The Duke's Deceit Read online

  In fact, where was Wilkens, she wondered. She could always count on him to know everything that went on in the house.

  At that exact moment Wilkens came running from the back of the house. His unusually high color was as odd as his absence from his post at the door had been.

  “Wilkens, have you any idea where my son is, or why Miss Masterton has gone off to St. James Place alone?” Her voice, she was pleased to hear, showed nothing of her profound concern.

  “His Grace is at Fordham Mansion on urgent business, and it’s my firm belief Miss Masterton has gone off to find Miss Barton, who appears to have quit the house for good.”

  “What?” the duchess nearly shrieked.

  It was so out of character that both Arabella and Wilkens turned startled eyes to her face.

  “Explain yourself at once, Wilkens!” she demanded.

  “Miss Barton left this morning unbeknownst to Miss Masterton. In my opinion, her departure was brought about by certain unkind remarks made by Sir Robert Lancaster when he visited last evening. He’s not to be trusted, according to what His Grace told Lord Charlesworth. Since His Grace was called away, I took the liberty of sending for Lord Charlesworth when I spied Miss Masterton bolting.”

  Arabella’s awed expression was not lost on Her Grace.

  “Wilkens, how amazing that you could so quickly grasp the situation at hand,” the child breathed innocently.

  The duchess, who knew quite well how her devoted servant kept tabs on them all, gave him a knowing look. He blithely ignored her, and turned at the sound of the knocker on the front door. With a great sense of self-importance he moved across the hallway and admitted Charlesworth.

  “Thank goodness you are here, my lord.”

  The piercing expression vibrating between young Charlesworth and Arabella was powerful enough to knock one off one’s feet. The duchess, however, remained firmly in place as the young man rushed over to take her hand in greeting.

  “I received your message and came straightaway. How can I be of assistance, Your Grace?” he asked with boyish enthusiasm.

  “You must go to Pulman’s on St. James Place and bring Miss Masterton safely home. The child’s gone off on her own to find Miss Barton, her companion, who has fled because of Sir Robert Lancaster.”

  At the soft curse he murmured under his breath, her calm fled.

  “Sorry, Your Grace. It’s just that Long warned me about Lancaster. But never fear, I shall see to it!”

  “Take my coach, my lord,” Arabella offered, rushing after him onto the porch. “It is waiting at the curb for me. In fact, I shall accompany you, in case dear Mary needs me.”

  “Yes, children, go! Both of you. At once!” the duchess urged them, spurred on by a sudden certain foreboding that this dreadful game was rushing to a conclusion that her son, despite his sharp wits, had not anticipated.

  Sir Robert Lancaster could never have anticipated such good fortune. There was the lovely Miss Masterton, alone. Without a thought as to why she would be there, he rapidly made a decision. He must and would seize this opportunity.

  He tapped the roof of the carriage and instantly it halted. He opened the door and leapt to the curb, practically in front of her. The better to give her no warning, he thought.

  She swayed to a halt, her wide eyes shooting blue daggers. A thrill of desire curled through him. Really, the chit was becoming deliciously desirable, of a sudden. His possession of her would be even more than he’d hoped.

  To that end he bowed. “Mary, how may I—”

  “Step aside, Sir Robert!” For once, she didn’t bother with a polite veneer. “It’s all your fault dear Lottie has left.”

  Quickly he looked about the roadway. There was no one he knew and no one who could stop him.

  “My dear child, you are ill.” He spoke just loud enough to satisfy the few passersby.

  Without warning, he gripped Mary’s arms with fingers of iron and forced her into his coach.

  The door slammed shut and the carriage sprang forward. He leaned contentedly back against the seat as he stared into her pale, confused face. At last he had her exactly where he wanted her.

  Chapter 11

  The taste of Mary lingered on Richard’s lips, and his cheek still stung in tiny pinpoints of pain where she’d slapped it.

  Flicking a quick glance into the rosewood-framed mirror in the hall of Fordham Mansion, he saw that Mary’s handprint was no longer visible.

