Chapter 5
5
Liam settled himself into his chair and placed both hands on his desk. An errant image of Miss Smith’s capable hands wiping lemon oil over the surface filled him with unexpected longing. He exhaled, commanding his cock to stand down. It didn’t listen.
Perhaps he should fortify himself with coffee or break his fast before tackling the task of organising his infiltration into the Devil’s Sons. But that would mean summoning a maid to take his order. And that maid was most likely to be the precise woman he meant to avoid for the remainder of the day.
His father would be laughing in his grave.
You can’t escape your fate, Son. We are a cursed lot. Better to enjoy it than fight against the inevitable.
Even now, years after his father’s death, the man’s words taunted him.
Liam slammed his fist on the desk, the crack of hard wood against his knuckles sharpening his focus.
‘I am not you, Father. I will never be like you.’
And now he was arguing with a dead man. Brilliant .
He reached into his vest pocket and found the brass key. Before he could fit the thing into the keyhole of his desk drawer, a knock sounded.
Please let it be Coggins.
‘Come in.’
It was not Coggins.
Fucking hell!
Miss Smith, that damnable curl bouncing against her cheek, her hazel gaze touching him everywhere, reawakened his ridiculously determined cock. She stepped into the study. Her eyes lingered on Liam’s hand holding the key. He tucked it back into his pocket and raised his brow in silent question.
What in the blazes are you doing in here?
‘Sorry to interrupt, my lord. You have a visitor.’
Irritation sparked. He wasn’t expecting any visitors. He certainly didn’t need interruptions. Not from Miss Smith, and not from some unplanned guest. ‘And you felt the need to grant them entrance to my house without my permission?’
Miss Smith twisted her hands together in an uncommon display of nerves. Liam immediately felt like an arse for being rude to her. Which was ridiculous. It was his right to be rude to the servants if they displeased him. He was the Marquess of Stoneway, after all.
And how well I am embodying the role.
The whole situation was galling. Liam ground his teeth together in frustration. Perhaps in lieu of coffee, he needed a snifter of brandy.
‘I would have sent her away, only, it’s the Duchess of Dorsett, my lord. She would not take “no” for an answer. I’m terribly sorry. Shall I say you are unavailable?’ Miss Smith bit her lip and Liam had to stifle a groan.
This is not the time to be noticing her damnably delectable mouth.
One little lip twitch from Miss Smith and suddenly, the wild creature relegated to the darkest corners of his soul was purring like a panther and fantasising about rubbing himself against all of Miss Smith’s hard edges. Because what he needed to add to his already dreadful mood was a shot of untempered lust.
Liam ruthlessly pulled his thoughts into some semblance of order. The Duchess of Dorsett was here. In his home. He could only guess things were dire.
‘No. She wouldn’t allow you to dismiss her in any case.’
Miss Smith’s mouth – which Liam still stared at like a sycophant – quirked in a wry smile. It was the first time he’d seen such a friendly expression from his prickly maid, and it did mysterious things to the rhythm of his heart. ‘My thoughts exactly, sir. She’s waiting in the emerald sitting room. I’ve ordered tea and refreshments.’
Liam nodded curtly, desperately willing his body to calm down. The last thing he needed to do was meet the Duchess of Dorsett with his cock at half-mast. She would decimate him before he could even enter the room. The woman missed nothing. She was a fearsome creature demanding utmost respect and requiring him to keep all his wits about him.
‘Please add coffee to the tray, Miss Smith.’
‘Of course, my lord.’ Miss Smith dipped into another one of her curtsies and stepped out of the study, shutting the door quietly behind her.
‘Hellfire!’ Liam stood and paced back and forth, his thoughts racing. He wasn’t prepared to meet with Lady Winterbourne so soon. But she likely knew that, which was why she came so quickly. Cursed woman. This was particularly poor timing, when he found his thoughts so confused by the very servant who would be serving them refreshments. If the duchess even suspected his growing attraction to Miss Smith, he was likely to lose his bollocks right along with his mission. The duchess would never stand for such tomfoolery. And neither should Liam.
