Page 7 of Love, the Duke (Say I Do #3)

C HAPTER 7

MAN’S PRACTICAL GUIDE TO APPREHENDING A THIEF

SIR BENTLY ASHTON ULLINGSWICK

If you don’t come across a clue the first time, keep looking.

The duke’s head snapped back, and shock seemed to rumble through him. He hadn’t seen that coming. Neither had she. If anyone had ever asked, she would have denied being capable of such an act as to strike another person. No matter the offense. Usually, she trusted her instincts, but she wasn’t sure they had served her well this time. Certainly, her family wouldn’t have approved.

He rubbed his lower cheek as he worked his jaw and grimaced. “What in the devil was that for?” he demanded.

Finding her breath, she took a step away from him. “Coming into my drawing room without being invited. You should have waited. And then you didn’t leave when I asked you to.” She didn’t want to think about the strange feeling she had that he might want to kiss her a few moments ago. Or the surprising feeling that she would have let him. That was preposterous and might have had a little something to do with the slap too. She really didn’t know and wasn’t going to reveal that to the duke.

“But I helped get you out of there.” His tone rose in volume as he argued, clearly irritated as he pointed toward the chest.

“You should have left the room immediately and saved me the embarrassment of you being a witness to me in a very compromising position that no lady should have to endure.”

His brow wrinkled and mouth tightened as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I wouldn’t leave without helping you or anyone else out of a situation like that. There is no such thing as embarrassment when someone is stranded. You get help from wherever it comes from. And the usual response people give is a polite thank-you!”

“I wasn’t in distress until I heard you were behind me,” she defended just as firmly as he had spoken.

“And a good thing I was, no matter what you say to counter it,” he responded in a louder tone and as irritated as her own.

“From the night we met you have been hard on me about everything I do. According to you I’ve done nothing right.”

“That’s because most of the things you do usually land you in a heap of trouble.”

“I would have eventually gotten myself out,” she insisted indignantly. “And then received you properly.”

“And more banged up than you are now.”

“But with my pride unbruised.”

Ophelia realized she was favoring her elbow, and he must have noticed. Reasonable thinking helped her to see they were at an impasse about who was the most wronged and outraged. Her, for showing her rear end, or him, for being slapped. She supposed she was responsible for both. No need to admit it to him. It was hard enough admitting it to herself.

But perhaps she should try to save her respectability before sending him on his way. “I’ve never slapped anyone before.”

His frown relaxed. “And I’ve never been struck by a lady.”

She cleared her throat as she clasped her hands together in front of her, still trying to recoup her aplomb. “I’m not happy you put me in a position that I had to. I don’t even know what you are doing here. Following me again, I presume.”

“What?” His back stiffened, as he pushed his coattails aside, shifted his stance, and sucked in another startled breath. “Following you?”

“You admitted to doing so last night,” she accused, with all the self-righteousness she had been taught to use when necessary.

“That was different,” he snapped, more annoyance creeping into his features. “You were snooping in someone’s home.”

“For a good reason.” Ophelia deepened her glare at him, thinking there was no difference from what he was doing.

“No,” he insisted. “It’s not. I don’t know how you can think that.”

“It doesn’t matter. You caught me unaware both times.”

He nodded slowly. “You are quite unbelievable, Miss Stowe, and I don’t like you implying I make a habit of following women.”

“I don’t believe I was going quite that far in my accusations.”

“It’s a good thing you aren’t and a good thing I caught up with you when I did. Both times you were in the act of doing something you shouldn’t have been doing and I helped you out with a bundle of problems. Someone needs to keep an eye on you to make sure you stay out of trouble.”

His words hit a nerve like a painful tooth. “I didn’t need your aid either time. You should have tried helping me with what I asked of you, not slipping up on me.”

“What you want to do is wrong,” he insisted again.

Ophelia unclasped her hands, and they formed fists of vexation as her arms fell to her sides. “And your invasion into my privacy today will probably take me years to recover from.”

The duke blinked rapidly. The corners of his riveting eyes crinkled oddly as he studied her. “Years? Did you say years to recover?”

