Chapter 18 #2
Something in his tone made the other man lower his gaze. “Then you’ll have my full cooperation, Your Grace. I’ll draft the warrant when we have the testimony. Bring me Portsbury’s account within the week.”
Duncan rose. “You’ll have it.”
The runner gathered the papers, tucking them into his coat. “God help the bastard if he falls into your hands first.”
Duncan’s mouth curved, though it wasn’t a smile. “God won’t be quick enough.”
When Duncan stood and strode away, the tavern air clung to him: smoke, sweat, the stale scent of spilled ale. He pushed through the door, the hinges groaning in protest, and stepped into the narrow street beyond.
He adjusted his gloves, jaw set, and started toward the waiting carriage. His steps were measured, his shoulders broad beneath the cut of his coat, the kind of quiet power that made men instinctively clear his path.
And yet his thoughts refused to obey him.
He should have been calculating Felton’s ruin: the statements, the signatures, the leverage he could wield once Portsbury signed.
But his mind betrayed him, returning again and again to Catherine. To her voice when she was angry, the quiet tremor when she was not. To the taste of her the previous night, a taste he knew he would not forget for as long as they both lived.
He could still feel it if he let himself: soft, hesitant, laced with disbelief and defiance. She had tasted of something so sweet he dared not name.
She is positively irresistible.
He pushed the thought aside, striding down the narrow lane, but it followed him like a shadow. Every sound seemed to echo her name. He wanted her. God help him, he wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything.
But he could not afford to satisfy his urges directly. There was a score to be settled and a villain to apprehend. Once he knew Catherine and all she cared for were safe, then he could fully enjoy her.
“Duncan!”
The familiar voice carried from across the street. Stephen.
Duncan halted, jaw tightening as his friend emerged from the shadows with his usual unhurried swagger, hat tipped rakishly, the grin of a man who had never once taken the world too seriously.
“Caught you at last,” Stephen said cheerfully.
“At last?” Duncan replied dryly. “Did we not see each other just last night?”
Stephen chuckled. “Did you not miss me as I have missed you?” He winked playfully, eliciting a groan from Duncan.
“Do you ever take any matter in your life to heart? Have you no business of your own to attend to this morning?”
Stephen raised a brow. “Business? At this time of day? Heavens protect me from ever experiencing such an inclination.” He doffed his hat at a lady who was selling flowers from a cart.
“I am just coming home. I danced ‘til the wee hours of the morning with the most charming companions and was mightily disappointed that you and your Duchess left the ball before the sun came up.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively as he replaced his hat upon his head.
“Now, where did the two of you scamper off to?”
Duncan granted his friend a tight smile. “You have a talent for dramatics.”
“I have a talent for observation,” Stephen countered easily. “And what I observe is a man who looks as though he’s just lost a duel to his own thoughts.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You look… different. Distracted.”
“Marriage,” Duncan said simply, as though the word itself were explanation enough.
“Marriage?” Stephen’s grin widened. “Interesting. Most men speak that word as a death sentence. You say it as though it were a weapon.”
Duncan’s mouth curved faintly. “It can be both.”
Stephen laughed, unbothered. “Then it’s true, isn’t it? Your duchess has unsettled you.”
Duncan turned his head sharply, eyes narrowing. “Careful.”
“Careful?” Stephen mocked lightly. “What will you do, glare me into submission? Come now, Duncan. You’ve spent years deflecting every ambitious woman in London. And yet this one, with her quiet eyes and charitable good deeds, has you coming apart at the seams. Admit it.”
“Enough.” Duncan swatted a hand at Stephen dismissively. “I will not discuss the inner workings of my marriage with a rapscallion like you.”
“Ha!” Stephen laughed brightly. “I do wonder at your behavior, old friend. One moment you are mired in contemplation, and the very next, you are as jovial as ever. Come…” He coaxed. “Tell me why you are so very difficult to read these days. What has become of my former comrade?”
Duncan adjusted his gloves again and gave his head a small shake. “Forgive me, Stephen, for being so unpredictable. I am preoccupied. Felton’s dealings reach deeper than you know. I must end his terrorizing ways now before he can do worse damage.”
He stopped and looked up and down the length of the street, then made to cross the busy roadway.
“Wait,” Stephen insisted. “Where are you going now?”
“I must visit Lord Portsbury.”
Stephen heaved a wretched sigh. “I suppose you must. His display at the ball last night was disconcerting, to say the least. You did him a kindness in making sure that he left immediately and was returned to his townhouse without suffering further embarrassment.”
“The humiliation of enduring Portsbury’s behavior at the ball is no longer of consequence. I must speak to him directly on matters of business and…”
Stephen gasped. “You mean to involve Catherine’s father in your case against Lord Felton?”
“Of course.” Duncan stared at his friend as though such a deduction was obvious, rather than noteworthy.
“He is a living, breathing representative who can speak openly and honestly about his dealings with the crooked Earl. I should think he would relish the opportunity to see Felton led away to jail.”
Stephen tilted his head, studying him. “Does Her Grace know you’re doing this? The business with Felton? Does she know you mean to involve her father?”
“No.”
“Will you tell her?”
Duncan’s silence was answer enough.
Stephen exhaled, shaking his head. “You’re a bloody fool sometimes. You claim to protect her, but you shut her out of everything that might show her who you are. Do you think she’ll thank you for that?”
“I do not require her gratitude,” Duncan said evenly. “Only her safety.”
“But do you not think she should know what occupies your every other thought? Should you not consult her on this matter and see what she suggests?”
Duncan did not answer. He could not think of a response that would suffice.
He would give Catherine anything. He would do anything to see that everyone who had ever dared to harm her was brought forward to pay for their crimes.
But he would not ask her to join him in this endeavor.
She was too kind. She cared too much for the poor and downtrodden.
She would never understand the things he did to gain the knowledge and access he needed to seek his revenge.
They stood in silence for a moment, the night humming around them. Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled the hour.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Stephen muttered.
With that, he tipped his hat and disappeared into the mist, leaving Duncan alone once more with the echo of his words.