Page 2 of Wedded to the Duke of Seduction (Dukes of Passion #3)

CHAPTER 2

“ W ell, well. If it isn’t the prodigal duke himself. Welcome back to civilization, Blackmere.”

Leo’s mouth curved into a faint smile as he heard the voice of his oldest friend. The Marquess of Blytheton lounged at his usual table in the corner of White’s, a half-empty bottle of brandy before him.

“Blytheton,” Leo inclined his head as he joined Noah at the table, trying to ignore the hush that had fallen over the gaming room at his entrance. After all these years away from London, he expected nothing less. “I see you haven’t drunk the club’s cellars dry in my absence.”

“It’s not that I haven’t tried.” Noah motioned for another glass to be brought to the table. A young steward set a glass in front of Leo. Noah splashed some brandy into the glass. “I didn’t expect to see you back so soon. Your last letter said you were in Vienna.”

“The trail went cold.” Leo’s jaw tightened, and he picked up his brandy and swirled it. His eyes stared into the amber depths as if hoping for divine information. “Our illicit couple have become rather skilled at disappearing just before I catch up to them.”

Leo’s fingers tightened around the glass.

“Vienna was the closest I’ve come in months. They left a boarding house mere hours before I arrived. The landlady remembered William. She said he paid her extra to forget they’d ever been there.” A bitter smile crossed his face. “Clearly, her memory improved with the application of more coin.”

“And you’re certain it was them?” Noah leaned forward, his usual flippancy replaced by genuine concern.

“William left something behind. A pocket watch—the one Father gave him on his eighteenth birthday.” Leo reached into his waistcoat and withdrew a tarnished silver watch.

The Rencourt family crest was barely visible beneath years of neglect. “He was always careless with his possessions.”

Noah didn’t respond immediately, studying his friend’s face. “Ten years is a long time to chase ghosts, Leo.”

“They’re not ghosts.” Leo’s voice was sharp. “William is my responsibility. He always has been.”

“And Felicity?” Noah’s question hung in the air between them.

Leo’s expression darkened. “Felicity will answer for what she’s done. To my family. To William.” He drained his glass in one swallow then set it down with deliberate control. “I won’t return for good to Blackmere until I’ve found them both.”

“And yet, here you are in London.” Noah refilled their glasses. “Diverted by scandalous tales that half the ton is reading beneath their bedsheets. One might think you’re avoiding the inevitable conclusion to your search.”

Leo’s silence spoke volumes. The truth—one he scarcely admitted to himself—was that each failed attempt to find William left him hollower than before. The brother he remembered—impulsive, naive, desperately seeking approval—might no longer exist after a decade under Felicity’s influence.

Noah’s expression sobered. “Perhaps it’s time to let them remain hidden.”

“What I need,” Leo said, steering the conversation away from that particular precipice, “is for you to tell me more about these stories you mentioned in your letters. The ones that seem to have all of London talking.”

Noah leaned back in his chair, studying Leo’s face with uncommon seriousness. “Before we discuss the stories, I’ve been wondering why you are so determined to find William after all this time. It’s been ten years, Leo.”

Leo’s jaw tightened. “He’s my brother.”

“A brother who stole from your family and ran off with the woman you loved.” Noah held up a hand as Leo’s expression darkened. “I’m not defending his actions, but perhaps it’s time to consider that your pursuit has become… something else.”

“Such as?”

“A distraction, perhaps. A convenient reason to avoid settling into your responsibilities here.” Noah refilled their glasses, his movements deliberate. “The ducal estates need attention. Your seat in the Lords sits empty. And you’ve spent the past decade chasing shadows across Europe. For what? You look tired, my friend.”

“I didn’t come to London for a lecture on duty,” Leo growled.

“No, you came because of some scandalous stories.” Noah’s familiar sardonic smile returned. “Which, I might add, would never have caught your attention if you weren’t determined to protect a reputation you claim not to care about.”

Leo stared into his glass as he felt the weight of Noah’s words settle over him. The amber liquid caught the firelight as he swirled it absently. After a long moment, he looked up.

“William is the only family I have left.”

“Not true.” Noah’s voice softened. “You have friends who are as good as brothers. Me, Gerard, Dorian—we’ve been worried about you, you stubborn ass. Chasing after William has consumed you, and for what? So you can drag him back to face a society that’s already forgotten the scandal?”

Something flickered in Leo’s chest—a moment of vulnerability he quickly suppressed.

“And what would you have me do instead? Settle into domestic tranquility like Gerard and Dorian? Find myself a dutiful duchess and breed heirs to Blackmere?”

“God forbid.” Noah shuddered theatrically. “Though I must say, the current crop of eligible young ladies might surprise you. The Season has brought some rather spirited debutantes to town.”

“I’ve no interest in spirited debutantes or dutiful wallflowers,” Leo replied, swirling the brandy in his glass. “My only concern is finding William and resolving matters once and for all.”

“So you say.” Noah studied him with unusual perception. “Yet you’re fixated on these stories rather than following your latest lead. One might think you’re finding reasons to remain in London.”

Before Leo could answer, a slurred voice cut through the quiet hum of conversation. “I say, Your Grace, care to try your luck against me at the tables? Unless you’ve gambled away your fortune during your travels.”

