The Heart of a Duke (22 page)

“The only thing I can add is that when Shaw died three months ago, we did execute his last will and testament. It settled everything on his eldest son, with sundry trinkets and monies going to the two younger sons. So as you can understand,” he spread his hands in a helpless gesture, “I fear we were of little help to His Grace.”

“And when—” he began.

“And when was it that His Grace stopped by?” Brett cut him off once more. “Again, he has difficulty with dates as well.”

Difficulties with dates?
He was making him out to be an obtuse halfwit. Daniel bristled, then froze. Bedford was the idiot, not him. Well, then, Brett only spoke the truth. “Yes, I am afraid, my memory is not what it used to be. Dates, details, days,” he waved his hand airily. “Hard to keep everything straight. That is why I have my man here.” He clasped Brett’s shoulder. “Cannot get along without him. He is brilliant with pesky details.”

Brett gave him a brittle smile.

“Of course, of course.” The man’s eyes widened, his eyelashes almost meeting his eyebrows. “It was shortly following Shaw’s death.”

“Thank you, Mr. . . . ?” Brett said.

The man eyed him warily, before bowing. “Fuller, sir, Marcus Fuller of Shaw, Dodges, and Fuller.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fuller. On another matter, do you think you can give us the address of Mr. Shaw’s surviving sons? We might follow up on this matter with them. On the off chance this outstanding item that is of concern to His Grace is simply buried somewhere in Mr. Shaw’s possessions.”

“Well . . . I . . . I am not certain that addresses . . .”

“Please,” Julia glided forward and curled her arm through Daniel’s. “I hope it is not too much trouble. My father, the Earl of Taunton, would be much obliged as well for any assistance you can provide. He knows how important this is to my fiancé, and he does hope we can resolve this matter.”

“My fiancée, Lady Julia Chandler,” Daniel made the introduction. That was one detail he refused to trip over. His hand curled around Julia’s, holding her in place.

“Ah, yes, Lady Julia, it is a pleasure.” He dipped into a shallow bow. “I understand. I am sure we can locate that information for you. If you excuse me, why don’t I do so.”

“Thank you.” Julia graced him with one of her smiles, and he was off to do her bidding.

Brett expelled a breath. “I used to think titles were for flaunting and snubbing. Seeing how quickly they can get things done, I might have to purchase one.”

Daniel laughed.

Julia withdrew her hand and faced him, her expression somber. “Bedford was here. Whatever it is that your father left or Abel Shaw had, he wants it. Badly. He visited here right after Shaw died. What on earth can it be?”

“I don’t know, but it appears we’re both now in a race to acquire it. Could it be a deposit box? Stocks, bonds, or unclaimed annuities?” Daniel asked. “The man is desperate for money, bleeding Bedford Hall dry to get it. And willing to hold off on making his broken betrothal public in order to be relieved of his debts to Taunton and receive Julia’s dowry.”

“And whatever it is, he thinks you might have been given it. Perhaps you were meant to inherit it. No one told you that you were owed monies when your father’s estate was settled?” Julia asked.

“No.” Daniel shook his head. “I am unaware of anything left outstanding. And Edmund never mentioned my inheritance those last weeks. Then again, he was more drunk than sober.”

Julia’s eyes widened.

“Then we’ll just have to find it before he does. Do you think he will visit Shaw’s sons as well?” Brett said.

Daniel shrugged. “If he is, he is not a man for details, cannot keep dates and days straight, so we might have an advantage over him.”

Brett grinned. “There is that. Pity that word of his affliction might spread.”

A small revenge, considering the gossip that would trail him and Julia once their transgression became public.

Mr. Fuller returned, a piece of paper in hand. He passed it to Brett. “The addresses, as requested, sir. I am afraid his elder son’s address is not up to date. He does not remain in one place long, as he has a need to remain a step ahead of his creditors,” he added, looking pained. “I fear he has inherited his father’s penchant for cards. Shaw was never himself after leaving our offices. Always worried someone was after him, creditors catching up to him, no doubt. He had left papers we were to read if he came to an early demise, so it was a good thing he died of a ripe old age. At his passing, those papers were left with his family to determine their importance, or lack thereof.”

