What the Duke Doesn't Know (13 page)

“And Papa had an apoplexy when he found it gone,” Kawena said sadly. “So he couldn't tell me what had happened.” She bit her lip.

“There were some coconut-shell carvings,” Lord James added. “I'm not sure where they've gotten to. I have chests of things from my voyages. They store them in the attic at Langford.” He moved as if to get out of bed again, then stayed put. “You will say I should have thought of this, but how could I possibly have imagined that—”

“Papa would leave his treasure sitting out in plain sight?”

“Well, yes.”

She nodded. It did seem like a foolish thing to do. But her father was not a fool.

“I suppose it might have been to throw people off the scent,” he suggested. “People on the island must have known he had the gems. And not every single one can be honest.”

“No.” Kawena could think of several islanders she would not have trusted with secrets.

“They wouldn't have thought to search for them in such a place.”

Kawena nodded. There was also the fact that her father's office at the trading center had been sacrosanct. Indeed, it was usually locked up. But Atui got into everything, and he was notorious for not “hearing” rules. He couldn't have had any notion what he'd done. He'd probably been proud of himself for making a sale.

“The important thing is, you've recovered your inheritance.”

“Yes.” Kawena sighed with relief, both at this happy truth and the fact that Lord James had not turned out to be a thief. She hadn't been wrong about him. She'd known she couldn't be. Yet… She realized that she'd been holding the carving by its most prominent feature, conveniently placed like a handle. Laughing, she held it up to share the joke with Lord James.

The burning look she got in return sent a flush of heat along her skin. He was so close, really, in the tumbled bed, his bare chest enticing through the open neck of his nightshirt, his auburn hair tousled. They were alone, together, in a house that still slept. Her fingers tightened on the carving.

Lord James's eyes were so very blue, like the ocean off the edge of a reef. She had a sudden intensely tactile memory of his hands on her, his lips driving her wild.

Kawena stepped nearer, holding his gaze, setting the figure and the bag of gems on the small table beside the bed. She reached out and ran her fingers lightly along his collarbone, and down.

“We can't,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “Not here.” He didn't draw back, however.

Kawena began to unbutton her gown.

“We can't,” he repeated, with somewhat less conviction, she thought. “The servants…”

She shrugged off that concern, and her dress. It fell into a puddle of fabric at her feet.

“You mustn't.” His tone was clearly halfhearted this time.

The cumbersome English undergarments took a little longer.
Probably some of the disapproving gossips he was always
talking of invented these cursed laces
, Kawena thought.

Lord James groaned as she stripped off her shift. “I'm not made of stone, Kawena.”

She glanced at the bedclothes, which showed a clear sign of his arousal. “Some of you almost might be.” Laughing, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. She slid a knee up onto the ticking, ready to climb into bed.

Whatever new objection he might have been formulating sizzled to nothing. He pulled her close as she wriggled under the covers and stretched out next to him. He took her kiss and deepened it until her senses began to reel. She felt as if her skin had caught fire.

With the urgency of desire, Kawena pushed his nightshirt up along the hard muscle of his thighs, the softer skin of his ribs, caressing as she went. He drew back and yanked the garment up and off, cursing when the cuffs caught at his wrists. A button went flying as he tugged. When he threw the shirt against the wall, Kawena laughed again.

And then she couldn't laugh, or speak, or think. She could scarcely breathe as he met her pent-up longing of the last few days with a response as strong and sweet and deep. The explosive passion of their night by the sea swept through them once again, dizzying her in the delight of hands and lips and arching bodies. It built to a trembling peak, so achingly intense it seemed almost like pain, and then burst into luscious release. Kawena felt that they vibrated in perfect harmony as they rode the tide together.

It was only afterward, as they lay entwined, letting their pulses slow, their breathing ease, that Lord James said, “Oh, God.”

Cuddled in the circle of his arm, Kawena found his despairing tone offensive. “You're not going to begin—”

“You don't understand what we've done.”

