Chapter Three
“You were being aggressive, Matthew,” Caroline scolded him as Jasmine and Lady Dorchester walked away.
“I’m always aggressive,” he said, meeting the gaze of anyone who dared. “It’s the only way to get anything done.”
“I’m telling Cassandra about this,” she muttered.
“Good, do that,” he said. “She’ll be thrilled.”
It would make the courtship process easier if he had Cassandra in his corner, whispering his good qualities into Jasmine’s ear. The conversation might be brief, but Cassandra would help. Unlike Caroline, who woke up every day with a new plan to irritate him.
“You’re not off to a good start with her. I’ve seen kitchen maids look at roaches kinder than Lady Jasmine looked at you. Good luck.”
“I could be engaged to her tonight if I wished it, little sister,” he informed her. All it would take was one honest conversation with her father, and their marriage would be a done deal.
His subterfuge during their dance had been self-indulgent, but he had learned so much. He had never been on the receiving end of her hostility. What a show of force! Blistering. Dark. His blood sang for her.
He wanted her more than he could stand it.
And she was right outside.
Control yourself. He took in a calming breath. There’s no need to rush.
Jasmine was back in London—a finite place with many opportunities to have her on his arm. He had seduced plenty of women, and with a woman as fiery as Jasmine, it was best to leave her wanting.
For once.
“Is that Duke Kendall?” Caroline whispered, discreetly gesturing to the staircase. “He’s striking.”
Silence descended over the crowd as the Duke of Kendall, Frederick Kendall the Third, descended the steps as if his feet weren’t touching the floor.
A golden crown of thorns rested atop the Duke’s wispy platinum hair, and a cape of feathers graced his shoulders, appearing as wings over a long flowing white robe.
A primal voice in Matthew’s mind warned him to take slow and calculated steps. This angelic creature could slice his throat and none of these aristocrats would help.
Duke Kendall was the only man Matthew truly feared.
But he didn’t know which scared him more—the Duke himself, or that he considered Matthew a kindred spirit.
Smooth and slithery, every sentence carried a double meaning.
Matthew tried not to spend any time alone with him, but it was often unavoidable.
As it would be tonight.
The Duke glided through the crowd as if he were a butterfly aimlessly making the rounds. He would find his way to them in a matter of minutes.
Matthew turned his gaze to Caroline.
“Make yourself scarce, I have to work.”
She pouted. “You have never introduced me to His Grace.”
“And I won’t. I value his friendship far too much to sully it with your acquaintance.” Matthew gestured across the ballroom. “Go to Lady Worthing.”
Honora, the Dowager Countess of Worthing, was another friend of the family.
Significantly less appealing than Jasmine, but a powerful ally and a saint as far as he was concerned.
A stern-shouldered petite woman with her brown hair tied close to her head.
Not costumed tonight—as she found such things frivolous.
A hard woman with unrelenting morals. She often chaperoned Caroline when Matthew could not.
Honora was much better at scolding Caroline than her siblings, as Caroline actually listened to her.
Caroline glared at him, but did as she was told. He watched her move through the ballroom until she found her way to Honora. The Dowager Countess gave him a nod. Confident Caroline was safe, he shifted his attention to the Duke.
With a deep breath, he prepared himself for what was coming next.
As Duke Kendall’s eyes found him—so deep a brown they appeared pitch black—his face lit up and he waltzed to him. Matthew bowed deeply.
“Ah! There you are, Lord Lincolnshire!” Duke Kendall called out. He reached forward with long fingers to pinch both of Matthew’s cheeks and cooed, “You weren’t hiding from me, were you?”
“I was enjoying your festivities on the ballroom floor, Your Grace,” Matthew replied, rubbing his aching face once Duke Kendall released him.
“Lord Lincolnshire.” Duke Kendall’s sharp gaze looked over Matthew. “I specifically remember asking you to wear a costume.”
“I am in costume,” Matthew said innocently and placed his black mask on his face. “Can’t you see? I’m a shadow.”
“That you are,” Duke Kendall said appreciatively. “The Shadow of Death, looming in every corner.”
“Whichever shadow you prefer,” Matthew said. “Personally, I prefer the word draped, perhaps lounging. Looming sounds so ominous.”
“Whichever word you prefer, but I’ve never shied away from ominous.” Duke Kendall offered an all-teeth smile, linked elbows with Matthew and sang, “Walk with me, my little shadow. We have much to discuss.”