  The outward signs might be gone, but the wound had seeped inward to permanently scar his heart, or what was left of it after she’d crushed it beneath her heel, he amended quickly.

  His honor demanded that he settle the puzzle of Mary’s familial difficulties. Then he would have done his duty and paid his debt for the gift of his life, which her care had surely saved. He would be free to put her out of his thoughts and out of his life. Hopefully, Fordham held the key.

  The butler pushed open a narrow door, and Richard entered a small room where the fire was roaring. Heat closed in around him, making him deucedly uncomfortable. A tiny woman swathed in a heavy shawl, with a blanket tucked neatly around her knees, sat as close to the fire as possible.

  His face flushing bright red, young Fordham rushed to greet him.

  “Sorry I couldn’t attend you at Avalon House. Grandmother was too tired to go farther, and she insisted on speaking with you herself.”

  Fordham’s harassed visage spoke volumes; grandmama was a handful. Having successfully navigated the waters with his own headstrong female relatives, Avalon gave the younger man an understanding grin and stepped forward.

  “Your ladyship, thank you for seeing me.” He performed a perfect bow and honored her with a rare smile, which was free of anything but kindness. “Your grandson told you of my needs, I presume.”

  Up close, her pale, lined skin showed her great age, but her bright eyes were still clear and alert.

  “I see it’s true what they say about you, Avalon.” She nodded, those sharp eyes doing a slow perusal. “Devilish handsome. Are you as clever as they say, too? That’s why I came. To see if you had the answer to the mystery of my friend Charlotte’s fortune.”

  “A fortune, madam?” he questioned coolly. “Could you tell me about it?”

  “Of course I can! That’s why I made the miserable journey to town!” the dowager Lady Fordham barked out. “Sit down, boy, and hear me out.”

  Richard sat on the hassock near her, gladly suffering the discomfort of the blazing hearth if she could confirm what his questing mind was already proposing.

  She nodded, leaned forward, and poked him with a bony finger. “Charlotte and Peter were great favorites of mine. Although Peter was a scamp.” A ghost of a smile flitted across her nearly colorless lips as she remembered. “Most of the family was happy to see him off to the colonies to make his own fortune, since he wouldn’t be a drain on the Fordhams. Happy they were! But he died before he could do it. Poor Peter.”

  A faraway look glazed Lady Fordham’s watery hazel eyes. Impatience bit at his nerves, but he slapped it down, waiting.

  At length he took her hand, and she blinked, shaking her head. “Where was I? Oh, yes. Peter died before he could make his fortune, but Charlotte married one only a few months after her year of mourning. A banker in Boston, Gallatin, I think was the family name, and they were quite prominent over there. As if that meant anything to me. But Charlotte seemed to think I’d be pleased. Rich as Croesus she turned out to be. And lived like a queen according to her twice-yearly letters. Even if it was in such a godforsaken land!”

  With one thin hand, Lady Fordham waved him closer. “Here’s the rub. Charlotte didn’t have any children. After her husband died she wrote me that she planned to leave everything to a foundling hospital. Then in the last few letters before she died she wrote she’d ch
anged her mind. She was older, realized the importance of family, wanted to leave the money to someone of her own blood. She hit on her cousin, who, like Charlotte, was the last of her line.”

  The dowager Lady Fordham smiled up at her grandson, who stood as far away from the inferno in the grate as proper manners permitted.

  “Maybe Jamie here told you I like to have the know of any scandal broth that might be brewing. Want to know what Charlotte ended up doing with all that money!”

  Her long-suffering grandson rolled his eyes heavenward. “Grandmother, go on with the story. Avalon and I want to know what happened to the fortune!”

  His petulant outburst and her indulgent chuckle proclaimed that the young heir was obviously a favorite.

  “Don’t know! That’s what I’m hoping Avalon here can tell me!” She turned shrewd eyes upon his face. “Charlotte died about five years ago. I made discreet inquiries about the cousin. Found out she’d wed that miserly Renfrew and died. Hah! No wonder. There was some talk of a daughter, but she’d disappeared up north somewhere. No one had heard of her in years. Everyone presumed she was dead, too. That’s the problem with getting old, young man! Everyone you know dies, and you’re left with nothing but memories and gossip.”

