Redemption of the Duke (17 page)

“Send your bill to my steward, including an estimate of the expenses you’ll need for
a return trip north. And thank you for your discretion.”

When Raikes had gone, Adam had second thoughts about assigning him to two innocent
spinsters, but he could not forget that Miss Atherstone had been very disapproving
of him. And Faith had only known them the few months she’d been in town. Adam wasn’t
about to ignore anything that could help him find answers.

For months, finding and helping Faith had made him feel like he had a purpose, the
chance to make a difference in a person’s life, rather than governing from on high
in the House of Lords. He thought it would end with helping Faith take a better position,
but now, with the blackguard’s letters, his interest in the chase made him feel like
a soldier again, made him feel alive.

Or maybe it was Faith herself who made each day fresh and new. Since their kiss at
Vauxhall Gardens, she’d been avoiding him. But that kiss had been haunting his dreams,
the feel of her body still in his arms. If anyone else had told him such tales, he
would have advised finding a mistress. Instead he was focused on the mysteries that
swirled around Faith Cooper.

T
he next morning, Adam was in the entrance hall, about to leave for his club, when
Seabrook hastened down the long corridor that led to the servants’ wing.

“Your Grace!” Seabrook went past Adam and opened the front door. “A boy with another
note. Black pants, tattered red sweater.” He craned his neck toward the street. “I
do believe he’s right there, pretending nonchalance.”

Adam ignored the greatcoat one of the footmen held out and hurried down the front
stairs. He was through the main gate, and still the boy didn’t look behind him, just
whistled, hands in his pockets like he belonged on the fashionable street.

Adam put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t struggle,” he said in a low voice.

The boy jerked and stiffened, his body poised for flight.

Adam gripped him harder. “You were just at my home, and I need answers as to who sent
you there.”

“Don’t know what ye’re talkin’ ’bout, guv’nor. I ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”

“And I’m not saying you did,” Adam said, turning him around and taking off the boy’s
cap so they could look into each other’s eyes.

The boy’s were wide with defiance and a trace of fear beneath a mop of dirty blond
hair. “I’ll scream,” he said, chin raised.

“And I’ll call a constable and claim you stole my watch. Who will they believe?”

The boy swallowed and nodded. He couldn’t be more than eight.

“Whot do ye want?” he said defensively.

“You brought a note to my house.”

“That’s not a crime! ’Tis a service, it is!”

“Who did you deliver it for?”

“Don’t know his name, o’ course. ’E gave me a quid and I thought me heart would burst.”

“So it was a man? What did he look like?”

“ ’e was just a toff in a top ’at, didn’t notice no ’air color. I only saw ’is coin.”

Adam let him go, knowing it was useless. The boy didn’t run, just sauntered away,
and Adam couldn’t help smiling at his attitude. His smile faded as he remembered where
the boy, and so many others like him, was going.

When Adam returned to the entrance hall, Seabrook awaited him.

“You caught him, Your Grace,” the old man said with satisfaction as he handed over
the note.

“I did, but it didn’t do much good. He knew nothing.”

“Sir,” Seabrook began with an unusual hesitation, “your aunt is awaiting you in your
study.”

Adam arched an eyebrow.

“Would you prefer that I hold on to the note for you?”

Adam smiled. “No, but thank you, Seabrook.”

He pocketed the note, then entered his study. Aunt Theodosia had made herself comfortable
in the chair across from his desk, and now she was watching him expectantly through
her monocle.

“Good morning, Aunt.”

“It is a fine morning for me, but I think not for you, since you felt the need to
chase a street urchin for all the world to see. Out with it, young man.”

He sat down behind his desk, linked his hands together and smiled. “Aunt Theodosia,
I am not Frances’s age.”

“No, you’re a big boy who’s lately been having a problem. Footmen for security when
we’re merely shopping? The way you hover around us when we attend evening affairs?
And you make Miss Cooper positively nervous with your hovering, by the way.”

He kept his expression impassive.

Her determination faded into true concern. “Something’s wrong, Adam, and I need to
know.”

He sighed, and at last put the new note on the desk. “This is the third anonymous
note I’ve received.”

She drew herself up. “Blackmail?”

“No, that’s what’s strange. A different boy has delivered each one, and this is the
first boy I’ve caught. A man paid him to deliver it. That was all he knew, and I believe
him.”

“What are the notes about?”

He handed over the first two, knowing they’d incriminate him. He watched her read,
having already memorized them:

Faith is lovely. Wherever she goes, you can’t stop looking at her. But I’m watching
you.

