Chapter 3
Am I really going to wait here for him, like a dog waiting for my master to return to his London townhouse?
Laura had been taken to His Grace’s study, as opposed to the drawing room or some other place more appropriate for meeting a lady.
But then, Laura supposed she was no longer a lady.
Why should she expect proper behavior from the Duke of Reeds?
She curled her fingers over the arms of her chair and tucked her chin against her chest, thinking.
Once, she had lived in a place like this; every spring, her father had brought her to his London townhouse, and a knot twisted in Laura’s chest when she thought of all she had lost.
How much longer would she wait? Laura had paid a local woman to watch Edmund while she confronted Lord Dudley, and the longer she stayed at His Grace’s house, the more money that woman would demand for watching the baby.
Laura had a shilling and three pennies tucked into her pocket.
She could not afford to be careless with her money.
And what would the duke even do? Eventually, he would return home, but that did not necessarily mean he would be true to his word. It was entirely possible that he had asked her to leave only to spare his sister’s reputation, with no thought given to Laura or her plight.
Behind her, a throat cleared. She started and spun around so quickly in the chair that she nearly toppled forward. The Duke of Reeds stood in the doorway, watching her with an amused smile. “So you came,” he said.
She straightened her spine. “You told me to.”
His Grace strode to her with slow, feline grace.
He looked like a dangerous man, but Laura could not have said if the impression came from his elegant, effortless movements or from the sudden stirring in her chest. The duke was far handsomer than any man had a right to be.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, and when he reached past her for the decanter, Laura could not help but notice how the fabric of his jacket pulled taut over his muscled arms. His hair was dark, appearing brown or black depending on how the light struck him, and his eyes were a deep, piercing green.
She caught the warm scent of lavender mingling with orange blossoms, and it sent her heart aflutter.
He smelled like springtime, promising new growth and warmth.
“Brandy?” he offered, his slender fingers curled around the bottle.
Laura grimaced. Ladies were not offered brandy. She could not decide if His Grace had intended for the offer to be a slight or not.
“No, thank you,” she said, fixing him with a stern expression.
His Grace only shrugged, as if to say your loss, and poured himself a generous portion of the amber-brown drink. He dropped into the chair across the desk from her and took a long drink. “I took the initiative of speaking with Lord Dudley,” he said.
“And I am certain he told you nothing but lies,” Laura said.
His Grace lifted a brow. “Are you?” he asked. “So you did not claim that someone delivered Lord Dudley’s illegitimate child to you.”
Heat rushed to her face. “That is true,” she said begrudgingly.
“And you expect Lord Dudley to raise this child,” His Grace continued. “An illegitimate son. You do realize that he is a married man, don’t you?”
“I suppose you will now tell me that I am ruining a good man’s reputation!” Laura snapped. “I do not care that he is a married man. He has the duty to do right by the child he fathered! And if you have made me wait all this time just to tell me—”
“How the world works?” he interrupted mildly.
Laura scowled. “—that you will not help, you are a cruel and despicable man!”
“As despicable as Lord Dudley?”
“More so!”
His Grace took a sip of brandy and idly swirled the drink in his hand, so the spirit climbed the sides of the glass. “You seem to have no notion of how the world works.”
“I know how the world works,” Laura said defensively. “But just because the world works a certain way does not mean that people should turn a blind eye to injustices!”
“I agree,” he said. “But it occurs to me that you have no proof that Lord Dudley is this child’s father. You cannot possibly believe that some wild woman, sneaking onto someone’s grounds and bringing such a scandal, is credible.”
Her face burned, and the duke’s eyes widened in mock surprise.
“Why, maybe you are a charlatan and seek to ruin the reputation of a good and virtuous man!” the duke exclaimed.
“Or maybe you do not care about his reputation at all. Perhaps, the child is your own—born in some disgraceful circumstances, no doubt—and you saw the opportunity to extort some money from poor Lord Dudley. He is an anxious and gullible man.”
Laura jolted to her feet, her blood roaring in her ears. “How dare you?”
“How dare I? The burden of proof is on you. I am only noting the obvious.” His Grace paused and tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as he looked at her. “Or are you under the impression that the ton believes the claims of every wild woman who stumbles into our garden parties?”
“I have a letter which attests to the child’s parentage,” Laura said.
“Forged.” He took a swallow of brandy. “Next?”
She curled her hands into fists, her nails digging into the palms of her hands.
Laura knew that she would be unable to persuade the duke if she lost her temper, but remaining pleasant with him seemed like an impossible feat.
Even Laura, who had often been told that she had the patience of Job, found herself wanting to scream.
His Grace continued to affect a pleasant, careless attitude as if he found her endlessly amusing.
He probably did. Being the Duke of Reeds, the man probably assumed that everyone’s problems were beneath him. She was probably just one of many passing amusements that he intended to use to add a little excitement to his otherwise monotonous day.
“The child is not mine,” she said stiffly. “And he looks like Lord Dudley.”
“So?” His Grace asked. “Maybe that is precisely why you chose that gentleman’s name to defame. He happens to look like your lover.”