  “Lady Fordham, with a spirit such as yours, you will never grow old.” He rose slowly, thinking she was finished.

  “Not so quick,” she surprised him by continuing. “I thought that was the end of it. Until Jamie came to me with your question. If there’s a heiress to Charlotte’s fortune, wouldn’t mind sending Jamie after her scent.”

  “Good God, Grandmother! I’m a long way from wishing to be leg-shackled!”

  The look of horror on his young face was so comical that it brought a twitch of a smile to Richard’s mouth. The humor was not enough, however, to suppress the deadly rage that had grown with each word she spoke.

  “Madam, you have saved me weeks of inquiries.” He stepped away from the heat, grateful to be able to stretch his legs. He bowed. “In appreciation, I must tell you there is indeed an heiress.”

  “Ah!” she exclaimed. “I can see by your face how lays the land. The heiress is already spoken for, hey, Avalon?”

  Meeting her bright eyes with a steady gaze, he answered reflectively. “That is a question which is still unanswered. Rest assured I plan to get to the bottom of this puzzle. Good day.”

  Fordham quickly opened the door for him. A welcome draft of cool air from the hall washed over them.

  “Glad to be of help, Avalon. Any time!” the boy offered eagerly.

  The burden of being a ton leader had never seemed more rewarding as he clasped Fordham’s shoulder. “You’ve done well. Call upon me next week, and I’ll let you know how it all turns out.”

  The image of young Lord Fordham’s pleasant features, set in a stunned smile of bliss, could almost offset the unpleasant task before him.

  Baron Renfrew’s house on Belgrave Square was as squat and unattractive as the man himself. His butler, stoop-shouldered and weary, led Richard into a large room with walls of glass-enclosed bookcases separated at precise intervals by classical statues.

  When the butler left to find the baron, Richard glanced curiously around. On the fireplace wall were hung two enormous paintings. He recognized the artists and the value of the canvases. The marble statuary, books, and collectibles displayed must have taken a lifetime and a fortune to amass.

  He stiffened as the latch clicked behind him. Slowly he turned to face Baron Renfrew, who was dressed in a black morning coat, with his cravat an untidy heap of cloth about his thick neck.

  The baron did not appear pleased to see him. Without issuing a greeting, he seated himself in a wine-colored leather armchair.

  “What do you want?” he finally growled with ill-concealed rudeness.

  “I want your granddaughter’s rightful fortune.”

  The baron lifted one disbelieving eyebrow.

  “The one left to her by your wife’s cousin, Charlotte,” Richard spat out with equal rudeness. “Your thievery is at an end!

  “How dare you!” His jaw quivering with rage, Renfrew exploded out of the chair. “I won’t stand for such insults in my own home.”

  A man known for his languishing boredom, Richard surprised even himself with the speed at which he crossed the floor to place his palm flat on the baron’s barrel chest and back him up against the nearest bookcase.

  “My God, man! You practically put me through the glass!” Renfrew sputtered, fear in his beady dark eyes.

  “Only by exercising amazing restraint am I able to stop myself,” Richard replied in a surprisingly even tone, given the scope of his feelings. “My solicitor would have unearthed the whole sordid affair soon enough. But I have inside information. How did you imagine you could conceal this forever?” He took his hand away from Renfrew to pound it threateningly into his other palm. “I for one think you should swing on the gallows for what you’ve done. But I’ll bow to Mary’s finer sensibilities,” he lied easily. “If you confess all now, she might not have you prosecuted.”

  Horror transformed Renfrew’s saggy skin to a trembling fleshy mask. “I’m a peer of the realm! No one would believe the girl.”

  “A very small fish in a large pond.” Richard spared the man a vaguely sardonic smile. “I hate to sound unduly vain, but I feel honor-bound to remind you of the fact that, given any dispute involving your word against mine, I’d win easily.”