Fighting off the instinct to throw the other man off of him, Matthew allowed Duke Kendall to escort him from the ballroom.
The music muted with each step away from the ball.
Deeper into the mansion, their footsteps echoed in wide open halls.
Stained-glass windows lined the walls and roof.
Multi-colored fractures of moonlight illuminated their path.
They strolled arm-in-arm, like old friends.
Duke Kendall skipped as he guided them through a labyrinth of hallways.
A suffocating air of malicious intent shrouded the surrounding space.
The unsettling aura wasn’t in the gold and purple drapery smothering the walls, or that the mansion seemed to go on forever.
It was in the eyes of the servants, trained to the floor, and how they flinched when their master spoke.
They stopped in front of a set of double doors. Two footmen opened the door to Duke Kendall’s private study. They walked through, and the door closed behind them.
Matthew stood to the side and waited for Duke Kendall to remove his cape and sit in a plush leather chair next to the fireplace—roaring, even in spring. The flames danced in his eyes as he flicked his gaze to the footman standing in the corner of the room.
Obediently, the footman came forward to pour them each a glass of viscous black liquid Matthew hoped was wine, then exited the room, leaving the two of them alone.
Instincts prickling, he made a show of surveying the room.
On the walls, rows of rifles he invented glinted next to a variety of weapons—bastard swords, samurai blades, and a flail he convinced himself was rusted, not bloodstained.
The Duke gestured to the other chair.
“Sit. Drink.”
Matthew sat down and reached for the glass. Watching Duke Kendall do the same, he inhaled the fragrance before he took a sip. Though it had a woody smell, the wine tasted like blackberries. He forced it down with a thick swallow, leaving a sickeningly sweet aftertaste in his mouth.
“I do hope all is going well with our little project.” Duke Kendall swirled his glass and raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t received an update this week.”
“Things are coming along smoothly,” Matthew lied. “The transition from rounds to cartridges was surprisingly simple and the pistol’s accuracy is almost within the parameters you requested. Some tinkering, and it will be ready for your birthday.”
Which he hoped wouldn’t be a lie.
“I know you won’t disappoint me. Relax,” Duke Kendall said. “That’s the reason I invited you here, after all! To have fun. I have quite the event planned for after the ball. A rake with your reputation might find it delightful.”
The gleam in his eyes said otherwise, so Matthew tossed his arm over the back of his chair in a lazy, devil-may-care manner.
“My debauching days are over. With any luck, I’ll be a married man by the end of this season.” He toasted the Duke. “And alas, I am chaperoning my sister for the evening. I can’t be gone long. When the cat’s away the mice will play.”
“Unless the cat kills all of the mice.” With another razor-sharp smile, the Duke leaned in. “You’ll have to introduce me to her one day. Young Miss Caroline. Cassandra is so… pleasant.”
Matthew adopted a blank expression before shrugging. His hackles rose at the thought of having this man anywhere near his sisters.
“Caroline never seems to be around when an introduction would take place,” Matthew said apologetically. “But I assure you, one day, Your Grace.”
“Perhaps at your wedding.” Duke Kendall raised his glass. “Your sights are set on the woman in red, am I correct? The Phoenix and the Shadow of Death. Sounds like a fairy tale, doesn’t it?”
“That it does,” Matthew said. “Perhaps in the future I’ll have my very own happily-ever-after.”
“The unfortunate fact is the future is something that twists and turns—filled with traps, trials, and tribulations. And in no way is it promised.” Duke Kendall whispered, “Why not take her now? With the flick of my wrist, I could give her to you. There are countless bedrooms in this mansion.” He leaned closer. “What’s stopping you?”
What was stopping him?
He could waltz out there and make her his wife.
The scent of lilies clung to Matthew’s clothing from his dance with her. She had been so soft, so vibrant in his arms. He could have her under him tonight, taste her skin once more, and feel what he had only dreamt of. But he didn’t want what the Duke offered.
Not how he offered it.
“I would never force her,” Matthew said, the thought slipping out.
The Duke’s eyes narrowed in response. Not wanting to show weakness, Matthew swirled his glass with a smirk.
