A Duke a Dozen Page 2
Phineas took a seat beside the hearth, which had been banked but still gave off some warmth, and decided this was not at all what he had expected. The Wanton Widow did not appear very, well, wanton. But then just because she had good taste in household furnishings did not mean she was not a libertine who was free with her favors. Not to mention, he had met her. That wasn’t entirely accurate as he hadn’t been introduced to her, but he had locked eyes with her and felt...the effects of too much alcohol, surely.
He doubted she was even as beautiful as he remembered. Regardless, the fact was he had not traveled all this way to admire Lady Longstowe. He had questions, damn it. He wanted answers, and the best way to accomplish that was to speak to the woman directly. He didn’t want to take her to bed. She probably had the pox.
The door opened, and Phin jumped up as the pox-ridden woman herself was there. Phin had a moment to think she looked quite well for a woman suffering from the pox.
“Lady Longstowe, the Duke of Mayne,” the butler said as though the words required tremendous effort. Phin felt his knees buckle and wished he could sit down.
Two
“Thank you, Crotchett.” Lady Longstowe stepped into the drawing room and walked directly toward him. The room seemed to tilt, and Phineas shifted to maintain his balance. He hardly had time to find his bearings and then she was before him, grasping both his hands in hers. He looked down at them. She wore gloves, and he desperately wished he could touch her bare skin.
“Your Grace, I am so sorry for your loss. Your brother’s death was quite a shock to me. How is your family?”
He looked almost directly into her eyes. He hadn’t realized she was so tall, only a few inches shorter than he. Phin also hadn’t expected her to be so gracious. He’d arrived unannounced, interrupted her evening, and she did not seem annoyed in the least. Finally, he found his voice. “They are as well as can be expected. Thank you for inquiring.”
“Please sit down. I’ll ring for tea.”
“Your housekeeper has already gone to fetch it.”
“Oh. You met Mrs. Slightley?” She hesitated for a moment before taking a seat across from the chair he’d occupied. She obviously expected him to mention the housekeeper’s diminutive size.
“I did. She seems quite capable.”
She offered a slight smile and sat, gesturing for Phin to follow. For a long moment, they sat in silence. Phineas knew he should say something, but seeing her again made his head spin. The first time he’d seen her, he’d had several glasses of champagne, but he had no such excuse tonight. No excuse for the way his chest tightened and his breaths came short when he looked at her. She looked much as she had that first night. Her auburn hair was swept off her face in a simple style that highlighted her bright blue eyes. Her skin was pale, and now that he was closer he saw she had a few freckles scattered over her nose and cheeks. She was dressed in a simple blue gown with a high neck that did not reveal her bosom, but he remembered it well enough from the ball where he’d first glimpsed it. A man didn’t forget something that magnificent.
She was older than he. At least ten years and possibly more. There were faint lines at her mouth and eyes, but they didn’t diminish her beauty or his attraction to her. An unwanted attraction that apparently had nothing whatsoever to do with too much drink. But he could, and would, ignore the attraction and press on.
“Again, I am sorry about your brother,” she said, finally breaking the silence. Phin felt like a fool for allowing it to go on so long. “I am sure it must have been a shock to your family.”
“Yes, well, we have become used to the shock, I’m afraid.”
“Your family has suffered more than its share of tragedy.” She offered him a sad smile, but he could see in her eyes the beginnings of confusion. She really did not know why he was here.
“I called on you tonight, my lady, because I wondered if you might answer a few questions for me.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly with suspicion. “Of course.”
“Thank you.” How to begin? Phin cleared his throat. He had studied law at Oxford. He could ask a woman questions, even a beautiful woman. “What was the, ah...nature of your relationship with my brother?” His voice sounded bitter, and he felt surprisingly bitter. He’d never envied Richard anything until he’d seen his brother with the Wanton Widow.
“The nature of my relationship with your brother?”
“That was my question.”
