Wagers of a Duke's Daughter (The Duchess's Investigative Society Book 3) Page 2

  Damn his cousin. Damn this situation. This was no place for him, no place at all. He could be enjoying a fine meal and flirting with one of Mrs. Day’s attractive friends or conversing with one of his old Oxford pals. This was the sort of place where one did not gamble for fun and the people here—people who would throw their lives away on mere chance—were fools.

  Even the exceedingly young and scrawny chap he’d noticed was a fool though he seemed to be faring well, much to the annoyance of those he played against. If Blake didn’t know better, he’d say the boy was cheating but his rosy-faced, clear complexion and wide, dark eyes offered an air of innocence he imagined his opponents had taken as weakness to be exploited. By the look of his winnings, his opponents had sorely underestimated him.

  Not that it mattered. He was here to find a woman. For no other reason than information. He shook his head to himself. What had happened to him? He’d looked forward to the Season for the women, the wit, and the wine. Now he was having to attend secretive meetings and chase up useless private investigators.

  If it wasn’t for the fact this was about Aunt Iris’s inheritance, he’d be walking straight out of here and accepting the arrival of this cousin with his usual relaxed attitude. But this whole situation stank worse than a tanners. It seemed Foster was indeed the illegitimate son of his late-aunt and he still could not believe Aunt Iris had never confided such a fact to him.

  Even then, though, he would not have questioned the matter if it had not been for the fact he’d been entirely written out of the will whilst Foster inherited it all. There would be those who would think him sore, given he had lost out, but he had wealth enough—even his bastard of a father made sure of that.

  No, this was nothing to do with coin and everything to do with principal. Aunt Iris intended to share her wealth far more widely than giving it to one illegitimate son who had only sprung up since Iris’s death. There had been several charities close to her heart who stood to inherit, not to mention the church on her estate and her favored servants. None of them saw a shilling according to the will, and it had taken several days for Blake to even comprehend that. Had Foster talked her out of her plans to share her wealth? Was there something more sinister? Had he paid off the solicitor perhaps?

  Whatever it was, if Mr. Long could not get to the heart of the matter, it would have to be up to Blake.

  The fragrance of lilacs returned and he straightened his spine. A woman with pouting, red-painted lips and heavily lined eyes pressed a hand to his chest and leaned in. He wouldn’t have felt her slip something into his jacket had it not been for her pointed look down. To anyone outside of the interaction, it would look as though the redhead was propositioning him.

  “That is the information,” she whispered when she leaned in. “There is more should you need it but it will cost more.”

  “I’ll send it through Long,” he murmured. “I want all the information you can get.”

  She nodded, letting a sultry smile slip across her lips. “I can give you more than information if you wish.”

  He closed his eyes briefly. He loved redheads. Well, he loved all women. Red, fair, dark. But he didn’t have time for a dalliance thanks to damned Foster. “Another time perhaps.”

  She shrugged and moved on. A shout from one of the tables prevented him from drawing out the paper she’d pressed into his inside pocket and he glanced at the young boy as he shoved his winnings into his pockets.

  The boy looked in his direction and when their gazes met, a strange jolt of something like recognition speared through him. The boy’s eyes widened and he hastened to thrust the coin and notes of promises into the oversized jacket.

  Blake narrowed his gaze. His gut twinged. He had an instinct about the boy.

  Briefly touching the outside of his pocket, feeling for the shape of his most treasured possession, he sighed.

  Blake never, ever ignored his instincts.

  Chapter Three

  “Thank you, gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure,” Demeter uttered in the low tones she had adopted as part of her disguise as she scraped up her winnings, ignoring the puffed red cheeks of the Italian gentleman opposite her.

  He’d been more of a competitor than she’d anticipated. Still, she’d bested him and would be depositing a sizeable amount into the coffers of the hospital for deaf children tomorrow.

  A tremor rippled up her spine. She stilled halfway through sifting the coins into one of the many pockets in her jacket and glanced up.