  “Damn you to hell!” Renfrew cried, his eyes glittering crazily in the dim light. “I knew when I saw you in Hexham that you’d ruin me!”

  “Talk. Now!” Richard took one step backward. “What did you tell Charlotte’s American solicitor when he contacted you?”

  “I told them my wife and daughter were dead and my grandchild was underage and simple to boot. Since I was her guardian, all the funds were to be administered through me.” His complexion ashen, Renfrew bared his teeth in a tight smile. “The chit was underage until last year, so I’m not as black as you’d paint me.”

  “You miserable excuse for a man!” The baron’s head nearly cracked the glass, as he jerked back under the weight of Richard’s hand at his throat. “Mary was working harder than a scullery maid while you fattened your coffers at her expense. Not to mention the fact that Charlotte died five years ago! Since then you’ve done nothing less than steal from your own flesh and blood!”

  Repulsed beyond words, he dropped his hands, feeling sullied by even breathing the same air as this foul creature.

  “What are you going to do?” the baron gasped, dragging his ruined cravat from his throat and exposing the imprint of Richard’s fingers against the flaccid neck.

  “I will have my solicitor contact the legal council in Boston to get the record straight. I will expect full restitution of the entire amount, with interest, available to Mary on demand.” He seared the baron’s pale face with his gaze. “You will leave town. Permanently. In fact, I’d suggest you might want to leave the country, once this story gets about. If you ever set foot in London again, I’ll take great pleasure in making sure you regret it.”

  “Damn you!” the baron screamed at him. A vein throbbed alarmingly at his temple, and his skin turned a harsh purplish red. “You’d ruin me for a chit hardly fit to do more than clean your soiled linens! If you want the wench, take her to your bed! Don’t needs made her an heiress to be worthy enough to ride under the vaunted Duke of Avalon!”

  Before he could think, Richard raised his fist to smash the baron’s face in, but the old man crumbled into a ruin, weeping. He’d done enough damage by depriving the old miser of Mary’s wealth, a staggering blow to a man of his ilk. He needn’t pummel him as well, he decided, dropping his arm, although he still clenched his fists tightly to his sides.

  “Get your miserable carcass out of my sight,” he bit out thr
ough tight lips. “If you are still in residence tomorrow I bloody well will call in the magistrate!”

  Richard stalked out, anxious to breathe air not fouled by Renfrew. He stood in the center of Belgrave Square, taking in great deep gulps of oxygen.

  This day had been a series of shocking discoveries. First Mary had discovered his deceit, and now she would be informed that she was a great heiress. What would she do about it? What choice would she make, now that anything she wished would be available to her? Unaccountably eager to see her again after the emotional confrontation between them, Richard made straight for home.

  Wilkens stood in the doorway wringing his hands. Richard ran up the last few steps as if the hounds of hell were after him. He’d never seen Wilkens lose his composure in thirty-five years!

  “My God, Wilkens, what’s happened! Has something happened to Mary?” Shocked by the strength and direction of his feelings, Richard stood frozen to the front stoop.

  “Your Grace, I’ve left messages for you all over town.” Wilkens’s strong voice quivered at the edges. “It appears Sir Robert Lancaster has run off with Miss Masterton. Lord Charlesworth and Lady Arabella saw him force her into a carriage. They sent word back they were following them on the road north out of town. But the worst is to come. Upon hearing the news your mother demanded a carriage and followed, by herself.”

  Questions crowded into his mind, but he didn’t waste breath asking them. Coolly, he issued orders. “Bring Wildfire around at once! Then order a bag packed for my mother and Miss Masterton. Have their maids follow in a carriage with Crowley.”

  He hardly had the words out before he was in the saddle, his great stallion quivering eagerly beneath him. He thundered off to the North Road.

  Chapter 12

  It had all started this very same way. On Wildfire he’d ventured forth to find answers to questions haunting his restless intellect. Instead he’d found something he’d thought impossible in this world, or any other. A woman who truly touched his heart. Touched! What a paltry word for the emotions Mary inspired!