‘I am a marquess. Major General in the Queen’s bloody army. I’ve survived war, torture, being fathered by a horror of a man. I can manage morning tea with a fucking duchess.’
But as he strode out of his study toward the emerald sitting room, he wasn’t convinced.
‘Philippa. What a pleasant surprise.’ Liam approached the Duchess of Dorsett with a smooth confidence he most certainly did not feel.
‘Hardly.’ Philippa extended her hand and allowed him to press a kiss against her gloved knuckles. Her wicked left brow raised. Cobalt eyes, far too intelligent to bring Liam any comfort, pinned him like an insect to a board. ‘You came to London. After our last visit, I wasn’t sure if you would.’
Philippa had been the Queen’s messenger four months prior. She brought the news of his brother’s death to him at Holly House. And the Queen’s request for his help. Philippa’s timing wasn’t ideal, and his initial reaction had been… less than cordial.
Liam turned from her astute gaze and sat on his favourite carved armchair with dark-purple upholstery. It was one of the few pieces of furniture in this room large enough to accommodate his frame.
Philippa glanced at the loveseat, dismissed it with a blink, then walked to the chair opposite him.
Liam let out a heavy sigh. ‘I couldn’t leave Theodore. Not when he was in such a bad state.’ He didn’t want to revisit Theo’s last few days of life. He blamed himself for his half-brother’s death. Though he’d only known Theo for just over a month, they grew closer in that time than he and Reynard had been in all the years they spent together.
When Liam returned home from the war in 1844 to a dead father and unlimited access to Richard’s private affairs, he discovered just how deep the Renquist sickness ran. Tenant farmers left to starve while being charged exorbitant rents to fund Richard’s gambling debts. Mistresses paid off to keep Renquist’s darker appetites hidden. And something even more damning: Liam’s mother’s diaries. He found them hidden in Richard’s personal safe.
All the secrets his father tried to keep hidden, Anna Renquist bled onto the pages of her diary. It was there he read about the tragic fate of Theo’s mother. Clara Miller. A lady’s maid and dear friend of Anna’s despite her position as servant. Apparently, Clara’s status meant little to his mother. Anna’s love for Clara was evident in every word she wrote. In her isolated existence, Clara was her only friend. Her closest confidante. And they had something in common.
Lord Richard Renquist.
Clara – much like his mother – was subjected to the warped demands of a man who thought he lived beyond God’s laws. Because Richard did. While Anna couldn’t save Clara from such a horrific fate any more than she could save herself, their shared pain brought them even closer. When Clara inevitably fell pregnant, Richard sent her away. In a cruel move, he separated Anna from her only friend while condemning Clara to a hopeless future. As a pregnant woman with no references, Clara would have limited options for earning any money and even less chance of being able to keep her child.
Anna contracted pneumonia the next winter and died before Liam’s tenth birthday. Liam still wasn’t sure which woman suffered more, but he knew they were both destroyed by the same man.
Lord Richard Renquist.
After finding his mother’s letters, Liam spent three years searching for his half-brother. Theo’s mother had been forced to give Theo up to a foundling home and Clara’s trail ran cold after that. His half-brother’s fate was much like other orphans’ in London: brutal. Three lives destroyed for no reason other than his father’s narcissistic needs.
In November of 1847, Liam finally traced Theo to a dosshouse where he shared his bed in shifts with three other men. By then, there were already signs of the typhoid fever that would ultimately claim Theo’s life. Lack of clean water, putrid sanitation methods, and scarce food in addition to Theo’s attempts of escape through gin and opium all contributed to his declining health.
When Liam found him and took him to Holly House in the stretching plains of Cheshire, he hoped the clean air, warm bed, and healthy food would be enough to bring Theo back from his sickness. While Liam could offer him comfort, he could not find a cure for the typhoid fever raging through Theo’s weakened body.
The grief Liam couldn’t muster for Reynard covered him in waves when Theo died. Of all the Renquist men, Theo deserved a happy ending. While he found his end in the quiet comfort of Liam’s country estate, it was far from happy. Liam failed in his efforts to right his father’s wrong.
Theo followed Reynard into the ground one week after Philippa’s visit.