“Yes.” Ophelia watched his brows lift higher. His lips almost pursed, slightly quivered, and moved from side to side. It took a moment before she realized he was trying to keep from smiling. No, it was more than that. He wanted to laugh. At her. And when she was in a huff!

Implausible as it seemed, it was taking all he could do not to show his amusement concerning her comment—which was overstated, she knew, but she was overheated. He was trying so hard and making such weird movements with his lips it made her want to smile too. The next thing she knew, she started trying not to reveal her pleasure.

The entire fiasco was her doing. She should be the first to give in and reverse the uncomfortable direction they had been heading. Showing no rancor, she slowly let go a smile and whispered laugh. So did he, and it was so beautiful she felt as if the whole room had started glowing when she saw his white teeth. He looked incredible. A comfortable, happy chuckle sounded softly under his breath as he shook his head. Ophelia liked the attractive way the ends of his hair moved with the motion.

Her stomach developed that quick fluttery feeling as his gaze seemed to skim over her. She was giving him the once-over again too. There was an aura of authority and distinction about him that she was drawn to. Both times she’d been with him before and now. He was far too magnificent for her not to indulge in the chance to admire him and want to know more about him.

And just that easily, her unpleasant adventure, her embarrassment, and her annoyance were over. Much as she wished it weren’t so, she found him charming and wanted to enjoy being with him like this rather than fighting to maintain her levelheaded assurance and attitude. Despite her apprehension about him, she was curious about him.

“What were you doing burying yourself inside that cabinet?”

She locked eyes with him again. Casually she murmured, “Looking for something.”

“Well, it better have been the most expensive pearl in all of England. You might have spent the rest of the afternoon trying to get yourself out.”

Ophelia liked the way the duke’s gaze gently moved up and down her face with an enjoyable expression on his. She wanted to see more of this irresistible side of him. Before, it seemed he was always lecturing her, or tense and upset with what she was doing or saying. It made her feel good, maybe even carefree, to exchange a bit of levity and merriment with him. She hadn’t felt so lighthearted in a long time.

The shocking thing was that his upset attitude toward her hadn’t really bothered her that much. She was keen on his forthright manner in letting her know exactly how he felt. Unlike her father and brother, with the duke she knew exactly where she stood. With just a look he could inform, inquire, demand, or question her. He could also cause delicious tendrils of desire to swirl through her.

The duke nodded toward the chest. “Perhaps I could have a look in there for you and see if I can find the pearl.”

Teasing her again showed he wasn’t holding a grudge about the slap. She appreciated that. “Nothing so important. It was a simple empty portfolio I was looking for.” She reached and shut the doors with a sound click. “The cabinet is empty and now I’m going to see that it is moved to the attic where it belongs so that I don’t ever have to see it again.”

The duke rubbed his chin and hid the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

Was he up to something she didn’t know about? “Why are you smiling at me again?”

“You didn’t get all your hair smoothed down. It’s sticking up right here.” With a smooth and effortless motion, he reached up and lightly brushed his fingertips through her hair along the crown of her head. An exciting shiver raced over her. Her breaths became short and shallow again while his fingertips trickled softly down her cheek and tickled her skin with delicious prickles of enticement. A loose strand of hair fell to the other side of her face and thankfully distracted her from the duke’s attempt to mesmerize her with his touch.

What was she doing, allowing him to touch her in such a way? She quickly sidestepped, fixed him with a perturbed stare, and said, “I’m not falling for that stunt again as I did when you said I had kohl ash on my cheek.”

His smile softened more, and he gave her a knowing nod. “It was your eyebrow.”

Tingles of attraction shivered over her. “You are insufferable and a menace to my normal good nature.”

His gaze settled on hers once again. “You are a bother to me too, Miss Stowe, though I’m not yet sure what I’m going to do about it.”

