A Duke to Die for: The Rogues' Dynasty (6 page)

“From what I gather, her father’s will listed several names as guardians, with the Duke of Blakewell being the last one.”

Constance frowned. “So she’s been through all the others, and suddenly she’s your responsibility. That doesn’t bode well for you, Blake. She must be hellish to deal with.”

Not wanting to go any further into the sketchy details about Miss Tweed’s bizarre story, Blake simply said, “No, it’s not anything at all like that. It has nothing to do with her behavior. Unfortunately, all her other guardians have gone to meet their Maker.”

“And she lost her parents, too? What a shame. So tell me, what is she like? Is she well-mannered and of quality?”

“Without a doubt,” he answered.

“Intelligent?”

“Extremely.”

“Is she beautiful?”

“Absolutely.”

Constance pursed her lips for a moment before they spread into a smile. She said, “Well, Blake, there’s no problem at all that I can see.”

“I’m glad you don’t see any, my dear friend, because problems are all that I see.”

“I have the perfect solution. You should have no trouble getting rid of her quickly with what I have in mind.”

Blake eyed her warily as he took a sip of his wine. “And what exactly is it that you propose I do?”

“It’s very easy, my friend.” She smiled. “Find a man to marry her.”

Four

Dearest Lucien, my youngest grandson,

Lord Chesterfield once wrote to his son: “Speak the language
of the company you are in; speak it purely, and unlarded
with any other. Never seem wiser, nor more learned, than
the people you are with. Wear your learning like your watch,
in a private pocket.”

Your loving Grandmother,

Lady Elder

“MISS TWEED?”

Startled, Henrietta looked up from the envelope she was staring at and froze. The Duke of Blakewell stood in the doorway, tall, broad-shouldered, and scowling. At her. His stance was rigid. His dark, serious eyes seemed to pierce straight through to her soul. There was a commanding presence about him that suddenly felt primal. He looked at her with a single-minded intensity that, for a brief moment, made her want to slink into a corner and curl up so small that no one could see her.

And no wonder! She was sitting in his chair, at his desk, sorting through his mail.

Oh dear! She was in a basketful of trouble.

Tamping down her fear and embarrassment at being caught sorting his correspondence, she rose slowly and, as calmly as she could under the condemning circumstances, she smiled pleasantly and said, “Good evening, Your Grace.”

Blakewell appeared momentarily thrown by her polite greeting. His severe expression didn’t change, but his shoulders relaxed a little as he stepped farther into the room. He was undoubtedly a formidable man to deal with. She had to remain strong and in control.

“I suppose you are wondering what I’m doing in here,” she said with all the aplomb she could muster, given how fast her heart was beating.

“No, I’m not wondering at all. I know
exactly
what you’re doing.”

Her breath grew uncomfortably shallow. “You do?”

The furrow in his broad brow deepened. His eyes narrowed. “Yes. It’s quite clear to me that you are snooping into my private letters.”

Henrietta gasped. Scorching heat flared in her cheeks. His words were a blatant insult to her character, and she needed a moment to find her voice.

“Snooping? Me?” Her hand flew to her chest in indignation. “Never, Your Grace. That’s an outrageous accusation to make.”

“Is it?” He pointed to the unopened letter on the desk in front of her. “I don’t think so.”

She had never been more mortified in her life. “This is not what it looks like.”

“Really?”

His voice sounded doubtful. And no wonder, considering her predicament.

“Yes.”

“Then perhaps you should explain to me why I’m not seeing what I’m seeing.”

Regaining her composure, she said, “I’d be happy to do that, Your Grace.”

Henrietta walked from behind the desk and stood beside it. Clasping her hands together tightly in front of her, she continued, “Even after the long and tedious coach ride today and the rather trying conversation with you earlier this evening, I was restless and not ready for sleep so I came in here hoping to find a book to read.” She reached over, picked up the copy of
The
Forbidden Path
, and held it up for him to see, confident the evidence would prove her innocence.

But he didn’t deviate from his allegation as he said, “If a book was all you wanted, why were you sitting behind my desk rather than standing over by the bookshelves?”