She trailed her fingertips over his chest. “Don't I?”

He caught her hand in his. “No, you don't. Servants are the worst gossips of all, Kawena. When they discover you've been with me here, they'll call you a lightskirt. They'll tattle to their opposite numbers at Langford, and then my mother's bound to hear of it. She'll be angry. I know she would have liked you, too…” He stopped and clenched his jaw, took a breath. “I can't bear the idea that she might misjudge you—despise you.”

Somewhat mollified by the concern in his voice, she considered. “Well, we must see that they don't know anything about it then. I'll sneak back to my room and—”

A light knock on the door and a rattle of the handle brought him bolt upright in the bed. “Wait!” he nearly shouted. “What is it?”

“Morning tea, sir,” replied a puzzled voice from the other side of the panels.

“Just a moment!” Moving with lightning speed, Lord James leapt out of bed and started snatching Kawena's scattered clothes from the floor. He pulled her from the tumbled sheets and shoved the bundle into her arms. “Get in the wardrobe,” he whispered.

“What?”

“Ssh!” He grabbed his nightshirt and pulled it on even as he pushed her toward the large walnut wardrobe against the far wall. When Kawena would have protested, he laid two fingers over her lips. Then he practically lifted her into the wardrobe and shut the doors, immersing her in darkness.

“All right,” she heard him say, his voice muffled.

There were more muted sounds. Unsure whether to laugh or be angry, Kawena waited. After a few minutes, the door opened, and Lord James stood before her, looking grim. “Well, that's torn it. They'll have taken your tea as well, and found your bed empty.”

Kawena stepped out of the wardrobe, holding her clothes, feeling foolish and not much liking the sensation. “I never even got into it, I was so—”

“What?” He turned so fast it startled her.

“I couldn't lie still,” she explained. “Because I thought I'd failed when we couldn't—”

“Your bed wasn't slept in?”

“No.” She was quite bewildered by the intensity of the question, and the sudden calculation in his eyes. “What—”

Lord James held up a hand for silence. Mildly irritated, she kept quiet.

“All right,” he said after what seemed quite a time. “I'm going to tell Mrs. Hastings that you were called away late last night by an…emergency. At a…a friend's house. And you had to stay over with her.” He clutched at his tousled hair. “The deuce. Who can it be? You don't know any females in London.”

“Except Miss Jennings.” There was something fascinating, if demented, in his utter focus on this nonsense.

“Right! Yes. Who's to say you weren't already well acquainted? And so you had to go to her at once. There was no time to pack anything—”

“Why?”

“Because you were in such a tearing hurry,” he replied, as if this was utterly obvious and somehow sensible.

“No, I mean why did I have to go to her?”

“I don't know!” He looked harried. “Some…some female reason.”

Kawena did laugh then, earning a frown from her endearingly obsessed companion.

“The reason is none of the servants' affair,” he said, suddenly lofty.

“So you must explain the fact, but not what is behind it?” she asked. Once again she marveled at the time and effort the English put into making up stories to hide the fact that they had done what they wished to do.

Lord James ignored her philosophical inquiry. “We'll smuggle you out of the house, and you can return later—”

“But will Miss Jennings agree?”

“To what?” He appeared confused.

“To say that I stayed at her house—”

“We're not going to tell her about this.” He seemed appalled that she would think so. “We're not going to tell anyone. Anything.”

“Except the servants.” Kawena was bemused.

“That's right.” He sank into the armchair by the hearth, seemingly exhausted by his efforts at invention. “Do you want some tea?”

“No. I hate tea.”

“Really?” He looked up from the pot as if this was the oddest thing he'd heard today, and Kawena nearly laughed once again.

Then their eyes caught and held.

Kawena started to lower her bundle of clothing.

“No, no, don't…”

“No one knows I'm here,” she said. “We could have time to—”

He turned away like a man abandoning his heart's desire. “Get dressed. Please, Kawena. I beg you.”