She’s still there, in your home. You don’t know anything about her. Your obsession
is showing.

He broke the seal on the newest one.

You risk much to have her—she’s not worth it. I know what she is, what she’s done.

He inhaled sharply. This was the first note to openly say there was a secret in Faith’s
past.

“You read too slowly,” Aunt Theodosia said. “Hand it over.”

He did and sat back to study her face. She revealed nothing except a frown of concentration.
At last she pushed the notes into the center of his desk, then sat back herself.

“For what it’s worth,” he began, “I have not ‘had’ Faith.”

“No, but you look at her.”

He didn’t answer.

“And she looks at you.”

He frowned.

“And now someone else has noticed.” She sighed. “I trust that you and she will do
what’s best for both of you.”

“You trust me to do what’s best for her?” he asked.

“I do. You’ve changed, Adam.”

He looked away. “Sometimes I don’t feel that way.”

“Trust yourself.” She looked down at the notes again. “Does Faith know about these?”

“No. How can I tell her? She’ll run, and then I won’t be able to protect her at all.”

Aunt Theodosia nodded. “She probably would. The girl is loyal, and would never want
to risk people getting hurt because of her.”

“None of the notes have threatened anyone physically. But this is the first note that
openly says she has a secret, the kind that would be scandalous if it came out. Do
you think it could be true?”

She shrugged. “We all have secrets.”

“I’m having her investigated. Quietly. I can’t help her if I don’t know what it is.”

“Understandable,” she said with a nod. “Do you suspect anyone?”

He jumped to his feet, startling his aunt. “That’s just it—I am clueless, and I’m
starting to see suspects everywhere, even my closest friend.”

“Shenstone?” his aunt asked sharply. “Why would he even care about Faith? He would
encourage you to renew your old scandalous ways.”

“I would have thought so, but he’s been cool toward me lately, and I don’t know why.
But for his behavior, I would have discussed this with him. Now I can’t risk it. There
is Gilpin, of course, Faith’s childhood friend who seems very angry every time I see
him. I did a little research—he has an unhappy marriage.”

“And he overimbibes, which can addle the mind. Who else?”

“I’m sure she can’t be a suspect in this, but I’ve looked into Faith’s maid, Ellen.
She is the bastard of a gentleman who will not acknowledge or support her.”

His aunt’s eyebrows climbed under her turban. “That explains much. But why would she
want to get rid of Faith? We’d just assign her to something else.”

He nodded.

“And Faith believes their relationship—along with Ellen’s skills—is improving.”

“I’m even having Faith’s two friends investigated.”

“You mean the Society of Ladies’ Companions and Chaperones? I cannot believe it of
them—not of two women who could use such a name to make light of themselves.”

He shrugged. “Can you think of anyone else?”

“The Warburtons? Could they have discovered something about Faith?”

“All they’d have to do is spread a rumor of the truth—Faith would be disgraced, and
that would be it. These threats, or whatever they are, are coming to me. My conduct
is being scrutinized, as well. Am I supposed to believe I should release Faith, and
nothing more will be said?” Suddenly angry, he swept the notes to the floor. “Someone
is enjoying having power over me—this isn’t just about Faith.”

“I do believe you’re correct, Adam. So what do you plan to do next?”

“Await word from my investigator about Faith’s past. Once I know what I’m dealing
with, I can make plans.” Not that he had any idea what those plans would be, when
so far, he hadn’t been able to find the blackguard.

“And you don’t want to ask Faith for the truth?”

“If she’s taken great pains to hide something in her past, I don’t believe she’d reveal
it willingly—and certainly not to me. And I don’t want you talking to her, not yet
at least.”

“Oh very well, even though I am quite good at getting others to reveal what they don’t
mean to.”

She arched her own brow at him, mimicking him, he knew.

“There was no persuasion to get me to talk—you spied on me.”

“Hmph.” Then she mused, “It seems too obvious that it is Mr. Gilpin, but he bears
watching. I don’t like how he treats Faith.”

“Has he attempted to visit her?”

“No, but we’ve both seen him approach her at parties, and she’s disturbed afterward.”
She gave a crooked smile. “At least now I know why we’ve been assigned a footman for
security. Marian is not pleased.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” He stood up and came around the desk, offering her
an arm. She ignored it and used her cane as she slowly came to her feet.

“Keep your eyes open, Aunt Theodosia. It feels good to have someone else watching
out for Faith.”

