London
T he numbers didn’t add up.
With an unbridled yawn and stretch of her arms, Dinah Westfall turned back to the first page in her father’s last ledger and once again began to calculate the figures written in her father’s shaky script.
She knew his handwriting well enough to be sure she read the numerals correctly and was confident enough in her mathematics to believe her totals were correct, but the ledger in question belonged to the exclusive club, Sutcliffe’s, and the figures had to be accurate.
Not only did her position as bookkeeper depend on accuracy, her father’s reputation was all she and her sister had left of him.
In the year before he died, she’d noticed his mental sharpness was slipping, though.
Not enough to make her double-check his work, initially, but a noticeable difference in the nightly takings from the gambling tables, in particular, had her questioning why there was such a decrease since Father’s death.
None of the three owners had mentioned changes in the number of guests to the club.
The Duke of Dainsfield and the Duke of Nomansland rarely entered the business office when Dinah was working, so she wouldn’t have heard anything from them.
The third owner, the Duke of Abingdon, made a point to check in with her weekly—or was he checking up on her work?
No, she shouldn’t think like that. He was a good man, the only one of the three to call upon Dinah’s grandmother after the funeral to make sure she was coping as well as could be expected over the loss of her son.
Dinah assumed he was the one who’d paid their accounts at the grocer and coal company, although any of the men might have instructed the bills should be paid.
The payments weren’t made from the club’s account, so she hadn’t seen signatures, and when she mentioned it to Abingdon by way of thanks, he’d been non-committal.
After another hour of tabulations, she still hadn’t found the answer to the discrepancies, and the shadows in the room were encroaching on the lamplight.
She didn’t like to work into the night, as she tried her best to avoid contact with any guests.
No one but employees should be in the basement where her office was, but the later the hour, the greater the likelihood of a drunken loser wandering the back staircase and getting lost.
As the thought passed her mind, she heard a noise from the hallway, making her move a little more quickly to lock up the books and receipts before taking her bonnet and pelisse from the coat rack by the door. Before she could grasp the door handle, it opened, spilling light from the hallway.
A large, dark-haired man jerked to a halt in the doorway. “Oh, forgive me. I didn’t know anyone was still here,” he said. His manner of speech was elegant, as were the fit of his clothes, leading Dinah to believe him to be a guest, not an employee.
“No one is allowed down here, sir. Can I direct you to the area you sought?” She didn’t ask him why he was there if he expected everyone to be gone.
The sooner she could get him to return upstairs, the better.
She couldn’t make out his features clearly with the light behind him, but she didn’t feel as if she knew him.
He smiled. “Well, now, why hurry away? I’ve nowhere important to be, and you’re a pretty young thing.” His large frame took up most of the doorway, leaving no room for her to pass.
“You aren’t allowed here,” she reiterated. “If you go up one floor and through the doorway, you’ll find the lobby. Any one of several footmen stationed there will help you find the area you seek.”
“I like what I have here,” he said in a low, seductive voice. He reached up and grasped the lock of hair that had fallen across Dinah’s cheek. “So soft. I always expect red hair to be coarse.”
His gaze dipped to her decolletage, and he drew in a breath. Her gown had a modest neckline, but she felt exposed from how his gaze raked over the rounded skin of her upper breasts.
Dinah took a defensive step back, pulling her pelisse closed and crossing her arms over her breasts before he could grasp anything else.
She had to find a way past him, but she was sure he’d read any forward movement on her part as eagerness.
Also, she needed to lock the door behind her—with him on the outside.
While any cash was securely locked up or in the safe, she couldn’t risk allowing anyone a chance to be alone in the room.
Aside from money, there were financial records, including a few IOUs accepted by the Duke of Abingdon.
That man had such a soft heart. He’d never succeed in business if it weren’t for his partners’ frugal and decisive actions.
Nomansland was brilliant with marketing ideas for any occasion, and Dainsfield had a way with people that kept all their guests returning to happily lose their incomes.
The stranger moved closer still, and when Dinah stepped back, he followed.
“Sir, leave. Now.” She’d lost the ability to include polite words such as, please . Not only was she angry, her heart beat faster as she imagined what he might plan to do to her.