Taking pity on him, she did.

Kawena “returned” to the Langford town house an hour later, having successfully evaded observation on the way out. She'd spent most of that time riding around the neighborhood in a hansom cab, under the care of a bewildered but obedient driver.

Lord James heralded her arrival with polite inquiries about her friend, which she answered as instructed. She was not able to tell if the footman found her story odd. She didn't know him well enough, and he clearly prided himself on remaining impassive at any cost. He did have a distinctly alert air, and Kawena had no doubt that her words would be reported to the rest of the staff. Lord James seemed satisfied, however, and that was enough for her.

And then the two of them were left alone again, in the drawing room. Kawena sat down, but Lord James hovered near the door, as if he might dart out at any moment. “So…” he said. “All's well. Er, mission accomplished. I suppose…you'll be going home now.”

Kawena examined his strained expression. In many ways, this English duke's son seemed like two different men. There was the ardent lover—all skill and certainty and fiery freedom. That man entranced her. But then there was this other—the one harried and bounded by “society.” He was so often irritating; he even, sometimes, seemed to disapprove of her. Yet she also pitied him, a little. He was like a fish tangled in a net. She realized that she was staring, and that she hadn't answered him. “Home,” she said. A wave of melancholy washed over her at the word. She was feeling the effects of all that had occurred in the last twelve hours, she decided.

Lord James cleared his throat. “You should probably make some arrangements first.” He didn't seem to wish to look at her.

“Arrangements?”

“Not a good idea to go sailing off alone with a bag full of gems in your luggage.”

“I wouldn't tell anyone they were there,” she pointed out.

“Of course not. But it's risky. You don't want to chance losing them again.”

That would be unbearable. And she wouldn't have the protection of her father's old friend on the voyage home. Thinking of setting out on that long, solitary journey, of arriving at the island, even with the triumphant return of the treasure, made her feel desolate. Which was idiotic. She told herself that she was simply tired when she had to swallow threatened tears.

“I'll tell you what,” Lord James continued. “You should meet my father's man of business. Mr. Crane knows more about how to keep the finances in tune than any six bankers. He'll be able to tell you just what to do.”

“Do?”

“According to what my father and my brother Nathaniel say, a fortune needs a deal of managing.”

Kawena had made no practical plan beyond recovering the jewels. She touched the pocket of her gown, where the bag currently lay. Now that she had them back, perhaps there was some better course of action than simply hiding them away again. She'd gained her fortune. She should…employ it. “All right.”

“It might take a day or two to set up an appointment.”

The idea that she could not embark immediately for the other side of the world was…a curious relief.

* * *

James took Kawena to Crane's offices the following morning, after a day that had nearly driven him mad. At every moment, his body cried out that she was
his
, and demanded the thrill and solace of touch. At the same time, his mind insisted that he act correctly, to preserve her reputation and position, to protect her. The push and pull of these two impulses twisted him into knots, reduced him to stiff silence. Goaded beyond endurance, he retreated into the manners drilled into him in his youth. A stately formality saved him when Kawena smiled or gazed into his eyes, when she sat at his side in the cab rattling down to the City. His training demanded that he focus on the matter at hand and set aside his petty personal desires.

James had never had much to do with his father's very superior man of business. He'd paid no heed to the ducal estates and investments, set as he was on leaving for the navy. Still, he'd met the man, and his family name got them a cordial reception and immediate admittance to the firm's premises off one of the narrow, cobbled streets in central London.

But the man who emerged from the inner offices to greet them wasn't the sober, middle-aged figure he remembered. “I'm Ian Crane,” he said. “My father, whom you knew, I believe, died last winter. Please come in.”

They followed him into a darkly paneled chamber, with ancient mullioned windows overlooking the narrow lane outside, and took chairs before his wide, paper-strewn desk. Ian Crane wore black, proclaiming his seriousness, but his hair was sunny yellow, and his face round and open, his eyes a guileless light blue. He looked more like one of the students in Oxford than a wily lawyer. James wondered if his father would have employed such a youth if Crane's father and grandfather hadn't served the Langfords in a similar capacity.

