Escaping the Duke (The Secret Crusaders #1)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

D ear Lord P,

I enjoyed your stories of childhood mischief. Although I never had such adventures, I have friends who partook in such foibles. I wonder if you are acquainted with any of them…

Your stories raised some concerns about your current strategies. While not aware of your exact methods, I can only assume you undertake some risk in your investigations. I urge you to take care. I do not need to warn you of the ruthlessness of many of our fellow “gentlemen.” Do not allow the prize to blind you to the danger. If you are caught in a difficult position, come to me. I will do what I can to help.

Yours,

Bradenton

“That was unusual.”

“Indeed,” Edmund murmured. “A most unusual lady.” He stared a moment more at the door through which the blond- haired, green-eyed beauty fled, turned to find his friends staring at him . “What is it?”

Crawford grinned. “Lady Priscilla was not the only one acting unusually. One might wonder if there is more afoot.”

Usually when someone linked him with a lady, he immediately protested, yet no such urge hit.

Strange.

And especially vital, since tonight his search for a bride would commence. He had spent hours considering every eligible lady in the ton and finally secured a short list of half a dozen ladies. They were all of good position, poised and, most importantly, ladies he could imagine spending the rest of his life with.

Priscilla Livingston was on the top of that list.

Now she intrigued him even more. A woman who would risk her own reputation to save his. Who would burst into a room to stop a scandal. With anyone else he would assume she did it because she was interested in a match, yet her behavior afterwards indicated anything but. Yet now she didn’t have a choice.

He would discover more about the woman who would save him.

For now, he had another mystery to unravel. He had requested to talk to his friends about a far different matter: his suspicion one of them played the part of his informant.

He travelled to the sideboard and poured himself a generous splash of brandy. He swirled the amber liquid in the cut crystal glass. “I was actually wondering whether you had anything to tell me. Something about letters perhaps?”

Crawford cocked his head to the side, his lips quirked up, while Peyton watched with unsaid bemusement. “The Bradenton stare. I’ve seen grown men literally quake in their boots over it. Usually it’s quite effective, but as we’ve known you since short pants, its efficacy is diminished. To what do we owe this pleasure?”

Crawford was right, in more than one way. He did tend to intimidate others. Yet Peyton, tall and dark with charm the ladies adored, and Crawford, whose angel-like face disguised a will of iron, held positions nearly as high as him.

Edmund stared at his friends a moment more, but nothing beyond patient amusement lurked behind their gazes. He pushed aside disappointment. It just seemed so logical.

“Then I suppose neither of you are my informant?”

“Your informant?” Peyton leaned forward. “This gets better and better. You have an informant?”

“Are you a spy?” Crawford cut in.

“Not at all.” Although he had performed the occasional favor for the Home Office, it was certainly not enough to justify the moniker. Of course, that didn’t mean he lived the wastrel life so many lords preferred, drinking and gambling and enjoying the pleasures their status afforded. He fought for justice every day, yet it was in the open, through life-changing votes and civil action. “Someone has been helping me secure votes for important causes.”

“Helping?” Peyton’s gaze sharpened. “In what way?”

“As in providing details that have altered the journey of several important votes.”

Crawford frowned. “Nothing afoul of the law I assume.”

“Of course not.” Edmund shook his head. “I wouldn’t risk the votes being retracted by utilizing less-than-scrupulous measures. No, my colleague discovers tidbits about various lords, details on how they may be susceptible to casting their votes in a more favorable way.”

Peyton shrugged. “What’s the problem? It sounds like a lucrative relationship.”

Both Crawford and Peyton held sympathies towards Edmund’s causes, helping when they could and casting their votes favorably.

“It is beneficial,” Edmund agreed. “The problem is he hides his identity. We communicate through letters. With the amount of correspondence I receive, I’ve been unsuccessful in tracking them. He has me post my letters to a different person each time, but they never make it there. I assume someone who works with the mail diverts them for him.”

“Why don’t you just ask who he is?”

“I have, again and again, in subtle and not-so-subtle ways, and yet the answer remains the same, often with a bemused statement regarding the propensity of me asking.” He grimaced, but couldn’t stop a sliver of amusement. Even in the letters, his informant’s clever wit shone.

Peyton gazed at him curiously. “So why bother? Why threaten your work by going against his wishes? He may have a good reason for the subterfuge.”

“Or he may be in some sort of danger,” Edmund countered. “Perhaps he’s afraid to reveal his identity. Plus, with all we’ve accomplished anonymously, think of what we could do with our combined efforts.”

“Perhaps. Or the relationship could be sabotaged, and you’d achieve nothing at all.” Peyton cocked his head to the side. “Maybe the true reason for your curiosity is something else entirely. Are you frustrated because you do not control the situation?”