He always carried a deck of cards. Taught me to play vingt-et-un
. The man was a cardsharp, probably marked the deck or hid cards up his sleeve, for while he had taught Daniel to play the game, Daniel had never won tuppence. Lost his allowance to the man every time. Were the papers to be read in the case of Shaw’s early demise related to his gambling habits? Or did Shaw’s last words provide their answers as to what Edmund sought?

“Thank you so much for this information. His Grace appreciates it.” Brett pulled Daniel from his reverie with a gentle nudge of his elbow.

“Yes, yes.” He waved his hand again. “So have you everything you need, then?”

Brett struggled to keep a straight face as Daniel looked at him with an expression of distracted boredom. “Yes, my lord,” he inclined his head. “Thanks to Mr. Fuller here.”

“Good, good, then we shall be off. Coming, love?” He smiled down at Julia, pleased to see she had kept her arm curled through his. As they made their exit, he admired the pink roses blooming on her cheeks. She had heard his endearment.

Good. It was time she got used to them.

J
ULIA
rolled over in her bed and punched her pillow. They were no further in their investigation. They had a series of addresses for Mr. Shaw’s three sons, all of which could lead nowhere. Mr. Shaw hadn’t practiced law in over a decade, thus the papers he had transferred to his sons could very well have been tossed. The man had had a gambling habit, so he could not be trusted. Once again, they could be chasing after windmills in a race against Edmund.

However, she now believed Edmund’s quest and Daniel’s attempted murder were related. On that matter, she sided with Brett. There was a desperation to the searches that rattled her.

More important, Edmund frightened her.

She recalled the look of venom that flashed in his eyes when he had pulled her to him, his fingers leaving bruises on her upper arms. And how quickly he had veiled it with an icy calm, like a curtain dropping over a revealing act.

Edmund had taken risks by tossing Daniel’s rooms himself rather than hiring someone. It was either ducal hubris, or that he wanted what he searched for to be kept a secret.

What could Daniel’s father have given Abel Shaw that Edmund wanted no one else to see and Daniel not to receive?

Something incriminating to Edmund?

Her clock struck the midnight hour.
The witching time
. She huffed out a breath and tossed her covers aside. There would be no sleep tonight. Even were she to set aside this maddening mystery, Daniel’s laughing green eyes, smiling, teasing, or seducing her would steal into her dreams. His haunting could rival any witch’s, for under his spell, she burned.

There must be a book on gardening or some such dry topic in the library. Something to bore her senseless and lull her to sleep. She slid on her robe and slippers, grabbed a light, and fled her room.

While she hoped to get her mind off of Daniel, she could not help but wonder where he had disappeared to after their midday repast. He and Brett had planned to meet up with Robbie and search for the elusive Weasel.

She did not like to think of Daniel visiting London’s infamous gambling hells. Despite his assurances that some were housed in respectable clubs around St. James and the Pall Mall area, it was not safe. Daniel had Robbie, but a menacing growl couldn’t deflect a knife, or God forbid a bullet.

And Daniel had not returned for supper.

The candle’s flame cast ominous shadows that did not alleviate her worries. She quickened her steps to the library, her favored sanctuary. Lost in a book, she had temporarily escaped her mother’s death, her father’s despair, or her sister’s vacant look. She needed an escape now.

The remnants of a fire smoldered in the hearth. She set her light on the mantel, lifting the poker to jab at the dying embers. The October days could be balmy, but a chill settled into the evenings. The fire sputtered to life, and she tossed a log on it to chase away the bite in the room. Admiring the dance of orange flames, she replaced the poker in its stand.

She turned to lose herself in the shelves of books, but stopped short at the sight greeting her. No staid, boring tome was this, but rather a living, vibrant specimen of a man.

She froze, her gaze riveted to the sight. Daniel reclined, fast asleep, on the large settee. He wore only his trousers and an untucked linen shirt. He must have blithely waltzed through the foyer in his stocking feet. So typical of the man. On the table beside him were the remnants of a half-eaten treacle tart. He had undoubtedly raided the kitchen. The man had no regard for proper decorum.