“Even though the most I can do is wait until this villain is close enough and hit
him with my cane?”

He smiled, but knew it was forced. When his aunt left his study, he paced to the window
and found Faith where she often was—in the garden, helping the gardeners with preparations
for spring.

She was as innocent as a flower—and he had to keep her that way. Safe, protected,
so she could flourish.

Chapter 16

A
dam was nursing his third brandy over the billiard table that night, and his shots
were beginning to go wild. His sister entered the billiard room, shut the door, and
leaned back against it, expression determined.

“Am I not allowed to leave?” he asked dryly.

“What has been your problem today, Adam Chamberlin? You sulked in your study, you
barely said anything to anyone at dinner, and now you’re sulking in the billiard room.”

“I do not sulk,” he said, leaning one hip against the table.

“Very well, ‘brood.’ Why are you brooding? I keep telling you it will do you good
to talk to someone.” She came closer and put a hand on her arm. “Talk to me, Adam.
Who else loves and understands you like I do?”

He couldn’t tell her about the blackguard’s letters. But he didn’t seem to have the
will to resist her entreaties anymore.

So, with as little emotion as possible, he told her about the men who’d died because
of an idea he’d instigated and convinced his regiment to carry out. How he and his
friends Blackthorne and Knightsbridge had been determined to help the families left
behind.

Her eyes had grown damp while he talked, but now brightened. “Faith! It’s Faith you’ve
been helping.”

He nodded, then leaned down to eye a shot and almost staggered sideways.

“Oh, Adam, I’m so glad! She deserves your help. I’ve met the Warburtons socially,
and I must say, they are misers who hire as few servants as possible and work them
as hard as they can. Did you notice Faith’s hands without gloves when she first came
to us? She must have been doing laundry, or cleaning—not that she’d speak of it. Oh,
Adam, thank you for at last confiding in me. I’m so proud of you!”

He hadn’t done much to be proud of until the army. And all the good was overshadowed
by the death of his men.

But talking to Sophia had somehow clarified things for him. He felt a renewed sense
of purpose, a hope for the future that had been lacking for so long. How had he not
seen the truth over these last few weeks?

He had to talk to Faith.

F
aith had just gone up to her bedroom that night when there was a knock at her door.
She opened it to find Ellen standing there, fingers twisting nervously.

“Miss Cooper, His Grace would like to speak with you.”

Perplexed, she glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was after ten, and he’d been
uncommunicative with his family that evening. Now he wanted to talk to
her
? It had taken her a week to finally stop flinching when she heard his voice, to suppress
the memories of his kiss, of the way he’d made her body come to life. She didn’t want
to see him alone.

“He’s waiting in his study.”

And then Ellen turned and marched away.

Faith was tempted to call her back, to give her regrets, to complain of a headache.
Coward.

Taking a deep breath, she closed the door behind her and descended through the mansion.
Gas lamps illuminated the corridors, but there was an unusual hush of silence. At
the study door, she paused, took a deep breath, and then knocked.

“Come in.”

His voice was low and intimate, and it made her remember being in the dark shadows
of a ruined temple. She shoved the memory away, put a polite smile on her face for
her employer and entered, deliberately leaving the door wide open.

He lounged behind his desk, arms wide on the armrests, a snifter in one hand. He smiled
at her, and she had the strangest sensation of a jungle cat happy to see its prey.
She really hadn’t looked at him for days, and now he quite stole her breath with his
handsomeness and the way he exuded sensuality with those half-lidded eyes.

“Close the door please,” he said.

Her smile faded, her chin raised, but she obeyed him, then remained near the door.
“May I help you, Your Grace?”

“You called me Adam last week.”

She blinked at him. “We aren’t discussing last week and the mistakes we made, in case
you have forgotten.”

“I have not forgotten. In fact, I remember
everything
too well.”

Her mouth went dry. He rose languidly and came around the desk. She took a step backward
toward the door, but all he did was perch on the edge of the desk, one ankle crossed
over the other, arms folded over his chest. It made him look broad and masculine,
and reminded her of being held against that body.

“In fact,” he continued, “I have thought of nothing else.”

She tilted her chin, archly shaking her head at the same time. “I, on the other hand,
have forgotten that insanity.”

“I don’t think you have.”

He straightened and began to walk toward her. Two emotions warred within her, the
desire that had swept her away that night at Vauxhall, and the fear that she couldn’t
stop him, whatever he wanted to do.

