Page 5 of The Duke of Cups (The Highwaymen #3)

DUNROSE SET A glass of wine in front of Miss Thomas. “So, to be clear, you’re how old? Twenty?”

“Nineteen!” She was appalled. “You’ll have me an old maid, won’t you?”

They were in the sitting room at Bess’s that the woman had given them for the duke’s use.

Dunrose had been spending quite a bit of time here lately.

For a while, the laudanum had essentially neutered him, but he’d been quite able to stand at attention for some months now, and had been making up for lost time.

Currently, of course, he was a bit tired of all the strumpets at Bess’s.

He knew them too well, he thought. He’d had too many conversations with them about their little brothers at home who needed the money they sent back and that sort of thing.

It made the whores less attractive when they had struggles.

It was too hard to put them back into the role of fantasies.

“Yes,” he said dryly. “Twenty is ever so old.”

“Stop making fun of me,” she snapped at him.

He shrugged, sitting down opposite her. “You’re nineteen, and you haven’t any notion about what an erection is? Haven’t you ever seen cats or dogs going at each other? Had a pet dog who liked to have a go at the furniture?”

She blinked at him, utterly blank. “What?”

“Never mind,” he said with a sigh.

“Where’s Rutchester? ”

“Trust me, you don’t want him here. He’s like to get angry and break the table,” said Dunrose. “He said he didn’t want to leave the carriage after all, and that he was going to at least try to sell the horses for some money.”

She took a drink of wine. “I wish to go home.”

“Of course you do. Where is home?”

“Well…” She shrugged. “I suppose I don’t really have one. Never have. I haven’t been staying with my foster family very often either. They really did expect me to be married by now. I’m an imposition.”

“Ah, yes, married,” he said. “Why aren’t you married, sought after as you are?”

“Well, obviously, the only men who want me are the men who want my dowry. Which is fictitious. So, that poses a bit of a problem.”

He laughed. “I see. Yes, that is a pickle you’re in.”

“In all honesty, it’s worse now than before,” she said ruefully. “I didn’t have one dance tonight, you know, not one. I seem to have made myself seem unattainable, since I have rejected so many suitors. Now, no one seems to care to try.”

“Oh, all that would change if you had but one man making love to you, I should think,” he said. “I’m not this way, you know, but I think other men tend to find women who are pursued by others more intriguing.”

“You’re not that way?” She obviously didn’t believe him.

“I’m not,” he said, “but only because I’m not really interested in women in that way. I don’t get attached.”

She laughed. “Oh, yes, well, that’s clear enough. But it’s not as if I’m out there searching for true love or something. I want a husband.”

He nodded, as if that made utter and total sense. Then he sat up straighter. He was having an idea. “Wait a moment. What if I did that for you? What if I pursued you, rather publicly, just until someone else who would do took an interest?”

She shrugged. “What if you did? I suppose I can’t stop you. Men who wish to pursue me tend to do it until they get to the point of asking for my hand, no matter how it is that I discourage them.”

“No, this would be as a favor to you,” he said. “Or, well, as a bargaining chip, really. I do this for you, and you help me kill Champeraigne.”

Her eyed widened. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am quite serious.”

“I already told you that I can’t kill the comte. Seraphine is the closest thing I have to a mother, and I could not harm her in that way.”

He drummed his fingers on the table. Like a mother to her?

The marchioness was the furthest thing from maternal that he could possibly imagine.

Of course his own mother had been distant and cold, anyway.

He blamed his father for that. His father had torn the woman apart, seemingly for his own amusement.

“I hardly think that being pursued by you would entice other men to think I was worth anything, anyway.”

He glared at her. “You wound me,” he said flatly. He was still thinking. This girl was the best thing to fall in their laps in some time. He needed to convince her to help them with Champeraigne, because they wouldn’t get another chance.

They’d tried to out-scheme Champeraigne and it hadn’t worked.

Well, it had almost worked, but it had ended up badly.

