How to Dance With a Duke (32 page)

Lucas finally gave up his pacing after an hour or so of it. Cecily had ceased to notice him at all after a few minutes of concentration, and he watched her work with a combination of fascination for her mind and frustration with his inability to help her.

He wondered for the millionth time how he’d forgotten about the letters. They’d been sitting here in his desk, moldering away, for nearly six months now. He should have considered asking for Cecily’s help with them from the minute they met in front of the Egyptian Club.

He thrust a hand through his disarranged hair, and reached up to remove his neckcloth. Since it appeared that Cecily would not be asking for his help for a good while, he poured himself a brandy and dropped down into a chair before the fire. And waited.

Lucas was drifting into a light doze when he heard Cecily give a little squeak. Immediately he was on his feet.

“What is it? What have you learned?”

“I’ve broken the code,” she said. “Now, I’ll need to go through and decode the messages.”

Seeing that he had resumed pacing, she said, “You can help with this part if you like.”

He nodded, and pulling another chair around next to hers, he waited while she showed him the substitution code his brother had used. “Now you simply go through and replace the letters.”

Within a few minutes they were finished. They took turns reading the letters aloud, each one giving them more reason to be anxious about Will’s fate.

In the first of the letters, Will had written:

Am convinced that a member of our party is stealing artifacts and selling them to French encamped nearby. Hurston and I have hatched a plan to flush the thief out. We will pretend to have a falling-out, and I will accuse Hurston publicly of appropriating my finds as his own. Then I will ally myself with the group from the British Museum, making it known that I will act as go-between should any member of Hurston’s team wish to sell their finds for more than Hurston is willing to pay. Hurston has heard from David Lawrence and the museum expedition in Alexandria that they are experiencing thefts as well. Wish we could catch the blackguard.

“So Papa and Mr. Dalton were not actually fighting,” Cecily said when Lucas had finished reading. She hadn’t liked to think of her father and William at odds with one another. Especially given how close they had been to one another in the past. “But who could this thief have been? Who would have the audacity to steal artifacts right out from under Papa’s nose?”

“I think if we knew that, we’d have unraveled this whole puzzle by now,” Lucas said with a weary sigh.

“True,” Cecily said. “This next letter is dated three days before your brother disappeared.”

The ruse is working, thank God. But we are still unable to catch the thief. It’s as if our attempts to draw him out have simply made him more wary than ever of revealing his identity. Still, I have every faith that we will find the fellow soon.

“The difference in tone between that letter and this one,” Lucas said, holding up the next letter, “is extraordinary. Something must have happened in the days between that made the situation seem more dire. Listen…”

Though it may seem foolish of me, I will ask you, brother, to take care of Mama and Clarissa should anything befall me that prevents my return home. I pray this letter finds you safe and well. And I beg that you not cast blame upon yourself should the worst happen. You were much better suited to the army than I ever could have been. And in the end I have found more joy with my position as Hurston’s secretary than I ever would have discovered on the Continental battlefields. If I do not return, information about the thief’s transactions may be found in the blue cat. Hurston will know what I mean. And if not Hurston, then David Lawrence at the British Museum.

“It’s as if he’s in fear for his life,” Lucas fumed, pushing his chair back from the table. “Bloody hell.”

Cecily was silent, watching her husband’s strong back as he stood staring into the fire. She rose to offer him comfort.

“We do not know that the thief discovered him,” she said, taking him by the hand now, and leading him to the comfortable settee on the other side of the fire. “We know nothing now but that he and my father were engaged in a deception to flush out the thief.”

“We know enough,” he said. “We know that Will is missing and your father is unable to speak. I would not be at all surprised if somehow your father’s apoplexy was brought on by this whole business. Whoever this man is, he has been clever enough to keep his identity a secret from even the people he did business with in Egypt.”

“But now we have someone else to question, at least.”

The thought of facing David Lawrence again made Cecily’s stomach roil in protest, but if they were to find out what had happened to Will, then she would force herself to suffer through it.

