Page 16 of Her Temporary Duke (Rakes and Roses #2)

T he journey to Catesby’s was interminable.

The streets of London looked the same to Charlotte, narrow and twisting.

The carriage rattled over cobbles, and she stared pensively out of the window.

Warmly lit windows passed by, and she wondered how many of them were happy families enjoying supper—perhaps a husband and wife, newly married and savoring each other’s company still.

It cannot be doubted that he seeks to force me to end this betrothal. His behavior cannot be interpreted in any other way. He behaves rudely towards the family that he should be wooing as assiduously as he does me!

And then there were his words, spoken in a moment of drunken clarity when he believed himself to be speaking to the specter of his mother.

Why does he believe he cannot have me?

That thought made her blush with its implications. The alternative was that Seth wanted her. That led her mind down a path of delightful, delicious, and entirely inappropriate thoughts. Presently, the cab came to a halt.

“Catesby’s, milady,” announced the driver.

Charlotte peeked out. The building was like the others on the street. It had the look of Tudor architecture with its white-painted plaster and dark beams. A man in a long coat and top hat stood at the foot of a set of stone steps leading to a door with a brass knocker in its center.

She alighted from the carriage and let it drive away before crossing the road and approaching the figure who stood to attention like a sentry. The scorching scent of cigar smoke and brandy misted through the air as she neared.

Building up courage, she tried to speak with authority, “I seek the Duke of Bellmonte. Is he within?”

“I shall find out, ma’am,” the man answered before turning smartly on his heel.

“Can—can I not go inside and look?” she asked innocently.

The footman eyed her curiously. “No women permitted, ma’am. I can carry a message inside for you?”

“No, that will not be necessary,” she murmured.

It would doubtless mean standing on the street waiting for a reply to her message. And if the Duke’s recent behavior was anything to go by, she might be waiting a long time.

The doorkeeper stood resolutely in front of her, looking past her as though, with this refusal, he no longer needed to pay attention to her.

If Seth was inside and came out to speak to her, what would he say? Out in public, he would either maintain the bravado facade of the rake or he would keep her waiting, another tactic in his inexplicable quest to drive Amelia away.

She walked away from the door and began to make her way down the street. To her left, a narrow lane ran along the side of the building. A group of four women were making their way along it, and Charlotte decided to follow.

The lane led to a cobbled yard occupied by stables and a number of carriages. The women were going into the building through a small rear door, which was not guarded. Charlotte took a deep breath and followed.

A narrow, dimly lit corridor led to a large, busy kitchen.

The women were being inspected by a portly man with a gleam of gold in his teeth and a sweaty face.

Charlotte watched as, one by one, they were inspected and then approved with a jerk of his head or thumb and hurried to collect a mask and a tray before disappearing along another corridor.

When he reached Charlotte, the man demanded, “Were you not told to wear something revealing? Showing a bit of cleavage or some ankle at the very least?”

“This is all I have, sir,” Charlotte said, stupefied by the man’s boldness, suddenly realizing that she was the last woman in line.

“I doubt that, judging by your voice. What’s the matter, fallen on hard times?

Well, who am I to argue? You’re pretty enough, and I need waiting girls.

Take a mask and a tray and go to the front room.

Make sure any empty hands are filled with glass, and any empty glass is filled with whatever they want to drink.

Drunk men gamble more. Well, what are you waiting for? ”

Charlotte did not know what she was thinking except that this might be the only way inside to see what Seth was up to. She felt reckless and had half a mind to walk straight out and return to Prescott Estate. Or even Hamilton House in Yorkshire—end this madness once and for all.

But she could not leave without answers.

So, she picked up a mask in the profile of a cat and put it on her head, completely covering her face.

She collected a tray and went along the corridor leading out of the kitchen.

Smoke drifted near the ceiling through a door that kept opening and closing behind hurrying waiting staff, either carrying empty trays as she did or full ones bearing food and drink.

Passing through the door, she stepped into a room that was dimly lit but full of noise and smoke.

Men laughed and shouted either in triumph, despair, or anger.

Tables filled a large, low-ceilinged room.

Games of cards or dice were being played there.

