Dalliance with the Duchess (Seducing the Duchess #3)

Chapter Nine

N icholas sat down to Mrs. Shirley’s hearty breakfast—a heaped plate of bacon, sausage, egg, and fried bread. Normally he would have demolished it within minutes. He was always hungry after a late, busy night, and last night had been busy indeed. Before he went searching for Sophia, he had located a group of jewel thieves who were planning to rob a leading member of the ton . Misguided rather than dangerous, but still better locked away so they could reconsider their futures.

It was another feather in his cap. He rarely failed when asked to complete a mission, and although he was not owned by any one person, his name was passed about as the man to call when there was trouble—and he was handsomely recompensed. His real job was a secret to everyone but himself and his father, and that was finding his sister Fern. She had lived in his memory now for ten years and he grieved for her.

When it happened, Nicholas had had little to go on. The school governors had not been helpful—they did not want any scandal like that attached to their institution. And anyway, what did the daughter of a reverend matter when their students were the sons of the wealthy and the titled? But Nicholas had been sure one of those boys must know something, and eventually he had struck gold. On the evening she had disappeared, Fern had been spotted in the lane outside the school gates with a small traveling bag on the ground beside her. It seemed as if she was waiting for a vehicle to collect her. When the young boy who saw her asked her where she was going she had laughed and said, “Why, London, of course!”

The boy had thought nothing of it at the time—and his fellows had suggested he not borrow trouble by coming forward once it was known Fern was missing—so it was not until several months later that Nicholas finally discovered him. By then her trail was cold, and despite extensive searching he had never found her.

There were still a great many unanswered questions.

Had she thought she would find a better life in the capital? A pot of gold at the end of the rainbow? He’d known that to happen to other young women. By the time they discovered London wasn’t the castle in the sky they had imagined, they had become trapped in the cycle of poverty and desperation that resulted from their bad decisions. Was that what had happened to Fern? Had she simply been too ashamed to come home again?

Nicholas wished he could have spoken to her before she’d left. She had been seventeen then, and he had been nearly twenty-two, and by that time he was at university. He had pictured his life full of scholarly pursuits—perhaps he’d become a professor with cozy rooms in one of the colleges—but his sister’s disappearance had changed all that. He had thrown aside his studies and become a hunter, searching for people who were missing, or as in the situation last night, who were hiding and dangerous. Nicholas was a man for hire and his job was lucrative enough to allow him to seek his missing sister in his spare time.

His father still believed Fern would be found, despite the years that had passed without new information. Only the other day he had written to Nicholas about a newspaper report of a child discovered in a forest, living with wild animals, as if Fern could have done the same. Nicholas had laughed aloud at the thought of his sister sitting down to dinner with badgers and foxes. And then he had wept, because the undertaking had begun to seem increasingly pointless. Some days he wanted to stop, but that would mean destroying his father’s last hope, and Nicholas would not do that to him.

His thoughts drifted away from the ever-present seriousness of Fern and focused instead on a far more pleasant topic: last night with Sophia. It had been an agreeable diversion, and one he’d very much like to repeat. He had always thought about her far more often than he should. Over the years she had appeared regularly in his dreams at night, but now he daydreamed about her, too, and although he wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, it worried him. He mustn’t become obsessed with a woman who was never going to be around for longer than a few weeks. And yes, he was planning to keep an eye on her at the gambling hell she would be visiting with Chatham and the others, but that didn’t mean he was lusting after her. She was doing him a favor with Gordon, so it was important to keep her safe.

Nicholas wouldn’t be able to live with himself if anything happened to her, too.

He wasn’t sure why it was Sophia who occupied his mind to the exclusion of the others whose company he had enjoyed over the years. He supposed because his work had always precluded anything more than a brief liaison, and those women had always faded away. Or perhaps he had allowed them to fade away because he wasn’t as attached to them as he was Sophia, even as she had remained unreachable to him.

And even now that she was within his reach, he knew there would still come a day when she walked away, unless he walked first. Nicholas’s head told him that would be for the best, but it didn’t explain the ache in his heart.

*

Diablo’s was a popular gambling spot for many of the wealthier members of the ton , as well as those in need of funds. The desperate could always be found lurking at the shoulders of the well-heeled. As with many of these hells, it was situated in a part of the city where there were plenty of drinking dens and brothels, a plethora of opportunities for pleasure. Women plied their wares along the narrow streets, and men circled around them.

As he passed, Nicholas cast a glance over the harlots, always looking for a glimpse of Fern, but none of the faces resembled hers. The thought that she may have ended up in such a place appalled him, but by now Nicholas had witnessed the fate of so many young girls, and he knew that Fern could easily be one of them.

