Page 14 of Duke of Eccess (Seven Dukes of Sin #4)

Sophie kept reading, sitting so happily by Eccess’s side.

Margaret sat at his other side after Temperance rose and moved to a chair next to James so he didn’t feel left out.

The boy had sleepwalked the night before and had been especially difficult to return to his bed, and she worried the incident with the pistol had shaken him more than he let on.

To her unease, the Duke of Enveigh took a seat next to hers.

Temperance shifted slightly in her chair.

Yesterday he had showed no sign of having recognized her, and why should he?

They’d met at her very first ball nearly three years ago in spring when the Season had just started.

At the time she had been dressed in a sparkling white gown, her chignon covered with elaborate silk flowers with river pearls on their petals like droplets of dew. She’d looked like a lady.

The Duke of Enveigh had been so handsome, cold, even intimidating, but that had ignited the interest of the debutantes and their mamas even more.

He’d been perfectly polite to everyone. He’d danced with several young ladies, including her, and they’d shared a very pleasant conversation in her papa’s presence that had left her thinking there must be more hiding under his arrogant facade.

Now she looked like a governess; hopefully the change in her attire and hairstyle was enough to blur the duke’s memory. Some people blissfully forgot faces and names the very next morning.

What were the chances the Duke of Enveigh was one such man?

Sophie’s cheeks were a little flushed, no doubt with so much excitement from the attention that the Duke of Eccess paid to her.

Now another duke had come to listen to her read.

The little girl acted out the dialogue, adding emphasis, stumbling and blushing even more crimson.

No one minded, and Temperance kept telling her at those moments that she was doing it beautifully and to keep going.

But it wasn’t her approval the child was really craving. It was that of her guardian, the duke, who was towering over them all, even sitting down.

After a while, the Duke of Enveigh leaned towards her in his chair. He was a tall and a handsome man, much leaner than Eccess. He had light brown hair and steely gray eyes with the slightest hint of green in them. His dark green velvet tailcoat was striking with his coloring.

“Miss Fields,” the Duke of Enveigh murmured, causing Temperance’s employer to send him a scowl while Sophie continued to read by his side. “How’s James after yesterday’s incident?”

She looked down at the boy, who sat on the floor leaning against the leg of her chair, still studying the cogs of the clock in his hands with a thoughtful expression. He looked like he was listening to the story, no matter how much he wanted it to appear he didn’t care.

“Thank you for inquiring,” Temperance said. “He’s recovered. So has Sophie. The children berated each other last night for their recklessness, but they were good friends again in the morning.”

“It was a shock to everyone,” said the Duke of Enveigh. “Especially you, am I correct?”

She glanced up at him, surprised at the care in his voice.

“I…I didn’t expect James to be so reckless, that is true,” Temperance replied, shaking her head to gather her thoughts.

“But it was my fault entirely. I should have sought him when I realized he’d left the schoolroom.

I should have satisfied his curiosity in mechanisms, which he clearly pursued by himself. ”

He chuckled and looked her over with a strange tenderness. “I’m sure you’re too hard on yourself. Miss Fields, yesterday we didn’t have a chance to talk much. Please, tell me, where are you from?”

She shifted uneasily. She didn’t like to lie, especially when she took a liking to someone. Her cheeks burned as she murmured, “Cheshire.”

“Cheshire…”

His gray eyes studied every detail of her face, of her hair. In her dull brown gown, with a white ruffled chemisette pulled high up to her face and covering her neck and chest, she was merely one of the servants, supposed to be invisible and most certainly not questioned by a duke…

Oh, no. Does he recognize me after all?

The Duke of Enveigh shifted somewhat closer as though trying a different angle to study her.

At the same time, Temperance was becoming acutely aware of Eccess’s burning gaze from across the room.

It felt as though she were caught between two predators—one circling with quiet curiosity, the other watching with territorial intensity.

“And your parents,” the Duke of Enveigh said, continuing his inquisition. “Are they alive? Do they know you’re here?”

She swallowed, her blood pounding in her temples. “They’re both dead, sadly.”

“An only child?”

“Indeed.”

“Hmmm. And do you like French fiction?” His tone was pleasant, and anyone listening would hear nothing but polite conversation. But his penetrating eyes pinned her to her seat, and the yellow walls of the room seemed to shrink and press closer.

Temperance fixed her gaze on Sophie while she felt his attention like hot coals burning her skin. “I—I do like French novels, yes.”

“Hmmm. And yet I would have thought books on electric fluid would be of more interest to you…”

The shock felt like a spear being thrust through her, sharp and painful. Temperance could hear Sophie’s small finger trailing across each line as she read, every small click as James manipulated the clock parts, even Margaret’s soft breathing. All while Enveigh’s gaze remained steady on her face.

They had spoken of electric fluid all those years ago.

Temperance stared back at him, struggling to breathe, her heart drumming hard in her throat. His gaze was amused but tender; no malice, no triumph, just soft understanding.

“You…” she whispered desperately. “You know…”

He nodded, his chin supported by his fingers. “I’m afraid I recognized you, Lady Agatha Hale.”

No—no, it couldn’t be. “Please don’t tell anyone…”

She said it so softly she barely heard herself. Across the room, the duke’s scowl was drilling into her.

“Does Octavius know?” the Duke of Enveigh whispered.

