The Duke's Men [1] What the Duke Desires (17 page)

Good Lord, had he read her mind? And what did he mean, she wasn’t good at it? “I’m
trying
to play your wife,” she said testily, “but I have never been a wife, and I don’t
know—”

“I’m talking about your calling me ‘His Grace.’ That was a rather spectacular deviation
from the plan.”

She winced. “Oh. Right.” She dug into her breakfast, all too conscious of the way
he kept staring at her.

Idly he rubbed his finger around the rim of his cup. “Did you mean what you said at
the Golden Cross about wanting to be one of your brother’s men?”

The abrupt change of subject put her on her guard. “Yes. Why?”

“It just doesn’t seem like the sort of life a woman would want.”

“And what would you know about the sort of life a woman wants? You haven’t ever married,
probably because you haven’t found a woman who would live up to your impeccable standards.”

“We’re not talking about me,” he said, obviously too clever to be goaded into telling
her what she was dying to know—why he hadn’t yet married. “We’re talking about you.
So tell me, what
is
the sort of life a woman wants? What’s the sort of life
you
want?”

The question brought her up short. She had thought about it a great deal, but no one
had ever asked her to articulate it. Dropping her gaze to the cup of tea she was turning
around in her hand, she considered what to tell him. “I want to be able to fend for
myself, to never have to depend on a man for money.” That was first and foremost.
But there was more, too. “I want to see the world.”

As she warmed to her subject, she lifted her gaze to his. “I want to use my brain
and not have to pretend I don’t have one, just so I won’t trample on some man’s pride.
I want to help Dom make a success of his business so we can show George that we succeeded
in spite of him.”

He didn’t laugh or make light of her words. He just kept staring at her. “And you
think that the only way you can accomplish all that is by working for Manton as one
of his ‘men.’ ”

She tipped up her chin. “Yes.”

“How does he feel about that?”

“He’s not opposed to the idea,” she said evasively. “He just wants me to learn the
administrative part of the business first.”

“Ah.”

That one word contained a wealth of meaning. She glared at him. “You think he’s not
keen on it, that he’s placating me. Because you think I can’t do it. You think that
he’d be foolish to hire me as an investigator.”

“Actually, I think he would be very wise, and that you would do it very well if you
put your mind to it. But I suspect you wouldn’t enjoy it as much as you assume.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “Thanks to my brother’s disappearance and death, I’ve had vast experience
with investigators, and I’ve noticed a few things about them. The good ones are cautious
and circumspect. They listen without judgment until they have all the facts.” Leaning
close, he steadied his penetrating gaze on her. “Whereas you, my dear, like to speak
your mind, and you don’t necessarily want to wait for the facts before doing so.”

“I can be circumspect when the situation warrants it,” she countered.

He arched an eyebrow. “Even when a duke is beating down your door demanding action?
Your brother would never have tried to throw me out, admit it. He would have been
more cautious with a man who could ruin him with a word.”

She bristled at that. “You insulted me and threatened my servant! Did you expect me
just to . . . to stand there and take it?”

“Of course not,” he said, clearly annoyed. “But there was a middle ground.”

“You mean I should have toadied up to you and soothed your male temper?”

“No, I mean—” He muttered a curse under his breath. “My point is that you have strong
opinions and feel passionately. And there is no room in the life of an investigator
for feeling passionately.”

“That’s not true!” she protested, annoyed that he seemed to have figured her out so
easily. When he jerked his head to indicate the other people in the room, she gritted
her teeth and lowered her voice. “It’s not.
Dom
feels passionately.”

“And does he show it?” Max murmured. “When he questions someone, do you know what’s
in his mind? Do you even know what his opinions are about a case until the two of
you are alone?”

She scowled at him, trying to ignore her memories of how Dom investigated a matter,
which was almost exactly as Max described. It didn’t mean she couldn’t do the same
thing. “I can hold my feelings close to my chest when I need to. I
can
.”