In one corner, a man threw darts of metal against a target, and in another, two men lunged and darted with rapiers to shouts of encouragement from gathered onlookers.

A hand slapped her on the behind, making her jump. A man who reeked of brandy leered at her.

“More brandy if you please. Then you can come and sit on my lap, eh?”

Charlotte slapped him, knocking the expression of drunken lechery clean off his face. Surprise replaced it, but only for a moment. Then anger appeared.

“Why you...!” he started.

“Now then, friend. There’s no sense in getting angry. A slap in the face is part of the game we’re all playing here. Wouldn’t be a sport if they made it too easy, would it, eh?” came a familiar voice.

Charlotte spun to see the Earl of Tewkesbury. His cravat was undone, and his hair was in disarray. He had a mug of porter in one hand and a buxom, dark-haired woman in the crook of his arm.

“She slapped me!” the drunken man protested.

“And if you were as polite as you usually are with the fairer sex, then you deserved it. Now, begone!” Tewkesbury proclaimed, waving his mug.

“There will be words with the management for this!” the man snapped before staggering away.

“He won’t even remember the way to Catesby’s office to complain. I wouldn’t worry, dear. Just try to keep moving if you don’t want to get cornered,” the Earl chuckled, looking Charlotte up and down.

He clearly did not recognize her, which Charlotte was glad of. She regretted her own recklessness now. If she were indeed discovered, then it would be Amelia who was being discovered. Her reputation would be at risk.

“Thank you for the advice, my lord. I was sent by... um... Master Catesby, to find the Duke of Bellmonte. Do you happen to know where he might be found?”

Tewkesbury frowned, peering into Charlotte’s eyes. She held her breath, wondering if he had recognized her voice. But after a moment, he shook himself and glanced at a staircase that ran up one wall of the room to disappear above.

“The Duke of Bellmonte, eh? I think I saw him being escorted upstairs to one of the private rooms by a rather lovely young lady.”

He glanced at his companion.

“Oh, not a patch on you, my dear,” he put in quickly with a grimace, “but lovely just the same. I don’t think he would care to be interrupted, though. What is it old Catesby wants? The grey-haired old rascal.”

“I don’t know, milord. I was told to go find him, that’s all,” Charlotte grated, growing utterly vexed at this new revelation.

So that is the way it is then.

“He’s getting a bit old for the place, I think. Too old to tackle the staircase himself,” Tewkesbury chuckled again.

“Yes, I think so,” she murmured back, contemplating whether she had received the answer that she had arrived here seeking, and whether she should turn back.

There was a pause. Then Tewkesbury reached for her mask and tipped it upward, exposing her face.

“Catesby is younger than you, Lady Nightingale. He inherited the place from the old man last year, or so he told me when I became a member yesterday.”

Charlotte clutched her mask, thrust it down, and looked around wildly. Thankfully, no one else was paying attention.

“What is Seth playing at, bringing you here?” Tewkesbury demanded with an irreverent finger. “You should leave immediately!”

“He did not bring me,” Charlotte whispered hastily, fighting for self-control. “I came to find him and have him answer some questions about his intentions toward me—”

“If you care for the man at all, then you do not want to see him at his club. Particularly when the club is Catesby’s. This is a den of iniquity and vice, my lady.”

Charlotte scowled. “And yet, you are a member.”

“ I am a bachelor. You are Seth’s betrothed. If you wish to remain so, then I suggest you leave. Nothing can be gained by seeing him while he is...”

Tewkesbury frowned and flushed, searching for words.

“If he is…” she began, leaving the last part unspoken, “then I must know, if I am to decide whether I care to continue with this betrothal. I will not be left to wonder forever if he is faithful.”

At that moment, the girl on Tewkesbury’s arm giggled behind a quaint hand.

“Be silent, wench!” Tewkesbury roared, pushing her away. “Lady Nightingale, allow me to escort you from this place...”

But Charlotte had already spotted the leering brute who’d slapped her bottom swaggering in through a door in the far corner. Close behind him came another man—young, sharp in his dress, with dark hair and an unmistakable air of authority.

The drunkard scanned the room with lazy menace.

Searching for me, undoubtedly…

A chill threaded down her spine .

I had better make myself scarce before they see me, lest my identity be discovered…