Secrets of a Duke's Daughter (The Duchess's Investigative Society Book 1) Page 4

The man caught it with the swiftest of movements. “Shall I awaken the cook?”

  Luke shook his head. “Some bread and cheese will do him.”

  He would not mind a chunk of bread to soak up the alcohol either, so he did not awaken still suffering. It had been some time since he’d indulged. He was inclined to blame Cassie—seeing her there, all smiling and radiant in the cloud of lit lanterns and flowers made him want to tear at his skin until he removed the swirling sensations she caused. That wasn’t possible, so he’d drained a decent amount of wine instead.

  At least she did not seem to be doing anything else untoward. As far as he could tell, she had enjoyed the night with her sisters and her friends. Perhaps being caught sneaking about by him had frightened her enough to put an end to whatever it was she was up to.

  A voice in the back of his mind said otherwise but he ignored it.

  Noel slung an arm over Luke’s shoulders and drew him close. “You are a fine brother.”

  Luke rolled his eyes. “As are you. Now let us get you some food.”

  Together, they made their way down to the kitchen, Noel hindering almost every step with some remark on the decor of the house which had been in place for several years or uttering something about the night and the beautiful women in attendance.

  “You know...I am rather surprised you did not go home with Mrs. Talbot. She was most eager and that bosom...” He motioned with two hands. “A man could get lost in that bosom.”

  “If I had done that, who would be here to feed you?”

  Luke escorted his brother into the kitchen and eased him onto a chair set by the still warm range.

  Noel spread out his legs and folded his arms then eyed Luke. “You might have the title, Brother, but do you have to be a bore? You were once one of the most famed rakes in London.”

  “That is the second time you have accused me of being a bore.”

  Luke lit two lamps then went off in search of food. After discovering the bread, he sawed off a chunk with a knife then set it on a plate along with some cheese and butter he found in the pantry.

  “I love you.” Noel paused and a loud, echoing snore emanated from him.

  He debated leaving him. Let him awake, cold and stiff while servants bustled around him, but Noel really needed to get some food into him.

  He sighed and gave his brother a shake. “Eat,” he commanded.

  Noel took a slab of bread, tore a piece off and stuffed it into his mouth. “I want you to be happy,” he muttered around the bread.

  “As do I for you, Noel. But what makes you think I am unhappy?”

  “This viscount business.” His brother waved a hand, scattering breadcrumbs everywhere like snowfall. “You have not been the same since Father died.”

  Luke eyed the spread of crumbs about his brother. The cook would not be impressed by the mess in the morning.

  “This viscount business is what keeps this family going, Noel,” he reminded him.

  “I know but there are plenty of rakish viscounts.”

  “I am hardly a saint,” Luke pointed out.

  “But you are not like you were.”

  He did not deny inheriting the title had changed him somewhat. Or perhaps it was how their father died. He’d been more than rakish in his youth—he’d been out of control. After realizing his foolishness, he’d tempered his behavior, but he still enjoyed life.

  It was not that he did not enjoy it now but continuing down this path left him with a bitter taste. Of course, becoming more involved than he wished to be with Cassie did not help matters. She made him wish—God forbid—to be a better man.

  “What happened to Father was a miserable accident.” Noel crammed more bread into his mouth. “An accident,” he repeated, though Luke scarcely made out the words through the mouthful of bread.

  He knew that. But his untimely death would not have happened if his father had not wanted more. Sailing to America had been entirely unnecessary but his father had been determined there were better investments out there, better ways to help the family rise to the top. They had not needed more wealth or a higher station. What a waste to have lost his life at sea.

  First his father, then Parsons. Life was short. And it was squandered wanting more.

  Chapter Five

  Cassie enjoyed a good ball as much as the next person though she had to admit she would not be sad to slip out of this one. The heat in the ballroom at Presden had grown to unbearable levels with bodies crammed together tighter than a debutante’s stays.