He had dressed in sober clothing, so as not to stand out, and as he entered the hell, no one gave him more than a glance. He was good at blending in after years of practice. There was a small chance Gordon would see him and recognize him, but Nicholas was willing to take that chance. The risk to Sophia was greater. Now he made his way leisurely through the rooms, pretending to stop every now and again to inspect the play, while in truth he was looking for Sophia and the others.

He discovered them in a corner of the larger gaming room, at a cozy table behind a loud group playing Cassino. Nicholas found a seat against the opposite wall, half hidden behind the crowd, and slouched down as if he was half asleep or had over-imbibed on the surprisingly decent claret.

Chatham looked flushed, probably from the carafe of that same claret at his elbow, from which he seemed to be regularly refilling his glass. Butcher was frowning at his cards, his auburn hair sticking up as if he had been running his hands through it. Sir Tomas Arnold was watching Sophia in a manner that made Nicholas’s blood boil. He would have liked to take the man by the scruff of his neck and toss him outside, but he gritted his teeth and stayed where he was. Gordon was giggling in a foolish manner, his eyes shining as he lost hand after hand.

The idiot.

Nicholas’s gaze moved back to Sophia. She was smiling as she added to the play, and when she spoke, the others would guffaw or smirk, although Arnold just stared. Despite her earlier objections, she appeared to be enjoying herself. Was this task not as onerous as she had claimed? A niggle of doubt began to swirl like a poisonous mist in his head. Was she really to be trusted? Was he being gulled into thinking her someone she was not? Nicholas was no fool, but then again he had never been as captivated by a woman as he was by this one. What if it had fogged his common sense?

Just at that moment, she looked up and their eyes met. It was only briefly, but her smile seemed to freeze on her beautiful face before she quickly turned back to the others, laughing at something Gordon had said. Chatham slapped him on the back and Gordon flushed with pleasure.

Nicholas stood up and slid behind a group of noisy gentlemen who were in the process of leaving and made his way closer to the door. He should go. There was nothing to keep him here. Sophia had no need of him—she was obviously in her element—and the last thing she would want was for him to play some sort of guardian angel role.

And yet he couldn’t seem to drag himself away.

Elegantly, she rose to her feet. She was wearing a blue gown tonight, but it had the same low-cut bodice, with only a scrap of lace to make it decent. He paused to watch her comment to the others, before she left the table and made her way toward the door. She walked right past where he was slouched against a wall, and he heard her murmur, “Follow me,” without once looking at him. With one cautious eye on the others, who were still seated, Nicholas followed her.

An antechamber led off a second room where women and men seemed more interested in each other than gambling. Sophia was waiting for him, alone, staring into the fireplace. Nicholas had barely taken a step inside when she turned to face him, her skirts rustling and her dark eyes glittering.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed. Her cheeks were rouged while her bosom rose and fell with each quick breath she took. She might have been dressed appropriately for the hell, but Nicholas didn’t like it one bit—he didn’t like any of this. Her behavior confused him, and at the same time he wanted to carry her out of here to somewhere safe.

“Why shouldn’t I be here?”

He sounded belligerent and he knew it. He had meant to tell her how he was keeping an eye on her because he was worried, that this was a dangerous place and she was involved in a dangerous game. He had meant to say that he was having second thoughts and she should go home and leave Gordon to his fate. But her combative attitude put his back up, and as always when it came to the duchess, he lost his temper.

She was still abusing him. “You wanted me to do this, and I am doing it. Go away. They will see you, and then it will all have been for nothing.”

He strolled closer while she glared at him.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself for someone doing something she claims to hate.” He could hear the accusing tone in his own voice.

Her eyes flared and she clenched her hands into fists at her sides. “Enjoying it?” she repeated, each word forced from between her lips. “I had not thought you such a fool, Blake.”

“I am not considered one. Perhaps I speak the truth, and you don’t want to hear it. You have been in mourning a year, and you must miss your old life. It would be understandable if you did.” Now that he had made her angry, Nicholas felt surprisingly calm. “When you are laughing and sharing wine with your companions, talking over old times, then there is only one conclusion to be drawn, Duchess.”

She stared back at him. He could see she was struggling to regain her own composure as she took one shaky breath and then another. Her eyes, brilliant with rage a moment ago, had lost their spark, and her mouth turned down. Suddenly her face was wan and rather bleak.

“And how else would you have me gain their confidence? Those men you speak of are not my friends, as I have told you before. They never were. They are despicable creatures, and I am only with them because I want to help your friend escape their grasp. And because...” she took another shuddering breath, “you were right. I feel I owe it to all the other victims I couldn’t help to rescue him before it is too late. I have seen far too many willing fools and innocents fall for their lies and be sucked into situations from which they can never recover. I did nothing then, but I can now.”

