Page 32 of Wedded to the Duke of Sin (Dukes of Passion #2)
CHAPTER 32
“ T hat woman,” Gregory announced as he stormed into White’s morning room, “is the most infuriating creature to ever don a bonnet.”
Dorian glanced up from the reports about Treyfield’s recent movements, hiding his amusement at his friend’s disheveled appearance. “I take it you encountered Lady Joanna at the park again?”
“She had the audacity to ignore me completely.” Gregory threw himself into the nearest chair. “Rode past me as though I were a common lamppost, her chin lifted so high she’s lucky she didn’t fall off her horse.”
“How tragic for you.”
“And then,” Gregory jabbed a finger in Dorian’s direction, “she laughed at something that simpering fool Rutherford said. Laughed! As if he’d ever said anything worth even a smile in his entire insipid existence.”
“Fascinating.” Dorian set aside his papers and picked up his cup of coffee. “Tell me more about how little you care for Lady Joanna’s attention.”
“I don’t care at all,” Gregory insisted, though his scowl deepened. “I merely object to her complete lack of manners. Did I tell you that she called me an antiquated peacock at Lady Morrison’s musical evening?”
“Only three times.” Dorian signaled for fresh coffee. “Though you neglected to mention what you said—which earned you such a creative moniker.”
“I simply suggested that her riding habit was a touch too fashionable for morning wear.”
“Which you noticed only because you’re so concerned with propriety, I’m sure.”
Gregory’s protest died on his lips as he caught Dorian’s grim expression. “Those reports—is there news of Treyfield?”
“Nothing concrete.” Dorian’s voice hardened. “Though Alice thought she spotted one of his men near the school today.”
“Was she followed?”
“She says that it turned out to be just the groundskeeper, but…” Dorian’s fingers tightened around his cup. “Everyone’s on edge. Sarah’s due date approaches, and Treyfield grows bolder with each passing week.”
“Could it have been one of his men?”
“Possibly. Alice has good instincts, even if she’s trying to convince herself otherwise.” Dorian stood up and moved to the window. “If Treyfield has discovered the school’s location…”
“We’ll move her again,” Gregory stated firmly. “Farther away this time. Perhaps to the northern estate?”
“And risk moving her in her condition?” Dorian shook his head. “We need to deal with Treyfield directly. Before the child comes.”
“Careful, old boy.” Gregory lowered his voice. “That sounds dangerously close to?—”
“To what? Justice?” Dorian turned around, his expression dark. “He murdered Lawrence as surely as if he’d used a knife instead of poison. And now he hunts an innocent woman and her unborn child.”
“I know,” Gregory sighed. “But we need proof before we can act against him. Until then?—”
“Until then, we watch and wait.” Dorian’s smile held no warmth. “And pray that Alice was indeed mistaken about being followed.”
“Speaking of your Duchess…” Gregory’s tone lightened. “At least that part of your plan has succeeded. The ton is quite convinced of your devotion to each other.”
“That was never part of any plan,” Dorian said quietly.
“No?” Gregory’s knowing smile returned. “Then perhaps we should discuss how you nearly challenged Lord Rutherford to a duel last week merely for offering her a glass of lemonade.”
“I did nothing of the sort.”
“Only because I intervened.” Gregory leaned back and studied him carefully. “Face it, old boy. You’re as besotted with your wife as I am with—” He stopped abruptly.
“Yes?” Dorian’s lips twitched. “As you are with…?”
“No one,” Gregory said firmly. “I am besotted with absolutely no one. Especially not sharp-tongued ladies who ride too well and laugh with the wrong men.”
“Of course not.” Dorian gathered his papers. “Just as I’m not concerned at all that my wife visited the school today. Even though the last time she took such a risk?—”
“She ended up married to you?” Gregory’s eyes danced with mirth. “Perhaps I should encourage Lady Joanna to visit more brothels.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it.” Dorian’s voice held a hint of genuine amusement for the first time that day. “Some of us are better suited to marriage than others.”
“I am not marrying that impossible woman,” Gregory declared. “No matter how beautifully she sits on a horse or how cleverly she turns a phrase or?—”
“Indeed.” Dorian headed for the door. “Keep telling yourself that.”
As he left, he could hear Gregory still muttering about sharp tongues and fashionable riding habits.
At least someone’s romantic troubles were amusing rather than potentially lethal.
The late afternoon fog rolled in from the Thames, turning London’s streets into a maze of shadows and muted sounds. Dorian turned toward home, his mind still on Gregory’s romantic troubles when a familiar figure materialized from the mist.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Your Grace.” The boy had grown thinner since their last encounter, his shabby coat hanging loose on his frame. “Might I have a word?”
Dorian glanced around the crowded street. Several merchants were closing their shops, while a group of dandies lounged outside White’s, sharing the latest on-dits. Too many eyes, too many ears.
“This way.” He guided them into a narrow alley between a bookshop and a milliner’s, where crates of merchandise created convenient shadows. “What news?”
