The Detective and the Baroness (The Duke’s Bastards #1)

Chapter One

Early December 1898

London, England

M itchell gazed out the window of the hansom cab that carried him to his first case as a private investigator. How ironic that it was Baroness Corrine Addington who wished to hire him. He had not seen the lovely lady since she had awakened him six weeks ago. At times, especially late at night, he swore he could detect her enticing scent, a mixture of vanilla and roses, and feel her soft, silky touch on his forehead as she soothed his fevered brow. Since he found her attractive, he should have declined the appointment outright, but curiosity got the better of him—and he longed to see her again.

Much had transpired since Mitchell had departed Damon’s residence. First, he moved in with Doctor Hornsby at Gloucester Square. After settling in his comfortable room, he stopped by Damon’s and told his half-brother what he and Drew Hornsby planned to do. Damon balked, believing the past best left alone. But as Mitchell succinctly pointed out, that was easy enough to say when brought up in privilege as the legitimate heir to a duke.

Ultimately, Damon came around to their way of thinking, and agreed to give Mitchell—and Hornsby, for that matter—some space. He quickly realized that they needed it. Their lives, like Damon’s, had been thrown into turmoil because of recent revelations.

Mitchell and Drew had agreed to follow the names on the list in the order they were written, and now that Mitchell was recovering, they intended to put their plan in motion. One name at a time. First up was Liam Hallahan. Through letters Edward Cranston had sent the duchess, Mitchell had learned that Hallahan’s tavern was in the East End. The evil man had boasted about his offspring and kept tabs on them.

But back to the matter at hand: Lady Addington.

The hansom cab pulled up in front of a Wimpole Street residence in Marylebone. The dwelling resembled the white stucco town house where he lived with Drew Hornsby on Gloucester Square, only this one was more modest and only had the white plaster on the main level. The other two stories were light sandstone.

Slowly, he exited the hansom, paid the driver, and, leaning on his cane, used the door’s brass knocker. At least there weren’t any stairs to climb to reach the front entrance. Mitchell had enough trouble navigating Drew’s home in Gloucester Square. He and Drew lived on the top floors of a large four-story residence recently renovated into flats.

His prior residence was two rooms at the rear of Lady Ainsworth’s Kensington home. The kindly older widow insisted he stay rent-free until he fully recovered. But that would not be fair, as she should lease the rooms to someone who could pay the entire rent. Better he recovered under the watchful eye of a doctor.

His insides were in knots as he waited for someone to open the door. No woman had ever had him in this muddled state before. The door opened, and Lady Addington stood before him, dressed in a floral tea gown of light blue silk with a gold and red rose overlay. Her beauty took his breath away. With her auburn hair, blue eyes, and alabaster skin, she was everything bright and glorious. And the bold way she stared at him made his insides turn to absolute mush.

“I am so glad you agreed to meet with me, Sergeant Simpson. Do come in.” She stepped aside, revealing a footman standing nearby. “Jonathan, bring the tea tray to the sitting room.”

The footman bowed slightly and made his way down the hall.

“Right in here, Sergeant.” The baroness led him to a luminous room caused by the sun’s rays pouring in through the sheer draperies—and her brilliant and potent presence.

Good God. I must get a firm grip on my wayward emotions.

But Mitchell could not help it. His insides roiled like mad. He could not stop staring at her. Mitchell looked about the room for a distraction from his inappropriate reaction. The oak furniture, in overall good condition, showed decades of wear. It looked like a peerage residence, with the trappings of wealth, however modest, evident with the art in gilded frames and expensive trinkets scattered about the room. After unbuttoning his wool coat, he sat on the sofa and set his cane and homburg hat beside him. The baroness sat opposite.

“I did not have the chance to thank you, my lady, for your care and competent nursing. I appreciated it very much.”

She flushed slightly, making her all the more striking. “I was glad to do it. And I’m pleased to see you up and about. Is there much pain? Forgive me. It seems I cannot stop being a nurse.”

“I don’t mind. There is pain now and then. I’m staying with Doctor Hornsby, and he is monitoring my situation, insisting that I do his daily rehabilitation exercises. All I can do is take this situation as it comes.”

“How very sensible of you. Well done. Is your leave from the Metropolitan Police temporary?”