Liam insisted Theo be buried next to his brother and father. The vicar almost suffered an apoplectic fit, but Liam didn’t care. He hadn’t been able to spare Theo the difficulties of his life, but at least in death, he could honour him.
More fool me.
Philippa blinked. ‘Ah. You couldn’t leave him, and then he left you. I’m so sorry, Liam.’
Liam’s throat tightened and his eyes grew hot.
I will not turn into a watering pot in front of the bloody duchess!
‘The Queen sent for me. Even if Theo had survived the fever, I would have had to leave him.’ Shifting in his chair, Liam cleared his throat. He focused on the sound of the clock ticking, the ridges of carved wood beneath his hands, the leather boot pressing against his heel as he flexed his foot. He did not acknowledge the raw pain in his chest. ‘There’s no need for your condolences.’
Philippa sipped her tea. ‘There’s always need for comfort when we lose someone we love, Liam. Trust me.’
‘I hardly knew him.’
‘Time doesn’t equate to depth of feeling. Love is not ruled by such pedantic measures.’
Liam swallowed down his still-aching grief. ‘Is that why you have come, Philippa? To comfort me? Please. I neither want nor do I need such softness. We are warriors. We do not lick our wounds. We heal. Harder than before, and ready for the next battle. Or we die.’
Philippa nodded. ‘Yes. But we are also human. Life is not just a string of battles.’
‘Tell me, when is the last time you put down your weapons?’
She thwacked her fan against the armrest. ‘Hardly the point, Liam. We are not simply machines of destruction.’
He shrugged. ‘It’s easier to be a machine. At least now I’m destroying to protect instead of to conquer.’
‘Fine. But we must still accept our humanity, which also means accepting our weaknesses.’ Her cobalt eyes trapped him.
God damn her. She sees too much.
‘What weaknesses do you accept? About yourself, Duchess of Dorsett?’
Philippa rolled her eyes. ‘This conversation isn’t about my weaknesses. If I had any, I certainly wouldn’t share them with you.’
‘But you get to be privy to mine?’
She curled her lips in a satisfied smirk. ‘Exactly. Life is rarely fair. You know this better than most. And I know better than most how kindness can cut deeper than cruelty. So, I shall cease being kind to you.’
‘This is your version of kindness?’
Shrugging, Philippa examined the seam of her glove. ‘It was.’ She plucked a loose thread before returning her gaze to Liam. ‘So, you are done sulking in the Cheshire countryside, feeling woe begotten and sorry for yourself.’
‘I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself.’ She certainly wasted no time in shedding her “kindness”. Liam didn’t enjoy being chastised by the duchess.
‘Weren’t you?’
How effortlessly she sparked his ire. And well she knew it. Rage had always been a source of strength for Liam. Now, it pushed out his lingering grief and replaced it with focused purpose. A novel tactic the duchess used with brutal efficiency. He wasn’t sure whether to aim his anger at her or be impressed by her ability to shake him so easily from his melancholy.
‘I was not,’ he growled.
‘Wonderful.’ She picked up a cushion next to her, attempted to fluff it, tsked in disgust, then shoved the offending object behind her. ‘But to the point, you are here now – finally – and we have much to do.’
‘We?’ Alarm replaced Liam’s anger. ‘I don’t recall the Queen saying anything about a joint venture.’
‘You don’t recall it because the Queen didn’t speak with you about this. She spoke to me. And told me to relay the message.’
‘You may outrank me, Philippa, but I don’t answer to you.’
Philippa snorted. Leaning against the back of her chair, she rubbed her index finger against her thumb. ‘You most certainly do. I outrank you in more than just title, Liam. The Queen does not wish you to take on these men alone and she sent me here to ensure that doesn’t happen.’
‘These men are dangerous. Whoever challenges them risks his or her life.’
‘Exactly. Without my help, you’ll be dead within the week.’
‘Would that be such a great loss? Finally, an end to the evil Renquist line.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Please. What a load of rubbish. Evil is not inherited, Liam. That is just an excuse for weak men to avoid accountability for their actions. Evil is a choice. Just as easily determined as courage. Honour. Valour. And with drastically different outcomes for all involved.’
