The Duke's Men [1] What the Duke Desires (39 page)

“I didn’t know he was a fugitive. I am rather shocked to hear it. He worked for the
Sûreté Nationale in France for some years.”

That seemed to give George even more of a shock. “The French secret police? All this
time?”

“According to Eugène Vidocq, he’s a very competent agent. What is Mr. Bonnaud accused
of?”

“Stealing a horse,” George said tersely.

“That
is
rather difficult to get around. When did this happen?”

George tugged nervously at his cravat. “Twelve years ago.”

“I see. I suppose he stole it from a prominent citizen, too.”

“He stole it from
me
.”

Max feigned shock. “But aren’t you his relation?” He let that sink in, then added,
“Ah, I see. A young boy taking a horse for a ride. So this is more a matter of a family
spat than of actual thieving.”

George bristled at that. “It is
not
a ‘family spat,’ Your Grace. He stole a very expensive Thoroughbred and then sold
it for his own gain.”

“You have witnesses? Evidence?”

“I have a witness,” George said uneasily. “And the evidence is the missing horse,
which was never recovered.”

Max lifted an eyebrow. “Sounds like a flimsy case to me. Especially given that it
happened twelve years ago. I’m not sure you’ll be successful in having it prosecuted.
And it seems a damned shame to ruin a man’s life and future over a misunderstanding.”

“It is not a misunderstanding!” George growled. “And forgive me for my impertinence,
Your Grace, but it is also none of your affair.”

“Ah, but it is.” Max shot George a thin smile. “He is in my employ now. And I would
hate to think that after all he’s done for the dukedom, he would end up hanged. I
would take that as a personal affront.”

At that moment, Hucker walked in. When he caught sight of Max, he hurried over to
George to murmur something in his ear.

George glanced over at Lisette, then narrowed his gaze on the duke. “Hucker tells
me that this entire tale of yours is made up out of whole cloth. You didn’t hire them
at all. He says you’ve been traveling alone with my half sister under an assumed name.”

“Was Mr. Hucker
following
us?” Max said in pretend outrage.

That made George a bit uncomfortable. “Only so it would lead him to the fugitive.”

“Your
half brother
, you mean,” Max said in a hard tone. “We did travel together, Miss Bonnaud and I,
to the Continent to find Mr. Bonnaud after we heard no
word from him on his mission. We didn’t know that he’d been detained in quarantine
here with my cousin. I couldn’t use my title on our trip—I didn’t want to alert the
press to the fact that my possible heir had been found, not until I was sure of the
facts.” He picked lint off his coat. “Of course, Mr. Manton was with us. I assume
Mr. Hucker neglected to tell you that.”

“That’s a damned lie!” Hucker cried. “Mr. Manton weren’t with you at all. He went
to Scotland.”

“Did he really? You saw him there?”

Hucker blanched. “Well, no, but . . . I heard . . .”

“You
heard
. I see.”

Lisette fought to keep a straight face. For a man who hated deception, Max could be
very good at it when he needed to be. Although most of what he said was the truth—just
creatively realigned into something else.

“He weren’t with you on that trip,” Hucker persisted.

“Not on the coach ride to Brighton, but he was waiting for us there inside the inn.
Surely you saw him.”

“Well . . . no . . . I . . . I didn’t go into the inn.”

“Did you not?” Max arched one eyebrow. “How odd for an investigator. In any case,
Manton left London early so he could travel to Brighton to secure us inn rooms and
tickets for the packet boat. Surely you saw him on the packet boat.”

“No, I did not,” Hucker said stiffly. “He weren’t there.”

“There were sixty people aboard. You looked at them all?”

“I . . . I . . .”

“What you mean is, you didn’t see him.” He cast his eyes heavenward. “Surely you saw
us on the road to Paris.”

Hucker blinked.

“And followed us to Monsieur Vidocq’s house? No?” Max acquired his best arrogant tone.
“What a competent investigator you have there, Rathmoor. If he had been doing his
job, speaking to the people we spoke to, et cetera, he would have learned that we
consulted with Vidocq and the Sûreté. Thank God Mr. Manton and Vidocq were able to
piece together the fact that my cousin was being held incommunicado on a quarantined
boat.”

