What the Duke Wants (25 page)

She smiled in return, thrilled with the compliment. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Aaah…so we’re back to ‘my lord’ now, are we?” He chuckled good-naturedly. “I shall never leave Town again if the result is that we return to the formalities whenever I do.”

Grace sighed in resignation. She did try to recognize the proprieties, but today, even she was ready to set them aside. She was anxious to hear about her father’s lockbox, and she was growing impatient with Dansbury for his unwillingness to introduce the subject.

Well, if he wants informal, I’ll give him familiar with a side dish of bold.

“All right, Cliff, where is my father’s lockbox?”

He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment—like he was taking her measure—before he faced forward again and said, “Officially? There was nothing in your father’s lockbox.”

He didn’t look at her as he said that. Rather, he pretended to pay attention to the brake, then his driving; though his hands were loose with the ribbons and his arms were relaxed and resting on his knees. He acted as if he hadn’t a care in the world—as if he didn’t realize the implication behind his statement or the impact it would have on Grace. Of course she was clever; she knew his wording was deliberate and his posture too forced.

Right, I’ll play his game.

“So what, pray tell, did you
not
find in my lockbox, then, Cliff?”

Who does he think he is? The contents of that box belong to me. ME!

Cliff laughed. “Before I answer your question, I have a question of my own. How do you know Mr. Smythe? And don’t pretend you don’t know who I’m talking about. I didn’t say anything at the time, but when we met him in Oxford, it was clear you already knew each other.” He watched her for her reaction as he spoke.

She smiled. “My, you are the observant one, aren’t you? Yes, it’s true. I’ve known Mr. Smythe my entire life. He was an apprentice with my father. He’s family to me.”

“So why didn’t you tell me at the time?”

“You asked me not to say anything, remember?”

“And after we left the bookstore?”

“I think it is safe to say that I had a few more pressing things on my mind at that point—such as…oh, I don’t know…my future, or the uncertain lack thereof?” She said this not without a little bit of sarcasm.

“Sure, sure.”

“Enough, Cliff. I’ve answered your questions. It’s your turn.”

“I’m thinking.”

“About what?”

“About what I can or should tell you.”

“Do you mean you may decide to lie?”

“If the occasion calls for it, yes. But I prefer to call it being ‘judicious with the truth’. It’s for your own protection, Grace. There is much more going on here than you can possibly imagine.” His usually affable demeanor turned serious.

“My, you are serious. Who are you? I thought I was speaking with my friend Dansbury?”

He laughed at that, per his usual self, and the world righted. Apparently, he decided to be more forthcoming, somewhat.

“I am part of a team of agents who work for the crown. I am more than the gentleman of leisure I portray myself to be.”

“And you work with the duke, I presume?”

He tipped his head in acknowledgement. “He’s in charge, in fact.”

“Then, perhaps it is he I should be talking to. I presume it was his decision to ‘judiciously hide the truth’ from me? About my lockbox, I mean?” Her curiosity was being replaced with frustration. Men and their managing ways.

“Certainly, it was his decision, as you say, but not for the reasons you might think. I can honestly say he only has your best interest at heart.”

Humph. She leaned back in the curricle, arms crossed, and more than a little frustrated. She tried to calm herself, but she was a roaring mix of conflicting emotions: a little angry, a little fearful, a little intrigued…Well, perhaps, more than a little intrigued. She decided to practice patience and allow Dansbury to make whatever decision he needed to make about what to tell her.

He pulled to the side of the carriageway to allow others to go around them. She toyed with a ribbon on her reticule while she waited for him to decide what to tell her. Even the horses pranced a little in their harnesses as they awaited his next command.

At long last, he stared at her for an uncomfortable moment more before sighing in resignation and saying, “Inside your lockbox was a copy of your father’s last will as well as some notes from an investigation the previous Duke of Stonebridge was working on at the time of his death.”

She struggled to take her next breath. For a moment, she knew true fear. Then, she was angry. She sputtered, very ladylike. “My father…”

He held up a hand in the universal sign of “Shut up and listen a moment.”

“Grace, no one suspects your father had anything to do with the duke’s death.”