Her hope that she could get out of this precarious situation with her dignity intact was fading fast. But she wasn’t going to give up. Yet. If she were to hold her own with this formidable man, she had to stand firm and not waver an inch.

“There is a perfectly innocent explanation.”

“I’d be rather interested in hearing that, Miss Tweed, because right now you are looking quite guilty of snooping into my private papers.” The duke’s expression remained firm as he folded his arms across his chest in a casual manner.

She took a long steadying breath. “While I was looking over your titles, I noticed quite by chance that the lid had been accidentally left off the ink container on your desk. Knowing that could cause a major mishap, I walked over and put the lid back on for you. I was sure you wouldn’t want the ink to dry out or, perhaps worse, for it to be knocked over and spilled on some terribly important document.”

He glanced down at his orderly desk, surveying it quickly but thoroughly. His eyes narrowed, and skepticism showed in their brownish-gray depths as he looked back up at her.

“Are you certain that is all you did, Miss Tweed?”

A blind person could tell that his desk looked nothing like it had when he left the house. She had carefully arranged loose papers and letters that had been opened but carelessly tossed aside into small, orderly piles. The massive jumble of unopened mail had been straightened into four manageable stacks. Even the quill had been taken out of his ledger book and positioned in its stand, with a clean sheet of vellum left in its place to mark the duke’s page.

But what was most telling was the fact that the beauty of the polished mahogany could now be seen. Its richness gleamed invitingly in the soft lamplight. By the dates she’d seen on some of his correspondence, the duke hadn’t seen the top of his magnificent desk for a long time.

Her handiwork could not be hidden or denied, but she wasn’t above being evasive or vague.

She cleared her throat and took a step away from the desk. “I may have moved a few sheets of paper and straightened your mail.”

“You
may
have?” he asked in a mocking tone as his gaze continued to pierce hers.

She knew that had been an incredible thing to say, but she really had no choice. She couldn’t tell a duke how inconceivable it was to her that he left his desk in such disarray. And that she considered it downright inexcusable to go so long without reading and answering his correspondence.

“Yes, but not to worry, Your Grace. I assure you, I didn’t remove or discard anything from your desk, nor did I read anything that was already open. I am not a snoop. I simply made tidy what was there.” She motioned in the direction of the neat stacks of paper.

Henrietta held her breath and tried to remain composed as she stood staring at him, watching his expression fade from annoyance to uncertainty to something far different. Not only did his demeanor change, but the stormy gleam in his brooding eyes slowly melted into a soft and dreamy look. His lips relaxed into a faint, heart-stopping smile that made her legs feel weak. It was as if everything in the room changed and she saw nothing except Blakewell.

He walked closer to her.

Too close.

Her heartbeat was already racing in her chest, and her breaths were coming in short little gasps. She had never felt quite like this before. It should have disconcerted her, but these new unexplained feelings intrigued her.

“And why did you do that, Miss Tweed?” he asked, taking another step toward her.

“What?” she asked, finding it difficult even to remember what they had been talking about while he advanced on her. The only thing she could concentrate on was her awareness of the nearness of the handsome duke.

“Why did you sort and tidy my private papers?”

She realized his voice had changed, too. It was smooth, low, and more seductive than any voice she’d ever heard. It caused her skin to prickle with tingles and her stomach to tighten.

Henrietta had been much more comfortable with the scowling, demanding duke who first stood in the doorway. She didn’t know quite what to say or how to handle this seductive man who was making her aware of things she shouldn’t be feeling for someone who was supposed to be her guardian.

His Grace had her discombobulated, which was a foreign feeling for her. She was usually very together and not easily unsettled. She was a sensible person, despite what he thought about her believing in a curse. What was it about this man that made him so different from her other guardians? She had to get control of herself. Henrietta knew for certain that when anyone was backed into a corner, the truth was the easiest way out, but the hardest choice to make.

Her gaze held fast on his as she said, “I fear it’s a weakness I have, Your Grace.”

His eyebrows rose with in a questioning expression, though his eyes continued to sparkle with humor. He moved still closer to her.

“Are you trying to tease me, Miss Tweed?”