For a moment, she hesitated and Phineas wondered if she might refuse to answer the question. And then she said, stiffly, “I danced with the late duke at Lady Houghton’s ball. That was the nature of my relationship.”
Phin blew out a breath. “Come, my lady. Even I know it was more than that. I saw you with him.”
Phineas would not have been surprised to look behind him and see someone had opened the window, letting the January air inside. The room was suddenly several degrees colder, as were Lady Longstowe’s icy blue eyes.
“Are you implying that—”
The door opened again, and Mrs. Slightley pushed the tea cart inside. “Here we are then,” she said in a cheery tone that did nothing to dispel the chill in the room. “A bit of tea and those ginger biscuits you like so much, my lady.”
“That will be all, Mrs. Slightley,” Lady Longstowe said when the tray was beside her chair. As she didn’t reach for the tea pot or make any move to offer her guest tea, the housekeeper hesitated.
“Do you want me to pour, my lady?”
“No, thank you.”
Mrs. Slightley gave Phineas an assessing look and then walked slowly out of the room. She closed the door behind her, but Phin would have wagered a fiver she was on the other side, listening.
“Why don’t we dispense with the pleasantries,” Lady Longstowe said, flicking a hand at the tea tray and the biscuits, which did look rather appetizing. “What exactly do you wish to know, Your Grace?”
“I want to know what my brother’s last hours were like. I want to piece them together.” He stood. “I didn’t want to be the duke, but I am, and I suppose I want to understand why.” He hadn’t meant to tell her all of that or any of it, and he closed his mouth and paced away to stare at the polished wood of the pianoforte.
“And why would I know anything about your brother’s last hours?”
Phin was facing away from her and resorted to the childish gesture of rolling his eyes. He turned, leaning against the piano. “Lady Longstowe, I know your reputation. My brother knew your reputation. When I left the ball, you and he looked quite friendly, and he did not return until dawn the next morning. Are you saying he did not leave the ball with you?”
She sat so straight Phin’s shoulders actually ached for her. It couldn’t be comfortable to sit so stiffly. “What does it matter what I say? You have made up your mind.”
“I want the truth.”
She blew out a breath. “No, you want confirmation.”
Phin pushed away from the instrument. “Are you saying you did not take my brother to your bed?”
She sat very still, and Phin began to wonder if she would not answer. Worse, he began to wonder if this wasn’t the question he’d wanted answered all along. Really, how could she know anything about Richard’s last hours? But when he thought of her with Richard, the burning in his chest began again. He hadn’t been able to escape it every time he thought of her. He was angry that Richard, the Idiot, had bedded her. Because Phin had wanted her as he’d rarely ever wanted any other woman.
Too late, he realized coming here had been a mistake. FitzRoy was right. He had come to seduce her.
And she knew it.
As he watched, she seemed to change. The stiff posture melted away, and she leaned casually on the arm of her chair. Her mouth, which had been tight with what he’d thought was indignation, softened. Her eyes lowered then looked up at him from under her auburn lashes. “Is that why you came?” she asked—no, it was more of a purr, actually. Her voice had become lower and lusher and she spoke slowly. “To hear all about what I did with your brother? In bed?” She rose and walked toward him, her hips swaying in a manner he had difficulty tearing his gaze from.
“Not those details necessarily.” He had to clear his throat as his mouth had gone dry. He should leave. Now. He should go. But how could he walk away from a woman who could move like that?
She stopped before him, standing far closer than was necessary. He tried to step back, but the pianoforte stood behind him. “I read he was found in West Sussex on the twenty-fifth of December. Our”—she lifted her hand and placed a finger lightly over the top button of his waistcoat—“night of sin took place in the early hours of December twenty-four.” Her finger trailed down to the next button. He should remove it, but he couldn’t seem to move. Or breathe. Or look away from her lush mouth.
The way she’d said sin had caused a flash of heat so strong he’d thought he might ignite.