She, having sat forward in her outrage, leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms again. “The current duke most certainly does. Do you not recall his inquisition at Stonebridge Park? The one where he all but made the same such accusations against my father?”

“I do recall, and in his defense, he had to ask the hard questions—it’s his job. Do you honestly think he enjoyed it?”

“It certainly seemed that way at the time, yes.”

“Trust me. I doubt he found any delight in it at all. Now, let’s get back to the point, shall we? We have since confirmed that your father and the old duke were friends and had been since their time together at Oxford.”

“So, the information in my lockbox, the duke’s research notes, has some bearing on a case you both are involved in now?”

At his affirmative nod, she continued, “And has the information proven useful?”

“The evidence does not paint the full picture, no, and most of it is conjecture, but it does give us some direction. It’s a starting point.”

It all sounded quite ominous.

“So what is your motive in telling me all this? Why not just lie and say the lockbox was empty like Stonebridge commanded you to do? I would have believed you, you know. Probably.”

That thought was unnerving. She certainly had an awful lot of faith in him. Was it misplaced?

“I know. I can be quite convincing even when I am being judicious with the truth.” They both laughed at that. “And I had hoped that, assuming your responses to my tale were responsible and reasonable, one day in the future, should it be necessary, we might prevail upon you to assist us with our investigation.”

She was quite surprised by that.

“As in…spy for you?”

“If it is required, then, perhaps.”

“How…em, why me? I’m not sure I see how I could even begin to help you.”

“That’s because I haven’t told you anything. Generally speaking, there’s not a lot I can tell you at the moment; however, I will say that our inquiry centers on your uncle.”

She broke eye contact and looked down at the ribbon in her hand, which had started to fray due to her fidgeting. Her hands were shaking. She feared her uncle.

But she strengthened her resolve and looked up at Dansbury; the shredded ribbon dropped to her lap, all but forgotten.

“What would you have me do?”

“Good girl,” he said with respect. “For now, just be you, beautiful you. I’ll let you know if or when we need your help. But in the meantime, you must steer clear of the earl.”

“Done and done. Now, about my bookstore…”

“Ahhh, yes. I’m working on it; however, I can say with supreme confidence that it will be back in your possession soon enough.”

She sighed dramatically before smiling and saying, “Liar.”

“Grace, I mean it; you’ll have your place back.”

“Oh, that I don’t doubt. I mean the other bit. The part about you working on it? You were lying: I could tell, but it doesn’t signify. I believe the rest of it, and that’s what matters, doesn’t it?”

“Undoubtedly.” He checked the road behind him and clucked to the horses. Their carriage moved forward with a jerk.

“Well, since we’ve exhausted those unpleasant subjects for the time being, why don’t we continue on our ride and enjoy the rest of our afternoon? How about another pass through the park, shall we?”

“Lead on, sir.”

* * * *

As Dansbury and Grace drove on, the couple failed to notice Stonebridge, across the way, watching them. Grace chattered on animatedly, while Dansbury drove, markedly enchanted by Grace’s zest for life.

The duke’s envy flared hot and bright. He wanted desperately to run across the street, heedless of the scandal, and carry her away. From his best friend, who he knew was an honorable man. Obviously, he restrained himself from behaving so brashly, but deep inside, his jealousy burned, making him want to scream aloud at the injustice of it all.

“Darling.”

He tried not to recoil at the grating sound of Beatryce’s voice as she attempted to reclaim his attention.

“Look over there. It’s Dansbury and Grace out for their drive. They invited me to go, of course, to chaperone, but you know I didn’t want to feel like an interloper. I think we might have a budding romance in the works—at least if Grace has anything to say about it—and I promised her I would give her a chance, if the opportunity arose, for some private time with Lord Dansbury—if you know what I mean?” She said the last with a hearty measure of innuendo.

He hoped her question was rhetorical, for he was too astounded to reply. He had always suspected something might be developing between them, but to hear it confirmed? It made him feel…lost. Bleak. He would give anything at that moment to be somewhere else, some
one
else. Never had he ever wanted to be someone else until he had met Grace Radclyffe.

