Dalliance with the Duchess (Seducing the Duchess #3)

Chapter Three

The Present

T he day had been a long one. Sophia had a morning meeting with Oldney’s man of business and estate manager, Thatcher. He was a dislikable fellow and every time she had to put up with his company she promised herself she would find someone new. At first she had felt out of her depth when it came to financial matters, and Thatcher’s smirk as she frowned down at the ledgers didn’t help, but she soon realized she could not possibly do a worse job than her late husband had.

Things had been dire when she picked up the baton, but she had made headway, economizing to slowly bring Oldney’s estates back from the brink of disaster, although there was a long way to go yet.

Sophia knew how she was spoken about—the beautiful but poor Mallory girl who was lifted to dizzying heights by marrying a duke. Others would not expect someone who came from poverty—one they believed had nothing to recommend them but their looks—to be capable of managing Oldney’s finances. But she had enjoyed proving them wrong just as much as she had enjoyed learning new skills and being able to navigate this new stage of her life.

As for those who envied Sophia’s luck in landing a duke in the first place... By the time she had been married a fortnight, Sophia had known that neither tears nor pleas would work with her duke—he enjoyed seeing her weep and beg—and the only way she could survive as his wife was to be an ice queen who cared for nothing and nobody. That was how she fit in with Oldney’s set of friends, too—by becoming just as outwardly vicious and selfish as they were.

And now Nicholas Blake was asking her to return to that life, and a sense of guilt—a conscience she had always tried to bury—was urging her to agree. At least in principle, as he was yet to discuss with her the full story of his friend. But could she do it, even if she wanted to?

For a start, she would have to make herself presentable now she was out of mourning. Appearing in public again in an out-of-date dress would make her a laughingstock. She sent a note to her modiste to make an appointment, telling herself that it did not mean she would agree to whatever Blake wanted her to do, but at least if she did then she would be ready.

She admitted to herself that the thought of those gentlemen who had been Oldney’s closest companions made her feel queasy. The Marquess of Chatham, Lord Butcher, and Sir Tomas Arnold. Only three of them now, but no doubt just as unpleasant as they had always been. Sophia feared she had lost her hard edge, her ability to play her part, and it might be a struggle to get it back again. She wasn’t sure who she was now, but she knew she did not want to be that woman anymore. Sometimes she felt like a stranger to herself.

As the day went on, as an additional irritant, her housekeeper left her to return home after an urgent message from her ailing mother. Sophia had even offered her a higher salary to stay but without success. It seemed familial loyalty overrode greed. Webster, her butler, gave her a mournful look when she informed him they would all just have to make do.

“You are quite capable of ordering the servants until we find someone else, Webster.”

“Very well, Your Grace,” the butler said, while the twist of his mouth said something else altogether.

By supper time, Sophia was on tenterhooks about Nicholas Blake’s visit. She was curious as to exactly what he wanted from her. Who was this friend of his who needed rescuing? And was she really the only person who could help him? Her conscience was tapping on her shoulder again, but she did her best to ignore it, and told herself she would make her decision when he had explained everything.

As for their encounter at Vauxhall... it was long forgotten. Well, that was what she told herself, but the truth was she remembered it far too well for her own peace of mind. She kept thinking of his hands on her skin, and the way in which her body had responded to him. Was her memory playing tricks on her? Had she really never felt anything so pleasurable as that? Sophia considered herself a sophisticated woman, beyond being surprised, but Nicholas Blake had been a revelation.

She wriggled in her seat, feeling flushed and feverish. Would he be willing to do it again if she revealed she had been the masked woman? And was she really risking her peace of mind by considering such an insane gamble?

Webster knocked on the door, startling her out of her extremely inappropriate thoughts. “Your Grace, Mr. Blake is here. Should I see that supper is served?”

Sophia cleared her throat. To her relief her voice sounded normal. “Yes, thank you, Webster.”

There was a small table set up by the fire in her favorite sitting room, and the intimate quality of it made her wonder if she should have chosen the long dining table with him seated at one end and she far away at the other.

Too late now.

She rose to her feet, and a moment later Blake entered the room.

He was solemn as he bowed politely before her. “Your Grace. I appreciate you agreeing to see me.” His gaze slid past her to the table by the fireplace and his mouth twitched, but he didn’t quite smile.

Sophia ignored his look and gestured for him to be seated. There was a bottle of French red wine, decanted and ready to pour, and she filled his glass without asking, and then her own. She needed something to calm her nerves even if he did not.

“I am curious,” she admitted at last. “What is so urgent that I must place myself once more in the dragon’s den?”

He opened his mouth to answer but stopped when the food was carried in and served. Sophia kept to the usual topics, barely aware of what she said. The weather, the latest on dit concerning the Prince of Wales, and so on—she was well practiced in social chitchat. Finally they were alone again, but it seemed Blake wasn’t ready to explain himself yet, after all.

“How is your sister? Lady Lyndhurst?”

The last time Blake was in this room he had brought Sophia’s sister Ellis to her. Ellis had been in grave danger, and through Blake’s machinations the man who wanted to hurt her had been caught.

Sophia smiled. “She is well, and happy.” She was pleased for Ellis, truly, and yet thinking of her sister and Owen smiling into each other’s eyes at their wedding made her feel strangely hollow inside. Both of her sisters were now happily married, and although she was glad for them, it also gave Sophia a sense of being the odd one out.

“I am relieved to hear it.” He set aside his glass in a firm manner. “I want to explain to you why I need your help,” he now said bluntly. “You may say no, but I am hoping you will agree.”

“Because you helped Ellis,” she mused. Of course that was why he brought up the subject of her sister. “I am very grateful to you for what you did. We all are. I am prepared to listen to you.”

