Gregory stalked forward. “So the ‘rightful’ son returns.”
“Hello, Gregory,” James said. “We have much to discuss.”
“We’ve rarely spoken our entire lives, and I see no need to start now. I’ve moved out of the mansion to a townhouse on St. James’s Street.”
“Good to know,” James said.
Gregory scowled. “I intend to petition the courts to look into the legitimacy of your mother’s alleged marriage to the old duke. I cannot imagine he would have been so smitten or sufficiently intoxicated to marry a parlor maid and trollop.”
“I’d deem that a waste of time,” James drawled. “I am an experienced barrister after all.”
“Precisely,” Gregory sneered. “Hardly proper material for a duke of the realm.”
The dowager raised her hand. “Stop this nonsense, Gregory. The marriage license is legitimate. I had a trusted solicitor see to the matter, and he will testify to that fact in any court of law.”
“You needn’t worry,” James addressed Gregory. “I am prepared to offer you an income.”
“I don’t want a shilling from you,” Gregory said.
“Don’t be a fool. What of Lady Caroline?” James asked.
“What of her?”
“Last I heard, you were to marry the Earl of Atwood’s daughter. I understand finances are a foreign concept to you, but have you given any thought to how you will survive?” James said.
“Are you proposing a monthly stipend?” Gregory said.
“Yes, but not without proper consideration.”
“Are you suggesting I
work?
”
“A novel notion to you, I see. Our father owned many properties. Although they are run by competent stewards, I could use a man to manage one of the properties. You would be an overseer, and I would pay you a generous amount for your services,” James said.
Gregory looked to the dowager. “Are you going to sit back and allow him to mistreat me?”
“His idea has merit,” the dowager responded.
Gregory pointed a finger at James. “This isn’t over yet,
brother.”
He stormed from the room.
The dowager’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “I was right. You have taken control with an iron hand. This Season is full of heiresses clamoring for a husband. Pick one.”
James’s temper finally snapped, and his voice hardened. “You had best heed my words, Your Grace. I’m not as easily controlled as Gregory.”
Chapter 23
Seven o’clock the following morning, Coates entered James’s bedchamber. As was his usual work habit at Lincoln’s Inn, James preferred to rise early and was already awake and in his dressing gown.
“You look haggard. Did you spend your first night in this big mansion indulging in the old duke’s fine whiskey?” Coates asked.
James eyes Coates warily. “What’s irking you this morning?”
Coates dropped a handful of shaving materials onto the washstand. “Nothing. But if I am to dress and shave you, then I prefer to know what mood you are in.”
“If you must know, I did not indulge in anything. I merely found it difficult to sleep in strange surroundings.”
“Ha! As if you’ve ever suffered from such a problem in all the ladies’ bedchambers of your past.”
“That’s just it. I’ve never
slept
in any of them.”
Coates frowned. “The answer to your sleeplessness is simple. You should not have allowed
her
to leave.”
His manservant meant Bella, of course. Coates had been prickly since he had learned James had paid Bella for Wyndmoor Manor and they had parted ways in London. It was no surprise that Coates had become Bella Sinclair’s champion. The man had sung her praises ever since James’s fever abated and he had been sufficiently coherent to comprehend. She had helped nurse him, Coates had said. She had found and convinced Dr. Grimsby to travel to Hertfordshire, Coates had repeatedly reminded him. She had
saved
his life.
Everything James knew.
“I do believe I shall shave myself today,” James said dryly.
“Fine.” Coates marched out.
James went to the washstand. He had spoken the truth to Coates. There had been no whiskey last night, only the troubling quandary that had made him toss and turn in the magnificent master chamber for hours. Rather than enjoy the thick, feathered mattress, he had pondered the haunting look in Bella’s eyes when she had asked if he would honor his offer to pay her for Wyndmoor Manor. She’d worn a similar expression when he handed her the envelope stuffed with banknotes outside the Bank of England.
Her corrupt, abusive husband was dead. So what else could she fear?
Picking up the shaving brush, James lathered his face. What Coates didn’t know was that James had no intention of allowing Bella to slip through his fingers. He wanted desperately to help her, wanted to see her safely ensconced at Wyndmoor Manor—where they could resume where they’d left off and explore their fiery passion.
He lifted the razor, his hand halting in midair when the butler opened the door.