‘Don’t you see, I am trying to choose courage. Honour. Valour.’
‘I know. And I am going to help you.’
‘I don’t need your help.’
The duchess raised a single black brow in an eloquent counterargument.
It is impossible to refute a woman’s eyebrow.
Liam ground his teeth together, whispering a harsh curse. ‘You aren’t going to let me do this alone, are you?’
‘Decidedly not.’
‘You are an incredibly difficult woman, Philippa.’
Her smile was brilliant. ‘The best women are. I knew you’d come around, Liam.’
If Queen Victoria ever decided to vacate the throne, Philippa would make an excellent successor. His begrudging admiration of the duchess didn’t make his situation any better. Liam hoped he could accomplish this task alone, but since when had his hopes ever come to fruition?
Since never.
Yes. Well. Exactly.
Still, he was loathe to give up control of this mission so easily. ‘The Queen may think I need help, but I’ve already taken steps to infiltrate the Devil’s Sons without any assistance from meddling duchesses,’ Liam hedged. He hadn’t taken the steps exactly, but he had them laid out in his mind.
‘Really? What steps have you taken, Liam? I’m dying to know.’ Her eyes widened in a parody of breathless anticipation.
Of course she would call his bluff.
Philippa tapped her jewel-encrusted fan against the arm of her chair again as she waited for his reply. She really was a striking woman, yet she inspired no burning need in his belly.
Not like Miss Smith.
Wonderful.
Instead of focusing on my argument, I’m thinking about my maid. Perhaps Philippa is right. I do need help.
Not that he would ever admit that to Philippa. Liam crossed his leg over his knee, flicking an imaginary piece of lint from his breeches. ‘It’s a simple four-step plan.’
‘With men, it’s always simple.’
Liam allowed the anger to course through his blood, harnessing it, channelling it from molten heat into cold determination. Let Philippa spike his rage; he would re-form the emotion into a blade and use it against her. ‘And with women, it’s always complicated.’
Tipping her head back, Philippa chuckled. A dark, melodious sound that Liam guessed only a few people had ever heard. ‘You have me there. We are complex creatures, Liam.’
Before she could enquire further about his plan, there was a knock on the door.
Miss Smith.
A rumbling growl wanted to emanate from his chest. He crushed the impulse just as the damnable woman entered, pushing a tea trolley laden with delicacies. He could control his base lust, but he couldn’t stop the groan from his stomach.
Philippa’s arch glare left no doubt as to her opinion of his decorum.
This is my house. If my stomach wants to make noise in my own God-damned sitting room, then so be it.
And why was he silently justifying himself to himself?
I’m going mad.
It would explain much.
‘Penny, what excellent timing. You’ve saved Lord Renquist from having to admit his shortcomings before he’s had a fortifying cup of tea.’
‘Coffee,’ Liam growled, irritated beyond measure that the duchess felt free to use Miss Smith’s first name. A pleasure he ruthlessly denied himself.
‘Savage,’ Philippa muttered.
Miss Smith’s hazel gaze flew from the duchess to Liam, then back again. ‘Shall I pour?’
Philippa waved her hand. ‘Please. We are capable of serving ourselves, Penny. I’m sure there are other things needing your attention. Thank you.’
Now the arrogant duchess was dismissing his staff. Perhaps he wanted Miss Smith to pour his coffee and serve it to him. It would give him an excuse to be closer to the intoxicating woman. Maybe catch a hint of her scent. Like a Yuletide biscuit: both sweet and spicy.
Miss Smith glanced at him, unsure of what she should do. When he nodded to her, confirming Philippa’s command – because really, he could pour his own damn coffee, even if it meant missing the opportunity to touch her fingers as she gave him his cup… especially if it meant avoiding that temptation – she dipped her chin and exited the room, taking some of the fire’s warmth with her.
Liam stood to pour his coffee, then reclaimed his seat, exhaling his exasperation at the whole mess of a situation in which he found himself.
Philippa leaned forward, pouring her tea. No cream or sugar for the duchess. She sat back and stared at him over the steaming cup. This was yet another stratagem. But he could wait her out. He sipped his coffee and stared right back.