“Certainly not.”

His gaze stayed on hers. “I think you are.”

“That would be foolish of me, Your Grace.”

“What am I to think? You are much too strong, capable, and yes, sensible, to have or pretend to admit to any weaknesses.”

He was so perceptive that it fascinated her. “Perhaps, in haste, I chose the wrong word. I only meant to imply that I have no patience or tolerance for things out of order.”

“In that case you must agree with Lord Chesterfield that there is a place for everything, and everything should be in its place.”

“I’m not certain Lord Chesterfield should be credited with that comment, Your Grace, but whoever said it was most correct.”

“If you desire everything in its proper place, I’m wondering why this has slipped from your bun and is softly framing your face.” As he said the words, he slowly pulled a long strand of golden blonde hair around for her to see.

By instinct, she reached up to secure the hair behind her ear, and as she did so, her fingers made contact with his. Chills of something she could only describe as delicious shuddered through her, and she quickly dropped her hand to her side.

Blakewell smiled and then proceeded to let the tips of his fingers glide along her cheek as he pushed the hair away from her face and behind her ear. His touch was warm, gentle, soothing, and strangely comforting. For an inexplicable reason, she closed her eyes and drank in the wonderful feeling of his manly touch, wanting it to last. She had the wildest desire to take hold of his hand and press it to her cheek. She didn’t understand why, but she wanted to inhale his scent, taste his skin, and feel his strength.

Henrietta’s lashes fluttered up, and she saw Blakewell staring down at her. His eyes were half closed; his moist lips were slightly parted. She felt his breath on her cheek. He was so near that their noses almost touched. His lips were not more than an inch from hers.

But, from somewhere deep inside herself, Henrietta found the presence of mind to realize that what she was feeling for the duke wasn’t proper. Summoning all her strength, she took a deep breath and stepped back.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace; I didn’t realize my hair had come down. I should have taken better care when I was arranging it.”

His Grace took a step away from her as well and quickly said, “Perhaps you were so busy arranging my papers that you didn’t notice.”

He glanced down at his desk, and she saw that his gaze caught sight of the envelope she had been staring at when he came in.

“And what is this?” He reached down and picked up the letter.

“Oh, as luck would have it, Your Grace, as I organized your correspondence, I noticed the envelope from Mr. Conrad Milton, the solicitor I mentioned, and left it on top of the stack for you to read.”

“Luck, you say?”

“Yes.”

“As you arranged my mail, you just happened to see this? Are you sure you didn’t come in here with the exact purpose of looking for it?”

“Yes, of course, I’m sure. I couldn’t help but recognize the name the moment I saw it. I didn’t open it, as you can see. I simply left it on top of the stack so you wouldn’t have to search for it among the…” She stopped abruptly when she realized she couldn’t say the word that was on the tip of her tongue.

“Among the rubble, the mess?” he finished for her.

“Actually, I was going to say clutter. The important thing for you to know is that I didn’t read any of your correspondence.”

“But you were tempted, were you not?”

She blinked rapidly. “No, no.”

His eyebrows rose again, giving him that annoying, questioning look.

A frown flashed across Henrietta’s face, and she was tempted to stomp her foot in frustration, but she would not let him reduce her to such immature antics. “Oh, all right! Of course I was tempted.”

Suddenly, the duke folded his arms across his chest and laughed. It was a wonderful sound that immediately dispersed her aggravation at his accuracy. The man was very good at disconcerting her. Until she had met Blakewell, she’d never met a person who could.

“That was not a fair question, Your Grace.”

With a hint of merriment still on his breath, he said, “It was more of a statement than a question, Miss Tweed. I already knew the answer.”

“Your words felt like an accusation.”

“Perhaps that was because of your guilty conscience. You didn’t have to answer me, even if you thought they were. Thank you for your honesty, even if you did deny it twice before you admitted it.”

“You are mocking me again, Your Grace, and I find that very unbecoming in a man of your rank.”

“Perhaps I am, Miss Tweed, but really there’s no reason for you to be miffed. As I mentioned before, you make it so very easy for me to do.”