Further, he had never before been envious of his best friend, but now his resentment was intense. Fortunately, Beatryce wasn’t expecting a response, and she carried on talking without caring or considering whether or not he was attending. Which was fine because he couldn’t respond rationally just now.

He focused on his inner turmoil and failed to notice the smug smile on Beatryce’s face as she spoke. Nor did he take time to consider that after yesterday’s scene in the dress shop, Grace and Beatryce were not likely to be speaking to each other, much less going on an outing together. Envy had a bad habit of polluting one’s thoughts.

However, his jealousy fizzled out as quickly as it started as he homed in on a shady character standing at the narrow opening of a nearby alleyway. The man was clearly out of place and trying to be inconspicuous, but failing miserably. He was dressed like a gentleman, though his demeanor was rough, more like a hired thug than a man about Town.

The stranger looked to be haggling with a dirty street urchin, a young boy of about seven or eight, while occasionally marking the carriages as they passed. At one point, the man nodded to the boy, and they appeared to come to some sort of understanding.

The gentleman-cum-thug flashed a coin, and the boy nodded his agreement just as the older man looked up and froze, his gaze trained on something in the distance. He tilted his head toward the road as he said something to the boy, who also turned to look.

The duke followed their gaze, his intuition screaming to life as he recognized Cliff’s curricle drawing near. He didn’t hesitate; he leapt from his curricle and ran, ignoring Beatryce’s gasp of outrage and the sounds of shock from nearby pedestrians.

He ran harder than he’d ever run in his life, his hands knifing the air as he pumped his legs faster and faster. The sound of his boot heels striking the cement throbbed in his head with each step. The guttersnipe was on the move ahead of him, running directly for the road and Cliff’s oncoming curricle.

This was going to be close.

He sidestepped pedestrians and walking sticks as he sprinted down the walk. He lost his hat at his first dodge of a twirling parasol. He leapt over a trash can, a gift from a dog and one awkwardly placed park bench in his haste. He was little more than a few steps behind his quarry now, but it felt like a thousand feet and a million inanimate objects separated them.

He managed to grab ahold of the boy mere moments before he would have stepped off the pavement in front of Grace’s carriage; the boy’s intention had been to spook the horses.

He spun himself and the boy, putting their backs to the carriageway. It was quite easy, for the boy weighed next to nothing. He set the squirming, smelling, foul-mouthed child down, though he kept a hold on the boy’s filthy shirt.

“What is your name, boy?”

The urchin stopped squirming, probably due to surprise, and answered, “John Paul Smith, milord.” Then his eyes widened in fear. It was obvious he had told the truth out of habit.

He expected the boy to struggle and pull away in an attempt to escape. What he didn’t expect was the boy to rush him and kick him in the shin instead. He let go in surprise.

Damn, but that kid has some nerve. I just saved his life.

It was sad, really, what the hungry would attempt for very little coin.

Stonebridge chose not to give chase. Instead, he bent over at the waist and attempted to catch his breath. He rubbed his abused shins while he felt the muscles in his thighs twitch from his exertions. It took only a moment for him to recover—he was physically fit after all—and when he could breathe normally again, he straightened, turned around, and looked up to see Cliff and Grace looking down from their ride. Grace was on her feet showing more than a little concern.

Of course, he only had eyes for Grace.

She stood above him like an ethereal fairy amidst mere mortals. Tendrils of escaped hair blew gently in the breeze, and her eyes were wide pools of blue as she gazed at him in relief and obvious thanks. She recognized the danger they had been in and his herculean efforts to see her safe. He wanted to shout with unrestrained joy to see her look upon him so favorably. He was an animal, with heightened senses and excitement pulsing through his blood.

He barely noticed the men nearby who patted him on the back in support of his heroism. At the moment, he only cared about Grace and what thoughts possessed her mind.

All too soon reality intruded. Hell, he had left Beatryce spitting mad in his own curricle a few hundred yards back, and he had completely forgotten her. It was worth her wrath, of course, and he would do it all over again even if given the chance to think about it ahead of time, but alas, he had to return to her at once.