Ophelia felt as if her heart was pulsating in her ears. Suddenly she wished she were once again disguised in a coat, a neckcloth, and trousers. Wearing a man’s clothing had emboldened her. Her stride had taken on a formidable length wearing the knee boots her maid had secured. Not only that, but the heels added height to her frame, which added confidence to her behavior. Not that it made a difference to the duke. A lady’s dress offered no such trappings. When looking at him that night in his book room, she’d felt entirely different from the way she felt now. The duke made her feel things she wasn’t supposed to be feeling until she married. Or so she thought.

Managing to swallow a huff of annoyance with herself for the unexpected thoughts about the duke, she said, “You have made it very clear what you are going to do about me bothering you, Your Grace. You have refused my pleas for help time and again. Now, just tell me why you are here to see me and be on your way.”

He gave her a long considering stare. “Actually, I didn’t come to see you. I came to pay condolences to your mother.”

“Oh.” That calmed Ophelia down a notch.

“I remember her well from my childhood. I’d like her to know how sorry I am.” He paused as his features took on a more serious slant for a moment. He glanced over at a white cloth package tied with a yellow ribbon sitting on the table between the two settees. “I brought her some confections. Do you mind if I wait and speak to her?”

“No, of course not. That was kind of you. Maman will appreciate you making the time. She considers dukes very busy.”

He folded his arms over his chest and gave her a musing smile. “I wasn’t a duke when she scolded me for talking Winston into going so deep into the bogs with me one day that we got lost and ended up staying out well past daylight.”

Ophelia rubbed her elbow again. “It probably worried her when he didn’t come home by dark.”

“It did. I thought she’d be angry and start reprimanding him, but all she did was hug him close and tell him not to do it again.” A faraway gleam appeared in his eyes as he nodded. “And I’m sure Winston felt it was nice to have someone love him enough to worry about him.”

His words and expression made her wonder more about his past. She remembered something Winston had said about the duke. With his mother passing when he was young and his father away most of the time for reasons Winston didn’t know, the duke had a lonely childhood living between various relatives and his father. As she looked at him now, that seemed hard to believe. A man who would become a duke one day was passed around from family to family. She was aware that not all parents were as loving and close as hers and her heart squeezed.

As she looked at the duke, she recalled what’d he said about arguments between him and his father the first time they’d met. Then, as now, she’d thought of asking him more about his past and his relationship, but suddenly it was as if he sensed she was going to. His expression relaxed and he took a step back. It was as if he’d said too much and didn’t want to talk further about it. And it really wasn’t the right time. Instead, he walked over to where his gift for her mother was sitting and picked up the sketches of the crests, quickly sifting through them.

Looking at her, he asked, “What are these?”

She felt her back tighten. “Drawings I made earlier today.”

“Family coat of arms?”

“Yes. I’m happy to hear I sketched them finely enough for you to know what they are.”

“You have a true and steady hand with a pencil, Miss Stowe.” He glanced at them again. “These are perfectly good. I meant, why did you draw them?”

She saw no reason not to tell him. He wasn’t going to help her anyway. “I drew them from what Mrs. Turner remembers of the crest on the thief’s carriage door.”

“Suspected thief,” he corrected in a noncondemning tone as he walked back over to her. “Even after our talk last night, you aren’t going to give up your search, are you?”

“Give me those.” Ophelia reached for the parchment, but he pulled them back. “They were not meant for you to see, sir.”

He made no move to relinquish her treasures but started thumbing through them again. “I’ve never had a reason to be well-versed in the crests of current titled families, but this one looks familiar. It’s not accurate, but it could possibly be the family of Lord Gainstay or Viscount Mullensgrove.” He glanced up at her doubtfully. “The other three look very much the same, but the birds are different. All birds of prey, I think. The armor is well-done.”

That was encouraging. “It’s good to know Mrs. Turner came up with a modicum of accuracy. This gives me a real crest to look for and not just something made up from her imagination. Thank you for telling me. I suppose you realize that you have helped me even though you had no intention of doing so.”

“No, Miss Stowe, this does not help you. I can vouch for the character of Gainstay and Mullensgrove. They are not interested in a chalice from the church.”