A lump filled her throat. Max was lying with a vengeance. For her.

George glowered at Hucker. “You said you followed them. You said Manton wasn’t with
them.”

“I didn’t see him! I-I mean, he
wasn’t
with them.”

“Begone, you fool,” George growled. “I should never have left you in charge of something
so important.”

“But what about the note!” Hucker cried. Fumbling in his pocket, he took out a folded
message and waved it wildly in the air. “You see? Miss Bonnaud sent a note to Mr.
Manton! She wouldn’t have sent a note if he’d been traveling with them!”

She suppressed a gasp. Max didn’t know her note had been purloined by Hucker—but he
showed no sign of surprise. He took the note, looked at it, then tossed it back to
George with a huff of impatience.

“It’s not addressed to Manton, but to his servant. And all it says is, ‘I am safe
and well and tell Dom to beware Hucker.’ There’s no mention of Mr. Bonnaud, nothing
that implicates anyone for anything.”

A muscle ticked in George’s jaw. “Leave us, Hucker.”

“But my lord!”

“Leave us! I don’t need you making things worse.” As soon as Hucker left, George glanced
beyond Max to where Lisette and Dom were keeping very quiet. “Don’t think you’ve fooled
me for one moment, Your Grace. I see what you’re doing. You’ve trumped up this entire
tale about Tristan’s being in your employ in a vain attempt to save him.”

He cast Lisette a withering glance. “I suppose you want to impress my half sister,
to get her into your bed. If she hasn’t been there already. She’d be a fool not to
fall into the bed of a man as rich as you.”

Dom stiffened beside Lisette, but she put a steadying hand on his arm.

Max had gone dangerously still. “Actually, she has turned down two of my marriage
proposals. But don’t worry—I mean to make sure that she accepts the third, if only
so she can look down her nose at you at every social occasion.”

“
Marry
her!” George said with a sneer. “Don’t you know she’s the bastard daughter of my
father’s French whore?”

This time Dom had to put a steadying hand on
her
arm.

“Whore?” Max said in a deceptively soft voice. “I was under the impression that her
mother was a retired actress.” He glanced at Lisette, his heart in his eyes. “Isn’t
that right, my love?”

My love.
He’d said it again. And he was defending Maman. He was trying to make amends for
what he’d said earlier. “Yes, that’s right,” she managed, though she could hardly
speak for the thickness in her throat.

Max turned a malevolent look on George. “In my world, we don’t consider a woman who
is faithful to her lover for her entire life a whore—we consider her a rather fine
mistress.” He smiled grimly. “Of course, I can always hire investigators to learn
the truth of all that, too. I would want to make sure that the facts are straight
for the newspaper.”

George paled. “Newspaper! What are you talking about?”

Max lifted his head. “I believe that’s the press I hear approaching now.”

As if on cue, a clamor was heard in the streets in front of the town house. George
flew to the window and looked out. “The press! What the hell? What are they doing
here?”

“Mr. Shaw invited them here on my behalf,” Max said coolly. “I thought they might
find my ‘trumped-up tale’ interesting, especially when I announce that Mr. Manton
and his brilliant team have found my long-lost cousin. Of course, the reporters will
also be very
interested to hear that one of those investigators now languishes in gaol because
his own half brother is holding a twelve-year-old crime over his head. They’ll find
that very newsworthy, I expect.”

George was staring out the window, his face ashen. “You bloody, damned—”

“I would take great care just now if I were you, Lord Rathmoor.” Max’s voice was pure
ice. “A choice is before you. You and I can go out there and announce with great pride
the part your family has played in saving a possible heir to the dukedom. We can have
Bonnaud out of gaol before they even get wind that he’s there, simply by your telling
the authorities that you were mistaken about the horse. Your miserable part in his
arrest can all be swept under the rug in a heartbeat. Or . . .”

When he paused for effect, George faced him, his features drawn. “Or?”

“I can go out there and make you sound like the devil incarnate.” Max’s eyes glittered
at him. “You might still succeed in getting Bonnaud hanged, though I wouldn’t count
on it—given my connections and the competent barrister I will hire for his defense.
But it will be a hollow victory when those jackals out there get done vilifying you
in the newspaper.”