“Only if you join me upstairs. I keep a room here.”
That narrowed the list of who he might be.
Still, she didn’t know the names of which members leased a room monthly for their private activities, versus those who booked one night at a time for more spontaneous assignations, and those who limited their activities to the gambling tables.
Nor did she care, to be honest. Her only concern at Sutcliffe’s was the ledgers.
When she backed up again, the edge of her desk pressed against her buttocks.
She was trapped. Reaching up with one hand, she pressed hard against the man’s chest. He stood firm.
She might as well beat on a wall. “Move! Leave this office now!” She couldn’t even threaten to scream, since no one was likely to be on this floor at this hour of the evening.
He cupped her shoulder, his thumb brushing over the fabric of her pelisse. “Ask nicely.”
Dinah shoved with both hands, but his body barely moved.
He bent forward, licking his lips.
Suddenly, he jerked away from her.
“Get off her!” growled a man behind him. As her assailant twisted awkwardly, Dinah could see who rescued her. Abingdon.
“Why, do you want her first?” The stranger sounded almost jovial. Drunk, perhaps, but he didn’t smell of alcohol.
“Miss Westfall, are you hurt?” Abingdon ignored the other man, focusing on her. He stood almost as close as the stranger had, but at least she could stand straight now. His black eyebrows were pulled so close as to nearly touch, and his lips were tight in a frown.
“I’m fine, Your Grace. Thank you.”
Abingdon turned to the other man, who, surprisingly, hadn’t left. “What are you doing here, Peter?”
He knew the man?
Peter raked his fingers through his black hair, then straightened his waistcoat. “Has it been so long since you’ve had a woman that you have to ask?” He chuckled.
Dinah gasped, but before she could deny the inference, Abingdon had taken two steps to close the distance and grabbed the man’s lapel.
“Do not even suggest such a thing regarding this woman.” Abingdon’s normally deep voice scraped the bottom of the register of her hearing. He sounded more than threatening. He promised severe punishment if Peter didn’t listen.
Peter laughed again as though this was a nightly conversation between good friends. “I see. I hadn’t realized I was trespassing on your property. She isn’t as glamorous as your usual playthings.”
Abingdon’s hands fisted, and Dinah was afraid he would hit the man. She quickly said, “Nothing happened, Your Grace. He must have been looking for your office and came to mine by mistake.”
The duke’s hand flexed, but he remained focused on Peter. “My brother knows I’m not in my office at this hour.”
For a moment, Dinah could only stare upon hearing this bit of news.
The drunken stranger who’d tried to force himself on her was the duke’s brother, Peter Hill.
Then, hoping to cut through some of the palpable tension, Dinah laughed lightly.
“You’ve commented on how quickly time passes when one is playing at the tables.
He might not have realized it was growing late. ”
Looking back over his shoulder, Abingdon met her gaze. His mien was as fierce as when he’d first arrived. “Were you expecting him?”
“What?” She hoped her expression didn’t display her true distaste at the idea before she schooled her features. “I?—”
The duke faced her fully, his hands on his hips. “I thought we made it clear when you began working with your father that you weren’t to associate with the guests.”
“I—”
Abingdon continued. “It’s only due to Mr. Westfall’s lengthy employment with my uncle that I was able to convince Dainsfield and Nomansland to hire a woman in the office. If they hear?—”
“Will you let me speak?” Dinah interrupted.
“I don’t know this man. I had no… assignation or any other sort of plans to meet with him.
You do my father’s memory no respect by assuming the worst of my character, Your Grace.
I was trying to lock up for the evening, but since you’re here now, I shall trust you to lock the door behind you. ”
She turned to leave but caught herself. Remembering her manners, she took a deep breath and smiled politely. “That is, if you don’t require anything else of me this evening.”
The corner of Abingdon’s lips twitched. “You’re free to go.
You, as well,” he added and grabbed Peter’s arm.
He led the man to the hallway, then stepped aside in the doorway to allow Dinah to exit.
He locked the door behind them, then turned his harsh demeanor on Peter.