“That’s ridiculous.” Edmund straightened to his full six-foot-two height. “I have no desire to control him.”

“Why not? You control everyone else.”

Before Edmund could respond, Peyton held out his hand. “It’s not an accusation. Holding a dukedom is a great responsibility, and you do it better than most. You’re well aware of the power you wield.”

Edmund relaxed slightly. As a duke, it was his responsibility to care for those around him. If he showed any weakness, others would take advantage.

Thus he never showed weakness.

“I do not wish for power over him,” he said. “Merely to work with him.”

Whether that was entirely true he would not ponder too deeply. Part of his quest for power was the ability to help people, even when they didn’t realize they needed it. In addition to overseeing a dukedom, he was guardian to three younger sisters and several female cousins, a responsibility he took with utmost seriousness. Of course, he also made certain his mother had everything she needed.

Yet perhaps Peyton’s words held a grain of truth. Did something else linger behind his desire to unmask his confidant? They had conversed for over a year, through dozens of letters, about matters far beyond politics. He considered the man a friend.

And if honesty ruled, perhaps he didn’t like the loss of control.

“If I can help people, don’t I have a responsibility to do so? By now he knows I would never betray his secret.”

“Perhaps he doesn’t want you to discover the truth.” Crawford raised an eyebrow. “With your position, you know the vast majority of lords. Maybe your estimation of him in real life is different than in your correspondence.”

“I considered, and discarded, that idea. From our long correspondence, I know more about Lord P than most of the ton. I simply can’t imagine I misjudged his character so tremendously, especially when the man works so hard for social causes. It is all the more reason for us to meet in person. I want to know who I’ve been working with all this time.”

Peyton studied him, his expression thoughtful. “I suppose I can aid you in your investigation, especially since this is the first time you’ve requested my help since an evil villain stole your favorite horse.”

“I was four,” Crawford protested, his sparkling eyes showing no remorse. “And the horse was wooden and three inches tall. But I suppose I owe you for that. Count me in to unmask your mysterious lord.”

“Excellent.” Edmund took another sip as he considered his two preys. One would be pleased to be caught – perhaps – the other most certainly not. Yet he would not stop until he had both of them.

Time for two hunts to begin.

Escaping a duke was an art.

One must be subtle, for anything blatant could cause scandal, retribution or both. One must show power, make clear she will do as she wishes when she wishes. When executed correctly, it was a beautiful thing.

Which was why Priscilla hid behind a huge potted plant when it was time for Bradenton’s dance.

She hadn’t planned it in advance. Yet as she walked toward the dance floor like a condemned man, she questioned why she was running to Bradenton simply because he decreed it. She’d made clear she hadn’t wanted to dance with him, yet he took control. Why should she just blatantly give in to his demands?

From her vantage point behind emerald leaves, she could see him, yet he could not see her. Bradenton turned once and then twice, his expression remaining mild, not betraying any loss of control. Undoubtedly, the absence of a dance partner was a first for the popular lord. Then, his lips curved up ever-so-slightly.

He started to the potted plant.

Blasted! How had he seen her? No matter how, this was not good! Getting caught by a duke was far less enjoyable than escaping one. Perhaps she could thwart him yet.

She caught site of Viscount Dryson. The lord was rude, boorish and insufferable. He was also in the search for a wealthy wife to fund his gambling habit. If she chose him instead of Bradenton, it would send an inescapable message.

She walked as quickly as she could. Through the mirrors, she saw Bradenton following at a slower gait, his eyes narrowing as she stopped next to Dryson.

She sighed. “I do so enjoy this melody. How I wish I had someone to dance with.”

Dryson looked up from the plate he had been piling with sweets. His face stretched in a greedy grin. “I shall be happy to dance with you, Lady Priscilla.”

“Would you? Thank you.”

With a lecherous wink, he dropped his plate right on top of the fresh food and led her out to the dance floor.

As she placed her hand in Dryson’s, she peeked at Bradenton.

Power, and a promise for retribution, burned in his eyes.

“My dear, you are delightful. A true diamond of the first water. I do so admire you.”

Priscilla turned her attention back Dryson. She should thank him, titter and bat her eyelashes.

Instead the question slipped out, “What do you admire about me?”

The lord stared.

It was not a polite question, and certainly not one a duke’s daughter should be asking. Yet every suitor professed the same meaningless words on a quest to secure her wealth and familial connections. If all these men professed their undying devotion, surely they could name a single reason.

Unfortunately he stared at her like a suffocating fish.

Not much for one’s confidence.

“You are lovely, of course,” the lord hastened to reply. “And demure and proper and soft. And of course you have the utmost breeding, social standing and wealth.”