“Under no circumstances will I let you question David Lawrence. For all we know, he is the thief,” Lucas said fiercely. “I’ll speak to him myself.”

Cecily shook her head. She appreciated Lucas’s wish to shield her from contact with her former fiancé, but if they were to learn anything more regarding Will’s disappearance, she would have to swallow her distaste. David wasn’t honorable in the least, but as far as she knew he had never stooped to theft. “It is doubtful he’s the thief. He has no reason to be. He has plenty of wealth of his own. And there is no way he will consent to speak to you alone. Besides, he owes me. I can use that to force him to reveal what we wish to know.”

Lucas clenched his jaw, and looked as if he would argue, but finally, acknowledging her point, he nodded. “Then we will pay a call on him. I wonder if he knows about this blue cat. What the devil does Will mean by it?”

“Cats were worshiped as gods by the Egyptians. It sounds to me as if there were some artifact that they brought back with them that is either engraved with a blue cat or in some way resembles one. It may even be a sarcophagus. If I recall correctly a blue cat was on the list of items recently received by the Egyptian Club. The list they were reading from on the night of the secret meeting we spied on.”

They were silent for a moment. Each lost in their own thoughts as they reflected on the news they’d gleaned from Will’s letters and the implications their proposed visit to David Lawrence would have on their partnership.

Still, Cecily sensed there was something else on her husband’s mind. Something that had nothing to do with Lawrence.

“It was supposed to be me, you know,” Lucas said finally. “I was supposed to be your father’s secretary. As a younger son, my father’s fortunes were not so great that he could afford to pay our way. So Will and I knew early on that we would need to embark on some profession or other. The Duke of Winterson, my father’s elder brother, was friends with your father and had secured the position of secretary for me.”

The lines of his face were stark in the dim light, his eyes bleak.

“But I was full of my own importance then, and had my heart set on a career in the army. I’d saved just enough to purchase a commission. But Papa did not wish to anger his brother. He owed his own living to him, you see. And as the eldest I was expected to embrace the wonderful gift of the position with Hurston. We argued about it for weeks that year. Finally I’d had enough and bought the commission anyway. I didn’t even have the decency to tell my father in person. The next thing I knew I was on the way to Portugal and Will was on his first expedition to Egypt.”

“But he seemed so happy in his position,” Cecily said, covering her husband’s hand with her own. Wanting to offer him comfort, but unsure of how to do so. “I never once got the impression that he had not chosen it on his own.”

Lucas smiled, though his eyes were still shadowed with guilt.

“It simply wasn’t in him to be spiteful or bitter. He accepted the world for what it was. With all its flaws. I think he’d have been suited to the church if he’d only had the inclination.” His lips quirked in a wry smile. “Alas, like his elder brother he was a bit too fond of the ladies and carousing for that.”

Cecily stood. “Come, Your Grace. Let me take you to bed.”

The flash of desire in his eyes sent an answering thrill zinging through her solar plexus.

Silent, he took her hand and led her upstairs.

Sixteen

The next day Lucas sent a note round to David Lawrence at the museum requesting an appointment, but was informed that Mr. Lawrence was away on business and would not be back for a sennight.

Cecily, nervous about the coming meeting, spent the week unable to relax around Lucas for fear that he might guess her agitation stemmed from the fact that she’d soon be seeing David again. It wasn’t that she feared falling under his spell again. It was more that she feared what David might say or do. And if she were completely honest with herself, dredging up the feelings she’d endured so long ago with David had reminded her just what she was risking if she allowed Lucas to take possession of her heart. She simply could not incur such a risk.

To spare herself the discomfort of Winterson’s too-knowing gaze, and to gain some much-needed distance, the night after they had translated the letters, she pleaded a headache and requested that he allow her to sleep in her own bed.

Alone.

“For I am liable to toss and turn all night and keep you from your rest,” she told him from the doorway that divided their chambers.