“You’re not a suspect.” His voice was little more than a rasp.
“Then perhaps you came because you were curious.” She looked up at him as her finger trailed to the next button, coming increasingly closer to his waist and his burgeoning erection. “Perhaps you want a sample of what I gave your brother.”
He shook his head.
“No.” She licked her lips. “You don’t want me to take you in my mouth?” She lowered her finger again, and he was painfully aware of how close her hand was to his erectio
n. “You don’t want to slip between my thighs with that hard cock until you’re sated and spent?”
He swallowed. “That’s not why I came?” It sounded much more like a question than he liked.
She stepped back, and her eyes were icy again. All the sensuality of a moment ago was gone with a chill. “Then why did you come, Duke? Did you want to see if I was really as wanton as my sobriquet suggests? Were you curious about my house? Perhaps I would have naughty toys about or lascivious paintings. You could gossip about me at your club and tell everyone how you bent me over a chair and—let’s see—” She put a finger to her lips, considering. “Are you the sort of man who would say he ‘rogered’ a wench or do you prefer ‘fuck’?”
He moved away from her then, his face hot and his head spinning.
“You don’t like me saying that. Only men can speak like that, and we ladies are supposed to pretend we don’t know what you are talking about. You may not know why you came, Your Grace, but I do. And I don’t care if you are the king himself, you’ll never see my bed chamber.”
“That’s not why I came!” He was lying. She knew it and so did he. Phin felt more like a scolded schoolboy, and he knew he deserved to feel far worse.
“No, you came to ask me questions.” She rolled her eyes as though this was the silliest thing she had ever heard. “I won’t answer them. I’ll have Crotchett show you out now.” She started for the door, walking rigidly now and showing none of the grace she had earlier.
“I can send the magistrate to ask you.” Phin didn’t know why he said it. Perhaps he disliked having been so thoroughly thrashed.
She paused and looked back at him, and he felt his face redden. It was a childish thing to say, and he was ashamed to have thrown the threat at her. She was obviously not a woman to be threatened.
“Go ahead. I am not afraid of magistrates or dukes nor do I care what Society says about me. When you have faced real demons, all other threats seem paltry in comparison.” She swept out in a swath of watery blue silk.
Phineas stood in the empty drawing room for several more seconds then, without waiting for the butler, left the chamber behind, and made his way down the steps to the ground floor. He found his coat and hat where the housekeeper had put them and pulled them on hastily.
But not hastily enough.
The housekeeper hurried down the steps. Phin held up a hand. “No need to throw me out. I am leaving.”
“Good.” Mrs. Slightley stopped at the base of the stairs, arms crossed and brows lowered. “I can’t say what I want being that you’re a duke and might throw me in the stocks—”
“The stocks? I wouldn’t throw an innocent woman in the stocks.”
“Good. Then I’ll say you should be ashamed of yourself.”
Phin finished buttoning his coat and set his hat on his head. He wasn’t ashamed of himself, but he didn’t feel exactly proud at the moment either. He opened the door. “Good night, Mrs. Slightley.”
“It was a good night until you made my mistress cry.”
Phin turned around. “Made her cry? Lady Longstowe is crying?”
“What do you care?”
“I don’t.” Phin stepped outside and flinched when the door slammed behind him.
He walked to the waiting coach, keeping his head down to avoid the bite of the wind. Once inside the coach, he directed the coachman to drive to the City and the office of his solicitor, then he poured himself another brandy and determined not to think of Lady Longstowe again.
Which was easier said than done. Because he did care.
He cared that he had upset her. He cared that he had made a fool of himself.
He cared that she was right. He had come out of curiosity and out of lust. He did have an interest in his brother’s last hours, but all evidence pointed to the fact that he’d spent the evening before Christmas with one of the Johnson sisters at a farmhouse not far from Southmead Cottage. The magistrate had spoken to the Johnson girls, and they’d confirmed he’d been there and left quite intoxicated. The next day he’d been found dead.