  Her heart gave a sharp leap against her ribcage when she met his gaze. She swallowed hard.

  Blake.

  He headed directly for her.

  Surely he did not recognize her? Whilst they might have spent plenty of time out in Society together, she could count their actual conversations on one hand. She kept to herself and he’d never paid attention to her. Why would he? She was a wallflower.

  Or worse.

  She blended so seamlessly with the walls that she might as well not exist. She preferred it that way. At least then she did not have to converse on tired matters like the weather or Lady Hartley’s new wallpapers or how this ball is much more pleasant than that ball. Words had not always come easily to her and she’d far rather save them for interesting and educational conversation.

  But she was most certainly not interested in conversing with Blake right now, regardless of the content. He could not discover her. Not here.

  She grabbed the last few coins, fisted them in her hand, tugged down the ugly floppy hat she refused to remove and twisted sharply away from the table. Pressing through the crowds of people, her heart thudded so hard she felt it in her throat.

  Perhaps he had not been coming for her. Perhaps he was simply heading in her direction and it was a coincidence. Demeter didn’t really believe in coincidences but the chances of him identifying her were slim. Aunt Sarah helped her put together an excellent disguise and her slender frame meant there was little need to bind her breasts or disguise a curving waistline. Combined with her sharp jawline, even she did not recognize herself as anything other than a young man when she looked in the mirror.

  She shoved the final coins into the outer pocket of her jacket and, keeping her head low, she forced her way through a crowd of excitable young men who smelled of brandy and the impending air of money lost.

  She inhaled deeply when she emerged onto the road before the building. Chimneys bilged their smoke into the sky, cutting through the clear, star-speckled heavens and clogging the air. The rest of the buildings were smaller than Pidgeon’s, all put together in a haphazard fashion of sloping roofs and angled walls.

  Once upon a time, this area would have been a small village with the gaming hell acting as an assembly hall but now the region had been absorbed into London, neighborhoods like this had become home to anything licentious, including taverns and brothels. Her sisters would have a fit if they knew she was here but Aunt Sarah had vowed to keep her activity a secret. Besides, no one would bother her as a man and goodness knew, her sisters had done plenty of daring things in pursuit of investigations. This might not be trying to solve a murder or capture a forger but she had a noble reason for her activities.

  Demeter kept up a brisk pace, pausing only briefly to glance behind. Blake was nowhere to be seen and only a few people lingered in the road, none of them paying attention to her.

  “There. See,” she told herself. “All is well.”

  She ignored the little dropping sensation of her heart. Of course he did not recognize her. Of course he was not going to sweep in and shove her hat from her head and bend her over and kiss her before declaring his unending love for her. The man did not know she existed and she had made her peace with that a long time ago.

  Had she not?

  She stilled, scowling and stiffened her shoulders when a shiver threatened to wrack her. Eyeing the shadows that were emphasized by the lamps lit in small windows, she shook her head to herself. No Blake, and no one else either. She was being paran
oid.

  Gulping down a deep breath, she lowered her head and pushed on. Home was only a twenty-minute walk from here and she had done it several nights this week. She had never encountered any trouble and had a knife secreted upon her person should she need it. Chastity had taught her some self-defense so she had no concerns for her safety, even if Aunt Sarah—who could usually be counted upon to push her and her sisters into daring situations—had been worried about the journey. She could hardly order her father’s carriage though, could she? Oh, excuse me, Brother, Father, while I disguise myself as a boy so I can finally do something exciting with my life and help a cause dear to my heart?

  She snorted to herself. Anton would have a fit. Her brother was a conservative man who could not believe he had two spinster sisters and two more who had fallen in love in the most unlikely of ways. She’d wager if someone told him about what she’d been doing, he would turn purple and faint.

