Dare to Love a Duke Page 9

  “Madam,” he said sternly, “explain yourself.”

  The woman turned around, revealing a face of bold beauty. Her gaze met his, and they both jolted.

  He rasped, “Lucia?”

  Her eyes went wide as color leeched from her face. She stared at him for a long time, and then she lifted her hand as though she meant to touch him. But her fingers curled into a fist and she lowered it to her side. Yet she didn’t unclench her hand.

  They both went motionless with shock as the air vibrated with tension.

  “Tom?” Her voice was barely a whisper. “You’re . . . the Duke of Northfield’s son? You are the duke now?”

  “I am,” he said warily. He felt himself treading on a path littered with snares. One false step could mean disaster.

  She frowned, and then reached into her reticule and produced a substantial stack of cash.

  Her voice turned businesslike. “This belongs to you, Your Grace.”

  Tom didn’t move to take the money. “I don’t understand.”

  “Your father didn’t mention me?” Dismay edged her voice.

  Cautiously, he said, “Nary a word.”

  Tom certainly would have remembered his father discussing a meeting in the larder with the woman who managed the Orchid Club. He eyed the large wad of pound notes.

  She held it out to him.

  “As I said, it was supposed to go to the late duke, but now it’s yours.”

  “Ah,” Tom said, finally understanding. “My father loaned you money, and now you’ve come to repay it.”

  “Your Grace, you misunderstand.” She stepped closer. “What I give to you now represents your father’s share in my establishment’s profits. You see, your father created that establishment. And now you, Your Grace, are the club’s owner.”

  Tom’s heart seized in his chest as his brain furiously churned to make sense of what Lucia had just said.

  “Your attempt at humor is not welcome.” His words were cutting.

  “I am not endeavoring to be comical,” she said gravely.

  A fiery tide of anger rose up within him.

  “Slander’s your game, then.” The very idea that his father might have owned the Orchid Club was beyond preposterous. “My apologies,” he added bitingly, “but your attempt at blackmail is a failure.”

  Lucia held up the stack of cash.

  “Blackmail would be a new endeavor for me, but I do know that the perpetrator does not offer her intended victim money.”

  “There’s no other reason for you to say something so utterly ludicrous.”

  He folded his arms across his chest as his body tightened with fury everywhere. What she suggested was outright defamatory. His father was newly dead, and here she was, spreading calumny about the late duke. There was only one reason why she would make such allegations.

  Hard to believe that less than twelve hours before, he and Lucia had been exploring every inch of each other’s bodies. Had he unknowingly bedded a blackmailer?

  “I’ve spoken a few falsehoods in my life. This is not one of those times.” She drew a breath. “Eighteen years ago, your father entered into a business arrangement with Mrs. Nancy Chalke, a known procuress. The intent was to operate a secret society that catered to the sexual desires of all classes and all inclinations. Through intermediaries, he purchased a home in Bloomsbury which would house the establishment. You know that as of one year ago, I replaced Mrs. Chalke as the operation’s manager. Part of my responsibilities is delivering the owner’s share of the monthly profits. And here I am,” she said with a nod, “giving you—the new patron—your portion of the establishment’s take.”

  He struggled to make sense of the tale she told him. Could he believe any of it? Could he trust her at all? He fought reconciling the woman before him with his lover from last night.

  Tom had felt her lips against his and caressed her lavish curves. She’d stroked her hands all over his body, taken him into herself. He’d lapped at her like a starving man, drank her down with ravenous gulps.

  Now heat washed through him, burning his face and collecting in his groin. Potent attraction blazed between them, even in the midst of this madness.

  “I cannot believe you.” The world shifted and spun around him. He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead.

  “What I’ve said is a surprise to you—”

  “A goddamned earthquake,” he spit out.

  Despite his clipped words, her expression softened.

  Gently, she said, “The death of a parent . . . it’s no easy burden to bear. I understand. And you have my sympathy,” she continued. “It cannot be comfortable knowing that your father kept secrets.”