Barefoot and coatless, her husband had been preparing to bathe when she knocked on the door. His shirt gaped at the neck where he had already discarded his cravat, and Cecily could not help but let her gaze linger on the vee of exposed skin there. She knew from experience how hard the muscles of his chest would feel pressed against her own softness. Embarrassed at the wave of desire that coursed through her, she closed her eyes in what she hoped would seem like a reflex against the pain in her head.

When she looked up again, Lucas’s brows were drawn together in concern. “Is there anything I might do to make you more comfortable?” he asked her, stepping forward, hand extended as if to caress her.

“N … no!” she stammered, taking a step back, which seemed to surprise him. “That is…” she amended, “I … a night’s rest is all I need, Your Grace. I will be quite well tomorrow.”

His expression was inscrutable for a moment, but then he offered her a crooked grin. “I suppose I haven’t given you much opportunity for sleep of late.”

Unable to suppress her answering smile, Cecily nodded. “Thank you, Lucas,” she said softly, before closing the door between them.

Climbing into her empty bed, she sighed. Keeping her distance from him had not proved as easy as she had hoped it would be.

Unbidden, the memory of David Lawrence as he had looked at their last meeting rose in her mind. A little part of her brain insisted that Lucas was nothing like Lawrence, but she ignored it. She had loved and lost once before. She had no intention of behaving so foolishly again.

*   *   *

Cecily seemed to be over her headache the next day, even going shopping with her cousins that afternoon, so Lucas was surprised that evening when he found her once again standing at the connecting door, requesting another night to herself.

“For I’m afraid the headache has come back and I would not care to keep you awake,” she said, the shadows beneath her dark eyes attesting to the fact that she was indeed fatigued.

Still, there was something about her request that rang false. Suddenly an explanation occurred to him that brought
him
to the blush. They had been married nearly a month and she
was
a lady. He cursed himself for a fool for not thinking of it sooner. She was probably shy about speaking of such things with her husband.

“My dear,” he began, wondering just how best to approach the subject, “there is no need … that is to say … I know nothing of such…”

He shifted from one foot to the other, suddenly wishing for the masculine comforts of his club and an enormous snifter of brandy.

Cecily’s brows drew together at his discomfort, then crimson bloomed in her cheeks.

“Oh! No! That is to say…” She shook her head. “It is not that, um, time.”

“Ah.”

“Yes. Quite.”

“Just a headache, then?”

“Indeed.”

They both looked at the ground for a moment.

Dragging a hand through his hair, Lucas swallowed, then nodded. “All right, then. I bid you good night.”

And promptly shut the door.

Still smarting the next day over his embarrassment of the night before, Lucas stayed clear of Cecily until later in the evening. He had dinner at White’s and returned home to find her cozily tucked into the library, reading
The Odyssey
in the original Greek.

“How nice to find my own Penelope waiting patiently for me at the hearthside,” he drawled, leaning over the back of her chair to kiss her.

To his surprise and chagrin, she leaped almost to the ceiling in surprise.

“Good Lord, Lucas, you startled me!” He watched in appreciation as her bosom heaved with her quick breaths.

“I am sorry, my dear,” he said, stepping around the chair to lift her into a comforting embrace. “I did not mean to do so. I thought you had heard me come in.”

He felt her relax into his arms and rest her head on his shoulder. They stood together like this for a moment before either of them spoke.

“I must have dozed off,” she said into his neck. The soft tickle of her breath against him sent a frisson of lust straight to his groin.

As if sensing his reaction, she began to pull away from him.

“Stay,” he murmured into her hair. He had missed her these past two nights. He had grown accustomed to her soft body pressed against his—so accustomed that he had found himself unable to rest properly in his bed alone.

“I have missed…” he began, but stopped when she tried harder to remove herself from his grasp.

“Let me go,” she said, pressing her hands against his chest, shoving against his hold. “Lucas, let me go.”

“What the devil?” he demanded, opening his arms so that she could step back.