The Duke Who Knew Too Much (2 page)

Immobilized, she became aware of his heartbeat, the strong rhythm surging beneath her palm. Its dominant cadence flowed into her, overtaking her own wild pulse, harnessing it. Her eyes drew to the sensual curve of his mouth, and her insides gave a strange flutter. Liquid awareness rushed from her center.

With growing panic, she struggled and said, “Release me at once!”

“If you insist.”

His hold loosened at the same time that she shoved against him with all her might. She toppled backward in a cascade of silk, landing with a thud on the hallway floor. The wind knocked out of her, she tried to gather her breath and the remnants of her dignity.

“Need help?” he inquired.

He towered over her, his broad shoulders tapering to a lean torso and narrow hips. Nary a wrinkle marred his elegant black and white evening wear. His cravat was a study in perfection, a large emerald winking in its snowy folds.

Flustered, she swatted a loose dark curl out of her eyes. “Not from the likes of you.”

His expression turned sardonic. “Just so you know, these ploys of yours have been tried before, and they won’t work with me. I don’t play with innocent misses. The untied slipper ribbon?” He glanced pointedly at her left slipper, where the peach satin lace indeed dangled undone. “’Tis the oldest debutante trick in the book, sweet.”

His mind-boggling arrogance rendered her speechless. Before she could unknot her tongue to give him a proper set down, he swept her a mocking bow, and his tall, virile form disappeared into the ballroom.

Emma stared after him.
Unbelievable.

He embodied everything she disliked about the upper classes: superiority and sophistication, contempt toward those deemed below their notice. A man such as this was guided not by morality or purpose but his own jaded amusement and self-gratification. Fuming, she rose and dusted herself off.

The bounder. That better be the last I see of him.

***

An hour passed in which, thankfully, Emma saw no more of the rude stranger. The event had turned into a crush, however, and the ballroom was more sweltering than ever. When she saw her sister-in-law swamped by a circle of admirers, she took the opportunity to get some air, escaping through the French-style doors that led into Lady Buckley’s famed maze garden.

Outside, she inhaled deeply, the jasmine-scented night air invigorating her senses, and she couldn’t resist wandering farther into the empty garden. Her skirts whispered over the manicured grass as she followed the winding wall of hedges, her pearl-studded reticule swinging from her gloved fingers.

Surrounded by moonlit darkness, she continued to mull over her dilemma: how could she convince her brother to let her join the family business?

The seeds of her destiny had been sown when Ambrose’s private enquiry firm, Kent and Associates, suffered a fire several months ago. Luckily, no one had been injured, but the entire office had needed to be rebuilt. Seeing the strain the situation put on her brother, she’d offered to help organize the new premises; besieged by so many responsibilities, he’d gratefully accepted. With her trademark energy, she’d set about getting everything shipshape, and even after the dust had settled, she’d stayed on to assist the clerk, Mr. Hobson, with the day-to-day tasks.

It felt good to help. She liked supporting Ambrose and his business partners, Mr. Lugo and Mr. McLeod, in their noble enterprise. Then, last week, an astonishing event had occurred, making her destiny bloom into vivid clarity before her eyes.

She’d brought tea to Mrs. Kendrick, an anxious widow returning for the third time in as many days. The lady had tearfully shared that she was losing hope that her lost engagement ring, a memento of her beloved husband, would ever be found. Filled with empathy, Emma had asked the other a few questions—and the conversation had unexpectedly led to the recovery of said ring! Mrs. Kendrick’s joyful gratitude had filled Emma with satisfaction, a momentous sense of achievement. Then and there, she’d had twin revelations.

First, Kent and Associates needed a female
investigator.

Second,
she
was the woman for the job.

Emma reasoned that she would bring a unique and valuable perspective to the work of detection. In the case of Mrs. Kendrick, she’d instantly suspected a culprit whom neither Ambrose nor his male colleagues had considered.

Moreover, Ambrose always said that success in investigation relied upon observation, deduction, and creative thinking. Emma had raised four younger siblings, all of whom claimed—ruefully—that she had eyes in the back of her head. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d figured out the location of a missing hair ribbon or boot lace or resolved some knotty household problem. And when times had been lean for the family, she’d relied on ingenuity and determination to see them all through.