  The world had turned to chaos. Nothing could be relied upon. If his father was the club’s patron, could Tom trust that even the walls of Northfield House would remain standing? Or would one light touch of his fingers level the mansion?

  “No mistress,” he said in a harsh, grating voice. “No gambling debts, no bribes. No.” He made another sound that approximated laughter. “Father owned a goddamned sex club. Made money from it. From people wearing masks and fucking.”

  Though the pursed set of her lips showed her sympathy for his situation, her eyes were clear and full of purpose.

  “He did,” she said in a placating tone, “and kept his reasons for doing so to himself. Neither you nor I can guess at his motivation, but there’s something both of us cannot ignore.” Gingerly, she took a half step toward him. “The club exists, and as manager, I must do my duty by it.”

  “Speak plainly,” he said, unable to keep the edge from his voice.

  “Keeping the establishment going is my responsibility, but that rests on whether or not you want to keep it open.”

  He reeled with the implication of her words, his stomach clenched tightly as if he protected himself from punches.

  “I—” He cupped his forehead with his hand. The world had devolved into a spinning whirligig of noise and light, and nothing made sense.

  His father, a model of virtue and a faultless husband, had also owned the Orchid Club. The two notions were completely incompatible.

  Frantically, he searched for the lie in Lucia’s words, picking them apart. If she oversaw the establishment, she’d damage herself by going public with information about its owner. And, as she’d said, blackmailers didn’t give money to their intended victims.

  Nausea choked him. Should anyone ever find out about the late Duke of Northfield owning a club engineered so people could fuck anonymously, the family name would be ripped to tatters. The hell with his own reputation, but what about his mother? What about Maeve?

  His sister’s marriage to Hugh would never happen, not if the Duke of Brookhurst knew about the family connection to the Orchid Club. She’d be shamed into hiding, along with Tom’s mother. Exile would be their sole option, seeking refuge in faraway places.

  Jesus God, this was a fucking disaster.

  “There’s no need for anyone to learn that your father owned the club,” she said reasonably. “That confidence has been kept. No one is truly harmed by the operation’s existence. If anything, it brings pleasure and happiness to many. And,” she added, coming a little closer, “you and I are the only two who know that you’ve succeeded your father as patron. Discretion has kept me housed and fed for many years. I’d never ruin my own livelihood by going public. So you see,” she said gently, “the club can continue on as it has. Everyone profits.”

  She looked at him expectantly.

  Fuck. She wanted him to make a decision now?

  “I don’t know,” he finally ground out.

  A frown creased her brow.

  “Surely there’s no debate,” she said, as if it was perfectly reasonable for someone to decide the fate of his family in a matter of moments.

  Anger bubbled up again, that he should be put in this position—by his father, by her.

  “Goddamn it, I said I don’t know!” Only when she stepped back cautiously
did he realize he was shouting, and the sound reverberated off the walls of the larder. “I need time.”

  Her mouth opened and then closed, her expression smoothing out and becoming unreadable. After a moment, she set the thick bundle of money on a cabinet.

  “This still belongs to you.”

  She took a step toward him and laid a hand on his forearm.

  Instinctively, he leaned into her touch, craving the comfort that she had given him for a year, seeking the pleasure they’d made together. But she was a woman far more complicated than he’d ever imagined.

  He pulled his arm away.

  She watched him draw back, and an expression of grim determination settled on her face before she straightened.

  “Before you make your decision,” she said, “grant me one favor. Come to the club tomorrow night.”

  He frowned. “It’s closed on Fridays.”

  “When your father died, I feared that the club’s days might be limited.” She spread her hands open. “So I’ve changed it to twice a week to ensure that the staff and I could glean the most profit from it with the time we had remaining.”

  He was torn between anger that she could be so mercenary in the midst of death and admiration for her drive.

  “I’m to come to the club and do what exactly?”

