbed his eyes. “I love both my sons, Bentley. I always have.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Lord alone knows where I went wrong.”

“Master Desmond lost his mother quite young, sir,” Bentley suggested with the unprecedented familiarity afforded to him alone. “He doesn’t truly remember her”—he tactfully cleared his throat—“or the fact that your marriage was an arranged one. He sees only the magnitude of feeling that exists between you and the present duchess. I believe that to be at the root of his resentments.”

“Pamela has worn herself out for years, trying …”

“I agree, Your Grace. But self-doubt is often blinding—and destructive. Don’t blame yourself, or the duchess. The problem lies with Master Desmond himself.”

Kenton nodded bleakly. “Just the same, I cannot allow his jealousy and weakness to damage others.”

“No, sir.”

“Contact Hendrick,” the duke instructed with sad resignation. “Summon him to Colverton posthaste. Advise him that my will is to be amended. Effective immediately.”

“At once, Your Grace.” Turning on his heel, Bentley moved off purposefully.

“Bentley?”

The butler paused halfway down the hall. “Sir?”

“Say nothing of this to anyone. Not even Pamela.”

With an offended sniff, Bentley continued on his way. “That goes without saying, Your Grace.”

Quiet male voices greeted Pamela as she entered Colverton the following evening—not a welcome reception given how exhausted she was. After two successive days of rigorous planting, the last thing she wanted was to entertain guests.

“Good evening, Your Grace.” Bentley bowed, taking Pamela’s wrap.

“Good evening, Bentley.” She inclined her head quizzically. “Is that Kenton’s voice I hear?”

“Yes, Madam. The duke and Mr. Hendrick are conducting a business meeting.”

“I didn’t know Ellard was visiting today. I’ll stop in and say hello.”

Bentley cleared his throat. “His Grace and Mr. Hendrick have been closeted in the library for hours. It would seem their discussion is of significant import. Possibly you should postpone your greeting for later.”

Pamela blinked. “Are you implying I wouldn’t be welcome?”

“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Hendrick.” The opening of the library door accompanied Kenton’s voice.

“Not at all,” Ellard Hendrick replied, strolling out beside Kenton. “When I read your missive yesterday, I saw immediately how urgent the situation was. Hence, I had my clerk clear my schedule so I could spend the entire day at Colverton. I’m relieved we were able to finalize the matter; now you can enjoy some peace of mind.” Securing his portfolio, Hendrick headed down the hall. Halfway to his destination, he spied Pamela and hastily abandoned all talk of business. “Pamela, how wonderful to see you,” he declared, striding over to kiss her hand. “And what a pleasant surprise; Kenton didn’t mention you’d be returning this early.”

“Nor did he mention your upcoming visit.” Pamela cast a curious glance at her husband. “Had I known you were coming, I would have made certain to be home.”

“Hendrick’s visit came up rather suddenly,” Kenton put in. “We had some complicated matters to address.”

“So Bentley told me.” Another speculative look, this time at the serene-faced butler. “In any case, won’t you stay for supper, Ellard?”

“I wish I could.” Hendrick ran a hand through his silver hair. “Unfortunately, I’m due back in London this evening. So I must be going.” He smiled politely. “Another time?”

“Of course.”

Turning to Kenton, he murmured, “I’ll substitute these papers for their predecessors as soon as I reach my office.”

Kenton’s jaw set, his voice lowered to a fervent hush. “I, in the interim, will continue to delve into the matter. I want all the facts, Hendrick—every last one.”

“I understand.” The solicitor cleared his throat, his tone reverting back to normal. “Good night, Kenton, Pamela.”

Pamela waited only until Bentley was outside showing Hendrick to his carriage. Then she drew Kenton aside, turning puzzled eyes to his. “What confidential and urgent business did you and Ellard have?”

“Why do you assume it was confidential?” Kenton straightened his waistcoat, looking as gray and tormented as if he’d just returned from battle.

“Because Bentley wouldn’t allow me near the library.” Tenderly, Pamela smoothed her palms over her husband’s rigid shoulders, taking in every detail of his haggard state. “It’s Desmond, isn’t it?”

Wearily, Kenton nodded, the lines around his eyes stark with sleepless anguish.

“Won’t you tell me what this is about?”

“It doesn’t concern you, Pamela. This is between my son and myself.” As if to counter the brusqueness of his retort, Kenton caught his wife’s wrist, brought her palm to his lips. “ ‘Tis something I must handle on my own,” he added quietly.

“I understand.” Pamela caressed her husband’s jaw as if that act alone could ease his distress. “And I don’t mean to intrude.” She sighed, lowering her gaze. “Lord knows, I’m aware Desmond is
your
son and not mine; he’s spent years reminding me of it. In truth, I’ve given up trying to change that which is unchangeable. But ’tis you I’m worried about—I cannot bear to see you suffer so. Whatever happened between you and Desmond yesterday is tearing you apart. Is there nothing I can do?”