“My lover?” she scoffed. “You forget yourself, Your Grace! I am a virtuous woman, and I have never—”
“Because those lacking in virtue always proclaim their own!” he exclaimed, laughing. “If you have nothing but your word, that proves nothing!”
Laura slapped her palms flat on her desk. His Grace leaned forward, smirking. “I have solved you,” he said.
The comment was so strange and unexpected that Laura’s anger abated for just a moment. “Solved me?” she asked.
His Grace leaned back. “Indeed.”
Laura waited for some elaboration, but he offered none. Instead, he tipped his head back and finished the rest of the brandy in a single swallow.
“I am not a mystery to be solved.”
“Not any longer.”
Laura frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion. “And what do you think you have discovered, Your Grace?”
“You are a lady.”
She inhaled sharply, the words echoing inside her head and ringing like church bells. No one had called her a lady in a very long time, and based on his behavior, she had assumed that he had no notion of who she was or had been. Maybe he had not known.
Maybe she had said something that made him realize the truth.
Or maybe he had recognized her? Laura could barely breathe, her mind remembering smiles from gentlemen of years past. Even if none of them had ever expressed an interest in marrying her, they had still liked her well enough to smell in her direction.
“Speechless?” he asked. “You were so vocal just a moment ago.”
“How long have you known?”
If this man had known that she was a lady the entire time and feigned ignorance, she would be furious.
“Just now,” he said. “I can tell from how you speak. What happened to you?”
Laura shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “I am not here for my own sake.”
When His Grace stood, Laura’s pulse jumped. He swirled his glass again and frowned at it, as if he had only just realized that it was empty. “If I had to guess, I would say that your parents saw fit to hide you away. Is it because you are so brazen? Did you embarrass them?”
“No.”
“Or maybe this child is your own?”
She fixed him with a glare, her resolve wavering as he stepped toward her.
The duke stood so near that the scent of his cologne—Albany, she would recognize it anywhere—filled her nose.
Laura had always favored that scent, that blend of lavender and citrus that caught her attention and teased her senses.
“Where was it?” His Grace asked. “Oh! You look so poor. Was it a convent?”
Laura clenched her jaw. “Are you certain I am not a charlatan posing as a lady who was exiled to a convent?”
“Quite certain.”
“Then, are you finished tormenting me, Your Grace?”
He shook his head and smiled wryly. “You deceived me,” His Grace pointed out. “What does the Scripture say? Let he who is without sin cast the first stone?”
The verse was not quite applicable to the present situation, but Laura understood the point he was trying to make. She sighed deeply. “I should not have come here. You do not care.”
His gaze sharpened, and a flicker of something—perhaps affront—flashed in his eyes. “I do care,” he said. “I have three sisters and a number of nieces and nephews. I would advise you not to be so hasty with your assessments of people.”
“Do you?”
“If I did not, I would never have invited you into my home. I take matters like these very seriously.”
A lump rose in Laura’s throat. His Grace claimed to care, which was far beyond anything she had hoped from him, but Laura knew from experience how deceptive men in the ton could be. “So what do you intend to do about the matter?” she asked.
His Grace leaned closer to her, and Laura froze. Her mind screamed for her to step away from this man. The duke’s smile could only be described as rakish, and despite knowing that she was a lady, he had not called for a chaperone. He was a dangerous man, one whom she would be foolish to trust.
Laura’s body remained rooted to the spot, though.
He was sinfully handsome, and it had been so long since any man had looked at her, much less one with such liveliness.
Such interest. He gazed at her like they were conspirators in some plot, like Brutus and Cassius conspiring to betray Caesar.
“I could speak to Lord Dudley again. He is a cowardly man who prefers to avoid confrontations, and I am the Duke of Reeds. I might be able to persuade him to raise the child as his ward.”
She wondered if persuade meant threaten to ruin, and despite everything Mother Superior had taught her about kindness and forgiveness, Laura found herself unable to muster even an ounce of compassion for the reprehensible Lord Dudley.
“That would be exceedingly kind of you,” she said. “But I suspect you want payment of some sort.”
Her stomach clenched as she considered what he might want from her. Laura had nothing of material value to give. Would he request a favor of another sort? The study suddenly seemed too warm, and sweat gathered at the small of her back.
He inclined his head slightly. “You are quite clever. I do want payment of a sort, but it is nothing like what you are thinking. I want a favor.”
She gulped, trying to force away the lump that rose in her throat. “What manner of favor?”
He did not answer at once, and a shiver of unease swept through Laura. She had never been so close to a man before. If she wanted, she could touch him, kiss him even.
“It is a ridiculous thing,” he said, “but my sisters are so insistent upon it. I am becoming a little vexed by it, to be honest.”
His sisters? Laura’s brow furrowed, for she was quite certain His Grace did not wish to engage in an amorous congress if his sisters were involved in his favor. “And?” she asked.
“My sisters wish to see me married. I want you to lie and say that we are to be wed,” he said, voice soft and sultry. “Do that, and I will convince Lord Dudley to care for his child. What do you think?”