Escaping the Duke (The Secret Crusaders #1)

Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

D ear Edmund,

I am sorry for the quick letter, before I have even received yours, yet I must implore you again. I wish I could explain the dangers of revealing my identity, yet it would give away far too much. It is too late to change the path I have chosen. I can only say you would undoubtedly make the same decision in my position.

I beseech you to stop your investigation into me. It is limiting my ability to conduct my work. Remember why we fight. Changing society is all that matters.

Sometimes it is necessary to give up the things we want for the greater good.

Yours,

P

It was the truth.

He told her.

In a letter.

Edmund didn’t merely dislike the color green, he despised it. It was the color of the awful outfit his mother made him wear on his thirteenth birthday. It was hot. It was itchy.

It was what he was wearing the day his father died.

And from that moment forward, he would never wear green again. Few people knew because he did not like to show weakness. He never explained why he told her.

Yet now, the truth ensnared her.

“I told you?” He spoke slowly. “Me?”

“Yes, of course, you.” She moved forward, hiding the uncertainty churning in her stomach. “Don’t you remember?”

He stared at her. “I have no recollection of doing anything of the sort.”

“You did.” She said it firmly, willing him to believe it. “You mentioned it offhand while we were dancing. I said something about liking the color of a lady’s dress, and asked what you thought of the color green. You shook your head, like you really disliked it.”

His eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly. “I don’t recall that.”

Of course he didn’t. It never happened. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me, and I thought you responded. You didn’t explain why, so I just assumed you didn’t like the color.”

“And you would avoid it simply because I disliked it?” Incredulity laced his voice. “Not consider the shade at all?”

It made no sense, but she couldn’t explain. “I didn’t mean I would never wear green again. It isn’t my favorite color, either, and there are so many choices.”

“That’s not what you said.” His voice was low, controlled. “You said we should skip it because I disliked the color.”

Yes, she had.

He folded his arms across his chest. “This isn’t the first time you’ve inexplicably known something about me. The other day you mentioned my affinity for the newest play.”

“Everyone likes the new play.”

“You didn’t ask if I liked it. You simply stated I had.”

She took a measured breath. With every slip, he grew closer and closer to the truth.

“How did you know about the play?” He pinned her with his gaze. “The color? The museum exhibit?”

She heaved in a breath. He was one idle guess away from realizing his two quarries were one and the same. Only his utter certainty Lord P was male stopped him from making the connection.

“I admit it!” she shot out. “The reason I knew those things is I… I… I have been investigating you!”

“What?”

What?

Items she wished she currently possessed:

1. A vase.

2. A vase.

3. A vase.

“I’ve been investigating you,” she said it slowly, more like a question than an answer. She forged on, “I’ve been asking for information about you.”

Suspicion burned in his eyes. “Why?”

“I was curious. You know a lot about me, so I thought it prudent to learn about you. It was nothing too invasive, just a few questions here and there.”

It was the best excuse she could formulate, and better than she’d hoped. It didn’t truly explain her knowing about the color, since no one who knew would tell, but hopefully he would focus on her knowledge as a whole. If he didn’t…

“Just ask.”

She shot her head up. “What?”

“If you have questions, just ask. I’d be happy to answer.”

She took a deep breath. “Of course.”

He nodded, but took another long look.

She swallowed. By no means was this an exoneration. It was simply a reprieve.

“Lady Priscilla, forgive me for taking so long!” Like a savvier from above, Madame Fleur arrived in a flurry of silk, satin and blond curls. With green eyes and a tall, waiflike appearance, the sought-after modiste was as striking as her fashions. “Your Grace, I was just helping your sister choose gowns. She is going to be magnificent.”

Edmund frowned, and Priscilla felt a stab of pity. No doubt he would find his sister’s come out a challenge.

“I do not care how much I spend, but remember her age,” he rumbled.

Madame Fleur held a hand to her chest. “Of course, Your Grace. She will be beautiful, but entirely appropriate.”

His frown lightened only slightly.

The modiste turned to Priscilla. “But you, my dear, will have much more freedom.”

The frown deepened once more.

Priscilla smiled. “I’ve been thinking about going a little more daring.”

He scowled.