  Twice someone had nearly spilled madeira on her and her delicate gold slippers would be lucky to survive another trampling. Thanks to the rain, no one opted for escaping to the gardens and the windows remained tightly shut.

  She dodged a pointy elbow of an elderly gentleman and checked her dance card, lifting it high to peer at it in the muted golden light. Good. She’d managed to avoid any more requests and would be free to slip out at any moment. All she had to do was ensure Luke did not notice her leave.

  Easier said than done, though. The man watched her like a hawk, his lips pulled into a knowing smile. He’d always been the determined sort, whether it was seeking out his next conquest or arguing with her over the merits of law reformation, but this was getting a little ridiculous. Could she not even enjoy attending a ball?

  Of course, her desire to be present was not entirely dictated by it being the height of the Season and the expectation that she attend. Its proximity to Hunters and Associates did not hurt her eagerness one jot. She could stroll down the street, slip into the building and search for Mr. Harding’s will. The solicitors surely held a copy for their client after all and she had brushed up on her lockpicking skills so it should be a breeze.

  Once she slipped out from Luke’s attentive gaze that was.

  She turned to Aunt Sarah, who had opted for eye-catching jewel tones that clashed in a brazen swish of fabric topped with enough feathers to create headpieces for a dozen women. “Viscount Whitehurst is over there, Aunt. I do believe you might enjoy engaging him in conversation.”

  Aunt Sarah rose onto tiptoes, her petite height scarcely affording her a view of Luke on the opposite side of the ballroom. Her eyes crinkled. “I heard he called for you yesterday. Are you certain you do not wish for his attention? What a devastatingly strong profile that man has. I should rather like to paint it.”

  Cassie had no desire to comment on his strong profile or dwell on his attractiveness. “Perhaps you can go and ask him if he will allow you to?”

  “It seems such a shame.” Her aunt sighed so loudly Cassie even heard it over the chatter around her and the strain of the waltz. “I rather enjoy a determined man and you could certainly do worse.”

  “I have no need of a husband and I am certain Luke has no interest in me in that way. He has known me forever after all.”

  “Even better.” Aunt Sarah gave a wide grin. “He knows you well and you know him. What a perfect match that would be. You know, I very nearly married a family friend of ours. He was so dashing but utterly penniless and—”

  “Aunt Sarah, I really must go,” Cassie said firmly.

  “Oh yes. Do not get into too much trouble.” She flicked her feathers, hitting a gentleman in the face. “Well, a little trouble never hurt anyone.” She winked before pressing her way through the crowds toward Luke.

  Once her aunt engaged Luke in conversation, Cassie made her way out of the ballroom. Aunt Sarah had more stories than any woman she knew and would keep Luke busy for some time with any luck.

  She escaped onto the front street and gulped down a breath of fresh air. The rain had eased, lightly pattering her skin with a refreshing coolness. She tilted her head up briefly to savor it then marched determinedly in the direction of the solicitors’ office. The streets were quiet with the grand houses hosting most of the ton and the rain keeping people inside. She allowed herself a little grin. All the better for her.

  A tall building housed the solicitors alongside accountants a
nd some sort of shipping business. No lamps were lit, but with the solicitors being at the front of the building, the street lamp out front would offer enough light to aid her search. She glanced around, slipped her picks out of her concealed pocket and set to work on the front door.

  Her pulse made its way down to her fingertips and the cool rain could not defeat the heat slowly spreading its way through her body, making her hands hot. All she needed to do was slip in, read the will and return to the ball. If anyone asked about her slightly damp appearance, she could feign feeling faint and needing the air.

  Reading the will was of utmost importance. With Jane not being privy to it, they had to see if there was something being deliberately hidden from her and they had to figure out where the promised dowry had gone. Cassie had known Jane’s brother and he doted on his sister. She had to agree with Jane—there was no chance her brother would have left her out of the will. Something untoward had happened and Cassie was determined to discover what.

