To Desire a Wicked Duke (31 page)

Her larger fear was the pain Ian could cause her. Sharing his bed, his breakfast table, his everyday life, was perilous enough. But if she risked creating a family with Ian, she would be that much more vulnerable to hurt, Tess reminded herself. She longed for children of her own—and even now she could be with child, given the passionate frequency of their lovemaking. But if not, then she desperately needed to keep as much physical and emotional distance from her husband as possible.

Moreover, her business affairs required that she remain in London for a few days at least. She had dozens of calls to make on the chief benefactors to her charities, to shore up their support after her abrupt marriage.

Even more immediately, Tess wanted to remain close to Ned so he wouldn’t feel abandoned among strangers when she delivered him to Marlebone Hospital.
Most likely her best choice of residence just now would be Ian’s home in Cavendish Square, although she wasn’t particularly eager to face another strange staff of servants in her new role as the Duchess of Rotham.

At the thought, Tess winced inwardly and forced herself to rejoin the discussion regarding the ending of Fanny’s novel. Helping plot a fitting comeuppance for the villain was a welcome distraction for her, particularly when she feared her own story would end badly.

They reached London two long days later. Tess’s carriage dropped Basil at the boardinghouse, then took Fanny home to St. John’s Wood before proceeding to Marlebone Hospital with Ned.

Tess’s connections to preeminent physician Mr. Otto Geary garnered the veteran an immediate examination and admittance as a patient. Yet the alarm in Ned’s eyes was unmistakable.

“You have nothing to fear, Ned,” Tess promised, adopting her most soothing tone. “My cousin Damon chiefly built this hospital, and I have raised funds to establish a wing for veterans, so Mr. Geary is happy to help our special friends. And you are certainly my special friend, Ned. Mr. Geary will take excellent care of you, is that not so, sir?”

The portly, ruddy-cheeked gentleman responded by smiling fondly. “Indeed it is, your grace. If not for you and Lord Wrexham, I would still be a poor country hack and this hospital would not even exist.”

“You see, Ned?” Tess said, patting his hand. “You
will be an honored guest here—and not only because you are my friend. You are a valiant soldier and a recent hero besides. I mean to tell my many acquaintances how helpful you were in foiling a vicious gang of thieves at our home in Cornwall. And if you have need of me for any reason whatsoever, you have only to ask Mr. Geary to send a message and I will come immediately.”

At her reassurances, Ned seemed finally to relax and even managed a wan smile. “Thankee, Mum. You’re as kind as me daughter, Sal, that you are.”

Tess squeezed his bony hand. “That is a high compliment indeed.”

Before leaving Ned a quarter hour later, she pledged to call at the hospital the following afternoon as soon as she returned from Chiswick.

Although weary of travel after the hard journey from Cornwall, Tess decided it best to return to her own home first. She not only needed to collect her companion, Dorothy Croft, to lend her countenance when she called to reassure her benefactors, but she also wanted to fetch what she knew would be a mountain of correspondence that had gathered dust in her absence.

Spruggs drove her carriage the remaining hour through a pouring rain, and Tess was grateful to arrive home to a heartwarming reunion with Dorothy. The absentminded elderly lady claimed to have missed her dearly and ordered a hot supper prepared at once, treating Tess like a beloved prodigal daughter.

After a long coze with Dorothy, Tess retired to her rooms for the night. She should have been pleased to
sleep alone in her own bed, but despite her fatigue, her dreams were fitful, and much to her dismay, she found herself yearning for the nearness of Ian’s hard, warm, sheltering body.

Seeking a distraction the next morning, she tackled her correspondence with ruthless determination. But Tess’s mouth twisted with self-deprecating irony. Throwing herself into her work was her normal mode of dealing with her darkest emotions, and her emotions just now were every bit as conflicted as her initial distress at being forced to wed her longtime nemesis, Ian Sutherland, the Duke of Rotham.

It was nearly noon when Tess came across a bank draft that oddly reminded her of her marriage. The large charitable donation was from one of her most generous benefactors and was dated the day of her amateur theatrical at her godmother’s estate in Richmond, the same day she had kissed Patrick Hennessy and set in motion the events that had disastrously changed her future.