Lady Longstowe was most definitely not a suspect. Nor were the Johnson girls. Nor was anyone as The Idiot could, and obviously did, manage to get himself killed all on his own.
And though Phin had all of this information at his disposal, there was one fact of which he was not certain. Had his brother gone to bed with Lady Longstowe?
It didn’t matter. It was irrelevant. Yet still, he’d wanted to know.
And now he knew.
Or did he?
Before he could pour more brandy, the carriage stopped, and he descended again to enter his solicitor’s establishment. It was a tidy building on Gresham Street, an area of the city known for housing financial establishments. It was late, but Phineas had been solicitous of his man’s time and sent a note earlier in the day informing the man he was coming. It was more than he’d done with lady Longstowe.
A clerk greeted Phin as soon as he entered and showed him to the office of Mr. Clarence Moggerton. When Moggerton stood and shuffled around his desk to shake Phin’s hand, the duke had a moment to reflect that Clarence Moggerton, unlike Lady Longstowe, was exactly what he’d expected. Moggerton appeared ageless with his white hair, his rheumy eyes, his large spectacles, and his black clothing. His hand, when Phin shook it, felt frail, the skin papery. “Good evening, Your Grace.” Moggerton spoke as though with some effort, his voice sounding like he had not used it in the last decade.
“Good evening.” Phin removed his hat and took the seat Moggerton offered.
“May I congratulate you on your elevation to the title of duke?” Moggerton said.
“No, you may not,” Phineas answered, making Moggerton’s eyes widen behind the spectacles. “I want no congratulations or condolences. I’m not here for that.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Moggerton lifted a stack of ledgers, the weight of which seemed more than he could manage. He slid them across his desk so they resided in front of Phineas. “Here are the estate accounts from the last three years, as requested. I have placed Southmead on top and then the other estates underneath in descending order of size. Would you like some tea or perhaps something stronger before we begin?”
Phineas stared at the ledgers. He had asked Moggerton to give him a full accounting of the dukedom. He wanted to know what debts he owed, what his holdings were, which were profitable and which were not. Moreover, he wanted to know how badly Richard and George had depleted the family coffers. He’d always received his allowance on time, and neither his mother nor unmarried sister complained at not receiving theirs, but that did not mean he was a wealthy man. Peers often mortgaged property or lived on credit to afford the appearance of having more blunt than they knew what to do with.
“No refreshments for me, Mr. Moggerton. Begin.”
Moggerton went about his task with alacrity, and Phin tried to listen, he really did. When he heard nothing to alarm him and more to reassure him, his thoughts wandered. They wandered right back to Lady Longstowe. What was it about her that made him want her so desperately? Even when he’d known she was playing the role of temptress, he couldn’t seem to tamp down his arousal. He’d liked that she put her hand on his waistcoat. He’d wanted her to touch him all over, to touch his bare skin. He’d wanted to touch her.
Clearly, she was disgusted by him. But why should she be disgusted by him and enthralled by Richard? Unless she hadn’t slept with Richard? Had he merely assumed because she was called the Wanton Widow, she offered her favors to every man?
“Mr. Moggerton,” Phineas said, interrupting Moggerton’s droning on about the prices of wheat. “What do you know about Lady Longstowe?
Moggerton looked up from the documents before him, his eyes magnified by the spectacles he wore. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace.”
“Lady Longstowe. What do you know about her?”
“I have never heard of the woman, Your Grace.” Moggerton took a piece of foolscap and dipped his pen in ink. “What would you like to know?”
Phineas stared at the pen suspended above the paper. What did he want to know? Everything, truth be told. But hadn’t he already invaded the woman’s privacy enough? What kind of man continued to investigate a woman who had made it clear she disdained him? Phin had never wanted to be the Duke of Mayne, and now that he was he would not abuse the title by sending his lackeys to spy on an innocent woman.