Page 4 of The Diamond's Absolutely Delicious Downfall

“Ihear you brought a printing press.”

Tobias eyed the Duke of Westleigh and was not entirely surprised by the duke’s information. He understood the way the world worked and that men like the Duke of Westleigh were very well-informed.

Tobias had not really thought he was the sort of man a duke would notice, but he supposed that had been naive on his part. After all, he was an American, and he had fought in the revolution. He had been close to John Adams and knew several of the most important men in government.

Of course he was being watched. Studied. Considered.

And it was largely what he wanted, since he was in turn meant to watch, study, and consider.

“I did,” he replied. “I don’t go anywhere without it, and I always keep it with me.”

“Is it in your pocket now?” the Duke of Westleigh drawled.

“Well, obviously not, sir.”

“Not sir here,” the duke stated. “Your Grace will do.”

“It grates,” Tobias began. “Titles are—”

“Are you in America now, Mr. Miller?” the duke cut in.

“Fair point to you, Your Grace, I am not. But I had heard you are a bit of a Republican yourself.”

“Never say such a thing,” the duke countered, his dark eyes crackling as his black hair shimmered in the chandelier candlelight. “I, of course, am very interested in the rights of man and woman, but that does not mean that I am a Republican. I’m a monarchist through and through.”

The duke narrowed his gaze. “Clearly you are not, and you are lucky things went so well. A hangman’s noose would surely have been waiting had things gone differently.”

“There’s no luck about it, Your Grace,” Tobias returned. “Blood, battle, and endurance were what secured my life. We fought so hard because we understood that if we failed, if the French did not help us, we would all be killed as traitors.”

The duke leaned against the elaborately carved fireplace mantel. “Well, I’m glad you all understood that very well. I admire such bravery,” the duke said, “but you’ve started something that is uncontrollable. And I’m not pleased about that.”

“I won’t argue with you there, but you cannot blame us for what’s happening in France.”

“Can’t I?” the Duke of Westleigh replied, gazing into the crackling fire. “You’ve set a precedent for upending governments.”

Tobias did not back down but rather took a step forward. “The French have set a precedent for starving their own populace. People do like to live, Your Grace.”

The Duke of Westleigh turned his gaze, stared at him for a long, hard moment, and then the strangest smile tilted his lips. “Why did you come here?” he asked.

“You invited me,” Tobias pointed out.

“So I did. So I did.” The Duke of Westleigh crossed to the inlaid mahogany sideboard, eyed the grog tray, then poured out two snifters of brandy. He palmed them both, swirled the amber liquid around, and then crossed the study.

It was not the duke’s study, but that didn’t seem to bother him. Tobias had a strong feeling that the duke would simply appropriate whatever room he was in and whatever house he happened to be in as well.

This was the Havers’ ball.

The duke had asked him to come, securing him an invitation. And the Havers had complied. Most people complied with dukes.

The duke held the snifters tightly for a moment. “Why did you come if titles grate so?”

“I did not think it would be wise to turn down a request from you,” he said honestly.

The duke offered one of the snifters, and Tobias took the peace offering.

The duke lifted his snifter and took a significant swallow. “Do I carry such import?”

“Indeed, you do,” Tobias replied, “and I think we could be helpful to each other.”

The duke waggled his dark brows. “Do you indeed? How very interesting. And how is it that you think an American revolutionary with a printing press might be of help to me?”

“Perhaps you want something printed,” he drawled in return.

The duke’s lips twitched. He was a powerful man, strong of body, sharp of eye, and yet there was something strange about him, something slightly electric.

Some might’ve accused the duke of having come into contact with Dr. Franklin’s electricity and having never quite recovered from it. He seemed to be too completely and vitally alive.

As if at any particular moment, he might cross over into a touch of madness. He’d heard rumors about the duke’s odd behavior and certainly his odd beliefs. The duke was not, he supposed, a Republican by strict definition, but the man was opposed to most acts of his own government.