“You have a caller, Your Grace. It’s—”
“Send him up at once.” James expected Investigator Papazian with a full report this morning. Finally he would get the answers to the ceaseless, inward questions that plagued him.
But Stodges didn’t move. “You have a
female
caller, Your Grace. Lady Caroline, daughter of the Earl of Atwood.”
James set down his razor. “Gregory is not present.”
Stodges cleared his throat. “She’s requesting an audience with you, Your Grace.”
“I see,” James said, even though he had no idea why his half brother’s betrothed would call upon him. “See her to the drawing room while I dress.”
“Which one, Your Grace?”
James grit his teeth. “You choose,” he snapped. The butler’s rigid formality was at distinct odds with Coates’s forthright attitude. Both were extremely irritating this morning. He had expected a meeting with his hired investigator, dammit, not a social call from an earl’s daughter.
James finished shaving and dressed. He made his way through the maze of hallways, and found Lady Caroline in what Stodges referred to as the yellow drawing room. She sat on a pale gold settee and jumped to her feet when he entered the room.
She curtsied deeply. “I apologize for the early call, Your Grace, and I’m thankful you agreed to see me.”
Tall and slender with honey-colored hair and light blue eyes, she was an attractive woman. The type of female he would have been interested in before ...
Before what?
Before inheriting the title and rushing to Wyndmoor Manor? Or more precisely, before Bella Sinclair?
Irritated with his thoughts, he forced Bella from his mind. “How may I be of assistance, Lady Caroline?”
“We’ve never been formally introduced, Your Grace, but circumstances have been quite ... unusual.”
Unusual indeed. He knew Lady Caroline’s father on familiar terms as the Earl of Atwood had sought out James’s legal services to anonymously handle a sizeable gambling debt to a notorious London moneylender three years ago. Atwood’s daughter—along with the rest of society—was ignorant of the earl’s addiction. The privilege associated with a barrister-client relationship ensured Atwood’s secret would be kept.
James smiled smoothly, betraying nothing of his annoyance at her untimely visit. “I do believe congratulations are in order. You are to marry my brother.”
She stepped forward and the scent of her perfume—a cloying floral bouquet—enveloped the space between them. The sickly sweet smell permeated his nostrils, and he couldn’t help but wonder why he found it so strong since many of the ladies of the
ton
preferred a similar perfume, and he had never found it offensive in the past.
“My engagement is a delicate matter, Your Grace.”
“How so?”
Lady Caroline sighed, and James’s gaze was drawn to her full breasts rising and falling against the artfully designed low neckline of her gown.
“It was never official.”
“That is not Gregory’s understanding,” James said.
“He’s mistaken. The reading of the banns has not begun. It was merely a loose arrangement between my father and yours.”
“I see. And with the old duke gone you mean the arrangement is null and void.”
“It’s no longer simple. My father had agreed with the understanding that I marry a duke and become a duchess. Gregory is no longer the duke,” she pointed out.
James knew her intent, but he asked anyway, “What’s to become of it then?”
She came closer and placed her hand on his sleeve, her long, slender fingers curling around the fabric. Gazing up at him, she breathed, “You are now the duke. The agreement should be between us.”
He recognized the eager gleam in her powder-blue eyes. Countless women had gazed up at him with similar expressions. For a brief instant, he was tempted to see just how far she was willing to go. To lose himself in a willing body and mindless sex.
But there was a sourness in the pit of his stomach that had little to do with the fact that she was Gregory’s betrothed. Rather, he struggled with unfamiliar morals of a different sort. For the first time in his life, he felt like he would be betraying another’s trust by indulging in a meaningless liaison.
He removed her hand from his sleeve. “I doubt my brother would agree with your interpretation.”
She pouted, her eyes raking boldly over him. “May I confess a secret? I was glad when I heard of your legitimacy. I’ve seen you before at Lady Cameron’s ball, and I found myself instantly drawn. I would make you a great duchess.”
No doubt,
he thought. She was everything he had enjoyed in a lover in the past. Beautiful, voluptuous, willing ...
Yet she was clearly disloyal and conniving, both traits he’d ignored easily enough in a woman—whereas now they were as vivid as if emblazoned on her forehead.
A sudden image of Bella rose within his mind and along with it a fierce longing. He ached for the sight of her glorious auburn hair and fiery green eyes. He yearned to hear her delightful laughter, and he missed her tantalizing lavender scent—light and cool as a summer breeze across Wyndmoor’s lawns.