He must have seen something in her eyes, because he halted several feet away, and
his gaze gentled.

“I won’t hurt you, Faith,” he murmured in a low rumble.

“This hurts me. Please don’t ask me to be alone with you again.”

“Even if I do this?”

To her shock, he reached for her hand and held it between his own.

“Faith, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

She snorted a laugh of disbelief and pulled her hand away. He didn’t smile, only looked
at her intently.

“Your Grace,
Your Grace
,” she repeated, to remind him of his title, “you have been drinking.”

“But I haven’t been drinking much. Trust me, this isn’t even mildly inebriated for
me. I’m being perfectly serious. I want to marry you.”

“Stop teasing me!” she said, hands on her hips as she leaned toward him. “I’m not
to be toyed with when you’re bored or guilty.”

“I’m not bored and this is not because of guilt,” he said, all patience and sincerity.

“Then stop pretending you need to go to ridiculous lengths to help me. You’ve done
enough. One kiss doesn’t make you responsible for me for life.”

“Maybe not, but one kiss showed me that I’ve never felt this attracted to a woman
before.”

She gaped at him.

“I can’t stop thinking about that kiss.”

“That is
lust,
” she said. “Go find yourself the kind of woman who wants that from you.” It made
her a little sick saying that, knowing once she’d had to be that kind of woman. But
not anymore, and certainly not with him.

“I don’t want that kind of relationship. I want a wife I like and desire, and together
we’ll have children—a family.”

A twinge of pain made her speak sharply. “You don’t mention love, but you do mention
an heir. Do you see me as someone meek, who will give you what you want?”

“Meek?” he said, smiling at last. “That is not the adjective for you. As for love,
I do not want to lie to you. But we are so attracted to each other that love will
come with time.”

“You are too certain of yourself, too arrogant. Do you have an answer for everything?”

Now he grinned, putting his hands on his hips. “Try me.”

“You are a duke. I am a commoner. You are expected to marry well and bring a beautiful,
well-dowered, noble wife to the union. Your mother doesn’t even like me now, let alone
as a prospective bride.”

“I don’t care about any of that.”

“I do!” And deep down, she cared about how she could possibly keep her secret, and
what would happen if—when—it came out. Everyone would be trying to dig into her past,
wondering how she was worth landing a duke. And then she’d bring terrible shame and
ridicule down on his whole family. She would never do that.

Even though the thought of being in his arms each night, safe and cared for, was suddenly
overwhelming.

“I won’t marry you, Your Grace.”

She turned to reach for the doorknob, and suddenly he was there, his body pressing
hers firmly into the door. She gasped, overwhelmed by the power of him, the way his
hardness fit to her softness, the way she wanted him to touch her more.

“You can’t force me, Rothford,” she whispered raggedly. “My body might react to you,
but I’m not ruled by my emotions—unlike you.”

He put his mouth against her neck and inhaled deeply. “God, you smell good.”

His lips skimmed along the curve of her neck and behind her ear. She gasped as he
nuzzled her there, then nibbled at her earlobe.

“You can’t force me,” she whispered again, eyes squeezed shut.

He straightened away from her and spoke quietly. “No, I would never do that.”

She looked over her shoulder first, to see his solemn expression. Slowly, she turned
around until her back was against the door. “I can go?”

“Of course you can go. But I’m not withdrawing my offer for you.”

“This is ridiculous,” she said, trembling. “And you cannot tell anyone about this.
I won’t be the cause of tension and anger within your family.”

“I won’t say anything because I won’t have to. I’ll simply make you see that I’m right.”

She felt for the knob behind her, opened it, then slipped out the narrow opening.
She practically ran to her bedroom, knew she must have looked panicked if anyone saw
her. But they didn’t, not at this time of the evening, with the family retired and
the servants already abed. In her own room, she closed the door and locked it.

As if that would stop him should he choose to come in.

But her denial had been enough to stop him, hadn’t it?

Feeling dazed, she walked across the room and sank down in a chair before the hearth.
A coal fire burned in the grate to combat the early-spring chill, but still she rubbed
her arms and sat unseeing.

The Duke of Rothford had asked for her hand in marriage.

It seemed ridiculous and outrageous—but it was true.

She wasn’t in love with him; he wasn’t in love with her. But they were attracted to
each other, and that was far more than many marriages had.

Yet the prospective bride wasn’t usually a former mistress.

She winced. How would she convince him that she couldn’t marry him without telling
him the truth?