That inexorable pull toward him tugged at her, like a fishing line hooked and reeled in. A book lay across his chest, one hand resting on it, the other draped across his taut waist. She crept closer to study him at her leisure. The fire bathed him in a golden glow, highlighting the hollows of his cheekbones, the waning purplish bruises circling his eye and his cheek. A lock of hair curled over his forehead. That dent in his chin tempted her. She wanted to press her finger into it, her lips to it . . .

She feared if she exhaled, he would awake, and she wanted to savor this moment. To study him without being under the scrutiny of those sharp green eyes that made her feel things that frightened
and
excited her. That moved her to feel desire and other feelings she did not understand but secretly wanted to explore.

She edged closer. He was beautiful. All sleek, well-toned muscle, like a cat at rest, a lion, usually poised to pounce.

Taking advantage of his rare stillness, she leaned down, smelling sandalwood soap and another elusive masculine scent that was all his own. She breathed him in. If she were blindfolded and he stood in a roomful of men, she could locate him from his scent alone. It had the power to send her pulse leaping.

She recalled his plea, teasing, coaxing, pleading.

Marry me, Julia.
Just say yes
.

She wanted to. He was brave. He had survived a wretched childhood. He was bright and inventive, growing Curtis Shipping into a successful enterprise. He was compassionate. She remembered his concern for the tenants. He was kind. She pictured him with her brother and Emily . . . and with her. He touched her. Moved her. Weakened all her resistance.

She wanted to say yes. And give him everything.

And she would.
If only.

Holding her breath, she gently slid the book from his grasp. She froze when he shifted, settling himself more comfortably into the plush cushions of the settee. Releasing her breath, she set the book on the table. Then, unable to resist, she pressed her finger to the cleft in his chin, swallowing as she did so. His skin was surprisingly soft and warm.

Daring further, she ran her finger in a whisper-light caress along the bruised contour of his cheek. When he still did not awake, she edged closer and whispered the words of her heart. “Love me.”

She cried out as her hand was caught in a steel grip, and sharp green eyes speared her.

“I will.”

Daniel yanked her forward and she landed sprawled on top of him, his arm clamped around her waist, holding her in place. Her legs tangled with his, her breasts crushed against his chest, her belly flush to his. The scalding heat emanating from him burned. And then he kissed her.

It was passionate, exhilarating, wonderful. His kiss deepened, his tongue tangling with hers. A niggling voice reminded her about this not being part of her plans. There was a reason she was not ready for this. She dismissed it, had no interest in recollecting it at this particular moment. She was busy. Delightfully so.

Emboldened, she let her tongue dart out over his full lips, tasting him, savoring him. The softness, the warmth.

Emitting a guttural groan, Daniel tightened his grip and twisted around so that she lay beneath him.

She wondered if this was proper. Then stopped wondering anything at all, as the hard, delicious length of his body pressed into hers. It felt glorious. Decadent. He was heavy, strong, his back a long, sweeping curve to his waist.

She would soon be a ruined woman. There were advantages to her loss in status; she might as well enjoy one of them.

He tilted her head to the side to better align her mouth with his.

Good lord, he tasted good. The words her father had used to describe a good Bordeaux came to her,
fresh
,
bold
, and
rich
. More so, he reminded her of a sip of brandy she had sneaked once with Emily, for he was an explosion of burning heat careening through her in a scorching wave.

Feelings she had long suppressed sprang to life. Unfulfilled desire. Dormant longings. Flashing needs. She clasped him closer, opening her mouth as his tongue ran along her lips and he tasted her in small, delightful nibbles.

He unpinned her hair, sighing as his hands dove into her curls, his fingers combing through the strands. He emitted a groan, her sleek cat purring, as he played with the curls.

His hair was surprisingly soft and thick. She grasped a fistful of it, fingering the dark locks. Her hands dropped to his shoulders, her fingers digging in hard, feeling the heat of his skin through his linen shirt.

She nearly cried out in protest when he lifted his weight from her and sat up.

“This will not do.”

“Excuse me?” Was she doing something wrong?

He laughed. “Too many clothes.” Straddling her, he whipped off his shirt. The light danced over his broad shoulders and smooth skin, his white bandage bright in the dim light. Her eyes fell to it, worried. “Maybe we shouldn’t, Daniel. You are wounded.”