He was watching her carefully. “Here is the situation. As I said last night, I need you to gain access to my friend, Sir Gordon Robinson. He refuses to listen to me, and I am concerned that he is keeping the sort of company that could be harmful. I’m sure I don’t need to explain why I feel that way. You are well acquainted with Oldney’s set.”

She opened her mouth, but he held up his hand.

“Rest assured, I do not want you to rescue him or anything so dramatic—I can do that if necessary. All I am asking you to do is sound him out—use your eyes and ears—and then report back to me. Once I know the situation, I will decide if I need to act to protect him.”

Report back to him? He made her sound like a spy. Sophia made a doubtful noise and took a sip of her wine. “You seem to believe I can just walk back into the set as if things are still the way they were before Oldney died. I’m certain you have more power over these men than I do, Mr. Blake.”

“But you know these people. They will talk to you, share their secrets. You spent a great deal of time with them when Oldney was alive. You may even consider them friends.”

Sophia had never considered any of them her friends. Not after the first few weeks of her marriage to Oldney, when her eyes had been well and truly opened. She tolerated them, and even then barely. “I would have thought you had plenty of spies to call on,” she said evenly. “I have heard it said that if you want to know something, ask Nicholas Blake and he will find it out for you.”

They also said that he was the man to ask if you wanted someone taken out of the game. Permanently. Sophia wasn’t sure how true that was.

He was still speaking, explaining his thinking to her. “I doubt my objectives could be achieved with someone new stepping into that group. Their suspicions would be raised immediately, and by the time they could be persuaded to trust the newcomer—if they ever did—it would be too late to help Gordon. You must know this.” Then, with a frown, “If you do not wish to help me then say so, Duchess, and I will leave you be.”

“I have not said I won’t help you,” she said impatiently. “I am trying to make you understand that these men have never been my friends. They were Oldney’s friends and I was his wife. That gave me a certain level of protection from them.”

“They frighten you.”

She looked up sharply. He was watching her closely now, reading her thoughts as they passed across her face, and it was unnerving. When had she ever shown her emotions so openly?

“Yes, they do. I don’t let them see it, though—that would be the worst thing I could do. If they scented for one moment that I was afraid, they would tear me apart.”

He didn’t look happy about that. “Tell me about them,” he said gruffly.

Sophia took a breath. “Of the three, the Marquess of Chatham is the most dangerous. He comes from old money, but I’m sure he has little of it left. Lord Butcher is wed to an heiress, poor girl, and he thinks that by aligning himself with Chatham he is somehow made more important. Chatham borrows from him regularly. The third player is Sir Tomas Arnold who likes to pretend he is to be trusted, but I never have. Chatham is cruel and debauched, while Butcher is a fool, but not a particularly vicious one. Arnold likes to sit on the fence if he feels threatened. Out of them all, it is Chatham I would not wish to face alone in a room, but I believe I could manage the other two. When I was part of their set, I noticed how they all seemed to dislike each other, despite saying they were friends, and yet if anyone else spoke ill of them they would join together in destroying that person. They protect each other, would stand shoulder to shoulder against the world. You must understand, Mr. Blake, that being part of a group like that may be dangerous, but it is seductive. I imagine that is how your friend feels right now.”

He said nothing, watching her sternly.

“Or perhaps I am expressing myself awkwardly,” Sophia said lightly, and sipped her wine.

The fire was warm and she was replete, but she was anything but sleepy. Talking about these matters with Nicholas Blake had made her feel out of sorts and surprisingly vulnerable. The idea of being with those men again... In truth she wasn’t sure she could do it, even for a good cause.

“This is a bad idea,” he said abruptly, taking the words out of her mouth. “I should not have asked it of you. I will find another way of rescuing my young friend from their clutches.”

Sophia wanted to agree that it was a bad idea, but in her heart she knew she couldn’t refuse to help him. She was afraid, yes, but she could not let that stop her, and he deserved to know why. “Oldney behaved in a way that I ignored at the time, because I was powerless. As a young bride I was shocked, but I was also vulnerable. Now he is gone, I am remembering as if from a distance, but that doesn’t make the things he did—the things any of them did—sit any easier in my conscience. I won’t turn my back on what has happened. Not any longer. And helping you to save this young man would go some way to easing my guilt at remaining silent at the time. So my answer is yes, Mr. Blake, I will help you if I can.”

He didn’t seem to know what to say. His hand lay on the table, fingers restlessly tapping, and she suddenly had an image of that hand between her legs, his thumb circling her until she shattered. Was she blushing? She hid her face by bending it over the glass again.

“Very well,” he said at last. “You construct a good argument. But if you feel unsafe at any time, you will walk away. Report back to me, and I will deal with the situation. Do you understand, Your Grace? Under no circumstances are you to risk your own safety.”

He was so grave, she almost smiled. “Should I report to you at the houses of Parliament? Like your other spies?”

His lips twitched. “You have a romantic view of me, Duchess. You could send a message to me at my rooms in Edith Street, but there will probably be no need. I will be watching you when you meet with Chatham and his friends. Simply send me the time and the place, so I can be available.”

Did that make her feel worse or better? Before she could decide, he rose to his feet and so did Sophia. He held out his hand and when she placed hers in it, he bent to set his lips against her skin. She looked down at his dark head, his hair neatly cut, and saw a couple of stray gray hairs mixed in with the ebony. He was a man only in his early thirties, so it surprised her, and she was unprepared when he straightened and said quietly, “Honeysuckle. My favorite perfume.”

She was still standing there when the door closed behind him.

Sophia felt as if her head was spinning. The memory of their tryst at Vauxhall was suddenly so clear. Had he remembered it, too? But surely if he had remembered he would have said something before now? She reminded herself she had been in disguise. Her secret was safe and this was a coincidence, that was all. It must be.