Page 4 of Only a Duke (Ladies Who Dare #6)

She certainly couldn’t tell what he might be thinking. He might truly detest her presence. She’d grown up with tales of the Mortimer clan and had half expected the man to be cold as frost. Yet, while his countenance might as well have frozen over, heat still pulsed from his body.

She sighed, her gaze falling on the mess beside her bed.

What an impossible situation.

*

Nerves had never been an issue for Oliver, yet now they consumed him.

He’d had the nerve to enter the Talbot residence.

The nerve to gather information against one of his peers.

And even the nerve to search a lady’s bedchamber.

But he had never once been nervous. Those nerves had always remained in check, carefully bundled and tightly controlled.

A skill he had honed from an age he could scarcely recall.

A discipline that hadn’t been challenged.

Until she brushed past him in the kitchen, their hands briefly touching.

The smallest of touches, the faintest of scents.

And a bundle of those nerves slipped free.

Oliver chose a chair at the bar and sat down, signaling to the barman. “Tea, please.”

The man arched a brow at him. “You are aware that you’re in a tavern.”

“I am. And I’ll have that tea, if you don’t mind.”

The man shrugged. “Very well, but you’ll have to wait a few minutes.”

“Not a problem.”

The man disappeared through a back door and returned moments later. He glanced over at Oliver curiously. “What ails you? Trouble with a woman, perhaps?”

Not exactly and yet exactly so. He clasped his hands together on the bar, trying to steady the storm brewing inside him. “Is it that obvious?”

“When a man visits a tavern with that look on his face,” the man said, wiping the bar top, “it is usually about a woman.”

“It’s not the sort of trouble you might be thinking about.” The sort that might plague a man in love.

Blue eyes flashed in his mind. A blue that could call a man to cross the ocean in search of adventure and more.

Confound it. He should never have told Lady Theodosia to hold onto the book. He should have seized it when he’d had the chance.

But he hadn’t.

He’d been indulgent, yes, but he also knew that once word reached the duchess’s ears that he was in possession of the book, she would likely retreat. And who could say what tricks she’d play after that. With the book still in play, he had a chance to lure her out into the open.

At least his gut seemed to have been right about Lady Louisa. She couldn’t know about her stepmother’s dealings, or she wouldn’t have helped him search for the book.

Or was it all a ploy to throw him off?

He still could not be entirely sure about her.

She was the daughter of his family’s number one enemy—or rival, or whatever they were.

That was troublesome enough. But at this point, he couldn’t decide which was worse, their families’ constant opposition, Talbot’s petty schemes to block his every move, or the fact that he was relying on Lady Louisa for help that might implicate a member or two of the family that was his enemy.

She might also be supremely good at acting. But only observing her and waiting for time to reveal all her flaws would let him know if that was the case. For now, he could only rely on intuition.

And drink tea.

He nodded his thanks to the older woman who placed a pot before him along with a cup, a spot of milk, and some sugar. She disappeared through the back door again. He placed a coin on the bar top and pushed it to the barman.

“Enjoy your tea.” The man swiped the blunt and nodded at another customer approaching the bar.

Oliver nodded, pouring tea into his cup, forgoing milk and sugar. He took a sip, his eyes closing as the warm brew flowed down his throat.

This he was sure about.

Tea.

And also his instinct, which told him he could trust her where the book was concerned. After all, the theft of the betting book was an heiress thing, not a Talbot family thing. If she betrayed him, she would essentially betray the other women, as well. And she wouldn’t do that.

But where the devil was the book?

Surely she couldn’t be that absentminded to have lost it just like that?

Was that even possible? He had never met a person who believed so wholeheartedly that they had placed a thing somewhere only to discover that they themselves had been wrong, and that they could indeed not remember what they had done with it!

What horror was that?

His mother’s words sprang to mind.

You are too meticulous, Oliver. Loosen up a bit, dear. Life is too short to be rigid. I blame your father for that in you.

He supposed it was true that his character and disposition had been developed over time due to his father’s teaching, or lack thereof. Needless to say, his resolve to not repeat the mistakes of the late duke had also sprung forth during this tutelage.

He’d had no choice in his father. But he could choose his own beliefs, his own path.

Oliver swallowed the entire cup and poured himself another. “Let us not dwell on paths at the moment,” he muttered to himself.

The barman glanced over, then chuckled. “If you are having problems with your lady just purchase her a gift and apologize. Not flowers—a necklace or a brooch. The opposite sex loves these sorts of trinkets.”

“Thank you for the advice.” Oliver took a sip while contemplating his beautiful nemesis. “But like I said, it’s not that sort of trouble.”

You did break into her chamber and rifle through her belongings.

But this regret he had already expressed.

Oliver grimaced when he recalled her remark about apologizing without saying the actual word.

Perhaps he should sincerely apologize while saying the word?

Perhaps purchasing a trinket or some such would help?

No. Lady Louisa struck him as the sort of woman who appreciated sincerity above any form of flattery. Actions, not words.

Just let it go, then.

What else could be done?

Oliver glanced over to the barman. “The Duke and Duchess of Talbot.” He waited until the man glanced over before he asked, “What can you tell me about them?”

“Not much.” The barman shrugged, grabbing two empty glasses from the counter and placing them aside. “The likes of them will never set foot in this place.”

True.

“But I hear whispers,” the man said, sidling up to him.

“And what whispers might those be?”

“That the duchess beats her husband.”

Oliver scoffed. Preposterous. A man such as Talbot would never take a beating from his wife. Few men would. “Forget I asked.”

The man laughed. “I also hear they are traveling the coastal towns at the moment.”

Coastal towns? Now that was interesting. A coincidence, perhaps?

Oliver made a mental note to send some of his men to investigate. It could be nothing, but given the secret women’s club’s proclivities, he had his doubts.

In any event, he still had to retrieve the book. A morning would give Lady Louisa more than enough time to find the book she’d lost. His gaze darted to the clock. An hour past midnight. He hadn’t left the house too long ago. How many more hours until he would receive word? Eight? Ten? Twelve?

Too damn long.

Oliver wanted to retrieve the book and then leave Ashford as soon as possible. He didn’t want to wait around. If he got recognized and word got to Talbot that he was lingering in Ashford, there was no telling what the duke or duchess might presume—and, as a consequence, what they might do.

And Talbot would do something.

Like blocking another one of his initiatives in Parliament.

A thorn in his damn side. Prickly, itching, and one he couldn’t seem to pluck out. True, he had his own connections to deal with these sorts of situations, but that didn’t mean he’d actively go out of his way to aggravate this thorn.

He glanced at the clock again.

Should he just patiently wait for her note?

No.

Normally, Oliver prided himself on his patience.

He was very good at waiting—that he could do.

What he couldn’t do was sit idly while he waited.

That wasn’t in his nature. What about Lady Louisa’s nature?

How would she react if she discovered these dealings of her stepmother’s?

How far would she go to aid him? A novel thought.

An attractive one. She seemed to be the person best situated to help him get to the bottom of such things.

She wouldn’t be a bad ally to have on his side to search for more evidence.

And she didn’t seem to loathe his Cavanagh blood like the rest of the family. But then, she didn’t seem to remember who was behind her kidnapping ten years ago.

May she never find out.