“Now, no. Later, perhaps.” He squeezed her hand. “Tomorrow, Garrety, my investigator, is due at Colverton, hopefully, to provide me with the missing pieces required in order to put this sordid matter to rest forever. Should he prove unsuccessful, I’ll take the situation into my own hands.”

Pamela paled. “Kenton, you’re frightening me. This isn’t dangerous, is it?”

Dangerous? Kenton shook his head. I have no reason to believe so.”

By the following afternoon, he believed otherwise.

Alone in his study, Kenton stared down at the terse message a footman had delivered to him not ten minutes past. He’d reread it a dozen times, and each time his skin crawled a bit more.

You’re meddling where you don’t belong. Should you continue, you’ll die and Desmond will pay the price.

Kenton dropped his head in his hands and squeezed his eyes shut, wondering how to discover what he must while still protecting those he loved. For long minutes, he remained thus, contemplating the choices … and the risks.

At last he took up his quill.

“Darling? What is it?”

Pamela looked up from her dressing table to see her husband leaning in their connecting doorway, studying her pensively. “Kenton?” She rose, her nightrail swirling about her legs. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” He smiled, crossing the bedchamber to enfold Pamela in his arms. “I was merely thinking how very much I love you.”

She pressed her cheek against the silk of his dressing robe.
“That
you may contemplate as often as you wish.”

“Pamela, I want you to do something for me.”

Drawing back, she gazed anxiously up at him. “That sounds ominous.”

“Not ominous. But very important.” He withdrew a sealed envelope and a key from his robe pocket. “I want you to keep these for me. Conceal them in a place where no one—not even your lady’s maid—need venture.”

With a puzzled frown, Pamela examined the two objects her husband had given her. “The letter is for Quentin?” she asked, noting that their son’s name was penned on the envelope.

“Yes, to read immediately upon his return. Until then, I want to be certain no one is privy to its contents.”

“Very well.” Pamela’s brow furrowed. “But why don’t you give it to him yourself? Our war with France is over; Quentin should be home any day now.”

“Even if that’s true, I might be—away—when he arrives at Colverton.”

“Away? Away where?”

“Darling.” Gently, Kenton raised Pamela’s chin. “Please don’t ask any more questions. Just promise me you’ll make sure Quentin gets the note.”

“I promise.”

“And the key as well.”

“The key.” Pamela’s gaze fell on the other object in her hand. “Why, ’tis the key to your strongbox; the chest that matches my own.”

“Yes, I know. And I pray that, having read my message, Quentin will know precisely what I mean for him to do.”

“This pertains to Desmond, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I heard Mr. Garrety arrive earlier this evening. Did he provide you with the information you needed?”

“No, not yet.” Kenton rubbed his palms together, thinking that, given today’s threatening note, he’d taken an enormous risk ordering his investigator to intensify their search. But the outcome of Desmond’s forbidden scheme—albeit of his own making—could taint not only his own future but also the entire family’s. So, disenchanted or not, it was Kenton’s responsibility to protect his domain and all that went with it.

“Whatever Desmond is involved in—you’re searching for details,” Pamela murmured, as if reading Kenton’s thoughts.

“Yes. I
must
—for all our sakes.”

She nodded, her fingers closing around the note and the key. “I won’t question you further—not about your quandary, nor the reasons for your unwillingness to share it with me. As for Quentin, you’re right to trust him. Despite all their differences, all the nonexistent rivalry Desmond perceives, Quentin loves his brother. He’ll do the right thing.”

The sadness in his beloved wife’s voice tore at Kenton’s heart. “Darling, this isn’t about trust, for I’d trust you with my life. But should a conflict arise …” He searched for the least alarming choice of words. “I don’t want you involved.”
Or at risk,
he added silently to himself.

“All right, Kenton. As always, I’ll respect your decision.” She crossed the room, opening her bureau drawer to remove the custom-crafted strongbox that was an identical mate to Kenton’s. “The key to your chest belongs nowhere but in mine,” she informed him, groping along the box’s rear panel for the notch in which she concealed her key. With a flourish, she extracted it, opening the chest and slipping both items Kenton had given her beneath a strand of diamonds and emeralds. “Moreover, ’tis an ideal hiding place. Since I only store my most valuable jewels here, no one touches the box but me. In fact, no one—other than Brandi—knows of the key’s hiding place.” Pamela gave a resigned sigh. “I offered Brandi complete access to my gems, hoping the prospect of donning them would entice her to attend a few more of the balls she so loathes. Unfortunately, my plan failed miserably.” Lowering the strongbox lid, Pamela carefully locked it before slipping the key back into its home. “In any case, your articles for Quentin are safe.” Meticulously, she replaced her chest in the bureau drawer, then turned to Kenton. “And now?”

“Now we wait.”

A fortnight later, Kenton strode into his wife’s sitting room, an air of purpose about him. “Pamela, I’m leaving for London.”

Slowly, she put down her needlepoint, assessing her husband’s intense expression. “You’ve learned something.”

“Yes. And I’ve just dispatched a missive that will hopefully forestall any further damage. In the interim, I received a note from Garrety. I’m to meet with him this afternoon. Ardsley is accompanying me.”