“I’m hoping that will be the case, my lady. Although Doctor Hornsby states it may be some months before I’m able to return.”

“I saw the wedding announcement of the Duke of Chellenham and Althea Galway in the paper,” Lady Corrine said.

“Yes, it was a small affair with only a few people in attendance, my lady.”

“And you were one of the attendees? Of course, since you are friends with the duke. You recovered at his home.”

Mitchell nodded. He did not wish to get into the details of his newly formed relationship with his recently discovered half-brother—at least, not now. Luckily, the footman picked that moment to enter the room. He placed a large silver tea service before the baroness. Small, perfectly cut sandwiches and a few biscuits sat on a platter.

“Thank you, Jonathan. Please see that we are not disturbed.”

“Yes, my lady.”

With the departure of the servant, they were alone once again.

Lady Addington poured the tea. “Cream? Milk? Sugar?”

“No sugar and a little milk. Thank you.”

She passed him the cup. “I wish to hire you, Detective Simpson. Althea Galway informed me that you were open to taking on some of their clients while you recover. I wish to be the first.”

Mitchell sipped his tea, then reached for a beefsteak sandwich. He couldn’t stand those fishpaste ones that were often served in upper-class parlors.

“Taking on a few customers is only a temporary sideline as I have every intention of returning to the police force as soon as possible. But in the meantime, why are you engaging the Galway Investigative Agency?” He stopped, realizing how forward he was acting. “Sorry, my lady, that is none of my business.”

Lady Addington sipped her tea thoughtfully. “I genuinely like the ladies working at the agency and have come to know them a little since meeting them at a tea party. I was going to hire Miss Ellingford, but she is taking a temporary leave to get married.”

“And my name came up?”

“Why yes, it did. Do you mind?”

“Not at all, my lady,” Mitchell replied.

“I can’t blame you for wanting to get involved with them. The last time I visited Althea, I offered to assist her by moving about society and gathering information on any of their cases when needed. They haven’t used my services yet, but I stand at the ready. You see, I’m not one for sitting about parlors sipping tea all day, although there is nothing wrong with that. Since I have more invitations than I can handle, I might as well put that to good use. The sisters have their duke husbands to gather information among male peers. I simply offered to gather any information among the ladies.”

No, he couldn’t imagine all that sparkle contained within a stuffy parlor setting. “Good for you. I admire that. But why do you wish to hire me, my lady?”

Lady Corrine sighed. “I need you to follow my husband and report his activities to me. He’s presently staying at his old residence, the one he lived in before becoming Baron Addington. Travis has been there for nearly a month. He owns the Camden Town property. I will give the address before you depart.”

Mitchell placed his half-eaten sandwich on the saucer, then retrieved a notepad and pencil from his side pocket. “You can give it to me now, my lady.”

“Seven Carol Street. Does this mean you are taking the case? I haven’t told you the particulars as yet.”

“After what you have done for me—and my friends—I-I will gladly take your case.”

I would do anything for you.

He had almost said those words. How disturbing to find it was the complete truth. No other woman had caught his attention like this. It bloody well rankled that she was married.

Her ladyship smiled warmly. “Thank you, Sergeant. So, as to my situation… Like most marriages in the aristocracy, ours is a business arrangement, pure and simple. Travis was one of the presumptive heirs to the barony but never expected to take on the title since the old baron had a son. Unfortunately, the boy drowned when he was sixteen. A second cousin was next in line but he, too, died before the old baron. Next in succession was Travis’s father, but he passed ages ago.”

“So your husband moved to the top of the list.”

Lady Addington nodded. “Yes. He felt it his duty to find a wife, or so I assume. Travis is forty-one and claimed he didn’t wish to look for a bride amongst the younger, eligible ladies. We had an acquaintance but hadn’t seen each other for years. So, he sought me out. He knew how to entice me to consider marriage. Money.”

Mitchell stopped writing and looked up at the baroness, who watched him closely over the rim of her teacup. “That would be an inducement for anyone, my lady.”

“My family has lived on the edge financially for years, so I took up nursing, as it was one career open to women. My younger brother works at a bank. I wanted to give my family financial security. So Travis settled a substantial amount on me, and I agreed to marry him. There were a few conditions.”