  When the tumblers of the lock gave way, she resisted the desire to give a triumphant shout. Her practice had not been for naught. She would not likely need to access the viscount’s safe again if she found the will but she hungered to give it another try, so long as blasted Luke did not interrupt her again.

  “Who goes there?”

  Cassie twisted, released a startled sound and dropped her picks. A watchman hastened down the street toward her, his lamp lifted high. She hesitated, thinking to grab her picks but the man increased his pace. She could not let him see her here, especially with lockpicks in hand. Or almost in hand. What scandal it would be for the daughter of the Duke of Daventry to be breaking into somewhere. She would never be allowed to be part of the investigative society again.

  Skirts in hand, she fled around the corner. Her footing gave way as she rounded it, catching on a slippery puddle. She tumbled onto her rear and felt the rip of fabric before she heard the splash.

  “Curses!”

  Water soaked her gloves and her skirts. When she scrabbled to get up, she ended up with her knees in said puddle. Apparently she had fallen in the deepest puddle in all of London. Blast her rotten luck.

  As she came to her feet, a closed carriage pulled up in front of her. The door opened and Luke put his head out and offered her a hand, glancing briefly at the watchman on the opposite side of the street.

  “Need a ride, Lady Cassandra?”

  ***

  FROM CASSIE’S TORN gown to her mud-soaked gloves, there was no reason at all to find any of this remotely amusing. Or worse. Somewhat arousing.

  She hesitated the briefest moment, flinging a glance at the man apparently pursuing her before snatching his hand and allowing him to haul her into the vehicle. He slammed the door shut and ordered the vehicle on with a tap to the roof.

  Cassie tumbled onto the seat beside him and put her head in her hands.

  “Care to explain?” he asked.

  She twisted her head briefly sideways to view him. “No.”

  Luke eased her hands away from her face and pressed a finger under her chin. Her muddied gloves left marks on her forehead and he drew out a handkerchief and rubbed the worst of it away then lifted her face toward the lit lamps to rub the speckles of dirt intermingling with her freckles.

  When his finger brushed near the corner of her mouth, her lips parted, and he was certain he might very well have passed out for a brief moment as the blood rushed to his nether regions.

  He fisted the handkerchief and thrust it into the pocket of his jacket.

  “I was just—”

  He held up a hand. “Let me guess? Getting some air?”

  “Yes.” Her gaze remained lowered.

  He smirked. Cassie did not do demure. Ever. So he really must have caught her doing something scandalous. That sharp jolt struck him deep in his gut, like a knife searing its way to the center of him. There were few things of which a young lady might be ashamed of doing and he could only think of one for the moment. It did not explain exactly why a watchman pursued her, however.

  “Were you meeting a lover?”

  Her gaze shot to his, the blue of her eyes dark in the confines of the carriage. “Of course not!”

  “Well, I cannot fathom why else you would be sneaking out and getting yourself into such...” He gestured up and down her and regretted following his gesture with his gaze.

  Her delicate white gown might be muddied but that did not detract from how it emphasized her delicate breasts with matching white trim or how the damp skirts clung to the outline of her legs. What made it worse was the tear in her gown that left a thigh exposed. He no longer had to imagine how long and slender her legs were. They were there for all to see.

  Well, not for all. Just him. Him and him alone. Where no etiquette or sense of propriety could hinder his perusal of her.

  He inhaled sharply. “You are an attractive woman and no doubt you are bored. I would not blame you—”

  “Why must I be bored?”

  He shrugged. “Are all rich young women not bored?”

  “Oh I suppose I must need a man to feel satisfied.”

  Luke groaned inwardly. He did not need to be seeing her legs—or leg—and thinking of satisfaction. He suspected the only way he would feel satisfied would be to go to bed as soon as he returned home and pictured those long legs straddling him. Assuming of course the other leg matched the revealed one which he suspected was a certain bet. His hand and his imagination would be a far cry from the reality, however.