“I want you to come and stay with me,” the Duke of Westleigh said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

It was not the most obvious thing, and Tobias had to stop himself from gaping. He was not overly fond of aristocrats, and all of London knew this. Even if he was decent at a dinner table and knew how to behave, it didn’t mean he admired the people he was with.

Staying in their midst…would rankle. It would also be an ideal source of information.

“Why?” Tobias asked.

The duke cocked his head to the side. “I’ve heard that you’re not exactly welcome in your rooms.”

He let out a low laugh. “Your Grace is well-informed. I’m half afraid that my landlady is going to poison me one night at supper. A lot of people still can’t quite forgive us for winning the war.”

The duke narrowed his gaze. “A lot of people didn’t give a bloody damn that there was a war at all, except for the fact that it took money out of their pockets and food out of their mouths. Which I understand. The colonies, pardon me, the United States of America are a world away. So, why should their sons have been sent to die in such a distant land?”

Tobias ground his teeth. It was remarkable how the English had treated the colonies for years as a resource to be mined but without respect. “Because for quite some time, we were the financial machine which drove the economy of the British Empire. And now, no doubt, you shall turn your eyes to some other poor colony.”

“You’re not mistaken,” the duke said, a muscle tightening his jaw as if he had known and anticipated this answer all along. “The English do know how to make a quick pivot, and we will never end up like the French with a revolution happening and the king and queen imprisoned.”

“You don’t think so?” Tobias asked before taking a sip of his brandy. The alcohol hit his tongue—cherry and oak. It was French. He could taste the claret from the barrels. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

French brandy in an English drawing room as the fate of both countries was being discussed.

“No,” the duke ground out.

Tobias hesitated for a brief moment, then challenged, “Even with your own king so ill…at ease, shall we say?”

The duke’s lips parted in a dangerous smile. “Mad, you mean.”

He almost choked on a sip of brandy. “I have not heard any of your class use that word,” he said.

The duke blew out a harsh sigh that countered his earlier smile. “He’s not mad, but there’s definitely something wrong with him. I will allow this admission because the controversy is on everyone’s lips. Will the king survive? Will he be able to govern, or will his son govern? There are things that I like about the prince, and I have hopes that he might sponsor bills that I agree with, but he is a profligate and not a man of strong character. So here we are. Standing before an opening chasm, wondering if we shall all be shoved in.”

“I’m not entirely sure where I fit into all of this,” he replied.

“I want your help.” The duke shrugged. “There are people that I want you to meet, and I think that we could work well together. And I know that you’re here,” he said, “for not entirely innocent reasons.”

He narrowed his gaze at the duke. “What the bloody hell do you mean by that?”

The duke tsked. “Oh, don’t get so outraged. You’re an American here. There’s currently no one from your government negotiating with ours. Surely, that means that a few Americans with excellent ears and a hand for politics will be maneuvering about the ballrooms.”

The duke paused and swirled his brandy about his crystal snifter. “Perhaps I can offer you a little bit of protection.”

“Do I look like I need protection?”

The duke raked him with a hard gaze up and down. “At first glance, no, but anyone who thinks that they can survive here alone is a fool. Are you a fool, Mr. Miller?”

He eyed the paintings of horses and dogs on the high walls, marveling at the wealth and strange obsession of the English with their pets. “I confess I should let you think so, but I’m intrigued by your invitation to stay with you.”

The duke nodded. “I have a large family. We’re all quite odd. You’ll fit in well.”

“You think I’m odd?” Tobias laughed.

“I think you’re an American, and here an American is odd, so yes.”

“Then I graciously accept your invitation,” he said lightly, though there was nothing light about any of this. “It would be ridiculous of me to turn you down. And I am most curious as to how I can help you. For, the truth is, what’s ill with England is ill for the world, and I would not like to see another government fall as fast as France is doing.”

The duke’s eyes widened. “I am surprised. I thought a Republican such as you would wish for revolutions all over the world.”