She was completely sincere. With a sinking heart he realized he had misjudged her. Again. He was embarrassed to admit why that was—he was jealous. It was the worst of reasons. Now he must grovel and beg her forgiveness.

“My apologies,” he said. He took a step closer, until there was barely an inch between them. “I am in the wrong, Sophia.”

“Then perhaps you should learn from your mistakes,” she said, turning away. He moved at the same time, reaching out to stop her, and the button on his jacket sleeve snagged on the comb in her hair. Dark locks tumbled down in waves about her shoulders.

“Now look what you’ve done!” she cried.

There was a looking glass on the wall, and she went to it, attempting to repair the damage. Nicholas followed her, deftly catching up the long strands of hair between his fingers. The locks were heavy and soft, and her honeysuckle scent drifted around him.

“Let me,” he said quietly.

Their eyes met in the mirror, and she looked as if she might refuse. “What, are you a lady’s maid now?” she said impatiently.

He was already busily replacing the comb, looping her hair into its original style. “In a way I suppose I am,” he admitted with a wry grin. Again he met her gaze in the mirror and suddenly the words spilled out of him.

“I had a younger sister whose hair was very untidy. Some mornings it was like a bird’s nest. There were just the two of us—our mother died young and our father was always busy—so from an early age it was my job to make her look presentable.”

“Nicholas, you’re pulling!”

“There are knots, Fern! What sort of bird will I find in there this morning?”

Her giggle echoed down through the years, and the memory felt bittersweet. His voice was a little hoarse when he said, “I loved my sister very much.”

Sophia watched his reflection steadily, as if she was reading his thoughts. “Where is your sister now?”

He frowned. “I don’t know,” he admitted reluctantly. “I wasn’t there when she left home, although I tried to find her. Later I discovered she had gone to London. I have been searching for her for ten years and I have never found her. I’ve failed.”

She reached up to still his hands and when she turned he found he could not look away from her. There was something compelling in her gaze, and more than a trace of compassion.

“Is that why you prowl about London? You are looking for your sister? That seems like such a—”

“A waste of time?” he cut her short. “Yes, I expect it is.”

She gave an impatient shake of her head. “I was going to say that seems like such a laudable thing to do. You have dedicated your life to finding her, haven’t you?” And when he didn’t argue—in fact his throat had closed up, “Nicholas, I am so very sorry.”

What could he say? Then he noticed there was still one curl of hair that had not been restrained and he quickly slipped it beneath a hair pin. Satisfied, he stepped back. “There,” he said. “As good as new.”

Sophia reached up to touch her hair, and then she smiled. “Thank you.”

He bowed, relieved she was done with questioning him. “My pleasure, Duchess.”

But she was not finished with him yet.

“I understand now. Your sister’s tragedy has shaped you and made you the man you are today. There are far more layers to you than I realized, Nicholas.”

He read admiration in her expression, as well as sadness. It made a change from the dislike she had always shown him prior to Vauxhall. Before he could remind himself of where they were and the dangers nearby, Nicholas slid his arms about her and gathered her in. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted. “You are not helping my ability to sleep at night.”

“You cannot blame me for that,” she said, her lips so close they were almost touching his.

He wanted to kiss her. Desperately. He might have done so, but in the next instant she was pushing him away so hard that he stumbled against a chair.

“Oldney was right about you,” she said in a clear, carrying voice. “You are a despicable creature, Blake.”

He was too shocked and startled to reply, which was just as well because next moment a droll, drawling voice spoke behind him.

“Duchess, and... Mr. Blake, is it? How odd to find you here, Blake. I did not think Diablo’s was quite your thing. Bit of a puritan really, aren’t you?”

Nicholas felt his heart speed up, while at the same time his nerves cooled to a degree where he could turn and look the marquess in the eye without giving anything away. He was good at his job and this was why. But all the same, that was a near thing! Thank God for Sophia’s quick thinking.

“How do you know what my thing is, Chatham? But now you mention it I could do with a bath, to wash off the filth of this place.” A glance at Sophia found her watching him closely, but he was glad to see that she was giving nothing away apart from her usual distain. “I will bid you adieu, Madam.”

She curled her lip. “Go, Mr. Blake. You are not wanted here.”

As he walked off, his scalp prickled. Behind him their laughter rang out, making him think he was the butt of their joke.

It was an act, he reminded himself. The Dowager Duchess of Oldney was almost as good as Nicholas at playing a part. She was well able to take care of herself.

There was no reason for him to punch Chatham on the chin and lay him out on the colorful rug before the fireplace. There was no reason for him to take Sophia in his arms and carry her to safety.

And yet he wanted to.