  None of it mattered anyway. No one would know the truth behind her generous donations when she arrived at the hospital dressed like a proper lady and even if she saw Blake again, there was no chance he would think the demure Lady Demeter Fallon would do something so bold as disguise herself and best seasoned men at cards. No chance at all.

  ***

  Really, he should still be in the gaming hell. Figuring out how the devil his cousin had tricked his aunt into giving all her money to him was his priority.

  Not following some youth who was a fool to be strolling around these streets alone with a pocketful of winnings. There was something about the boy, though. When he’d met Blake’s gaze, panic flared in his expression. If that wasn’t reason to be suspicious of the stranger, the fact he caused the slightest spark of recognition was. Had he seen him with his cousin perhaps? Maybe he knew something about his cousin’s dealings with the men who ran the club and feared being questioned. Whatever the reason, Blake found himself trailing after the scrawny chap.

  Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one. Two other men followed. Both had been lurking about the club and he’d kept his distance from them, suspecting them to be pickpockets. They had a hungry look in their eyes—and their frames—that suggested they would not mind roughing someone up for money.

  No one with eyes could fail to notice the way the boy had bested his opponents repeatedly, and Blake imagined he had scarcely lost a single hand by the pile of winnings he’d shoved into his pockets. How the chap remained standing carrying so much, he did not know. His scrawny legs were highlighted by dark, oddly fitting trousers and a jacket that implied he might have once weighed more or had inherited it from his father. How a boy beat seasoned gamblers, he did not know, but Blake had watched enough cheaters to know he hadn’t won by nefarious means.

  He blew out a breath and kept his distance from the two men, moving silently along the street. A few people lingered in doorways or strolled down the center of the empty road so he doubted the men would attack here but once they did the boy would stand no chance. As starved as these men were, they were a good foot or so taller than him and his skinny frame wouldn’t help him one jot. If either of them so much as grabbed him, he pictured him being snapped in half.

  So now he was going to have to interfere and protect the boy. For selfish reasons of course. He wanted to speak with him and figure out why he’d acted so oddly when their gazes had met. However, he couldn’t deny the tiny part of him that he thought he’d shoved aside long ago—the part of him that could not help but stand up for those less fortunate than him. He knew all too well what it was like to be bullied and beaten and picked apart. He couldn’t let it happen to this fresh-faced chap, even if he was somehow in league with his cousin.

  The boy rounded a corner and both men moved swiftly.

  Damn it. He wished his instincts had been wrong. The wretched feeling in his gut never was, though. He always, always trusted his instincts and they never failed him. Like that time Lady Grenville’s husband returned home early. Or how this mess with his cousin made him itch from the inside out.

  These men were going to attack the boy and take his money. He had no doubt about it.

  Blake moved faster, striding around the corner as the two men snatched the back of the boy’s coat. He let out a decidedly high-pitched squeal which had Blake wondering if the boy was younger than he’d realized.

  The boy wriggled against the hold the man had on the back of his jacket and lifted tiny, balled fists. Blake shook his head. If he had any sense, the boy would give up all his money and be grateful to be left untouched.

  The other man went to thrust a hand inside one of the jacket pockets and the boy lashed out with a foot. It connected with the inside of the man’s thigh and he released a harsh curse, then lifted a fist.

  “Do that again and I’ll beat you senseless,” the injured man said, his words slightly slurred.

  “Hurry up,” the other man urged. “Before someone comes.”

  “I’ll cut you if you touch me,” the boy hissed as he fumbled inside his jacket.

  Blake had to give it to the boy. He had courage.

  Leaned against the wall of the nearby draper’s shop, allowing the light from the street lamp to reveal him to the men, Blake gave a twisted smile. “Someone has come.”

  The man holding the boy cursed again and gestured wildly. “This ain’t nothing to do with you. Be gone unless you want a beating too.”

  Blake pushed away from the wall and moved closer. “I can’t do that I’m afraid.”

  The boy’s eyes widened and then he lowered his gaze. Even in the midst of a mugging, he didn’t want to look Blake in the eye. Why was that? He knew there was something odd about him.