“Been keepin’ my ears open, like you asked.” The boy shifted nervously, glancing over his shoulder. “Heard somethin’ interestin’ about Lord Treyfield—about the time before the former Earl passed.”
Dorian’s pulse quickened, but he kept his voice steady. “Go on.”
“There was this chemist, see?” He lowered his voice. “In Covent Garden. Word is that his lordship visited him regularly in the weeks before his nephew fell ill. Always after dark, always alone.”
“Which chemist?” Dorian demanded—perhaps too sharply, for the boy took a step back.
“That’s just it, Your Grace. The shop is closed now. The man who ran it disappeared right after…” Tommy trailed off meaningfully. “But there is talk among the street vendors. They remember him comin’ and goin’, carryin’ little packages wrapped in brown paper.”
“Rumors and gossip,” Dorian said, though his mind was racing. “Nothing concrete.”
“Pardon me, Your Grace, but rumors often have seeds of truth.” Tommy’s eyes darted to the alley’s entrance. “And there’s more. The chemist’s apprentice—he didn’t disappear. Last I heard, he was working at an apothecary in Cheapside.”
Dorian reached for his purse and took out several gold sovereigns. “Find him. Discover what he knows about his former master’s dealings with Lord Treyfield. But carefully, mind you. If Treyfield’s men catch wind of your inquiries?—”
“No fear of that, Your Grace.” Tommy’s thin fingers closed around the coins. “I know how to be invisible when needed. And…” He hesitated. “There’s something else. Something about a special order just days before the former Earl fell ill. But it’ll take some coin to loosen the right tongues.”
Dorian gave him another sovereign. “Find out everything you can. But Tommy—” He caught the boy’s arm as he turned to go. “Watch out. If Treyfield is behind Lawrence’s death, he won’t hesitate to silence anyone who might expose him.”
“Understood, Your Grace.” Tommy touched his cap. “I’ll send word the usual way when I learn more.”
As the boy melted back into the fog, Dorian allowed himself a grim smile. Finally, after months of shadows and suspicions, he had a tangible lead. If he could prove that Treyfield had purchased poison… if the apprentice could testify to the timing…
He emerged from the alley and turned toward home, his steps quickening with renewed purpose. For the first time since Lawrence’s death, justice seemed within reach.
The fog swallowed him as he walked, but he barely noticed. His mind was already racing ahead, plotting how to use this new information.
Lawrence’s murderer had finally made a mistake, and Dorian intended to ensure that it was his last.
When he returned home, the library was lit only by firelight that cast dancing shadows over the walls. He paused in the doorway, his breath catching at the sight of Alice curled up on the chaise, her copper hair spilling over the velvet cushions.
The scene reminded him of Titian’s Venus of Urbino. Though his wife was fully clothed, there was the same languid grace, the same peaceful vulnerability in sleep that the master had captured on canvas.
A book lay open on her lap, threatening to fall to the Turkish carpet. He recognized it as the volume of botanical illustrations she’d been studying lately—no doubt she was researching the flowers Sarah had mentioned. Even in sleep, she tried to protect those in their care.
Moving quietly, he lifted the book and set it on the side table. Alice stirred slightly but didn’t wake up, her lashes casting shadows on her cheeks in the firelight. Unable to resist, he brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her skin.
“Mmm.” Her eyes fluttered open, focusing slowly on his face. “Dorian?”
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmured, though he couldn’t bring himself to withdraw his hand.
“I was waiting for you.” Her voice was thick with sleep as she leaned into his touch. “Did you learn anything useful in London?”
“Perhaps.” He settled on the edge of the chaise. “But it can wait until morning.”
She caught his hand as he started to withdraw it. “You seem… lighter somehow. As though a weight has lifted off your shoulders.”
“Do I?” He smiled, turning his hand to intertwine his fingers with hers. “Perhaps I simply like finding my duchess asleep in the library. Though you’ll catch a cold if you make a habit of it.”
“Then you’ll have to come home earlier,” she said, attempting to fix him with a stern look that was ruined by a yawn.
“So I shall.” He helped her sit up, but she swayed slightly, still muzzy with sleep. Without thinking, he gathered her into his arms. “Come, sweetheart. Let’s get you to bed.”
“I can walk,” she protested, though she had rested her head against his shoulder.
“Indulge me.” He carried her toward the door, savoring the feel of her warm weight against his chest. “Consider it practice for when you fall asleep in the library again.”
“Presumptuous Duke,” she mumbled, but her arms tightened around his neck.
As he climbed up the stairs with his precious burden, Dorian allowed himself to imagine a future where every evening might end this way—not out of duty or circumstance, but simply because they belonged together. But such thoughts were dangerous, especially when he was so close to bringing Treyfield to justice.
Still, with Alice’s steady breaths fanning his neck and her heart beating in time with his own, he couldn’t quite suppress a surge of hope. Perhaps when this was all over…
But that was a dream for another day. For now, he had his sleeping Duchess in his arms and the promise of justice on the horizon. It would have to be enough.