Page 13 of Wedded to the Duke of Sin (Dukes of Passion #2)

CHAPTER 13

“ Y ou cannot keep hiding me in boarding houses forever, Your Grace,” Sarah said, absently rubbing her growing belly as she stood by the small window.

The room was plain but clean, with simple furnishings that spoke of respectable poverty rather than destitution.

“Sooner or later, someone will start asking questions.”

“They already are.” Dorian remained standing, studying the woman who was carrying his best friend’s child. She looked tired, but her eyes still held that same sharp intelligence that had first caught Lawrence’s attention. “Which is precisely why we need to move you again.”

“Lawrence would laugh, you know.” A ghost of a smile crossed her face. “The mighty Duke of Ashthorne, sneaking around London’s less fashionable quarters like a common spy.”

Lawrence’s name hung between them.

Dorian moved to join her at the window, watching the bustle of working-class London below. “He always did enjoy seeing me brought low. Remember that time at Cambridge when he convinced me to climb into the chapel after that blasted cat?”

“He told me that story.” Sarah’s laugh held a hint of tears. “Said you ruined your best coat and threatened to have him expelled.”

“I did no such thing.” Dorian’s voice softened. “Though I did consider pushing him into a nearby puddle.”

“He adored you, you know.” Sarah turned to face him. “Said you were the only true friend he’d ever had. The only one who saw past his title to the man beneath.”

The only one who might recognize that his death wasn’t natural .

But Dorian kept that suspicion to himself.

Instead, he said, “Speaking of titles, I have some news of my own. I am to be married.”

Sarah’s eyebrows rose. “The notorious rake, finally caught? Lawrence would have found that hilarious.” She studied his face. “Is this why you’ve come? To tell me that you can no longer help us?”

“Never.” The word came out fiercer than he had intended. “I made a promise to Lawrence, and I intend to keep it. But my… movements may be more restricted now. I’ve arranged for you to stay in a country house in Somerset. Remote but comfortable. You’ll be safe there until the child is born.”

“And after?”

“One challenge at a time.” He reached into his coat and took out a heavy purse. “This should see you settled. Mrs. Harrison, my housekeeper there, can be trusted completely.”

Sarah took the purse with obvious reluctance. “I hate feeling like a burden.”

“You are not.” Dorian’s voice was firm. “You are carrying Lawrence’s child. That makes you family.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. “He was going to marry me, you know. Had it all planned out. A Cornish retreat, distant from London’s chatter. He said…” Her voice caught. “He said we’d make our own happiness, away from his uncle’s influence.”

Dorian’s hands clenched at the mention of Treyfield, but he kept his voice gentle. “Lawrence always dreamed big.”

“Yes.” She wiped her eyes. “Tell me about your bride, then. Is she very beautiful?”

“She’s…” Dorian hesitated, surprised by how difficult it was to describe Alice in detached terms. “Challenging. Independent. Rather terrifyingly intelligent.”

Sarah’s knowing smile was pure Lawrence. “Ah. So you are in love with her.”

“It’s not like that. The engagement was… somewhat hastily arranged.”

“Of course it was.” Her smile widened. “That’s exactly how Lawrence looked when he tried to pretend he wasn’t falling in love with me.”

Before Dorian could protest, a noise in the street below caught his attention. He moved swiftly to the window, scanning for any sign that they’d been followed.

“You are getting paranoid,” Sarah observed.

“With good reason.” He turned back to her. “Pack only what you need. My carriage will come for you at midnight. The driver will give the password ‘Cambridge.’ Trust no one else, no matter what they claim.”

She nodded, one hand resting protectively on her stomach. “Your Grace… thank you. For everything.”

Dorian’s throat tightened. “Lawrence would have done the same for me.” He moved to the door, then paused. “Sarah, be careful. If anyone asks about Lawrence…”

“I know.” Her smile turned sad. “I am just another fallen woman. No one of consequence.”

As Dorian made his way back to his waiting carriage, his mind churned with plans. He needed to get Sarah safely away before Treyfield’s net closed any tighter. And somehow, he had to find a way to confirm his suspicions about Lawrence’s death without putting either Sarah or Alice in danger.

He was so lost in thought that he almost missed the shadow that detached itself from a doorway across the street, following his progress with too-keen interest.

Almost.

“Following dukes now, are we?” Dorian’s voice cut through the shadows as he turned suddenly, grabbing him by his collar.

His knuckles pressed against the damp bricks as he leaned in, using his height to his advantage. “How ambitious of you.”

The man—barely older than a boy, really—tried to bolt, but Dorian’s grip was unyielding. The lad’s shabby coat marked him as one of the many desperate souls who’d do anything for a few coins.

“M-My lord! I meant no?—”

“No?” Dorian tightened his hold, feeling the boy’s pulse racing beneath his fingers.

The fog rolling in from the Thames made everything seem more eerie, more menacing. Perfect for this sort of confrontation.