So she was a wealthy, fluffy and popular bunny rabbit?

His eyes lit up as he mentioned her money. It was no surprise. Every time they met, he whispered sweet words of love to her dowry.

She snuck a look back at Bradenton. He raised an eyebrow.

And suddenly escape did not seem very certain at all.

He did not intervene when she danced with the insufferable Dryson. Nor when she danced with two ineligible lords clearly for his benefit. Likely she thought her little stunt would detract him. Instead her efforts made him even more determined to learn more. She had piqued his interest, in more ways than one.

When she started walking toward a lord who was both charming and eligible, he stepped forward.

No longer would she avoid him. It was time for their dance, or rather, dances. When he signed the card, instincts had urged him to do something daring. He thought he’d regret signing up for two. He did not.

Now those instincts guided him as he approached her. She watched with wary eyes, her features undoubtedly more telling than she realized. Finding a bride had been a chore, a necessary evil of his position. For the first time, it induced a spark of excitement.

“Lady Priscilla, are you ready for our dance?”

She muttered something about a vase under her breath but it was too low to be certain. He hid his amusement as she gave an obviously strained smile. “Of course, Your Grace.”

He took her arm. “You are aware you missed our dances?”

Amusement danced in her eyes. “You don’t say?”

“Oh yes. A lesser man might have thought you were avoiding him.”

“But of course a man like you is well aware of what it means.”

“I assume it means you wanted three dances, and couldn’t figure a way to ask.”

She halted. “I assure you that is not what it meant.”

If dancing twice sent a message, dancing three may as well count as a reading of the banns. He relented. “We will save three for another night.”

She did not look relieved.

He had chosen a waltz, as he had seen her dancing one earlier, and wanted the opportunity to talk without interruption. He took her in his arms.

The music started. As expected, she swayed gracefully, never missing a step, yet something about her stance gave away tension she couldn’t hide. He was accustomed to ladies being a little nervous around him, yet this was different. A softer man might have let her get away.

Not him.

In order to determine whether she would be a suitable bride, he had to uncover every layer behind his mysterious beauty.

“Do I make you uncomfortable?”

Her eyes flashed, even as she shook her head. “Of course not, Your Grace. I am at ease in every situation.”

“Really?” They moved in perfect rhythm. “That sounds like a challenge.”

Her eyes widened for the briefest of instances. “I can assure you it wasn’t.”

“Your mother tells me you will be accepting an offer this season.”

“Isn’t getting married the only suitable goal for a woman in my position?”

“Of course not.”

She appeared startled, staring for a moment before responding, “I’m afraid you are alone in your beliefs.”

“Not alone, but rare, I’ll admit,” he acknowledged. “Many think a match is a lady’s primary role, but I see far more than that. For instance, when I take a bride I expect her to have her own pursuits.”

Her expression remained neutral, yet somehow he could sense sadness in her. “Like sewing and music?”

“No.”

She looked at him sharply.

“Well, yes,” he amended, “if that is what the lady enjoys. However, I do not think a lady should be constrained to traditionally feminine pursuits.”

She bit her bottom lip, her gaze softening.

He pressed on. “What do you truly like, Lady Priscilla? What interests you?”

“Nothing unusual,” she quickly replied.

“Nothing?” he softly prodded. “No secret hobbies or undertakings?”

Unease once more passed through her eyes.

“I can tell there’s something.” He brought her closer. “You can tell me.”

“I like…” She darted her eyes around as if searching for an answer. “I like… science!” Triumph, and relief, lit her expression. “That’s the secret. I’m fascinated by the natural world. In fact, I can spend all day just learning about it.”

“I find science fascinating as well. That wasn’t too difficult, was it?”

Her smile faltered. Had she realized her quest of discouraging him was hopeless?

“I want a wife to do more than grace my side. I am looking for a partner.”

For just a second, vulnerability passed through her eyes. “Your bride will be a fortunate woman.” When he spun her, she attempted to pull back.

He tightened his grip.

Her gaze became steel. “Poetic words do not change the fact that a woman is at the whim of her husband. The law gives him the right to dictate what she can, and cannot, do. And there are many bad men out there, people who fight against your causes.”

“My causes? What do you mean?”

A panicked look entered her eyes, reminiscent of the episode in the garden. She quickly continued, “Nothing of any importance. My father just mentioned you support humanitarian efforts.”

He kept his expression neutral. She knew more about him than she admitted.

“Are you interested in the plight of the less fortunate?”

“Of course!” The response was swift, forceful and vehement. “As any lady would be.”