“No! No, he does not.”

“The Mad Heiress…” the Duke of Enveigh muttered, looking her over. “Interested in occult methods of moving feathers and fluff without touching them, creating light out of thin air… Giving people painful shocks from touching regular objects?—”

“It was an accident.”

He chuckled. “I can imagine. My…er…my older brother, Edgar, the one who was supposed to be the next Duke of Enveigh, had episodes of melancholy, like my poor mama. I know the difference between brilliance and madness.”

“P-please, Your Grace,” Temperance begged, desperate fear almost halting her tongue before she managed to say, “Please do not give me away to my stepmother. She’ll put me into the asylum if I don’t marry Lord Langston.”

He frowned. “Lord Langston, her nephew?”

Temperance shivered in revulsion as she remembered how Bartholomew’s “playful” touches had grown bolder after her father’s death—grabbing her wrists too tightly during conversations, pressing himself against her when passing in hallways, cornering her in empty rooms to whisper what he’d do to her once they were married.

When she complained to her stepmother, Lady Auster had smiled coldly. “A wife’s duties begin with obedience, my dear. Best you learn now.”

“Marriage to him,” she murmured, shivering at the thought, “or the asylum.”

One night she’d woken to find Bartholomew in her bedchamber.

When she’d screamed, he claimed he’d been sleepwalking—that he’d mistaken her room for his own.

Lady Auster had rushed in, but instead of protecting her, she’d scolded Temperance for “encouraging such confusion with her unnatural behavior” and insisted it was an innocent mistake.

From that night forward, Temperance had barricaded her door and had never felt safe in her own home.

The warmth Temperance had once felt towards Lady Auster was completely gone—and it was mutual.

Oh, she understood why her stepmother behaved that way.

With Papa gone and his will giving the majority of his fortune to Temperance, Lady Auster was completely dependent on Bartholomew’s eventual marriage to an heiress—an heiress like Temperance—for her own financial security.

Acknowledging his abuse would mean confronting the possibility that the marriage wouldn’t happen, leaving her stepmother destitute.

It was easier to convince herself that Temperance was exaggerating or that any harshness was necessary to “correct” her unnatural behavior.

But how much stronger would Lord Bartholomew Langston’s abuse be when he became her husband?

In that moment, Temperance needed to keep her head high. Observe her fear like clouds passing in the sky. She had done everything right until then. She had run and hidden…she had survived.

The Duke of Enveigh’s gaze softened. “I am not fond of people calling women mad just because they don’t do what is considered to be typical. Besides, asylums are just prisons designed to lock unwanted people away.”

Temperance’s chest released a sound of relief so loud, James looked up at her with a frown. She smiled back at the child, doing her best to keep the moisture gathering in her eyes from rolling down her cheeks.

“You won’t tell Lady Auster?” she whispered.

“No.”

“Will you tell his grace—Eccess, I mean?”

“Only if you would like me to.”

Temperance shook her head quickly. “No.”

No, that would be terrible. Whatever it was between her and her employer, it had to remain as aloof as possible—he could never know the truth about her. The fewer people who knew her identity the safer she would be.

“Mad Heiress,” the Duke of Enveigh chuckled. “I understand the ‘mad’ part. Electricity is frightful for many. But what about the ‘heiress’? Is your inheritance really so considerable that your stepmother pursues you so relentlessly?”

She lifted one imperious brow. “As a gentleman you know perfectly well it’s impolite to talk about money.”

The man beside her grinned. “You will find many other men much more gentlemanlike than I. Well? Will you satisfy my curiosity?”

Temperance hesitated, but what was the point in keeping the details to herself? “Oh, it will be revealed one way or another after Christmas. Thirty thousand pounds, Your Grace, and I will be free forever.”

“Thirty thousand pounds,” he repeated thoughtfully. “A fortune that would solve many problems…or create new ones if it fell into the wrong hands. If you wish, I will help, in any way that I can.”

His gaze was warm, his expression soft, but something calculating flickered behind his eyes.

Temperance swallowed another tight knot. “Not telling anyone about me would help.”

The Duke of Enveigh’s eyes crinkled with warmth. “I can give you that. I remember your father, he was one of the best men I ever met.”

Her eyes teared up again. “He was. I miss him dearly.”

“I’m sure you do.”

Could she trust him? Even if only tentatively?

What was the alternative? She could take her things and run again.

But go where? Servants’ wages were paid quarterly, and the next payday came on Christmas Day.

If she disappeared today, she would leave as penniless as she arrived in this household.

If she even wanted to consider flight, she would need to ask Eccess for part of her wages.

Temperance swallowed. “My father had been ill for over a year, and then the mourning… I didn’t feel like attending societal events. I thought I could spend time here…in secrecy.”

The Duke of Enveigh nodded. “Quite understandable. Please know, your secret is safe with me.”

She didn’t know if she could trust him. Temperance supposed that so far he hadn’t given her the reason not to.

She forced herself to nod gratefully, but the way he’d lingered on the sum of her inheritance made her stomach tighten.

She’d survived this long by trusting her instincts—and right now, they were screaming.

As Temperance glanced at the master of the house across the room, a shiver ran down her spine. He was still watching them with a scowl, and she had a strange feeling he didn’t like his friend talking to her at all.

Though why—that was a mystery.