“You're thinking that I look rather young for my job,” he said, appearing to read James's mind. “And wondering if I know what I'm doing.”

“Ah.” James couldn't deny it.

Ian Crane waved his embarrassment aside. “People do. My father was taken off very suddenly, at barely fifty years of age. I'd expected to become much more grizzled and wise before stepping into his shoes.” His face showed good humor mixed with sadness.

“I'm sorry to hear of it,” James replied. “I met him once or twice at Langford.”

Crane nodded his thanks. “I can assure you that he, and my grandfather and their partners, trained me quite thoroughly. If you would prefer to go elsewhere, however…”

“No, no.” James had no idea where else to go. “This is Miss Benson. A friend of mi…my family. She has recently come into a large inheritance. And she would like some advice.”

“Indeed.” Crane smiled and nodded at Kawena. “Inheritance in the form of lands or…?”

Kawena took out the bag of jewels and set it before him. She untied the drawstring so that he could see inside. The stones glittered, multicolored, in the lamplight.

“Ah.” Crane leaned forward. “That's…extraordinary.”

“My father was a trader in the South Seas,” Kawena said. They had agreed on what and how much to tell Crane. “He took payment in gems, whenever he could. Or converted his profits into them.”

“I see.” Ian Crane reached out. “With your permission?” Kawena nodded, and he picked out a large ruby from the bag, holding it up to the light. It glowed a rich crimson. “I can't judge the quality of these,” he continued. “They would need to be valued by an expert. I would suggest they be sent—”

“I won't have them out of my hands,” Kawena interrupted.

James could understand why she wouldn't wish to let the hoard out of her sight again. He couldn't imagine just handing them over to a stranger when they had at last been found.

Ian Crane nodded. “That you take them to Rundell and Bridge, on Ludgate Hill near St. Paul's. They are a very reputable company. Extremely knowledgeable.”

James had heard of them. He thought perhaps his father had purchased items there.

“Once you know their value, we can discuss what you wish to do.”

“What would you suggest?” Kawena asked.

Crane tapped the tips of his fingers together. It seemed to James like a gesture he'd inherited along with his family's business. “I would recommend selling some proportion of the gems—the exact amount is something to discuss—and investing the proceeds in various ways. Jewels are not very liquid…” Noticing Kawena's puzzled expression, he explained. “They can't be used like money, all in a moment. They usually have to be converted into cash first, which is not always a simple matter.”

She nodded her understanding. James admired the perfect curve of her cheek, the glint of lamplight on her hair. He nearly lost himself in memories of it loose and flowing down her bare back.

“You might wish to own property or other types of assets,” Crane continued. “We can review an array of options.”

“Yes, I see.” Kawena nodded again. She glanced at James, and then away.

The change in their circumstances struck him then, as it had not, for some reason, before now. Everything was different. Kawena was no longer a waif tossed up by the ocean currents, dependent on his aid. She was a very rich woman. Her new status showed in the way Ian Crane spoke to her, to both of them. He was perfectly courteous to the fifth son of his noble employer, of course. But his attention was really concentrated on Kawena. James had become…an appendage.

The story was much the same when they reached Rundell and Bridge later that day. Crane had sent a clerk ahead to pave the way, and Kawena was received like minor royalty. They were taken to a private viewing room with a table covered in soft cloth and several comfortable chairs. They were offered refreshment and invited to sit and observe while three experts examined the jewels right before their eyes. Watching these men evaluate each gem through a lens that fitted into one eye, rather like a quizzing glass without a handle, James keenly felt his role as mere supernumerary. He might almost have been a footman, for all he was contributing. The thought rankled.

The tests were boring as well—minutes of peering at a stone, turning it this way and that to observe every angle, more minutes of note taking, and then the same all over again. Progress was painstakingly slow. And conversation was not encouraged, although other members of the firm peered 'round the door now and then, seemingly riveted by the evaluation process.