“Oh no, if you leave me now, I will be in far more pain than the healing wound in my side.”

Her eyes widened, blatantly aware of his arousal. “Oh,” she murmured, mortified.

“Oh, indeed.” He laughed. “But one thing at a time. We still have too many clothes.”

He untied the belt of her robe, slipped it open and pushed it from her shoulders. She waited for her denial to come, but it never did. After all, she was already a ruined woman. It fleetingly occurred to her that all women should be so fortunate.

His eyes met hers as his fingers dispensed with the pearl buttons of her nightgown. One by one, they slid free under his persistent fingers, and he spread her nightgown open and sucked in a sharp breath.

Warm air caressed her bare breasts. She struggled to summon the modesty to cover herself, but Daniel’s smoldering look held her still, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Botticelli’s goddess,” he said, awe in his voice.

His admiring stare moved her, his green eyes heavy-lidded as they drank her in, his lips parted, his breathing shallow.

“Jonathan says you always share your treats with him. Share with me, Julia. Let me love you. Give yourself to me.”

The husky timbre of his voice seduced her as thoroughly as his touch. Her head lolled back, her eyes closing, as a trail of those delicious kisses made their way along the hollows of her collarbones, down over the curving slopes of her breasts, until his mouth closed over a pliant peak. His tongue flicked around it, suckling and doing such forbidden, erotic things, creating a pool of moisture between her thighs.

“Much, much better than treacle tart. So very sweet.” He murmured. “But I have another dream.” Too languid to open her eyes, she felt him shift and lean over.

“Daniel!” She jumped and her eyes flew open, when he smeared the sticky, sugary tart filling over her breasts. “What . . . ? What are you doing?”

“Enjoying dessert. You know how I love my sweets.” His eyes flared as they roved over her and he swallowed. “Better than I ever dreamed.”

His head lowered and she sank back into the cushions as his tongue worked its magic, licking up every inch of the filling, and much too quickly to her mind. Another thought struck her. “Just . . . just don’t count on my emerging naked from a shell,” she managed to gasp.

His head lifted and his eyes flared, a drop of lemon on his lips. “No? Will you let me immortalize you naked on canvas?”

“Do . . . do you paint?” She lifted her head and did as she had yearned to do the other morning, licking the lemon filling from his lips.

He groaned. “Not a stroke, but if you promise to pose for me, I promise to learn,” he vowed before devouring her mouth, as if he could not get enough of her.

She pulled his head back, smiling as he frowned at her. “I don’t think painting can be learned. I think you have to have a talent for it.”

His frown vanished, replaced by a slow, wicked smile that teased his lips. “Lots of things can be taught. But until then, it is a good thing I have a talent for other things.”

His head lowered, and his hands and mouth tormented her. He was indeed very talented. He had strong hands and long, tapered fingers.

“Daniel.” She liked the sound of his name, whispered on her lips. “Daniel, perhaps we should slow down. This might not be a good idea.” The husky tone of her voice sounded strange to her ears.

“It is, Julia. You feel good, taste better, and I cannot get enough of you.” He pressed his lips to the sensitive patch of skin under her ear, the pulse throbbing in her neck, and the valley between her breasts.

Desire coursed through her in a liquid wave and she rode it. He was right. It felt so very good, and she wanted more.

His words echoed. Sometimes it took the scare of losing something precious for someone to realize its true value.

Groaning, she arched. She clutched his bare, sweat-slicked shoulders. Her fingers moved over the puckered, roped scars on one shoulder, a stark reminder of how close she had come to never experiencing such passion. Such beauty. Her breath hitched, and she tightened her hold as if she could keep him safe.

His hand moved almost reverently over her skin, caressing her waist, her belly, slipping her gown up her legs. She shivered as his body eased down hers, his mouth moving from her breasts, to her belly, and then still lower. He pressed wet, sultry kisses along the line of her thigh, the ticklish feel of his soft lips on her sensitive skin incredibly arousing.

She closed her eyes, her body a piece of clay that Daniel was molding to his will, coming alive under his touch. He had a bit of the artist in him after all.