“Perhaps a lot more daring.”

Bradenton looked like he needed a vase. “Lady Priscilla is jesting of course.”

The modiste immediately nodded. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Priscilla clenched her fists, yet didn’t argue. Madame Fleur loved to gossip, and any histrionics would be shared in exaggerated detail with the entirety of the ton .

“Have you selected fabrics yet?”

Priscilla nodded. “I need several gowns for upcoming events. You may use the same pattern as last time.”

“Actually, I have a new design.” The modiste’s eyes darted towards Bradenton. “I assure you, Your Grace, it is entirely proper.”

Priscilla narrowed her eyes. “There has been a misunderstanding. The duke is only here to keep me company. The decision on what to purchase is mine.”

The modiste looked towards Bradenton. Again.

Who didn’t say a word.

Which in itself said a thousand.

Now Priscilla scowled. Even in a space typically reserved for women, he exerted his power.

“I have a dress already made in the new pattern. The particular gown is reserved, but if you like it, I can create one in the fabric of your choice.”

“That would be acceptable.”

Bradenton gestured to where his sister had reemerged. “I will consult with Sophia while Lady Priscilla is dressing. Madame Fleur, if you would be so kind as to let me know when she is appropriate, I will come.”

“That’s not neces–”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Priscilla growled lowly. She snatched up her skirt and turned on her heel.

Pure male satisfaction glinted in his eyes.

Priscilla followed Madame Fleur to the back of the large building. If the showroom had been cluttered, the workroom was overrun, with dozens of seamstresses dashing about, carrying pins and measuring implements amidst hundreds of trims, laces and embellishments. The sound of snipping scissors and quiet chatter filled the air, as they came to another door. Madame Fleur opened it to reveal…

The most beautiful dress Priscilla had ever seen.

It was a gown fit for a princess, or a queen. Crafted in shimmering ivory satin with an over-dress of gauze, the gown possessed intricate embroidery, satin pearls and delicate lace. Faceted diamonds lined the bodice, set in swirling designs, while tiny puff sleeves and a low neckline glistened with jewels, their depths alight in a rainbow of colors.

“Goodness,” Priscilla breathed. “It truly is a work of art.”

Madame Fleur flushed with pleasure. “Thank you. I do believe it’s the most beautiful piece I ever created.”

“I quite agree.” Priscilla moved forward, reverently touching the bodice of the dress. “I can try it on?”

“Of course, my dear.”

Madame Fleur and several assistants set to work. The dress felt nearly weightless as it floated around her, shimmering as she moved. They worked quickly and efficiently, soon tying the final ribbons. Priscilla felt a strange tick of nervousness as the others gazed at her.

Madame Fleur clapped her hands together. “Magnifique!”

The women broke into wide smiles, gifting praise. Their excitement was palpable, their compliments authentic, as they chatted, pointed and beamed.

Priscilla breathed deeply, turned to the mirror. Stopped. And stared.

She possessed many beautiful gowns, many expensive, extravagant and fantastic creations, yet none matched the masterpiece adorning her now. Ethereal fabric molded to her curves, whimsical, light and heavenly. Diamond embellishments glittered in the light, set among intricate beading and delicate lace. The gown matched the diamond necklace to perfection, as if fated to be together.

“My goodness,” she breathed. “It is…”

“Exquisite.”

Priscilla turned at the deep voice. Bradenton stared, his emotions hidden behind an expression of steel. Everyone and everything in the room disappeared as he captured her in his fiery gaze. “The loveliest vision I have ever seen.”

Her breath hitched. It was the sort of statement she heard from a hundred suitors, yet it meant a hundred times more. She heated under his smoldering regard, frozen as he stepped towards her. He studied her every inch, casting a rare lightheadedness set to the tempo of her thundering heart.

“She is a work of art, is she not?” Madame Fleur murmured, moving back.

Priscilla closed her eyes, willing herself to break the moment. Lady Fleur would undoubtedly spill tales of this encounter the moment they departed, yet she could not feign nonchalance. Not with Edmund.

“She is beyond art.” He shook his head as if to clear it, turned to the modiste. “The dress is sold, you say?”

