Page 11 of Dukes for Dessert

“Carnal knowledge of her? Don’t be delicate—plain speech is best.” David lifted his cigar and took a brusque puff. “Now I am convinced that Devonport’s barking mad. For what reason is he so unhappy with that beautiful young woman that he invents her adultery? Does she snore? Sing horribly when he’s attempting to sleep? Did she try to poison him? Wouldn’t blame her there. I’m sorry, but I cannot imagine what sin she has committed to cause a man to want to put her aside.”

“You believe me that the charges are lies?” Pierson asked in surprise.

“Why wouldn’t I? You are the most truthful man I know. And you are not naive about the world, no matter how you hide yourself away in this corner of it. If you say Sophie is innocent, then she is. Besides, I know plenty of women who stray, and you are right—she is not the sort. What I cannot fathom is why Devonport wants rid of her. The concoction she made me drink was foul, true, but she was right. It made me feel much better, very quickly. That is no reason to turn a woman out of doors.”

“Money.” Pierson held his cigar loosely and looked sad. “That is why he is ruining Sophie’s life.”

David frowned. “Ah. I begin to see a glimmer.”

“Sophie had a large dowry, and an inheritance that went to her husband when she married. My sister and her husband were dazzled by Devonport’s title and did not make the wisest choices in the marriage settlements.”

“And Devonport went through the inheritance,” David guessed. “He is extravagant.”

“Exactly. The dowry, the money, and the property Sophie held are gone. Now Devonport has his eye on another lady, a widow who is sumptuously wealthy.”

“What woman would marry him after what he’s doing to his first wife?” David asked in amazement.

“Devonport has cultivated public sympathy for himself at Sophie’s expense. They listen to him, not Sophie. He is much higher born than she is, and his word carries weight, especially with those who do not know him well. Likely this widow believes she’ll soothe him from all his hurts—ladies do like to think they’ll be the nurturing angel who heals the misunderstood hero. Plus she’ll become the Countess of Devonport and a grand hostess, which must be too enticing to turn her back on.”

“There are no children,” David mused. “I’ve never read an excited birth announcement regarding the next little Devonport.”

“Another strike against Sophie. She has not produced the requisite son and heir, though they’ve been married five years. The widow whom Devonport wishes to marry already has two small children—she is obviously fertile.”

“Dear God.” David felt ill.

Society would consider Sophie lucky to have landed Devonport in marriage. Pierson’s family, no matter that Pierson had an amazing brain and much compassion, were inconsequential. Pierson’s sister, Sophie’s mother, had married a kind nobody—a gentleman with a Cambridge education but no family connections that lifted him above the ordinary. Mr. Tierney had money in a trust from his mother specifically to give Sophie a start, which was why she’d had a fine dowry with a small piece of property attached to it. But though Sophie’s father was a respectable gentleman, he had no prominent career, no connections among the ruling class, and no ambitions. So Pierson had told him.

Sophie had gone from nonentity to countess, her husband a peer of the realm and prominent in the House of Lords. Society wouldn’t forgive her for betraying this lofty man, no matter what they thought about him personally.

David had mostly ignored Lackwit Laurie since school, because he’d grown from pompous and stupid boy to pompous and stupid man, not worth bothering about. Devonport had never done anything to annoy Hart personally, and so Hart hadn’t asked David to ruin him.

But wouldn’t it be satisfying to?

“I’ll have to run up to London soon,” David said, hiding his sudden enthusiasm behind his cigar. “Business keeps marching, even when I’m rusticating. May I presume upon your hospitality and have my room again when I return?”

Pierson’s eyes narrowed. “Please stay clear of this business, Fleming. Sophie has had enough pain. I do not want her name associated with yours—that would make things worse for her. No matter how fond I am of you, you know it’s true.”

David widened his eyes. “Why would you believe me rushing to London to meddle in Sophie’s affairs? I’ve had charges of assault brought against me, and I need to find a barrister to defend me, or try to convince Griffin to drop it, which would be best all around. I do have my own troubles, you know.”

“I believe it because I know you,” Pierson said. “Leave it alone.”

David subsided, or pretended to. “I only wish to help a damsel in distress.”

“And I know your reputation with damsels. Sophie is my niece, first and foremost. I realize she is not the sort of lady on whom you usually sate your libidinous nature, or I’d never have allowed you the house, but you do like to manipulate people. For Sophie’s sake, please leave it alone.”

David raised his hands, the cigar trickling smoke. “I understand. I am to keep my stained paws out of it.”

Pierson relaxed, but only a little. “Stay here and help me dig out the villa. It is good to have an able-bodied man to assist me.”

“You know, you ought to hire people if you are serious. Let a professional have a look at the site.”

“I am a professional,” Pierson said, wounded. “I have trained in archaeology—did a dig in the Levant, I’ll have you know, and one in Northumbria. Found a nice little stash of Viking gold.”

“Yes, so you have related on numerous occasions. That means you know people in the business and don’t have to force your friends to wallow in the dirt for you.”

“But I am a selfish man, and want this find for myself. It’s my villa, David. I’ll not give it away.”

He looked so affronted that David chuckled, feeling better. It had been a while since something made him light of heart.