She had drawn him from the beginning, like the first taste of fine wine. She was honest and loyal and beautiful and giving. At thirty-three years old, he had experienced his fair share of females, but never had he desired a woman as much as he wanted Bella Sinclair. And he had stood by and watched her ride away.
Coates was right. He should have insisted she stay, not allowed her out of his sight. Made her confess the truth to whatever she was running from.
At his silence, Lady Caroline said, “The dowager would understand. All you need to do is speak with her.”
James’s attention was drawn back to the woman before him. As he looked into her artfully seductive eyes, he felt inexplicably empty. “Gregory will be disappointed,” he said. “He’s lost the title and the woman he loves.”
“He never loved me. It was nothing but a beneficial arrangement between our fathers.”
“Even so. I’d expect my duchess to show more loyalty.”
Lady Caroline opened her mouth as though she would speak, then closed it.
Just then there was a knock and Stodges opened the drawing room door. “Your appointment has arrived, Your Grace.”
James took one look at the calling card the butler offered. “See him to the library. I’ll join him shortly.” He turned to Lady Caroline. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a pressing business matter to attend to.”
She curtsied. “You will think of my visit?”
“I shall not easily forget it, my lady.”
“Bella! Look here! Blackwood’s stable lad is outside your window,” Harriet said.
Bella joined Harriet at the window and parted the frayed curtains to look at the street below. “You mean Bobby? Where?”
“There,” Harriet pointed, “next to the gin shop across the street.”
Bella spotted him then. Bobby stood in the shadow of the baker’s boy, who was hawking fresh rolls from a tray hanging from a band around his neck.
“What’s he doing here?” Bella asked.
“He’s following the duke’s orders. Careful now, you don’t want the lad to see you. Then he’ll know he’s been spotted.”
Bella dropped the curtain and whirled away from the window. “You sound pleased.”
“I’ve had my suspicions about the duke’s behavior,” Harriet said. “He cares enough to have you followed.”
“This is not good, Harriet. We need to move. If Blackwood can find us, then Rupert will be able to as well. You haven’t forgotten Rupert’s threats, have you?”
Harriet’s face fell. “No, luv. I haven’t.”
“We must leave immediately. We can slip out the back.”
Harriet sighed. “I’ll start packing.”
Bella waited until Harriet departed before quickly glancing out the window. The baker’s boy had wandered down the street. For a brief instant she could no longer see Bobby and she wondered if Harriet had been wrong, but a shadow between the gin shop and the adjacent building caught her eye. Bobby had slithered deep into the alley, but he remained.
She moved away from the window, pressing her back against the wall and staring bleakly into the dreary rented room. She shut her eyes, and a darkly handsome face rose in her mind.
Deep down, a part of her was relieved to know James cared enough to order Bobby to follow her. James’s countenance had been a picture of relaxed acceptance outside the bank, too complacent as she had ridden away in the hackney cab with her belongings. His behavior had pained her, and she had believed that their lovemaking—which had been an earth-shattering experience for her—had meant as little to him as any one of his casual affairs.
But she’d wanted a clean break, hadn’t she? She had known their night together in the billiard room was to be their last. She had been determined to grasp happiness, no matter how fleeting.
Her past had returned with a vengeance, determined to hunt and stalk her. Rupert wanted the ledger, no matter the cost to human life. And how could she live with herself if those she loved were killed?
And she did love James. He had burst into her life, and she had been swept away by his passionate challenge and his devastatingly handsome face. They had started off as enemies, but he wasn’t the demanding, blue-blooded duke she had believed.
Yet it was his brush with death that had forced her to acknowledge her burgeoning feelings. James made her feel like a breathless girl of seventeen again—innocent, untainted—and everything took on a clean brightness when he was near. She had admired his intelligence, his driving ambition to succeed, and his thoughtfulness. He was a man who had fought for everything he had achieved, yet he maintained a natural charm and possessed an unwavering confidence. She had soon been lost in the flash of humor in his blue eyes, his generous nature, and his genuine interest in her writing.
She was torn.
Leave me be, James.
Find me and love me.
No! She was strong, she told herself. She had never allowed Roger Sinclair to break her. She had fought him tirelessly for seven years. Despite the fear in her heart he had inspired, she had learned to conceal her emotions from her husband rather than allow him to exploit them to his advantage. She had lied with a straight face, had hidden her deepest vulnerabilities.