Mitchell frowned. “If your family desperately needed money, why didn’t your brother marry one of the many American heiresses haunting London ballrooms? After all, he is the heir apparent to a viscountcy. That would be quite an inducement. Why should it be left to you to take care of your family?”

Again, he knew he’d overstepped the bounds, but if the baroness wanted to hire him, he had to know all the facts.

Lady Addington reached for an iced biscuit. “I recently turned thirty. I had no illusions that I would marry for love—or at all. But I want my brother, Jeffery, to fall in love before he marries. As he is only twenty-three, that may take time—which we did not have.”

Somehow, Mitchell had thought she was much younger than his thirty-two years. He turned the page on his notebook. “And the conditions? It may be relevant to the case.”

The baroness thrust out that enticing lower lip. “It is also very personal.”

“You may count on my discretion, my lady.”

“Yes, I know I can. Besides the money, I asked that we try for a child. Travis did not keep up his end of the bargain. At all.” The baroness’s cheeks flushed as she popped the rest of her biscuit in her mouth and chewed furiously.

What kind of man would not want to bed her? My God, her beauty took Mitchell’s breath away. But it wasn’t only that; it was her confidence and how she was so vibrantly—alive. Also, he admired her frankness. What to say to such a pronouncement?

“I now realize I made a mistake,” Lady Addington continued. “So I need grounds for a possible divorce. I have tried to talk to Travis about this. But that only resulted in him returning to his former residence. Something broke between us, not that there was much to start with. We could stay married and live apart as so many have done before, but I want more. Being a baroness is not important to me—not enough to stay in an untenable situation. So I want to know if I have grounds for divorce.” She sipped her tea. “I am sorry, Sergeant. That was too much information. I have a habit of prattling on longer than I should.”

“I understand.” What else could he say? He couldn’t comprehend such upper-class arrangements. Mitchell always thought such emotionless marriage transactions were strange and coldly cynical at their core.

The baroness shot him a look. “Do you?”

“No, I do not understand since I’ve never been married. As you say, it is an untenable situation.”

“And I have been far too outspoken. But you need to know that this isn’t some whim of a spoiled peer. I did not want you to think, ‘She’s got her money, and now she is kicking the baron to the cobbles.’ I’m unsure why I care what you believe, but I do.”

“The thought never crossed my mind, my lady,” Mitchell replied softly. And it hadn’t. “Can you give me a description of your husband?”

The baroness stood and smoothed her gown. “Travis had his portrait done when he became the heir apparent. It is in his study. Follow me, Sergeant.”

They entered another room that had book cases filling nearly every wall. Again, the furniture was old but in good condition. Mitchell stepped before the portrait. It was of a man of middle age with thinning brown hair with shots of gray at the temples and bushy side whiskers—pleasant-looking, neither ugly nor handsome, with a determined jaw and kind eyes. But then, portraits were not always accurate when capturing a subject’s true essence.

“I will start immediately, my lady.”

“Will twenty pounds suffice as a retainer, Sergeant?”

More than generous. “Yes, it will. Thank you.”

The baroness pulled a small roll of pound notes from the side pocket of her gown and held it out toward him. Mitchell tucked his cane under his arm, took the money, and placed it and his notepad and pencil in his side coat pocket. The money was certainly welcome.

Mitchell was never sure how to act in such social situations but decided to mimic what he had seen his half-brother Damon do. Once he leaned on his cane, he held out his hand, and Lady Addington’s fingers brushed his palm, igniting a roaring fire within. It swiftly rumbled through him. That slight touch of skin, that barely-there contact as she rested her hand in his caused his heartbeat to thunder in his ears.

Gulping, he gave a slight bow. “Good afternoon, my lady.” How he managed to keep his voice steady was a miracle.

“Good afternoon, Detective Sergeant Simpson.”

Slowly, he retracted his hand, and her fingers trailed across his skin again, giving him another jolt. “I can find my way out.” He turned and exited the room.

Pausing outside, Mitchell raised his hand and looked at the one she had touched. It burned with an almighty heat. Clenching his fist, then flexing his fingers repeatedly, he continued down the hall, collected his hat and gloves, and headed toward the exit and away from the temptation of Baroness Addington.