“Your membership to Sutcliffe’s is revoked.
You will not enter the premises for any reason, under any circumstances. Do you understand?”
Peter smirked. “Loud and clear.” He offered a lazy bow to the duke and sauntered off to the far staircase.
Dinah turned toward the servants’ stairs. “Good evening, then, Your Grace.”
Abingdon fell into step beside her. “I’ll see you home.”
“There’s no need,” she said. “It’s not far, and I’m sure your warning was understood.”
“It’s dark. You shouldn’t be walking the streets alone at night.”
Dinah wondered how he thought she shopped and ran errands before she’d come to work there.
She was the daughter of a bookkeeper, not a member of Polite Society, despite her grandfather being a baron.
She didn’t have a lady’s maid to accompany her everywhere, and her sister wasn’t always free to tag along.
“It’s early. I’m hardly the only working girl returning home at this hour.
” She didn’t add that at her age, twenty-six, and dressed in a serviceable day gown, she wasn’t likely to catch any man’s eye on the street.
When they reached the ground floor, Abingdon held open the door to the lobby. Dinah turned toward the other door, which led to the street. The duke quickly switched doors and followed her onto the pavement. “I insist.”
“Very well, it’s your time.”
The street was busy with hackney cabs and pedestrians heading in either direction, like most nights when Dinah walked home.
No one paid them any mind, but she was very aware of who the man walking next to her was.
The Duke of Abingdon was at the top of the prospective husbands list drawn up by marriage-minded mamas, according to her sister, Chrissy.
His name filled the columns of the society gossip sheets, either alongside that of his latest courtesan or in reference to some business venture he and his partners had undertaken.
Her father rarely spoke about the men he worked for, so she knew nothing of the real man.
“I was rude back there,” Abingdon said, breaking their silence. “I apologize.”
“It was an upsetting situation. I’m the one who should apologize. You came to my rescue.”
“Has he—Peter, my brother, has he been in the basement before? Have you seen him, I should say.”
“No. I see very few people other than you and your partners. Mr. Bickley makes his deposits after I leave, most days.”
Abingdon placed his hand on her back to guide her through a crowd. “I’m not certain I like having you alone there the entire day.”
“The servants often use the stairs at my end of the hall, so I’m not completely alone.”
“And yet he found his way into your office.”
“I do have to open the door in order to leave, you know. He happened to be there at that time. It’s not likely it will happen again, with any man.”
He didn’t respond, and Dinah gave thanks that perhaps the discussion was ended.
Father had had a difficult time convincing the dukes to allow her to assist him when his health began failing, and she’d feared they’d fire her when he died.
They hadn’t, although nothing was specifically said about her staying on, either.
Business simply continued as usual, minus her father’s presence.
Every day, she hoped the subject wouldn’t come up.
When the warmth of Abingdon’s hand returned to her back, Dinah glanced at the duke.
How could a man be so handsome even in the shadows cast by lamplight?
He wasn’t scowling now, so the fierceness was gone.
His black hair showed the ruffles where he’d run his fingers through it earlier, but that made him appear even more rakish than the gossips claimed.
She could imagine her hands had done the damage to his neat coiffure?—
No, she could imagine no such thing!
Dinah wasn’t a dreamer, and not romantic, as were most single women her age.
She knew the reality of her life. At some point in the future, she might accept the offer of marriage to a widower, or a returning soldier or merchant marine, someone with few other options.
Sometime after her sister married, perhaps.
Poor Chrissy’s dreams had been pinned on the tailor’s son, who reportedly married an American after traveling there to investigate opening a store in New York.
All Dinah wanted was for her sister to find love.
In the meantime, she could fantasize all she wanted about handsome dukes and lords, but not her bosses. Never her bosses.
As they neared the corner to her street, Abingdon said, “Tomorrow, I shall escort you home at the end of the day. Sixish?”
“That’s not necessary, Your Grace.”
“I’m your employer, and I say it is.” He smiled, but it quickly turned into a scowl. “I don’t trust my brother. He’s up to something, and I don’t want you hurt.”
“Very well. I’ll be ready to leave at six.”
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