Madame Fleur hesitated, nodded. “I’m afraid so. It is for Lady Drummond.”

Priscilla started. Lady Drummond was a dragon in the ton, brusque, curt and feared. She was also a grandmother of twelve. “I’ve never seen her wear anything like this.”

“Of course, not, my dear.” Madame Fleur tittered. “I meant Miss Drummond commissioned it for her granddaughter.” The modiste sobered. “A shame for the dress to go to the child.”

Priscilla opened her mouth to protest, but Madame Fleur held up her hand. “I did not mean she does not deserve it. Every lady should look beautiful for their come out. It is simply not the right dress for Lady Clara. She is extremely pale, and this color will cast her as sickly. Someone with your coloring brings out its true beauty.” The modiste sighed. “A light blue or blush would be acceptable and highlight Clara’s loveliness. It was what she preferred and I encouraged, but her grandmother was insistent on ivory or white. I’m afraid neither the dress nor the lady will do each other justice. I wish Lady Drummond would allow me to create the dress in a different color.”

Priscilla frowned. Lady Drummond was set in her ways, and few argued with her. Yet Priscilla sometimes wondered if she was as bad as society believed, for she donated generously to charitable causes.

“Can you recreate the dress?” Edmund asked.

The modiste shook her head. “I’m afraid not. The embroidery is one of a kind, secured from an exclusive artist in France. The lace is equally difficult to find, and I used my best diamonds on it. Of course, I can make something in the same pattern, but it will not be the same.”

Rare disappointment surfaced. Priscilla spent little time on fashion, but she had never loved a gown like this. “Please create something in a similar pattern. Do you need measurements?”

“I have everything I need from your last fitting.”

“Oh my dear!” Her mother beamed as she entered the room. “You look absolutely gorgeous.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Priscilla smoothed down the dress. “Unfortunately it is sold.”

“Oh no!” her mother cried. “What a pity. Tell me you can create something similar, Madame Fleur.”

“I will do my best.” The modiste gave a strained smile. “It will be beautiful, of course.”

Priscilla stepped down from the pedestal and turned to Edmund. “I need a few minutes to change. If your sister is ready to leave, please don’t wait on me.”

“Of course I will wait on you.” Something flashed in his eyes. “After all, we still have much planned.”

“I’m sorry?”

He didn’t answer, instead glanced around the room.

“What are you looking for?”

“Just making sure there are no vases.”

Her breath hitched. “What have you done?”

He gave a brilliant smile. “Since we are all together, I suggested to your mother we go on a picnic.”

“And I thought it would be a wonderful idea.” Her mother smiled in delight. “Don’t you agree?”

Yes.

Then, the voice in her head disagreed, No.

Yes.

No.

Edmund leaned in so only she could hear. “Did you think you would escape so easily?”

No.

“This was such a splendid idea, Edmund. I’m quite amazed you thought of it.”

Edmund leaned over and ruffled Sophia’s hair. “I do have them once in a while, poppet.”

She giggled, and he softened. No matter how old she was, she still reminded him of that cheeky little girl who stole Cook’s tarts.

He relaxed back into the soft green grass. They sat in a shaded clearing in Hyde Park, close enough to see the open carriages pass but far enough to have some semblance of privacy. It was a glorious day, the trees brilliant emerald against the baby blue sky, a gentle breeze bringing a tempering coolness. Birds soared above them, watching over the peaceful surroundings.

He smiled as he regarded his sister. “This isn’t the only good idea I’ve had.”

“It isn’t?” Sophia’s lips curled mischievously. “I hadn’t noticed.”

He grinned wider. “Oh you hadn’t? You seemed pleased when I allowed you to purchase three hundred and fifty-two dresses.”

Sophia chuckled again. “I did not purchase three hundred and fifty-two dresses. Of course if you don’t think I bought enough, we could go back and–”

“That’s not necessary,” Edmund quickly interrupted. Yet in truth the errand had not been as laborious as a typical trip to the modiste.

Not with Priscilla there.

He had been thunderstruck when he saw her in that gown. Floored, flabbergasted, overwhelmed and more. It was stunning, yet the lady was the most enchanting of all. She was a true diamond of the first water.