Champeraigne had shown himself willing enough to stab Arthford, and hitherto, there had been no such overt violence from the man.

Then Champeraigne had wriggled free of their scheme anyway.

Dunrose and Rutchester had discussed it, and they were quite sure that there was only one way forward, and that was to kill Champeraigne.

There were some other concerns with this course of action, one being that whoever was left standing might take up Champeraigne’s mantle—be that the marchioness or her husband Fateux.

But neither of them would be nearly as difficult adversaries as Champeraigne had been.

Dunrose and Rutchester both thought that if they dispatched Champeraigne, then dealing with either of the others would be child’s play.

However, Champeraigne was even more paranoid than he had ever been. He had a retinue of hired bodyguards that followed him everywhere. Gallingly, he was probably paying the men with money he was extorting from the dukes themselves.

Champeraigne was the most wary of Rutchester, who was—indeed—the one of them who was most comfortable with carrying out violence.

Champeraigne would not be alone with the man.

He had met with Arthford recently, during which he had issued his threat to hold Arthford’s wife’s house over Arthford’s head.

It was a stupid threat in Dunrose’s mind.

Give over that stupid estate to Champeraigne—or to whoever it was Champeraigne had forced her to sign it over to (at gunpoint)—what did it matter?

She could have one of Arthford’s other estates if she wanted someplace of her very own.

There was no reason to hold onto that one.

Dunrose didn’t understand, though, that was what Arthford had said to him. The estate meant something to Arthford’s bride, that particular estate did. She loved it and didn’t wish to let it go.

Dunrose didn’t understand this. He had no warm associations with any place, not truly. It wasn’t that good things never happened to him in places, but very bad things always happened right on their heels. He had no happy associations that weren’t overshadowed by betrayal, pain, and loneliness.

Whatever the case, Champeraigne had refused to be alone with any of them since. He had met them only with his bodyguards present, and he always kept the cane of his—the one with a sword concealed within—at the ready, as if he was only waiting for another chance to stab one of them.

He needed to die.

This girl could get close. Champeraigne would never suspect her.

“Actually,” he said aloud, “it probably wouldn’t help my cause if I was publicly courting you, anyway. That might make Champeraigne suspicious of you.”

“Well, there you go,” she said.

“But maybe I could be of assistance,” he said. “It occurs to me that the sort of husband you are looking for is one who is quite well-off and who does not need a wife to have any kind of income, is that right?”

“Also one who will forgive me the lie of not having a dowry when that comes out,” she said.

“Or, I can go different ways. I can not admit that I have been lying all along. I can say it was depleted by some unscrupulous male relative—now conveniently dead—or it could have been lost in some other way that is not my fault. But whatever the case, the man in question must still want me in the wake of my having no fortune.”

He shook his head. “That’s a rather tall order, Miss Thomas.”

“Oh, men fall ruinously in love with women like that all the time,” she said.

He thought that over. He supposed it was not untrue. “Maybe I could be of assistance, even so,” he said. “I could help you entice the sort of man that you are after.”

“I don’t need your help with that,” she said.

“Clearly you do since you’re on your… what? Fourth Season?”

“Third, heavens! You think so very badly of me!”

“Third is just as bad,” he said. “You’re twenty—”

“ Nineteen .”

“And you’re no closer to finding a husband, and you had no one claim a dance on your dance card, and you need some assistance.”

She shook her head. “I will never help you with Champeraigne. I owe Seraphine everything.”

“But how long does Seraphine’s generosity last?” he asked pointedly.

This dart hit. She visibly winced.

“So, you’ve thought this before,” he said. “That at some point, she will stop supplying you with help, with dresses, with the like? ”

“She must stop eventually, yes.” She sounded defeated. “I should have been married already.”

“So, you see, you’re doing Seraphine a favor,” he said. “Besides, do you really think Champeraigne is good to her? What sort of man has no issue with sharing his woman not only with her husband but with a revolving door of men?”