She tweaked her shoulders in defense at his immediate rejection of his help and that the men might be considered. “How can you be so sure?”

He tapped the papers against the palm of his hand. “There are things a gentleman might be privy to that he does not reveal to a lady. Take my word for it that both have the utmost integrity and solid character that does not bear looking into for thievery or any other criminal activities. I daresay Mullensgrove hasn’t even been in a church since he was a boy, if then.”

“Even men with character can fall from grace,” she remarked, needing the crests to get her the results she desperately wanted.

“I’ve done it myself a time or two,” he answered quickly.

Her brows rose in interest.

“We are not going there, Miss Stowe. The simple fact is that if I thought either man was capable of such an act, you wouldn’t have to go after them; I’d do it.” He extended the sketches to her. “You can mark them off your list. And while you are at it you can remove the Duke of Stonerick as I assume you have the Duke of Wyatthaven. I’ve known both men since our school days. I’ve been in their homes almost as often as I’ve been in my own. I assure you what you search for is not there.”

“Well…” She hesitated, looking at him with mistrust in her eyes. “Perhaps I’ll just put them all at the bottom of the list,” she said, leaving him with a reminder she wasn’t going to give up, no matter how hard it was to reconcile her disappointment with the eagerness inside her to keep trying, no matter that all the odds were stacked against her. Now more than ever she needed the duke’s help, and he still refused.

She took the drawings from him, walked over to the secretary, and opened a drawer and placed them inside. Her mother could see them after the duke left. While her back was turned, he had picked up the church registry she had also left lying on the table. The saints of mercy must have fled watching over her.

Why hadn’t she thought of putting that book away when she finished with it earlier? Because it would have never crossed her mind that the duke might visit her. She wasn’t surprised about him being so curious about what was lying around her drawing room. He didn’t want to help but yet he wanted to know everything she was doing.

“What is this?” she asked, stalking toward him. “Do you plan to peruse all my private things while you are here?”

“Not all,” he said absently, clearly more interested in what he was perusing than her disdain for what he was doing. “These were in plain sight for anyone to see. I am not searching your home without your knowledge. You are standing right beside me.”

“Why are you so interested in what I have collected to aid me? You don’t want to help me, so this is none of your concern.”

He looked at her as if he couldn’t imagine why she’d asked the question. “I’m trying to keep you out of trouble.”

“I need no help for that.”

Ignoring her firmly stated comment, he asked, “What is this log of dates and names?”

“If you must know. It’s a registry of the people who visited the church during the time of my brother’s illness.”

His questioning gaze held to hers. “Do you consider all these people suspects?”

“Not all, but some could be possibilities, I assume.” Her stomach suddenly felt as if it were squirming, and she hesitated. She might as well admit it and not dribble the information out a little at a time. “I brought it—I bor rowed it from the church to bring with me in case there was a familiar name I came across while I’m here.”

“I don’t believe this.” He gave her a wry look. “Am I hearing you correctly that you are now taking things from the church?”

“What?” she asked, instantly incensed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I haven’t stolen it.”

His eyebrows rose, and then he smiled. Another beautiful smile that set her heart racing and her mind to wondering again why she would be attracted to him.

“Perhaps men aren’t the only ones who fall from grace.”

Her hands snapped to her waist. “I will give it back when I return the chalice.”

“And perhaps someone borrowed the chalice the way you just happened to borrow this book.”

Ophelia gritted her teeth and said, “You are…”

He walked to stand in front of her. “What, Miss Stowe? What am I? Merely curious? Rational? Protective of you?”

“Irritating,” she answered when only words she didn’t want to use came to her mind. Attractive, engaging, tempting.

While continuing in his chuckle, he looked down at the book again. Suddenly his chuckle faded away. His smile turned to a frown.

She didn’t know if she should feel excited or worried about what he saw. “What is it?”

He met her gaze. “William Halaway’s name is here. It looks like his signature too.”

“Oh,” she murmured softly, moving closer so she could study the page he was seeing. “Are you saying someone you know visited Winston’s church during his illness?”