He gave a terse shake of his head, the weight of war and the price of it still heavy on his shoulders. “I have no desire to see the world burn, Your Grace. And while we have been able to make a functioning government, I know that you are all waiting to see us fall and fail.”

Tobias gestured to the grand house about them. “I don’t know what will occur in a country like this one if a revolution were to truly happen. Your last revolution was a rather ugly affair.”

The duke gave him a surprising bow, one of acknowledgement. “Yes, England does have a way of bloodying itself when fights happen inwardly. And that is why we are so careful now,” he said.

“Careful?” Tobias prompted.

The duke nodded, crossed back to the desk, and leaned against it. “Yes,” he stated. “To make certain that it looks like we’re doing things and to pass certain laws so the people will not feel pressed to rise up.”

“Well, as long as they have bread and feel heard, I agree,” Tobias said, rather surprised at the duke.

“You do understand,” the duke breathed. “Good. As long as the people have bread. Unlike the few men in power in your country who led the revolution, not everybody acts entirely on ideals. Now, I’m glad to hear that you’ll be coming to stay, that you will be bringing your printing press, and perhaps you can print a few things for me.”

“Like what?” he asked suspiciously. After all, the power of the printing press was no small thing, and he wouldn’t put his own name to just anything.

“I think we should try to convince this country of the sins of certain endeavors.”

“Slavery, you mean?”

“Yes, exactly. For one.” The duke’s mouth tightened. “I have seen the men of Portsmouth rake in countless profits earned on the misery of humanity. Many of us are determined to stop it. But it is going far too slowly. Poor Mr. Wilberforce is nearly overcome by the challenges. We must address the poverty of the English people too, their hunger. And we cannot allow Catholics to be so excluded from justice.”

Tobias nodded. The printing press had been made to change the world. And it had. He was happy to put his to good use. “I am happy to oblige and on any other matter that we agree on as well.”

“Good. I belong to a club of men and women who are determined to change not just England but the world. I’d like you to join us as well. From all I have researched, you are another such person.” The duke inclined his head. “I am inviting you.”

“Inviting me? You are inviting me to many things, Your Grace.”

“Indeed I am, sir, because I think you’ll be a good strong voice.”

“I do have a good strong voice,” Tobias allowed, feeling as if he was throwing himself into the fire. “But I’m careful when I wield it.”

“As am I,” the duke said before he drank his brandy to the dregs.

“You don’t seem a very careful sort.”

The duke began to laugh. “All the better for the world to think so. Have you not yet learned that?” he asked.

And then he recalled the duke was the son of an actress. Perhaps the duke knew how to play this world better than any. Playing a part. Playing a role. And he wondered who exactly the Duke of Westleigh was and what his family was actually like.

And as that question danced through his head, the door burst open and a young lady strode in.

“Brother,” she said, “Mama wants you immediately.”

“Mama wants a great many things,” the duke said with a sigh, “and if I were to give them to her all at once, she’d keel over in shock.”

Tobias swung his gaze to the young lady and nearly collapsed on the floor—a state of affairs which he could not allow.

He almost blurted out you but managed to snap his mouth shut.

For it would do no good for the Duke of Westleigh to know that he had been kissing his sister in a theater hallway. That he wanted to all but ravish her in a dark hall, to drive her to the point of bliss again and again.

And if she had not stopped him… He would have enjoyed making her cheeks and eyes glow with bliss.

Now, as the young lady’s eyes met his, they widened with alarm. Her lips parted, but not as they had before.

There seemed to be a note of horror in her expression now, which she quickly suppressed and replaced with a brilliant, dazzling smile.

Instead of a cry of indignation, she called out in most delightful tones, “How do you do, sir? It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

And he knew in that moment that he was indeed dealing with a family of actors.

But what part was he to play?

The lover? Did he dare? For her? For the kiss they had shared and the way she had looked at him the previous night? He most certainly would dare.