Emma
knew
she had the skills to succeed as an investigator.

Yet how could she persuade her overprotective older brother of her plan’s merits? It was one thing for Ambrose to let her assist in mundane office tasks—and it would be quite another for him to agree to train her as an investigator. What would it take to prove her worth to him and his partners? Perhaps if she were to solve another case, demonstrate her initiative and resourceful nature ...

A noise cut through her musings. With a start, she realized that she had meandered deep into the heart of the labyrinth. She heard a murmur from around the next bend—then a cry scraped the night. Heart pounding, she instinctively backed against the nearest hedge, twigs and leaves prickling the exposed skin between her shoulder blades. She waited in the shadows, breath held.

Voices emerged from the other side of the leafy barrier.

“Are you going to hurt me?” a female voice said tremulously.

“I’m going to do whatever I want. And you’re going to enjoy it.”

The coolly arrogant statement jolted Emma. The hairs on her nape shivered to attention, her palms growing clammy within her gloves. Dear God, she
knew
that deep male voice with the faint lilt.

“Please, I beg of you,” the lady whimpered.

“You like to beg, don’t you? Perhaps if I’m in the mood later, I’ll have you do so ... on your knees.”

At the silky menace of the words, Emma’s eyes widened. What did the fiend intend to do? With shaking hands, she searched for a gap in the foliage. There was none. Only dark leaves in the dark night—an impenetrable wall to accompany the sudden, taut silence. Emma’s senses strained for any hint, any sign of what was happening on the other side. Her pulse skittered; her thoughts raced.

Should I call for help—who will hear me out here? Mayhap I should run for assistance?

A feminine plea rent the night. “Oh God. Please, Strathaven, I can’t bear it—”

Oh my goodness, I have to do something. The bounder is assaulting her!

Fear for the woman’s safety propelled Emma into action. She dashed to the other side of the hedge; her frantic gaze landed on the pair by the gazebo. In the silvery moonlight, their profile formed a terrifying tableau. A tall, slim redhead stood trapped against a column, her hands bound above her head. A blindfold covered her eyes, the black silk a wicked contrast to the whiteness of her face and throat, her heaving bosom. A broad-shouldered man towered over her, his hand fisted in her skirts—

“Stop, you blackguard!” Emma cried, rushing at him.

“What the devil—”

He swung around just in time for her reticule to connect with his jaw. His head snapped to the side; he stumbled back with an oath.

Emma wasted no time. She ran to the woman, tore off the blindfold. “I’ll get you out of here!”

“Who are
you
? What are you doing?” The lady’s frantic blue eyes darted around the clearing. “Be quiet or someone will hear you!”

Emma had to stand on tiptoe to reach the lady’s wrists. She succeeded in untying the rope, which slithered to the ground, coiling like a snake in the grass. A sardonic voice emerged from behind her.

“You again,” he said.

Emma pivoted as the stranger advanced toward her, rubbing his jaw. Only now he wasn’t a stranger—the lady had called him Strathaven ... a lord of some sort? She regretted not paying attention to Marianne’s review of
Debrett’s Peerage
. It was best to know one’s enemy.

Emma’s skin prickled as Strathaven’s gaze roved over her, his icy, intense eyes penetrating her layer by layer. Palpitations gripped her heart. No one had ever looked at her this way before. Had ever made her feel this exposed and bared … Shaking off the alien sensation, she pulled her shoulders back and stood at her full height. Unfortunately, he dwarfed her by nearly a foot; she had to tip her head back to meet his gaze.

“Take one more step, and I’ll scream,” she warned.

Given the volume of the orchestra and party as well as the present location deep in the garden, she thought it unlikely that her cry for help would be noticed. She prayed the rogue wouldn’t realize it.

“Oh?” One black brow lifted. “Who do you think will hear you?”

Dash it.
“I have extremely capable lungs,” she informed him.

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” His lips gave a faint twitch, drawing her attention to the hard line of his mouth and the faint grooves that bracketed it. “Well, pet, you have succeeded in getting my attention, I’ll grant you that.”

The
nerve
of the man. “Of all the arrogant, asinine—”

“
Please
keep your voice down.” The lady inserted herself between them. “I beg of you, Miss …?”