When Tess examined the accompanying letter more closely, the signature at the end made her frown. She had seen that same hurried scrawl very recently: Mr. Daniel Grimshaw, Esquire—the same solicitor who had signed the documents detailing her marriage settlement.

When Ian had given her the sheaf of legal papers his first night at Falwell Castle, she’d been too preoccupied at the time to notice the particular details.

“What a strange coincidence,” Tess murmured. Mr. Grimshaw regularly contributed to the Families
of Fallen Soldiers as well as an orphanage she championed, but she hadn’t realized his firm represented her husband’s legal interests.

Tess set aside the bank draft, even though she couldn’t quell the niggling feeling that there was something she had missed. When she returned to London later that afternoon, she decided, she would pen a note to Patrick Hennessy and arrange an appointment. She needed to confer with him about her next charitable event—a concert to be held at Drury Lane Theatre in early December—and she would use the opportunity to ask him what he knew about Mr. Grimshaw’s contributions.

Thankfully, Ned didn’t appear any worse for wear when Tess visited him at Marlebone Hospital that afternoon. His physician was not yet ready to offer a prognosis, but Ned seemed almost at home among his fellow veterans, playing cards one-handed while swapping tall tales about his exploits during his army days.

When he caught sight of her, Ned jumped up from the table and hurried over to greet her. A new light shone in his eyes that filled her heart with gladness, as did his report on his previous night’s slumber.

“I was dead to the world, yer grace. Slept better than I can remember in o’r two years. Dint hear the voices once. No bad dreams, not a single one.”

Tess was still smiling by the time her visit ended. According to Mr. Geary, the ghosts in Ned’s head might never go away, but with proper care, the debilitating effects of his trauma should lessen over time.

Upon leaving the hospital, she decided to call on Patrick Hennessy at once rather than wait for a formal appointment, and so directed her coachman to Covent Garden, where the actor had converted a small warehouse into a theater for his troupe’s rehearsals and productions.

When she was shown into his office, Hennessy appeared glad to see her, yet his restrained greeting was significantly more cautious than in the past. Clearly her marriage had impacted their relationship, Tess concluded—perhaps because he was now wary of rousing the Duke of Rotham’s ire.

Hennessy relaxed somewhat when she began the conversation with a topic near and dear to his heart: His investigations into the spirit world.

“I regret that the rumors of Falwell Castle being haunted by ghosts were slightly exaggerated,” Tess said lightly, before recounting her adventures over the past fortnight—how Ned Crutchley had posed as the ghost of Rotham’s murdered ancestor to scare away the castle servants so that a local band of thieves could store their booty beneath the dungeons undetected.

Hennessy chuckled at the conclusion of her narrative. “I cannot say I am not disappointed,” the actor commented. “But this one incident still does not disprove the existence of spirits.”

Tess then asked him how the planning for the Drury Lane concert was proceeding.

“The program is coming together well, your grace. Indeed, your new title has unexpectedly opened doors, garnering renowned performers and patrons
alike. I did not think it shameless, however, to use every advantage we have.”

Tess smiled faintly. She was not above using her new, albeit unwanted title, either.

Finally, when they had finished discussing which acts to hire and which to cross off the prospective program list, Tess opened her reticule. After showing him the bank draft signed by Daniel Grimshaw, she asked if Hennessy knew why the solicitor had always been so generous.

“I beg your pardon, your grace? I do not understand the question.”

Tess watched Hennessy thoughtfully as she explained. “Until now, I never wondered why Mr. Grimshaw was so eager to part with his fortune. Do you perhaps know what motivates him?”

The actor looked strangely uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t venture to guess, your grace.”

“It seems curious,” she mused aloud, “that his firm handles Rotham’s legal and financial affairs. Are there other connections that you are aware of?”

When he remained silent, Tess added casually, “Tell me, has Rotham ever contributed to any of our theatrical endeavors without my knowledge?”

Hennessy’s face became shuttered. “Well … he has not contributed any funds directly that I know of.”

“What about indirectly?”

After a marked hesitation, he grimaced. “Perhaps you should discuss the matter with the duke, your grace.”