“The question is not whether you could, but whether you would. And if you would even
enjoy it. Would you really like always being circumspect, always weighing your opinions?”
His eyes gleamed at her, taunting her. “Always stifling your feelings on any subject
so you could get to the truth of the matter?”

God rot him. What did he know about it? She leaned across the table to hiss, “Just
because you’ve
spent two days pretending to be my husband doesn’t mean you know me. You don’t understand
me, and you never will.” She rose. “Now, I believe I shall go get some fresh air,
if you don’t mind. I hope that’s
circumspect
enough for you.”

Drawing her cloak about her, she started to walk away.

“Flouncing off in a huff merely makes my point, my dear!” he called after her.

She paused to cast him a withering stare. “Go to hell.”

That only made him laugh, the conceited, arrogant lout. She stalked to the door. He
thought he knew everything, him and his “vast experience with investigators.” But
he’d never
been
one, had he?

Neither have you,
her conscience reminded her.

All right, that was true, but it was beside the point. He couldn’t possibly know how
she might behave until she actually served in that capacity. She was perfectly capable
of curbing her emotions and listening and all those things.

His voice rang in her ears:
The question is not whether you could, but whether you would. And if you would even
enjoy it.

Drat him for that. Well, she might have to put up with Lofty Lyons’s cocksure opinions
when they were crammed together in a coach or some inn room, but she didn’t have to
do it on the packet boat.

For the next few hours she effectively avoided him, attaching herself to a group of
ladies who were
discussing fashions and beaus and how difficult the salt air and sun were on their
complexions. It was the most inane chatter imaginable, but she nodded and smiled and
pretended to be enjoying herself.

He made no attempt to invade their little group, which rather surprised her. Instead,
he went off to a cabin where some of the gentlemen were playing cards. Occasionally
he emerged and she could feel him nearby, watching and probably gloating at the erroneous
impression she’d given him that he had won their argument, but she didn’t care. She
was heartily sick of the duke right now.

Hours later, when the call came that dinner was being served, she was still annoyed
enough to consider dining with her new female friends. But she was also practical
enough to admit that she couldn’t really afford it. Besides, they abandoned her to
join their husbands and brothers and other male companions anyway, which left her
no choice.

So when Max came up to offer her his arm on the unsteady deck and ask, “Shall we have
dinner, my dear?” she had the good sense to say, “Thank you, yes.”

But she felt awkward, unsure of how to go on as they walked toward the dining cabin.
When she and her brothers argued, one of them usually ended it by making a joke. Unfortunately,
she didn’t feel comfortable enough with Max to do that.

After a bit, he said, “You were right about the tea. Vile as it was, after the third
cup, I began to feel
markedly better. I swear I could eat an entire side of beef just now.”

She recognized an olive branch when she saw it. “Well, I wouldn’t go so far as that.
Your stomach would probably rebel. But a little beef and potatoes probably wouldn’t
hurt.”

He shot her an amused glance. “That’s a very wifely thing to say.”

“I’m just trying to be convincing in my role.”

“I can think of several more pleasurable ways you could be convincing in your role.”
When she eyed him askance, he laughed. “Forgive me, but I can’t get that image of
you kneeling in front of me in your nightdress out of my head.”

A mischievous impulse seized her. “What about the image of me on your lap?”

His amusement abruptly faded. “You were on my
lap
?”

“Oh, you have no idea the things we did last night,” she said lightly. “Don’t tell
me you don’t remember.”

“I don’t, damn it!” He eyed her skeptically. “Wait a minute—are you making that up?”

“Not a bit.” She leaned up to whisper, “How do you think you ended up with your cravat
undone and your waistcoat unbuttoned?”

He glared down at her. “You’re a very wicked woman, Miss Bonnaud.”

“Ah, ah, you’re forgetting your role,” she teased. “Mustn’t do that.”

“Wicked
and
annoying,” he snapped.

“Not to mention hungry,” she said, releasing his arm to walk over to the counter where
they were handing out plates.

He followed closely behind her. “So am I. But not for food now, thanks to you.”