“I want her to come to me. Satisfaction tastes sweet after a hunt, but there’s something to be said for an eager woman. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Indeed I would. An eager woman would be a curious change of pace.” Duke Kendall laughed, a high-pitched series of silent shrieks. “Speaking of satisfaction, a question arose in my mind this morning. I must have an answer.”
Not wishing to spend any time here longer than necessary, Matthew sat straight in his chair. “What is it that you would like to discuss?”
“Do you enjoy causing pain, Lord Lincolnshire?”
Taken aback, Matthew took some time to consider the question before answering. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
“You do it every day.” Duke Kendall sipped his wine. “You are in the death business.”
“Not according to my business partners. Mr. Reeves and Mr. Sanderson believe that we’re in the life-saving business. Our soldiers are better off with superior weaponry—that alone saves lives.”
“And what do you believe?” Duke Kendall kept his eyes intent on Matthew, testing him. “Is there a balance in taking a life to save a life? Does one make the other right?”
The wine seemed to curdle in Matthew’s stomach. The same question bounced around his mind every day. Not knowing the answer, he whispered, “It’s more complicated than that.”
Duke Kendall’s laugh echoed in the room. “No, my sweet gunsmith, it’s a simple question. Do you believe that the exchange of one life for another balances the scales? Will God see it that way?”
Matthew stared down into the murky depths of the wine glass in his hands, so dark the dim light didn’t touch it. “It has to balance.”
Duke Kendall smiled. “It won’t.”
After finishing his port, he gestured to Matthew with his empty glass. Matthew stood, retrieved the crystal decanter and poured the wine into Duke Kendall’s raised glass. Then, he poured himself a generous helping and took a large swig of it, draining half the glass in one swallow.
After giving him a moment of respite, Duke Kendall continued, “You box, do you not?”
Matthew nodded. “I do.”
“Bare-knuckle boxing in the St. Giles Rookery.” The Duke paused. “Do you enjoy it?”
Matthew didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”
“I can tell. You see, I’ve been to one of your matches.
I bet on you in your bout against Gregory Hargroves—quite the beast!
But nothing compared to you. I’ve rarely seen such a display of violence!
” Duke Kendall’s eyes lit with morbid interest. “Which part do you enjoy? Is it inflicting pain, or receiving it?”
Matthew liked the rush that boxing gave him, exercise, distraction, and an outlet for his anger. On certain nights he struggled more than others, and punching a bag wasn’t enough. He needed something that would fight back.
Feeling flayed open, he dropped all pretenses.
“Both.”
The Duke’s grin turned diabolical.
“I have an opportunity for you, Lord Lincolnshire.”
Prepared to proceed with negotiations for his next project, Matthew asked, “What type of gun do you require?”
“No, no, nothing to do with work.” Duke Kendall leaned forward again. Though far from him, Matthew’s skin crawled. “A performance. You’re talented with a pistol from what I understand. Some say you could shoot a target blindfolded.”
“It’s a trick shot,” Matthew admitted. Slightly more relaxed, he grinned. “It’s impressed quite a few ladies.”
Duke Kendall raised a hand in a staying gesture. “Yes, but impressing women wasn’t the reason you mastered the skill. It’s because you were afraid, weren’t you?”
“I—” Matthew frowned. “I don’t fear much these days.”
“Not with that skill set. You’re prepared for everything, aren’t you?
” Another sentence with a double meaning.
Matthew didn’t answer him, so Duke Kendall continued, “We’re much alike, Lord Lincolnshire, which is why I enjoy your company.
So much so, that I’m inviting you as the guest of honor for my birthday celebration! ”
Matthew almost dropped his glass. “I am not worthy of—” Duke Kendall’s eyes narrowed again and Matthew corrected, “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“You’ll bring both of your sisters,” Duke Kendall said pointedly. “And your new wife.”
Heart hammering, unable to deny him, Matthew responded obediently, “Yes, Your Grace.”
“Now, I have a teensy favor to ask.”
Matthew braced himself.
“I want you to showcase my new pistol with your blindfolded trick shot. A present-tation, if you will!” the Duke said cleverly, then whispered, “I can see your hesitation, Lord Lincolnshire. This is the part of the conversation where you’re thanking me for the wonderful opportunity I’ve bestowed on your capable shoulders.
” Duke Kendall sang, “Now, say, ‘thank you, Your Grace.’”
Veiling his emotions, Matthew stood and bowed.
“Thank you, Your Grace.”