  “This ain’t your business,” the taller man said, balling his fists and rounding on Blake.

  Blake didn’t give him a chance. He had little desire to waste the rest of the evening. He struck swiftly, hitting the man directly in the nose and feeling the satisfying crunch of bone. The man stumbled back a few steps and clutched his nose. Even in the dim light, Blake saw blood dripping between his fingers.

  Before he could take care of the other man, the boy slipped a knife from his inner pocket and swiped wildly back and forth whilst trying to turn to attack the man still holding him. Blake darted out of the way but not before he felt the slight sting of the blade upon his cheek. He snatched the boy’s wrist, squeezed hard and heard the knife clatter to the floor.

  “You’re going to kill yourself,” he muttered, “and me,” before he tore the boy and the man apart. It only took a quick, hard punch to the man’s gut to send him on his way.

  He twisted, grabbed the boy’s arm and jerked him a few steps away from the prone men. As he fought Blake’s hold, the hat spilled from the boy’s head and long strands of hair tumbled about his shoulders. His shoulders? Blake blinked a few times.

  “You’re a woman.”

  Her eyes widened and she tore herself from his grasp, then fled. Shaking his head, Blake bent to retrieve the knife and shoved it into his jacket pocket.

  “A woman,” he murmured to himself. And a specific woman at that.

  Chapter Four

  Demeter gnawed on the end of her thumb and glanced at her aunt. Aunt Sarah occupied the chaise longue like a lady from a dramatic painting. Even her wrap mimicked the great swathes of fabric so often seen on the usually naked women. Thankfully Aunt Sarah’s naked days were long gone though, apparently in her youth there had been many a time her aunt had swam naked in the lakes at the country estate. She doubted those Greek goddesses spent time talking to their cat and brushing him to within an inch of their life, however.

  She forced her attention back to the book in her hand but the words blurred into nothing. Surely given her aunt’s proclivity for bold actions, she would not be shocked if Demeter confessed all.

  I practically stabbed a member of the ton, she would say. And he probably recognized me.

  But maybe he did not. He’d been shocked to be certain to realize she was a woman but there was
no evidence he knew who she was. It had been exactly four hundred and thirty-two days since they had last talked. She knew that because he’d murmured a greeting to her at the ball at Berrington House and that had been six days before her birthday. Maybe he’d forgotten what she looked like.

  She flicked the edge of the page with a finger, over and over. He might have forgotten her face but surely if he saw her again, he’d figure out who she was.

  It had been dark, though. And she’d hardly looked like a lady, even with her hair loose. If he said anything, she could simply declare innocence and act as though he were mad. After all, what sort of a duke’s daughter would dress up as a man to go and gamble with those sorts of people? She could just deny it all and he could hardly question the word of a lady now, could he?

  “Is something the matter?” Aunt Sarah asked, mid-brush.

  Simon the cat twisted, giving her a look that indicated he was annoyed about the interruption. The almost purely white cat spent practically every hour at her aunt’s side since it arrived on their doorstep years ago and her aunt had declared it must be her dead husband, come back as a cat to comfort her. That flea-ridden, half-starved creature was a far cry from the pampered kitty currently eyeing Demeter with what she could swear was annoyance.

  Her aunt wouldn’t be shocked. It took a lot to shock her. Her admission about last Season, when she had taken the biggest risk to her reputation ever hadn’t even been enough to stagger her aunt. Even Demeter’s declaration that she was going to be bolder, more exciting and do daring things such as play real card games for proper stakes hadn’t surprised her.

  In fact, her aunt had supported her. But she wasn’t certain she wanted to admit she had messed it all up already by letting her silly infatuation with Blake give herself away. If only she had not looked him in the eye. If only she had run the moment she’d escaped that man’s hold. But no. She wanted to check he was well, check she hadn’t done more damage to his handsome face than she’d feared.