The duke seemed to be looking really hard at the page. “I don’t know that,” he muttered.

“If his name is written there, he did.” Her eyes started searching for his signature. “There would be no other reason for it. Is he titled?”

“No, no, but he has a relative who is.”

“That’s interesting,” she commented as the rhythm of her heartbeat increased at the possibility of finding out more about this man named Halaway and, more importantly, what he was doing at the church. “Perhaps he was with the titled man and signed the registry for both of them. Who is the relative?”

“Me.”

Startled, her gaze met his. The duke’s kin?

“He’s my cousin by marriage.”

“Oh,” she whispered as an uncommon excitement rose in her. If she was lucky, this would get the duke more involved in her search without her having to even consider asking for his help again. “This is quite interesting, Your Grace.”

“Don’t start finding him guilty of the theft, Miss Stowe. My family crest looks nothing like what your maid saw, and he wouldn’t be in a carriage with the crest on it anyway.”

“You can’t say that with certainty.” She pursed her lips for a moment or two before adding, “He could have been with a titled friend of yours. Lord Mullensgrove or Lord Gainstay? Or even the Duke of Stonerick.”

“I told you those names should come off your list. He doesn’t know any of them well enough to be invited into their carriages.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” he grumbled lowly. “I don’t know why his name is on here. I don’t keep up with him that closely, but I will find out.”

She laid her hand on his wrist and didn’t realize it until she saw him look down. Quickly removing it, she cleared her throat and said, “What will you do if the news points a finger at your cousin being involved?”

The duke frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t expect that. I’ve known the man most of my life. He is not into collecting anything other than a full bottle of brandy and enough blunt for a game or two of cards every night.”

“Maybe Mr. Halaway needs money to keep his bottle full and money on the table.”

The duke stifled an amused grin. “I keep his allowance adequate. You need not worry about how plump his pockets are or anyone else in my family. They are all well cared for. I will question him thoroughly about the reason his name is in the book.”

The possibilities for an answer to what happened leaped into her mind. “Let me go with you when you query him.”

Laughter sparkled in his eyes as his gaze met hers. A flicker of emotion she couldn’t identify seemed to pass between them. It was good. She was certain he felt it too, for his gaze swept up and down her face slowly as if he was taking the feeling in and trying to ascertain what it was too.

“Have you gone daft?” he teased, after the moment between the two of them passed.

“Perhaps, but if I have, I don’t regret it. I want to go with you and hear what he has to say.”

“You can’t go with me to talk to him, and you know it. Besides, I’ll probably just send a message for him to come see me.”

“That will work for me too. I can meet you there,” she answered excitedly. “I could wear my gentleman’s clothing, and no one would ever be the wiser.”

“I will know. Besides, I thought I told you to get rid of those clothes.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t remember.” Ophelia wrinkled her nose.

“Well, if I didn’t, I should have.”

“I wouldn’t do that. I might need them again.”

He closed the registry book with a thud, and in a voice that was almost a whisper he said, “No matter it was a clever disguise, if I hear of you wearing them again, I will personally come over, search this house until I find them, and burn them myself.”

She gasped with pleasure at his boldness to say such a thing. Ransack her house, burn clothing? If he was trying to scare her, he was taking the wrong approach. She was intoxicated by the soft-sounding passion she heard in his voice. What she did mattered to him.

Not wanting to back away from his nearness, she answered, “I knew dressing as a man would be quite objectionable to you, but destroying perfectly good clothing seems quite unnecessary. I appreciate you admitting it was a clever idea. I only wish you had come up with a clever idea to aid me.”

His gaze stayed tightly on hers and his face came so close she feared their noses might end up touching before he stopped his slow descent toward her. “Is that a challenge to out-clever you, Miss Stowe?”

She didn’t know how long he looked at her without moving, without blinking. She didn’t even know if she was breathing but heard herself say, “Please be so kind to accept it as one.”

He stroked his thumb across her cheek. “You look good enough to kiss,” he said. “And I think I’m going to do that for you.”