  “See what it’s truly like, not as a place where people go to have sex, but as a business.”

  “The money there proves it’s a business,” he said coldly. He nodded toward the bundle of cash.

  “Please,” she entreated, “just come. And don’t dress too finely.” When he remained silent, she nodded, as if resigned. “That’s all I will say on the matter. At present.”

  She moved past him and opened the larder door.

  For a heartbeat, she hesitated. But he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, pinned in place by disbelief, anger, and confusion.

  Then she was gone, shutting the door behind her.

  He staggered to the pound notes resting atop the cabinet. His hand hovered over the money, yet his fingers refused to close around the stack of cash, no matter how much he commanded himself to take hold of it.

  Because once he did, everything would become real.

  Chapter 9

  Lucia found Kitty and Elspeth in the kitchen, the scents of frying sausages filling the air with the aromas of domesticity. Elspeth sat at a small circular table and played with Liam as he sat on her lap, while Kitty stood over the hob, tending the food.

  The moment Lucia stepped into the chamber, her friends both looked at her with expressions of expectancy.

  “And?” Kitty asked anxiously.

  “Was he very horrified?” Elspeth added.

  Lucia drifted into the room. She set a pale blue box tied with brown satin ribbon on the long table in the center of the kitchen. It was her habit, on the day of the month that she delivered the owner’s portion of the profits, to stop at Catton’s on her way home.

  “Cherry-and-plum tart for you,” she said to Elspeth, then glanced at Kitty, “and ginger cake for you. I . . . was too distracted to get anything for myself.”

  “Much as I appreciate you bringing us sweets,” Kitty said, taking the pan off the fire, “bugger the cakes. What happened with the new owner? Did he scream? Laugh? Set slavering dogs on you?”

  Lucia leaned against the table, both weary and humming with nervous energy. As briefly as she could, she explained what had happened in the larder of the duke’s Mayfair home. When she was done, she looked back and forth between her friends’ stunned faces.

  “Damnation.” Elspeth blew out a breath. “You’d no idea who he was when you rogered him senseless?”

  “None,” Lucia answered.

  Her own mind spun with the knowledge of who Tom truly was. The world had turned completely on its head, leaving her dizzy and disoriented.

  “What a damn muddle,” Kitty said ruefully. She dished up the sausages and brought the plates over to the smaller table where Elspeth sat with Liam. She offered a plate to Lucia, but set it down when Lucia waved it away. “He didn’t know about his father’s ownership of this place, either?”

  “If I’d shown up at his door and told him he was the next king of Napoli, he wouldn’t have looked so surprised.” Needing to move and release some of her uneasiness, Lucia pushed away from the table to pace. “Oh, but the horror on his face when I told him.”

  Elspeth transferred the bundle of Liam over to Kitty, who placed him in a tall chair.

  “But he’d come here all the time,” Elspeth said, “so why be horrified? It’s not as though he walked a straight and moral path.”

  “Can’t say.” Baffled, Lucia lifted her shoulders in a shrug, as if that one gesture could encapsulate the whole of her utter confusion. The man who’d adored her body with such skill wasn’t merely a duke, he controlled the fate of her livelihood—and her dreams.

  She’d broken her own rule of getting involved with a guest, and look what it had brought her. Nothing but turmoil.

  “Whatever his reasons, I told him not to make up his mind about the fate of the club. Not until at least tomorrow night.”

  “Got something planned?” Kitty picked up a small piece of sliced pear and handed it to Liam, who promptly began to gum it.

  Lucia’s thoughts raced into catastrophic scenarios, yet preparing for these disasters had helped her stay nimble—and saved her hide—many times.

  “I thought to give him a tour of the place,” she said, like a general planning a battle. “Let him see that this isn’t merely a place where people screw—it’s a business that supports over a dozen people. That’s got to make him decide in our favor.” She said this as if she could convince herself of the outcome, as if speaking aloud her greatest hope made it more likely to come true.