The dress had been made for her. Not literally perhaps, but it was perfection. He knew Lady Drummond and what she truly sought. As soon as possible, he would pay her a visit and negotiate a deal that would be to the satisfaction of all. Whatever it took, he would secure the dress for Priscilla.

Then he would secure Priscilla for himself.

His sister made a face, and he brought his attention back to her. Of course, he did not mean to act the miser. “Purchase as many dresses as necessary. Whatever you need, financially or otherwise, you may always come to me.”

Sophia’s gaze softened, and his heart squeezed. His sister was turning into a beautiful woman. “I know that, Edmund. I was just teasing you.”

“Just so.” He deepened his voice, stiffened as he thought of launching his beautiful, vulnerable sister into society.

Considered how much a tower cost.

Priscilla smiled at his sister. As he’d hoped, the two ladies had taken to each other like old friends, perhaps too well, judging by Sophia’s eager sharing of her childhood antics. Yet she spoke in good humor, with nothing severe enough to make Priscilla wary.

Priscilla bit into a juicy apple, and he forced himself to look away. He wanted to give her time to accept the inevitable before solidifying the match. Yet it grew more and more difficult to not claim her with each day.

Especially since he knew the ultimate outcome.

“How about we play a game?” His sister smiled widely.

Emma and the duchess immediately bobbed their heads. The others groaned, but agreed with good-humored smiles.

“Do you have a particular game in mind?”

“I do.” Sophia’s eyes sparkled. “Let’s create a story. Each of us tells a small part, adding a twist or something unexpected. I’ll go first.” She rubbed her hands together. “Once there was a very handsome prince. He was brave and strong and loved by everyone in the kingdom. The day had finally come to find his princess.” She stopped, her smile wide and dreamy.

“I’ll go next,” Crawford looked directly at Hannah. “There was also a princess in this tale. She was sweet and soft-spoken and always listened to her male relatives.”

Edmund choked back a laugh. Crawford was grinning widely at Hannah.

And she looked like she was about to clobber him.

“I’ll go next.” Hannah smiled sweetly. “Unfortunately, the prince developed a terrible disease and all his teeth fell out. The princess decided she would rather create her own destiny, so she set out to conquer the world.”

Everyone laughed, Crawford the hardest of all. He winked at Hannah.

She scowled.

“Fortunately, matters were not as dire as they appeared,” Duchess Sherring jumped in. “The prince met a mysterious lady, only she was not as she seemed. She was actually a kind sorceress, and she restored his perfect teeth. He returned to his quest to find his princess.”

“Who was having a fantastic time all on her own,” Emma continued the tale. “She learned new skills, performed good deeds and helped many people. Everyone loved her.”

“Especially the prince, because she was simply perfect for him.” Peyton smiled at Emma, bringing a blush to her cheeks. “He set out to prove they were meant to be together. When a fierce dragon threatened her, he rushed to her defense.”

“Yet his assistance was unnecessary,” Priscilla said quietly. “She did not need anyone to rescue her. She saved the entire town and became a true heroine.”

His turn.

“When the hero finally found the princess, he didn’t try to change her. Nor did he stop her from conquering the world.”

He watched her carefully, searching for any sign of emotion. With the last word barely out of his mouth, she broke in, “That’s not true. He wants to turn her into the weak princess she once was.”

“She was never weak.” He gazed at her, willing her to see the truth behind his words. “She was always brave and strong. Yet together, they could conquer any enemy, bring peace and prosperity to the world.”

“How can she believe that? In a world where she is less, how can she believe he’ll allow her to be more?”

“Because he lo–”

He froze, yet his gaze remained riveted on the woman before him, as the world melted away. Priscilla’s expression reflected shock, confusion and something far stronger: hope . He closed his mouth in measured movements, lifted his chin.

She met his stare with an unreadable one of her own. The others watched in stunned silence, their eyes parrying between the two of them, waiting to digest the next act of what was no longer a game.

Why had he said that? What did it mean? Not the literal words, but the instinctive impulse behind them, and the reaction she could not hide. He could not understand his own motives, much less the feelings she kept locked behind a chiseled wall of silence.

For now he could do nothing except remain silent.

It was not time for the story to end.