After what seemed to James like an eternity, they finished. Their verdict was favorable. The gems were of good quality. The fellow who'd been overseeing the whole congratulated Kawena and named a staggering sum as a value for the whole collection. It was not an amount they could cover themselves all at once, he intimated, but Rundell and Bridge would be happy to help her find buyers.

Kawena accepted the verdict with an almost regal calm. James watched, fascinated and strangely depressed, as she dealt with the fawning jewelers, obviously needing no help from him. She elected to sell one stone then and there, receiving a sheaf of banknotes in exchange, before tucking the others back in their cloth bag. The bowing and scraping as they departed was almost comical.

“You need a better place for those,” James said as they returned to the street. “A strongbox or something. Not to mention a troop of guards.” He was a bit stunned by the overall worth of the collection.

“No one knows what I am carrying,” Kawena replied.

“They do in there,” James said, indicating the jeweler's display window. “And at Crane's offices.” He spotted a hack and flagged it down.

“You said they were trustworthy people.”

“And so they are. But…people simply don't stroll around town with a fortune in jewels in their pockets.”

“It isn't proper?”

He didn't understand the edge in her voice. Shouldn't she be bouncing with glee? “It isn't sensible,” he replied. If they were attacked by footpads and robbed, she'd probably blame it on him. James handed her into the cab and gave the driver the address.

“Now that I have money, I'd like to get some clothes,” Kawena said as they clattered through the streets toward Langford House. “So that I can return Ariel's things.” She plucked at the fabric of the blue dress she wore. “And have something different to wear.”

“Can't help you there,” James replied. His spirits were steadily sinking. The part of him that claimed Kawena for his own, that could barely keep his hands off her, was clamoring for action. She was drifting away from him like a vessel on a different tack, this inner voice insisted. He had to take her now, or she'd be lost to him. The urge was nearly irresistible. But not quite. His manners and training fought it to a grim standstill.

He had to get away and be on his own for a bit, to work off some of this simmering conflict. “I've never lived in London, you know. Still less purchased gowns and fripperies here.” He scowled at the passing scene. How he hated this filthy, clamorous city.

“Yes,” she replied.

James glanced at her. It was an odd response. He couldn't read her expression. She simply nodded, and then said nothing more for the remainder of their journey.

* * *

Back in her bedchamber at Langford House, Kawena set the bag of jewels on the dressing table and sat gazing at it. Such a small thing, fitting easily into her two hands, and yet it had altered her world. The value the jeweler had named had seemed gigantic to her, but it was Lord James's reaction, quickly hidden, that confirmed the significance. If a duke's son thought she was rich, then she must actually be so. And she knew from her father, and from observations of her own in England, that this meant she would be viewed and treated quite differently.

She'd had one unsettling example already. Lord James had fled as soon as they climbed down from the hack at the front door. Over the course of the morning, he'd become more and more prickly. And then it had seemed as if he couldn't get away from her fast enough. There'd been no sign of the lover in whose arms she'd found such joy just hours ago. He had been starkly and rigidly the society Englishman, the duke's son. It had seemed to pain him to look at her.

Kawena sat back in her chair. She might have the funds to make purchases, and take action, but she felt more alone than ever. Lord James was the only person she really knew in the great intimidating mass of humanity that surrounded her, and he seemed to be…not angry. That wasn't it. He was distant and…perhaps ashamed? But that didn't seem right either. She couldn't tell what he felt, just that it was uncomfortable. Remembering the way he had hustled her out of the house this morning, sneaking and creeping in fear of being caught by servants, she put her head in her hands.

It was illogical, and unfair. She'd recovered her fortune, done exactly as she'd set out to do. And here at the moment of triumph, something very like desolation threatened. It felt like a great wave curling over her head, about to break and smash her into the sand with bone-crushing force. Kawena crouched lower, braced for disaster.