“My name is Emma Kent. And you needn’t be afraid because I witnessed everything.” Emma angled her chin up. “I shall be happy to provide testimony to the magistrates.”

“The
magistrates
? You mustn’t,” the lady gasped.

“The scoundrel was attacking you. Of course I must.”

“Attacking her? Why would I do such a thing?” To her disbelief, Strathaven gave a harsh laugh. “Do you know who I am, Miss Kent?”

“I don’t care who you are. Your rank doesn’t exempt you from rules of conduct, my lord,” Emma retorted hotly.

“Your grace.”

“What?”

“Your grace is how one addresses a duke.”

She gritted her teeth at his cool correction. “The point is,
your grace
, I heard you assaulting this lady and—”

“You have no idea what you heard.” The duke’s mouth formed a humorless smile. “Now run along, pet, and leave us be.”

Pet?
As if she were a spaniel trained to do his bidding? Before she could summon a scathing reply, the lady gripped her arm.

“Strathaven is right,” the redhead pleaded. “Nothing happened.”

“But he tied you up and was about to ... hurt you.” Had the rogue meant to beat the woman—rape her? Both? Quelling a shudder, Emma said, “If you’re afraid, you needn’t be. My brother is a former member of the Thames River Police, and he knows the Chief Magistrate of Bow Street personally—”

“
No.
” Her face draining of color, the lady whispered, “I implore you, Miss Kent. If anyone catches wind of this, I’ll be ruined. Lord Osgood, my husband … he’ll never forgive me.” Her voice hitched on a sob. “There
cannot
be a scandal.”

“Surely if you explain to your husband—”

“My reputation will be destroyed. I would rather
die
.” Tears streamed down Lady Osgood’s beautiful face, her fingers digging painfully into Emma’s flesh. “If you truly wish to help me, swear on everything you hold dear that you’ll never breathe word of this matter.”

Emma hesitated, darted a glance at Strathaven. He’d propped one velvet-clad shoulder against a gazebo post, his pose utterly unconcerned. Frustration smoldered in her chest. It wasn’t fair that Lady Osgood had to worry about her reputation whilst he didn’t have to answer for his misdeeds. Why should he should get away with assault just because he was a man—a duke?

’Twas injustice of the
worst
sort.

“
Promise me
, Miss Kent.” Lady Osgood fell to her knees.

Shocked, Emma tried to pull the other up. “Please don’t—”

“I shan’t move until you give me your word.” More tears slid over the lady’s sculpted cheekbones, her lips trembling. “If you don’t, I shall be forced to do something drastic. I’d rather end it all than—”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Emma said desperately. “
Please
get up.”

“Truly?” Lady Osgood whispered. “You swear it—on everything you hold dear?”

With lingering reluctance, Emma gave a nod.

Lady Osgood rose, her gaze flitting to Strathaven. Emma couldn’t decipher the duke’s expression. What hold did he have over the lady? Would he threaten or hurt her in the future?

“Stay away from her,” Emma warned, “or I
will
see justice done.”

Lightning flashed in the duke’s gaze, his expression that of a wrathful god ready to wage war. The air seemed to crackle with his aggression. Swiftly, Emma took Lady Osgood by the arm and dragged her back toward the house. As they traversed the twisting maze, Emma’s heart thudded, sweat dampening her unmentionables even as she kept a quick, determined pace.

With an adversary like Strathaven, it was best to keep going and never look back.

Chapter Two

“You’re not angry with me, are you, darling?” a husky feminine voice asked.

Alaric James Alexander McLeod, the eighth Duke of Strathaven, cast a cool glance over at Lady Clara Osgood. They were alone in his private cottage in St. John’s Wood, and she was naked, waiting on her hands and knees on the black satin sheets. For their mutual pleasure, he’d kept her in that pose while he disrobed. He was taking his time about it, noting how she shivered at the sound of his garments being removed, her bottom angling subtly and suggestively higher in the air.

Clara enjoyed assuming an obedient role in their bed sport. As he was an unquestionably dominant lover, this had made for a good fit ... for a while, at least. He was aware of his restlessness, the
ennui
that remained untouched by the games he and Clara played. Less than a month into their
affaire
, he was already tiring of her company.