  “Cassie, you are filthy, your gown is torn, and you were running as though you had been caught doing something scandalous indeed. What else must I assume?”

  “I am filthy and torn because I fell in a puddle and this wretched gown is far too delicate.” She bunched some of the fabric in a fist with a huff of annoyance and tossed it to one side.

  He snapped his gaze upward when the movement revealed the shadows between her thighs. He’d never thought of shadows as enticing until now. Now he longed to drop to his knees, press into the darkness and see what else he could find.

  With his mouth or his fingers, he wasn’t fussy.

  Teeth gritted, he forced his gaze to remain on her face. As her brother’s friend, she trusted him. Hell, her whole family trusted him. Even Society would not blink at them being alone together in his carriage. He had to do better, be better. If she knew what he was thinking—

  A tear trickled down her cheek and his gut clenched. “Oh Little Cassie, forgive me, I did not mean to scold...” He reached for her and drew her close.

  He could not be certain if she sidled that way or if he drew her onto him, but she ended up in his lap with her head buried in the crook of his neck. Concentrating fiercely on maintaining control, he smoothed a hand up and down her back and cradled her head against him while she sniffled a few times before lifting her face to look at him.

  “I am making a fine mess of everything,” she admitted.

  “Can I help?”

  She shook her head, biting down on her bottom lip.

  “You know I would do anything for you, Cassie. Just say the word.”

  “I know you would. You are a good friend.” She smiled softly and put a hand to his shoulder.

  A friend. Yes. A friend who comforted, who protected. A friend who did not, for example, stroke a hand down the gentle slope of her back, feeling the little notches of her spine or the boning of her stays. A friend who didn’t meet her gaze and imagine something sparking there. Because that’s what it had to be, surely? His imagination.

  Her lips parted, offering up that sweet cupid’s bow mouth as her chin tilted. “Luke,” she said softly.

  “Yes?”

  “Would you...would you kiss me?”

  Here it was. The devil testing him. There was no other explanation. Whatever the reason behind the question, he could not bring himself to believe she really, truly wanted a kiss from him.

  He gazed down at her, still cradling her head, his hand seeming hug
e compared to her delicate face. It reminded him of how vulnerable a position she had put herself in. She deserved more. Better. A prince with a fortune and palaces perhaps and someone who was not her brother’s best friend.

  Swallowing hard, he uttered the words he suspected he might regret for the rest of his life, “I cannot.”

  Chapter Six

  With a grimace, Cassie tugged on the collar of the shirt. “We are getting new uniforms for our staff,” she declared. She ran a finger alongside the stiffly starched white shirt. “This fabric is unbearably itchy.”

  Demeter shook her head. A tiny bunch of white heather tucked amongst her chignon swayed precariously. Cassie still had no idea what the flower meant. One day she would remember to read up on it.

  “Anton will never say yes,” her sister said.

  Cassie leaned forward and pressed hands to her hair. “Are you certain I look plain enough?”

  Eleanor tweaked the bow of Cassie’s apron and stood back. “You will never be plain, Cassie. But you look like a servant.”

  Cassie twisted this way and that, eyeing her reflection critically. The last time she had worn black had been after Uncle Simon died and she loathed every minute of it. However, the color and the ‘costume’ would aid her in her task tonight.

  To get that wretched will once and for all.

  After her last disastrous attempt and a moment of weakness with Luke that made her cheeks heat with humiliation when she thought on it, she had pondered hard on how best to get into the solicitors unnoticed.

  Dressing as a maid seemed an obvious choice now and she had driven past the building six times this week. The watchman was a creature of habit and strolled down that road at exactly the same time every night. She would not make the same mistake twice and she would get that will.

  “Are you certain this will work?” Demeter pressed a finger to her lips. “What if you run into danger? Maybe you should take the carriage?”

  “I cannot. Our family crest alone will draw attention and I can hardly risk anyone else knowing of our activities.”