The room quieted as heads turned toward their table. Lord Huntley weaved slightly on his feet, his cravat askew and a dangerous glint in his bloodshot eyes. Behind him, several other young bucks watched with poorly disguised anticipation—like hounds scenting blood.

“I have better uses for my fortune than to increase it by besting a man who can barely stand upright,” Leo replied, his tone mild despite the flare of anger he felt.

Huntley’s face flushed an ugly red. “That’s rich, coming from you. The Duke who left England rather than face the consequences of his actions.”

“Careful, Huntley,” Noah warned, but the drunk lord was beyond listening.

“Why should I be careful?” Huntley’s voice rose, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. “We all know what he did. Murdered his own brother in a fit of jealous rage, didn’t he? Then, he ran off to the continent to escape justice. And now we have these charming little tales about his inclinations making the rounds.”

Leo remained perfectly still, only the tightening of his jaw betraying his rage.

“I heard he strangled the girl first,” called another voice—Leo recognized Pembrooke’s younger son, a dissolute gambler known for his cruel tongue. “That’s why they never found her body.”

“Quite inventive with the ladies in other ways too, if these stories are to be believed,” added a third voice, followed by several snickers.

Leo rose to his full height, his movement deliberate and deadly silent. The brandy glass in his hand made a soft thud as he set it down with exquisite care.

“Since you seem so interested in murder, Huntley,” he said, his voice dropping to a register that made several men sit back, “perhaps you’d like to discover for yourself how I might go about it.”

A hush fell over the room. Huntley’s companions suddenly found the floor, their drinks, or the walls fascinating.

“I-I meant no offense, Your Grace.” Huntley stumbled backward, nearly colliding with a card table. “I am simply repeating what others have said?—”

“Then I suggest,” Leo hissed, taking one step forward that made Huntley retreat three, “you find something else to occupy your tongue before I decide to remove it.”

The crowd parted like the sea as Huntley fled, several of his companions trailing in his wake. A few others nodded respectfully to Leo as conversation gradually resumed, albeit with a nervous energy that hadn’t been present before.

Leo took his seat with the same quiet stillness with which he had risen though his knuckles were white as he picked up his glass.

He was used to the whispers and the sidelong glances. But this was different—more pointed, more personal. The stories had breathed new life into old rumors, painting him as both murderer and libertine.

“That went well,” Noah observed dryly, signaling for another bottle. “Though I believe you just confirmed every dark suspicion Huntley and his ilk hold about your temperament.”

“Let them think what they will.” Leo’s voice was flat. “It makes little difference now.”

But it made a difference—that was the damnable part of it all. Ten years of searching for William, of trying to clear his name and restore his family’s honor, and now, these stories threatened to undo it all. Whoever this mysterious author was, they did not know the damage they were causing—or perhaps they did, and that was the most troubling thought of all.

Noah reached into his coat and withdrew a slim pamphlet. “Speaking of which, you might want to see this.”

Leo took the offered pages. His expression darkened as he read. The story’s hero—Sebastian Ravencroft—bore more than a passing resemblance to himself, down to a peculiar scar on his left shoulder, but it was the encounter in a darkened parlor that made his blood run cold.

“Where did you get this?” The paper crackled in his tightening grip.

The familiar scent of jasmine.

That was the line that had struck him first—the detail too intimate, too precise to be coincidence. Felicity had always worn jasmine perfume. She wore it behind her ears, at her wrists, between her?—

Leo forced the memory away.

When his father had threatened to disown him, to cut off William as well if Leo persisted in his “unsuitable attachment”, he had chosen duty over desire. He’d told himself it was for the best—that the passion he felt for Felicity would fade with time.

Leo shook himself from the reverie, the pamphlet crumpling further in his grasp. The author of these stories knew details only a handful of people could know. Whoever they were, they had either been remarkably well-informed by one of his former companions, or…

“Noah,” he said, his voice dangerously controlled, “I need to know who’s writing these stories. Now.”

“They are being sold all over London.” Noah signaled for his hat. “But I made some inquiries—well, paid for them really. The printer’s assistant was quite forthcoming after a few guineas warmed his palm. Says a woman delivers the manuscripts late at night.”

Leo stood abruptly. “Which printer?”

“Lupton’s off of Fleet Street. But surely, you’re not thinking about?—”

“Show me.”

The London night wrapped around them as they made their way through the winding streets. Noah pointed out the building then took his leave. Leo found a shadowed doorway across the street and settled into wait.

He didn’t even know if the mysterious author would appear today. Still, he had to try, even if he waited all night.

Close to an hour passed before a cloaked figure appeared at the end of the street. She moved quickly and was clearly trying to remain unseen by keeping to the shadows.

Leo watched as she approached the printer’s side door. The light from the clerk’s lamp caught her face for just a moment as she handed over a sheaf of papers—enough for him to glimpse fine features and dark curls.

She turned to leave, and Leo made his move. In three long strides, he caught up with her and spun her into the darkened alley beside the printer’s shop.

She let out a cry of alarm as he captured her.

“Well, well…” He leaned in close enough to catch the scent of roses in her hair. “Haven’t you been a naughty little storyteller?”