  “Let us hope so,” Elspeth said grimly. “Thinking about finding another job makes me woozy. How do I tell a potential employer that my last work experience consisted of doing the accounting for a sex club?”

  “On the positive side,” Kitty said in a bright voice, cutting a slice of sausage, “your future employer will know you aren’t easy to distract.” She popped a morsel into her mouth and smiled.

  “You’re the only thing that distracts me.” Elspeth reached across the table and took Kitty’s free hand. The two shared a tender look, fraught with intimacy.

  Dio mio, Lucia thought as she looked back and forth between Kitty and Elspeth. Never saw that coming. I’ve got my head buried in my own culo, and didn’t notice my two closest friends falling in love.

  A throb of envy pulsed through her. She could never have that in her life, not without opening herself up to devastation and disaster. Just a single night with Tom had knocked her legs out from under her.

  Elspeth squeezed Kitty’s hand before letting go and starting in on her own meal.

  “Think he’ll show tomorrow?” Elspeth asked.

  Glancing around the room, Lucia took in the kitchen that had seen not just the preparation of elegant delicacies, but simple, homey meals like the one her two friends enjoyed at that moment.

  She’d always hoped that one day she could turn the running of the club over to a successor, and she, Kitty, and Elspeth could live next door to the girls’ home. They’d all labor together to run the home—Elspeth in charge of the ledgers, Kitty overseeing the hiring and management of staff, and Lucia supervising everything while providing some teaching. There would be at least one orange tabby cat. Liam would grow up with two dozen adopted sisters, and the world would be, finally, secure.

  “I can’t say—I’m no astronomer,” Lucia said wearily, and exhaled. “Even if I was, it’s too smoky here in London to read the stars.”

  All she could do was hope, but hope seldom made for a sound foundation. Without warning, the whole structure could collapse, burying you alive underneath the rubble of your dreams.

  Tom barely waited for the butler to announce him before striding into the Duke of Greyland’s cavernous study. His frie
nd stood at his approach and came forward with his hand extended. Tom inhaled, willing his body to stop vibrating with tension.

  “Are all the chophouses and gaming hells closed?” Greyland asked as they shook. He frowned at their clasped hands, as though feeling the emotion that made Tom shake.

  Tom pulled away.

  “I went to the nearest den of ill repute and they advised me to come here,” he said in a distracted voice. He glanced behind his friend and eyed the sheaves of documents stacked upon the desk. “That’s become a familiar sight.” He grimaced.

  “Now you and I are both at the summit of mountains,” Greyland acknowledged, “trying to keep from drowning in a sea of paper.”

  His legs needing to move, Tom strode to the carved stone fireplace and stared down into it. Behind their screen, the flames shifted and danced, as restless as he felt.

  “Far be it from me to keep you from running the duchy.” Tom fought to stop himself from pounding his fist into the stone. Words hovered at the tip of his tongue, but should he speak them? “I shouldn’t have come. You’re busy and—”

  “Join me for a stroll in the garden,” Greyland said with an air that was both genial and commanding.

  Tom looked toward the windows, noting the film of frost collecting along the edges of the panes. “November gardens make for chilly strolls,” he noted drily.

  “You’re equipped for it.” His friend nodded at Tom’s caped greatcoat. “All I need is to outfit myself similarly.” Greyland went to the bellpull and tugged it. When the butler appeared, Greyland said, “My coat, and two folding knives.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” The butler bowed, then backed from the room.

  Body still jangling, Tom walked the perimeter of the study. He held out his hand, touching the spines of countless shelved books as he passed. Now that he was here, uncertainty about his planned confession clung to him.

  “How fares the duchess?” he asked.

  “Marvelous well. She’s the summer in the long winter that had been my existence.”

  Tom didn’t have to look at Greyland to see the smile in his friend’s voice.

  A moment later, the butler appeared with his master’s coat. “The knives, Your Grace,” he added, pulling two folded blades from his pocket.