“Well…” She lifted a shoulder. “I know she’s able to get money from those men.”

“Right, so he is really profiting off her, isn’t he? She is his strumpet, and he whores her out. Is he really her lover or is he simply bad for her?”

Miss Thomas furrowed her brow, thinking that over.

“You’d be helping the marchioness to get rid of Champeraigne,” he said. “And it will be easy. You simply will slip poison into his glass, nothing more. With luck, your marchioness will not even know you did it.”

“But—”

“And by then, I shall have found you a husband and helped you to secure him,” said Dunrose, even though he really didn’t have any idea about how to secure a husband.

He’d make that up, though. Worst came to worse, he’d find a way to convince some man to marry her.

Hell, maybe he’d come up with a dowry for her himself.

He was good at finding money these days, at stealing it if need be, even. He’d make good.

“I just don’t think—”

“What other outcome can you hope for?” he said. “If you don’t find a husband, then what happens to you?”

She didn’t say anything. She picked up her glass of wine and took a hurried gulp.

“You end up alone, and the marchioness abandons you, and you’ll have no choice but to whore yourself out, don’t you think?

If you have no male relatives to care for you, what else could you possibly do?

” She could be a governess. She could probably be a permanent guest, like Champeraigne, flitting about from one house to another, taking advantage of others’ hospitality.

It was not really so dire as to immediately end up in prostitution.

Besides, she had connections. She could likely be a sought-after courtesan, anyway, and a life like that could be quite comfortable.

It was not in his best interest to say any of these things aloud, however. He needed to convince her.

“Well, just poison?” she said. “You wouldn’t try to convince me to stab him?”

“Never. Of course not.”

“He is… wretched,” she said. “Something about him always makes me feel uncomfortable in his presence.”

“Oh, just so,” said Dunrose.

“And perhaps you are right about Seraphine being better off without him. He does use her.”

“He definitely does. All he does is use people. He uses everyone around him. He is a terrible person.”

“Yes, I think you’re right,” she said softly.

“So, then, we have a bargain?”

“I shall not agree to do it until I have a signed betrothal agreement, do you understand that?”

“You drive a hard bargain, madam,” he said. But he nodded. “All right, then. I shall deliver that. Then, you kill Champeraigne.”

She grimaced. “Oh, why did I even go to this stupid ball tonight? Everything’s gone very, very wrong since then.”

“We’ll need to meet together to discuss your strategies for attracting the right sort of men,” he said.

“That’s tricky, because we can’t be alone together without it damaging your reputation, but if we are seen together in public all the time, it will create various impressions about our relationship. ”

“I can get away,” she said. “No one is watching me that much at the house where I am currently staying.”

“Where are you staying?”

“It’s a small house that the Marquis de Fateux has rented.

It is just outside London. They could get it much cheaper than the townhouse they had before, you see, so they downsized to this.

It has the advantage of being even more private, so no one is watching us there.

I am allowed to stay, whereas I could never stay with Seraphine in London. ”

“Is he there?”

“Champeraigne, you mean?”

He nodded.

“He comes and goes. He stays there sometimes for a few weeks and then will be gone elsewhere for some time. Currently, no, he is not in residence.”

“But he’ll be back.”

“I think so, yes,” she said.

“So, we can’t meet there. I cannot call upon you there. I don’t wish him to know that I’m seeing you, and that would make it obvious.”

“I tell you, I can get away.”

“And come where?” he said.

“Oh,” she said, furrowing her brow. “Well, I suppose you have a house in town, but I can’t simply go there.”

“Someone would talk, even if it was just my servants,” he said. “What about here?”

“The brothel?” she gasped. “Again?”

“Well, they are discreet here,” he said. “And it is likely closer than London for you. It’s convenient for me. What do you think?”

She groaned. “You have ruined my life, Your Grace.”

He shrugged. “It seems your life was in tatters anyway, madam.”