“Then perhaps you’d care to explain why one of Treyfield’s employees has taken such an interest in my morning constitutionals?”

“I only… that is… His Lordship said to watch where you went!” The words tumbled out in frightened haste, the boy’s Cockney thickening with fear. “Said there’d be good coin in it! I’ve got sisters to feed, Your Grace. Little ones.”

“Did he now?” Dorian reached into his pocket and pulled out a purse. He shook it slightly, making it clink. “And exactly how much did His Lordship offer for this surveillance?”

The boy’s eyes were fixed on the purse. “A shilling, Your Grace.”

“A shilling.” Dorian’s laugh held no humor. “Your loyalty is rather cheap.” He reached into his pocket and deposited more coins into the purse. “Tell me, what else did His Lordship ask you to watch for?”

“Any ladies you might visit.” The admission came quickly now. “Particularly if they were in… in a delicate way.”

Dorian’s jaw clenched, but he kept his voice casual. “I see. And what will you tell His Lordship about today’s observations?”

“That you visited your solicitor, Your Grace.” The boy’s gaze darted between Dorian’s face and the purse. “Spent a good hour discussing estate matters. Very dull.”

“Excellent answer.” Dorian released him, before tossing over the purse. “I trust your future reports will be equally uninteresting?”

“Yes, Your Grace! Thank you, Your Grace!”

Watching the boy scurry away, Dorian’s satisfied expression faded into grimness. He signaled his carriage with sharp urgency, his mind already racing ahead.

Treyfield was getting bolder, setting watchers on him. Sarah would need to be moved tonight, not tomorrow as planned.

The ride back to his townhouse did nothing to settle his thoughts. The comfortable weight of his signet ring felt suddenly constricting—a reminder of all the responsibilities pulling him in different directions. His promise to Lawrence. His duty to Sarah and her unborn child. And now…

His mind traitorously conjured the image of Alice in that blue silk gown, her lips parted in surprise just before he’d kissed her. The memory sent an unwelcome surge of heat through his blood.

Attraction he could handle—had handled many times before. But this constant awareness of her was becoming damned inconvenient.

“Your Grace?” His butler’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts as he entered the house. “Lady Westhaven has sent a note regarding wedding preparations, and Lord Drakeley is waiting in your study.”

“Of course she has,” Dorian muttered, shrugging off his coat with more force than necessary.

The ton would expect certain formalities now, tedious social obligations that would make it harder to protect Sarah. To say nothing of the complications of a new bride who would undoubtedly notice her husband’s frequent absences.

He had sworn an oath to Lawrence, but now his duty to Alice pulled him in an entirely different direction. Both women deserved better than half of his attention, yet he didn’t know how he could protect them both without betraying one or the other.

He reached for the brandy decanter the moment he entered his study, not bothering with pleasantries. “I trust you have news?”

Gregory lounged in his favorite chair, watching him with knowing eyes. “That depends. Shall we discuss Treyfield or your rather spectacular loss of sense regarding a certain copper-haired lady?”

“The first,” Dorian said firmly. “The second is not open for discussion.”

“No?” Gregory’s smile was knowing. “Even though you haven’t stopped fidgeting with your cravat since you walked in? The same spot, I couldn’t help but notice, where Lady Alice’s hands?—”

“If you value that famously sharp tongue,” Dorian cut in, “you’ll focus on the matter at hand.”

“Very well.” Gregory’s expression sobered. “Treyfield’s been asking questions at White’s. Specific questions about Lawrence’s last days and any attachments he might have formed.”

Dorian’s hand tightened around his glass. “He’s getting closer.”

“Which makes your sudden engagement rather unfortunately timed,” Gregory continued. “A new bride will make it considerably more difficult to?—”

“I am aware.” The words came out clipped. “But there was no choice. I couldn’t let her reputation suffer because of my—” Dorian broke off, unwilling to finish that thought.

“Because of your overwhelming desire to kiss her senseless on the Westhavens’ terrace?” Gregory suggested helpfully.

“This isn’t about Lady Alice.” But even as he said it, Dorian felt the lie in his words.

Everything had become damnably complicated the moment Alice had burst into that brothel room, all flashing eyes and misplaced courage.

“Keep telling yourself that.” Gregory rose and clapped him on the shoulder. “Just remember—you can’t protect everyone alone.”

After his friend left, Dorian stood at his study window, watching London’s fashionable world pass by. Each elegant carriage, each perfectly arranged morning call, felt like another thread in the web of propriety that was slowly tightening around him.

He needed to focus on protecting Sarah. On uncovering the truth about Lawrence’s death. On keeping his promises.

Not on the memory of Alice’s soft gasp when he’d kissed her, or the way her eyes sparkled when she was angry with him, or?—

“Damn it all.” He reached for the brandy again.

This marriage of convenience was becoming decidedly inconvenient.