‘Quite a fortuitous find, your new maid.’ Philippa’s tone could have cut the tea cakes sitting between them.
‘Since when did my domestic staff concern you?’
‘Since now. You should be careful, Liam. The Devil’s Sons aren’t above infiltrating your home with their spies. Penny was only lately employed by my friend, Lady Drake. Now she is in your household.’
Liam leaned back in his chair. ‘Are you suggesting Miss Smith is working for them?’ Alarm flared. What a preposterous accusation. And yet, Philippa was not a woman prone to flights of fancy.
‘I am not suggesting anything, except this: you need to tread very carefully. You may not value your life, but others do.’
Laughter was a rare thing, but Liam couldn’t stop the harsh chuckle. ‘First you offer me comfort, now you declare your affections for me?’ It was a preposterous assumption. While they never discussed the topic, Liam long suspected Philippa’s proclivities leaned in a much different direction. He would be the last candidate to claim her attentions.
Smart woman.
Despite this truth, he wasn’t about to miss an opportunity to tease the indomitable Duchess of Dorsett. He tilted his coffee cup up in a toast. ‘I’m flattered, Philippa, but I just don’t think it would work out between us.’
‘What is that lovely phrase I heard in Whitechapel last night… oh yes: suck a nob, you vazey ratbag. I’d rather peel off my skin and soak in lye than suffer your affections, Liam. But that doesn’t mean I wish you dead. Although now, I’m reconsidering.’
‘I’m sure you aren’t alone. As for spies within my staff, I shall keep a wary eye out for any nefarious behaviour.’ There was certainly one maid he wouldn’t mind watching closely.
Philippa rolled her eyes. ‘You always were a stubborn fool. And don’t think you’ve distracted me from your four-step plan. Exactly what are you thinking? Step one: fall on your sword. Step two: bleed all over the floor. Step three: die. Step four: decay?’
‘Not exactly.’ Liam gave in to the inevitable and shared his plan.
‘Dear God, Liam. I think my four steps were better. There is no possible way you can infiltrate this group and take down their leaders on your own. Bravado does not make up for lack of strategy, knowledge, and skill.’
‘I have skill,’ Liam argued.
Philippa’s gaze assessed him from the top of his head to the tip of his toe. ‘You have some skill, but is it enough?’ Her tone left no doubt as to her thoughts on the matter. ‘Thankfully, you know someone with superior skill, immense knowledge, and staggering strategy.’
Liam cocked his head. ‘I can’t think of anyone who matches that description.’
‘As I said, men are often fools. I shall help you, Liam.’ She blinked as if waiting for him to acknowledge this immeasurable gift before she continued.
Liam sipped his coffee.
Philippa narrowed her eyes.
Exhaling a scathing sigh, she broke their standoff. ‘If only to save myself the trouble of explaining your untimely demise to the Queen.’
‘How do you propose to assist me? Assuming I even want your help?’ He wasn’t fool enough to blindly accept her offer, no matter how often she told him the opposite.
Philippa took her time in selecting an iced cake. She nibbled the edge, made a face, then placed the delicacy on her saucer as if it were a drowned rodent. ‘In times such as these, there is only one real solution.’ She lifted her gaze to Liam.
‘Do tell.’ He hated that her words struck a chord of anxiety within him. What might she suggest? And how could he refuse?
‘A ball.’
‘A ball?’ Liam shook his head. ‘Of course, a woman would suggest a ball. Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘The last man who called me ridiculous lost certain body parts to which he had grown immeasurably attached. Yes, you idiot. A masque ball, to be precise.’
‘Why in the devil would I throw a masque?’
‘Because the man who rules the Devil’s Sons is a coward. He will never meet with you in the open. So let him come to you cloaked and believing he is safe behind his disguise. Convince the little baron’s son to extend your request to join the Devil’s Sons to their leader. You will meet with the man at your ball. He need never reveal his identity to you, but we’ll be watching. We can mark him, follow him back to his lair. Identify the bastard and cut off the head of this snake.’
Damnation.
It was a good idea. He never would have thought to host a ball as a trap to catch a killer. But, of course, a duchess would. If that duchess was Lady Philippa Winterbourne.