George was seething, but he had obviously begun to realize that this wouldn’t end
the way he’d planned.

Max glanced at Lisette, his eyes softening. “Either way, I mean to marry Miss Bonnaud.”
He shifted his gaze to George. “So you can either be a friend to me
and my future relations, who also happen to be
your
relations. Or you can be an enemy. Simple as that.” He walked to the window and glanced
out as the noise rose in the streets. “But I’d make your decision soon. The crowd
grows restless.”

For half a moment, it looked as if George might resist. Then he bit out, “You give
me no choice, Your Grace.”

“None,” Max said. “How clever of you to realize it.”

George glared at her. “You really got your hooks into him, didn’t you, Lisette? You
must have learned from your whore of a mother exactly how to—”

“One more thing,” Max ground out as he turned from the window. “If you ever again
speak of my wife or her mother in anything but the most respectful tones, I will eviscerate
you.” Striding toward George, Max went in for the kill with a ruthlessness that made
her proud. “You will be blackballed from every club, you will be unable to get loans,
you will find that my influence stretches into places you didn’t even dream existed.”
He halted to loom over George like an avenging angel. “Is that perfectly understood,
sir?”

George blinked, clearly taken aback by the force of the duke’s rage. He had the good
sense to bob his head in assent.

A smile of triumph crossed Max’s lips. “Excellent.” He gestured to the door. “Now,
if you don’t mind stepping into the hall with Mr. Manton, I’d like a word alone with
my fiancée before we announce to the press the ‘great friendship’ between our two
families.”

Resentment flared in George’s face, but clearly he’d finally realized the depth of
trouble he’d landed himself in.

George stalked out and Dom slid past her with a quick wink, closing the parlor door
as he left.

She was alone with Max at last, but she felt suddenly awkward after what had passed
between them this morning. Her heart was so full, and she didn’t want to get it wrong
this time. Especially when he was so very much the Duke of Lyons just now, dressed
in great splendor, with the full power of his title behind him after routing George.

Might as well begin with that. “Thank you, Max, for saving Tristan. For bringing him
back to us.” Tears filled her eyes. “You don’t know how much it means to me. I know
you did it to hold to your promise to him, but—”

“I did it for you,” he said hoarsely. “All of it was for you.”

The way he was looking at her, with his heart in his eyes, made her knees go weak
and her blood quicken.

He stepped closer. “I’m just glad that the plan actually worked.”

She smiled through the tears she was trying to hold back. “Your plans always work.
It’s mine that don’t, remember?”

“I beg to differ. You found my cousin. I could never have found him without you.”
He came even nearer. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. I wasn’t at
home. I was out speaking to the family physician about Victor’s speculations. It appears
he might have been right about my mother and my great-uncle, after all.”

“Oh, Max, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not. It’s gratifying to have answers. To know that the family curse might not
be a family curse after all.” He seized her hands, holding them against his heart.
“To know that I can have a future now.”

“Yes, but that also means you don’t have to settle for marrying an illegitimate daughter
of—”

He kissed her hard, then drew back to stare intently into her eyes. “Don’t ever call
yourself that again. I don’t think of you that way. I never have.” He dropped his
gaze to their linked hands. “I realize that this morning I . . . made you feel as
if I might, and I have no excuse for that. I can only promise it will never happen
again, and I beg you to forgive me for being an arrogant arse—”

This time she kissed
him
hard. “Don’t ever call yourself that again,” she echoed, then shot him a teasing
smile. “I’m the only one allowed to call you that. Besides, sometimes I love that
you’re an arrogant arse. Especially when you’re threatening dire harm to my horrible
half brother who—”

This kiss was mutual, a fierce coming together full of heat and need and passion.
When at last they parted, the great Duke of Lyons had entirely vanished and her own
dear Max was gazing into her eyes.

“Does this mean you’ll marry me, dearling? Because
I don’t think I can go on if you don’t. I love you, and the thought of spending my
life without you is worse than the fear of going mad ever was.”