“What?” she whispered in a hushed voice. How could him saying such a thing enchant her? A hot dizziness spun in her head at the thought. It was ridiculous that she wanted him to do just that. She couldn’t understand why she was having such feelings for this man.

“Don’t worry,” he said huskily. “I promise you I’ll do it in a manner that protects your virtue.”

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Your Grace,” Maman said quietly, walking into the room with the grace and poise she’d always conveyed.

Ophelia and the duke peeled away from each other into separate directions.

Her mother stopped, curtseyed, and smiled. “Welcome to our home, Your Grace.”

The duke nodded, laying the registry book on the table beside him. “I heard you were at the ball last night, Mrs. Stowe. I’m sorry I didn’t get the opportunity to speak to you before you left. I wanted to see you and offer my sympathy.”

“Perhaps that was best. Conversations about such things are usually safest handled in a private setting such as this and with the minimum number of words spoken.”

The duke gave her a reassuring smile and nodded his understanding.

“It’s so kind of you to make the time to stop by and let us know.”

“It’s good to see you, Mrs. Stowe. I have fond memories of Winston and being in your home when I was a youth.”

“So do I, Drake. Oh, my. I just called you by your first name. I do remember my manners and know not to do that. First names are all but forgotten once a gentleman becomes a duke.”

He brushed off her concerns with a smile and light chuckle. “I give you permission to always use my first name. You called me Drake for more than a year. No need for you to change now.”

“Your kindness is appreciated, but I will do what is right and call you Your Grace. It’s just that it has been so many years since I’ve seen you and old habits are difficult to break. It’s remarkable how you haven’t changed.” She smiled again. “You’ve grown quite taller, of course, but you are as handsome as ever. I realize I’ve still been imagining you as the slender boy who taught Winston how to run and jump over our fences rather than use the gate.”

“Which I had accomplished numerous times without mishap.” The duke chuckled. “But I believe that gleam in your eyes means, Mrs. Stowe, you are remembering the time the leg of my breeches got caught at the ankle on the post when I went over the fence but didn’t clear it.”

It was easy for Ophelia to imagine what happened as Roberta and the duke laughed. She envisioned him dangling upside down and calling for help. She tried to hide her snicker but knew she hadn’t when the duke glanced at her.

She turned away, pretending to give her attention to the inkpot and quill on the secretary while rippling her fingers on her wounded elbow. The conk on her head was beginning to give her a headache too. Or maybe the way the duke made her feel when she was so close to him was the cause for that.

“My face landed on the dirt and my head on a rock,” the duke reminded her mother.

“I remember it well. We were so worried about you for days. There was a big gash on your forehead, and we didn’t think it would ever heal properly.”

“The scar is still there.”

“I see it is,” her mother said. “Thankfully not as prominent as I remember.”

Ophelia whirled to look, but the duke’s hair had already fallen over his forehead again. A scar? She hadn’t noticed one, but his hair was long in front and always swept to the right side of his forehead. She was curious and now wanted to see it. Was that why he wore his hair so long in front and swept to one side? She wanted to know, but that really wasn’t the kind of thing she could ask a duke or anyone else.

The voices of her mother and the duke faded into the back of her mind. It was best not to doubt him when he said he would burn the clothing. In fact, it was probably a good idea not to doubt the duke concerning anything. He seemed quite fervent about most everything he said. But not in an infuriating way. Most of the time it was more as if he was trying to make her understand what he thought was best for her. Maybe he was right about that, but it didn’t matter. She had to do what was right for her brother.

In the meantime, she would forget about the interaction she had with the appealing man concerning the chest, if possible, and the near kiss that probably would have happened if her mother hadn’t chosen that moment to come into the room. Ophelia needed to concentrate on the two things she learned from the duke coming over today: Mrs. Turner’s recollection of the crest was accurate to a degree and encouraging, and the duke was related to a man who’d signed the church’s registry. Both were her first good leads in her efforts to find the chalice since coming to London.

For the first time, she felt as if she was making progress and it wouldn’t be long before she would close in on the thief.