Tess’s gaze turned penetrating. “I prefer to discuss it with you now, Mr. Hennessy. I should like an honest answer, please.”

“It is not my place to say anything.”

“Why not?”

“The duke bade me keep my mouth shut.”

Tess would not relent, however. “What were you not supposed to reveal to me, Mr. Hennessy?”

“Honestly … I don’t know for a
fact
what the truth is.”

“But you have your suspicions, do you not?”

He sighed heavily, as if acknowledging that she wouldn’t give up her questioning until she got the answers she sought. “Very well, your grace, if you insist. I
suspect
that Grimshaw’s involvement in your charities was a pretense … a charade to hide your true patron’s identity. It was never admitted in so many words, but I fancy Grimshaw has been acting for the Duke of Rotham all along.”

Tess’s mouth opened in startled disbelief. “You mean, Grimshaw made all those donations at
Rotham’s
behest?”

“I suspect so. But from the very first, Rotham made clear to me that he didn’t want you knowing about any role he played as your benefactor.”

She stared at Hennessy in bewilderment. Had Ian truly supported her philanthropic endeavors anonymously all this time, contributing large sums to her charities from his own vast fortune?

“Perhaps you are mistaken,” she protested in an unsteady voice. “Grimshaw could be acting entirely on his own. What makes you think he is not?”

Hennessy hesitated. Evidently, however, he realized the futility of silence, for he heaved another sigh. “Chiefly because Grimshaw always seemed to know
exactly when we needed large sums for our productions. I believe the timing was not mere coincidence, since I regularly kept Rotham informed of our needs. And I know for certain the duke aided us in the past, in ways other than financial. I had only to mention to him that we required a thing and he saw that it was done. Do you recall when the Prince Regent attended the benefit at the Theatre Royal in September? That was the duke’s doing.”

Tess sat there in mute astonishment. Prinny’s attendance that evening had assured the event’s success, but she’d never known Ian had interceded on her behalf.

“How long has this been going on?” she finally asked.

When her tone remained calm instead of irate, Hennessy’s expression went from anxious to sheepish. “Since you first hired me two years ago. Rotham appeared the very next day and made his wishes known. I was to apply to him if we ran into difficulties on any front.”

Tess raised a hand to her temple. “How would he even know that I had hired you?”

“I gather that some of your servants may report to him about your affairs. Your footman, the former pugilist, for one. I believe that big strapping fellow was in the duke’s service before he came into your employ.”

Fletcher had been in Ian’s service? Was
still
in Ian’s service, doing his bidding? He had commissioned her servants to
spy
on her?

Tess didn’t know whether to be outraged or grateful.
Ian had always claimed that it was his duty to protect her because he considered her family. Perhaps controlling her servants was his chosen way of imposing his will on her and ensuring her safety at the same time.

But his furtiveness made little sense to her. Why would he keep his good deeds a secret? Because he didn’t wish her to know he had a soft heart?

This was not the first time, either, that she had wondered if Ian was hiding his inner goodness, Tess recalled. Without question, he’d kept secrets from her before this. He had never told her about his young ward, for one thing.

But in that instance, he most likely hadn’t wanted her knowing that he had a son from an adulterous affair with a married woman.…

Tess shook herself and returned her gaze to Patrick Hennessy. “Why would Rotham contribute to my charities, but let his solicitor receive all the credit?”

“I couldn’t begin to guess, your grace.”

Neither could she, Tess realized, feeling swamped again by conflicting emotions.

She was still stewing over the baffling question when she concluded her meeting with Hennessy and returned to her carriage. Fletcher was there to hand her inside, but although she gave him a piercing look, Tess refrained from interrogating him just yet, not wanting to accuse her servants of betraying her without proof.

She would have confronted Ian directly on the matter, but she had no notion when he planned to return from Cornwall. Furthermore, she hoped to find some
sort of evidence of her suspicions so that he could not simply deny his involvement.

Perhaps Basil could assist in her search for the truth, Tess reflected. As the duke’s newest secretary, Basil could likely help her learn more about Ian’s past business dealings. And as a former law clerk, he might even know Daniel Grimshaw.