That wasn’t true. Most women, and men, cared little about the poor who suffered outside their golden homes. Was she worried about his reaction? For many men, interest in world affairs would be a negative aspect in a bride, but for him it was the opposite. Social action had been his passion ever since he was a child, when his father showed him the deplorable working conditions at the factories.

They had come from a ton party, filled with countless delights: showmen to induce bellies of laughter, sweet ices from the ripest fruits, a gleaming ballroom alive with whimsical music. After an evening of careless frivolity, he clutched a sweet tart with one hand, his father with the other, as he left that world, to view an entirely new one.

In a nondescript carriage, they travelled from the glowing world of the ton to the darkest trenches of London’s poor, where despite the late hour, the toilers’ work continued. Men weathered into deep grooves worked next to children half his age, coated in dirt, their eyes as dull as the dust swirling around them.

Gray. He had come from a world of color, yet here life progressed only in shades of ash. The smells had been noxious, the odor burning his lungs, stinging his nostrils, its acidic taste on his tongue. The only music was the never-ending cadence of coughing, hacking rasps from beleaguered lungs. The world was dim, lit by tiny candles, so unlike the fat pillars gleaming from the ton’s crystal chandeliers. On that day, a quest was born. One day, he would bring color to that gray world. Buying that factory and improving the worker’s conditions was his first charitable project.

“I am pleased to hear it. Recognition is the first step to change.”

She gave a curt nod, but didn’t respond further.

“What is the main characteristic you desire in a suitor?”

The question was impertinent, but he simply couldn’t help himself. She muttered something under her breath that almost sounded like “busy.” In the next moment, she smiled widely, “Why, vast wealth, of course.”

He couldn’t stop a low chuckle, even as others turned their way. He didn’t blame them. They must wonder what inspired a laugh from the duke. “I’m sorry, my dear, but something doesn’t seem genuine about that.”

“I care about a title, of course.” She batted her eyelashes.

His amusement flared. As an actress, she left something to be desired.

As a potential duchess, she was far more alluring.

“I won’t ask if you’re trying to scare me away.”

She blinked. “Of course not, Your Grace.”

“Instead I’m going to ask why you’re trying to scare me away.”

She stiffened. “I’m just being honest.”

He leaned forward, whispered so only she could hear. “You haven’t been honest since you claimed your dance card was full.”

Her nostrils flared. First in discomfort, next in defiance. She was hiding something from him.

“You do realize this conversation is highly inappropriate.”

“You do realize if we’d discussed the weather, we’d both be fast asleep by now.”

The sides of her lips quirked up, replaced as quickly by another scowl. He enjoyed watching her try to hide from him. Soon, she would learn she couldn’t.

“That’s not true,” she countered. “I can spend hours talking about the weather. In fact, after fashion and resting it is my favorite subject. Can I interest you in a two-hour discussion on weather patterns?”

The little minx was still trying to scare him. It wouldn’t work. “Of course. I would enjoy discussing anything with you. Tell me, what is your favorite type of cloud and why?”

She frowned before turning into a graceful swirl. Then she was back in his arms. And if he pulled her a little closer than he should have, she didn’t complain.

“I’ll be honest, Your Grace. While I am grateful for your attention, we simply would not match.” They went through a few last motions as the waltz ended. “Thank you for the dance. If you wish to forgo the second, I understand.”

“That will be unnecessary, Lady Priscilla. By now you have tried a variety of personas you believe I will find unappealing. Why don’t you just ask what would turn me away?”

“It would help,” she muttered.

He laughed lightly. There was something oddly familiar about her, an almost instinctual understanding. “I don’t like ladies who are cruel or unkind. I would also prefer a bride with some intelligence, and a mind of her own.”

She sniffed. “In that case, you should know I always do as others say, cannot count to twenty with my shoes on and kick dogs in my spare time.”

He laughed again, once more drawing the attention of the room. The Duke of Bradenton never laughed like this.

It felt strange, different, good. “You do nothing of the sort. In fact, I’d wager you are quite the opposite of all those things.”

“You flatter me, your Grace, but my intentions remain the same. We do not suit.”

The words were set with steel and backed by courage. What was her game? If she hadn’t wanted a match at all, her reluctance would have made sense. Yet if she had to choose a husband, either by her own desire, or most likely that of her parents, she should be pleased by his attention. As a duchess, she would have a title, wealth and power. Although those were probably not as important to her as she claimed.

The next song started, and they now danced without talking. He had learned more about Lady Priscilla, yet the mystery remained. One thing was certain: Despite her objections, they could very well match.

Finally, the song ended. He leaned in, staring straight into smoldering eyes. “Now I will make my intentions quite clear, my lady. I never back down from a challenge, especially when the stakes are so high.” He took a bow, even as she stood speechless before him.

Soon he would discover every secret Priscilla Livingston possessed.