Page 54 of Rescued By the Icy Duke
“Who the devil are you?” Julian demanded when his eyes landed on the figure.
The man smiled and performed a courtly bow.
“Your pardon for intruding. Am I addressing His Grace the Duke of Windermere?”
Julian’s gaze narrowed. “You are,” he said, his tone low and clipped. “And who are you, sir? And what are you doing there?”
The man straightened, his smile deepening. “Reginald Napier," he said, drawing out his name with a theatrical flair, as though it were a well-rehearsed introduction. “Writer by trade, wanderer by inclination. Most recently employed by The London Times. As to what I am doing here... well, this is a public space, I believe. Common ground. I am here enjoying a walk in a lovely English wood.”
“And you are most welcome to,” Ester said, disarmingly.
Julian's tone had been abrupt and accusing and she sensed a defensiveness from Napier. She did not know how long he had been standing there, how much he had seen. Still, her instincts told her to be cautious. There was something about him—his ease, his self-assurance—that set her on edge. He had the air of a man too accustomed to playinggames.
“You were looking for me?” Julian snapped.
Ester took his arm and calmly threaded her own through the crook of his elbow. It was a perfectly respectable stance and, importantly, an acceptable degree of physical contact. She tightened her fingers on his arm, trying to communicate without words.
“I was indeed, Your Grace,” Napier said, eyes flicking to where Ester’s hand rested on Julian’s arm. “Might I come down to speak more civilly? It seems rather undignified to shout our introductions across this lovely expanse.”
“By all means,” Julian said with a tight smile and a gentler tone.
Ester patted his arm, smiling to hide her trepidation. She thought of everything that she and Julian had done over the last hours, and how it might look to an outsider. Not just any outsider but a man who made a profession out of spreading news and gossip. Napier descended carefully and then approached them with a charming smile.
“An interesting account came to my attention which I was looking to explore,” Napier began smoothly as he approached. “An account which might be of great interest to my readers. A Duke, exiled from his homeland and the victim of a curse. Son of a noted expert in matters esoteric and occult. Quite a remarkable story, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Sounds rather fanciful to me,” Julian remarked, “I am not a great reader of fiction, I must say.”
“But if it were fact?” Napier countered innocently. “Highly unusual tale. I did some preliminary investigation and it seems this Duke lost not only his parents, but an older brother—under mysterious circumstances, no less. The precise nature of thiscurse,unfortunately, remains elusive to me.”
Ester could feel Julian bridling. She did not know how much influence and reach a writer for a London newspaper could have but assumed his stories would reach a readership in the tens of thousands. How much worse would it be if Julian grew angry with this man? Or even sought to silence him by force.
“It does sound a remarkable tale,” she said with a measured smile. “And, correct me if I am mistaken, but you believe this cursed Duke is my betrothed, the Duke of Windermere?”
Julian looked at her quickly, unable to hide his startlement. It was the first time either of them had used such a title. The ghost of a smile haunted his lips as he looked back to Napier. It had given him no little pleasure to hear it. It had given Ester no little pleasure to speak it.
“Betrothed? My congratulations, Lady...?” Napier probed.
“No title for me, I am afraid. Miss Ester Fairchild.”
Napier gave a thoughtful nod. “Fairchild? I thought I knew all the notable families in this part of the country. The principal ones, at least. Yet, I am not familiar with the Fairchilds—certainly not in the south of England.”
“My family hails from Cheshire,” Ester offered.
“Ah, yes. That quite explains it. And what brings you to London, Miss Fairchild?”
“This is starting to feel like an interrogation,” Ester said, her smile unwavering but her tone firm. “Are we being formally interviewed for a publication, Mr. Napier? We have given no such consent, nor have been asked for it.”
“Goodness, no!” Napier raised his hands in placation. “Unless I jot something down, my memory is utterly dreadful. I simply viewed this as an informal preliminary conversation, nothing more.”
Ester noted how, despite his easy smile and bright tone, Napier's eyes were sharp and did not miss anything. He had come here looking for them. If he was in the vicinity of Loughton Grange, then it was unlikely that he did not know who the current tenants were. Which made his ignorance highly suspicious. He was hiding his knowledge of her family. There was an ulterior motive to this meeting.
“Preliminarysuggests a further meeting and conversation. Was that your intention?” Julian cut in.
“To ascertain the truth behind Your Grace’s extraordinary history, yes,” Napier smiled.
“And what makes you certain I am the Duke you’re looking for?” Julian asked, his voice calm but guarded. “As the Lord as my witness, my life after leaving Windermere has been largely uneventful. A quiet and solitary existence, until I met Miss Fairchild, of course.”
“A solitary existence within which the locals at Theydon village came to know you as the Phantom and the Ghoul?” Napier’s brow lifted with mock innocence.