A delicious shiver slid down her spine, despite her determination not to be affected
by him. “Remember,” she warned, “we have an agreement.”

“Yes, and I’m beginning to regret I ever made such a foolish bargain.”

She laughed. How lovely to have found a way to get back at him for his cocksure pronouncements
about her character.

But as they picked their way through the dining room with their plates and mugs of
ale, she found herself wondering about
his
character. Who was this duke who could be a perfect gentleman one moment and a tempting
rogue the next? Had his childhood aim really been to become a midshipman? It just
didn’t seem like him.

The minute they sat down, she asked him about it.

“Actually,” he told her as he dug eagerly into his dinner, “there’s a long history
of naval service among the younger sons on my father’s side of the family—two uncles,
a cousin, a great-uncle . . .” He paused, as if something disturbed him, then continued
with a forced smile. “Some of them sent me souvenirs from their exploits sailing under
Admiral Nelson. So as you might imagine, at the tender age of seven, I worshipped
Nelson and hoped to sail with him myself one day.”

“Did you really?” she said, trying to picture it.

“It was right after the Battle of Trafalgar, and the newspapers were full of stories
about Nelson’s gallant actions and glorious death. I dreamed of fighting Boney, rising
rapidly through the ranks like my hero, and becoming the greatest naval captain ever
to sail the seas.” A rueful smile touched his lips. “Of course, I had some boyish
notion that the war would go on forever.”

“It did go on quite a while. Were you disappointed when it ended?”

His face clouded over. “No, because by then, any possibility of reaching my dream
had vanished, anyway.”

He’d turned somber again. She watched, her heart twisting as he concentrated on steadying
his plate when it slid toward the edge of the table.

Trying to cheer him, she said lightly, “Forgive me, but I’m having trouble imagining
you as a small boy dreaming of adventure at sea. You just seem so . . . dukely, sprung
fully formed from the womb of a duchess.”

“Dukely?”
he said with an arched brow. “Is that even a word?”

“If it’s not, it should be.” She cast him a mischievous grin. “It means ‘imperious.’ ”

That got a smile out of him, to her enormous pleasure. But as she watched, he sobered.
“You realize that I might not actually be a duke. If Peter is alive—”

“You said it was impossible.”

“It is.” He drank some ale. “Well, unlikely, in any case.”

Curiosity got the better of her. “They did find his body, right?”

He sighed. “They found the body of a boy the right age to be him. But by the time
we learned of it and were able to travel to the Continent, he’d been buried for months.”

“Then how did they know it was Peter?”

A hard look crossed his face. “He was found with his kidnapper, who also died in the
fire. And his kidnapper was definitively identified by a ring he wore.”

“You found out who his kidnapper was? Who
was
it?”

He flinched, then drank down some ale. “Some blackguard, that’s all,” he murmured
and forced a smile. “So are you never going to tell me exactly what happened while
I was drunk last night?”

The abrupt change of subject made her sigh. He didn’t trust her even that far, did
he? “No,” she said, trying to match his light tone. “A woman has to have
some
secrets.”

“I suppose.” He pushed his plate away. “Was it your childhood dream to be an investigator?”

“Certainly not. My dream wasn’t much different from yours. I wanted to be an explorer.”

He laughed, and the shadows faded from his eyes.

The next few hours passed quickly. They ate their dinner, then strolled the deck talking.
The sea had smoothed out into a surprising calm, which made the journey quite pleasant.
As long as they skirted the subject of his brother and the kidnapping, their conversation
was perfectly amiable.

The duke could be entertaining when he wanted.
He regaled her with tales about his wild friend Gabriel Sharpe, who’d settled into
marriage with Miss Waverly, the cousin of one of Dom’s former clients, Lord Devonmont.

But now she was all too aware of how carefully Max avoided speaking of the kidnapping,
or even his life past the age when his brother had supposedly died. Other questions
leapt into her mind, too, like what sort of illness his father could have contracted
that made it necessary for Max’s parents to take him with them searching for a cure.
The more she knew of him, the more curious she became.