Chapter Twenty-Seven

James stood, hat in hand, in the entryway of Falstone House while the butler delivered his card to the Dangerous Duke. If ever a person had embarked on a fool’s errand, he had. But this was something he could not leave undone.

The butler reappeared. “His Grace says you may join him in his book room, but he advises you not to.”

Most any gentleman would take that warning and flee with all possible haste. James, however, had made his choice long before arriving here. The duke’s temper was infamous, and James had to be absolutely certain Daphne had borne no blame for what he had done.

“I will join His Grace in the book room, thank you.”

The butler’s seemingly unbreakable mask of dignified professionalism slipped. “Truly?” he sputtered before recovering himself. “Very well, my lord.” He turned and led the way up the stairs toward the first floor, no doubt still looking a touch shocked.

At the door to the book room, James paused long enough to firm his resolve. If His Grace’s reputation was at all based in fact, James might find himself in need of assistance to simply leave the house.

The door to the book room stood slightly ajar. Pushing it open and stepping inside, the butler announced, “Lord Tilburn, Your Grace,” in a voice entirely devoid of his earlier astonishment.

James stepped inside only to be met by the Duke of Kielder’s glare as he stood not ten feet from the doorway.

“Only a fool would have come up after being warned not to,” the duke said.

James nodded his understanding. “I believe that is one of the more accurate evaluations of myself I have heard lately.”

An unfamiliar voice chimed in. “Methinks the fool speaks in riddles.”

A single glance identified the third occupant of the room. He wore the uniform of the Royal Navy. His green eyes and golden curls immediately connected him to the youngest Lancaster sister.

“Linus,” the Duke said, “you see before you the very definition of an imbecile.”

“Ah.”

“Tilburn, this is Lieutenant Lancaster.”

James managed a creditable bow despite his growing apprehension. Confronting Daphne’s violent-tempered guardian had been an intimidating enough prospect. Having her older brother present, he who had spent half his life training for battle, only made the situation worse. “I am pleased to meet you,” he said.

“Odd,” Lieutenant Lancaster replied. “I am not at all pleased to meet you.”

“I deserve that.”

The lieutenant’s expression remained thoroughly displeased. “Oh, you deserve far more than that.”

James nodded. “Agreed.”

The duke seemed to abruptly lose patience with the exchange. He made his way to one side of the room and sat behind a large desk.

James turned to watch him, only then getting a good look at the desk where the duke now sat. The entire surface was covered with weaponry. Several dueling pistols rested beside a hunting rifle. Who brings a hunting rifle to London? A good portion of the desktop housed swords of varying lengths, and a particularly dangerous-looking dagger sat nearest the duke’s right hand.

His gaze met the duke’s. Never before had a single look chilled James to his very core. “In light of the fact that there are ladies present in the house, I opted to leave the more menacing weapons out of sight,” the duke said. “Though several are still within reach.”

James had a feeling he did not want to know what or where the hidden weapons were. “Yes, Your Grace.” James’s eyes swept the arsenal once more before shifting of their own accord to the lieutenant standing at the duke’s shoulder, his hand resting ominously on the hilt of his uniform sword.

The duke picked up the dagger, casually spinning it about in his hand. “I assume you have come to plead your case. I suggest you do so quickly—that is my least favorite part of these encounters.”

“His most favorite part involves the weaponry,” the lieutenant said. “All of it.”

He detected not an ounce of bravado in the declaration. “I have not come intent on defending myself, Your Grace. If I had only my own interests at heart, I would have fled to Lancashire or the Americas or someplace farther still.”

“A much safer distance,” the duke said, still handling the dagger with an alarming degree of finesse. “I did, after all, promise that if you hurt my Daphne, I would remove your vital organs with a blunt instrument.”

James swallowed back a lump of apprehension. “I came because I have been concerned about Miss Lancaster.”

“No doubt an oddly unfamiliar sensation,” Lieutenant Lancaster observed dryly.

James had anticipated making his statement, enduring some kind of painful punishment, then limping away. The tongue lashing came as a surprise.

Perhaps a fast and detailed recounting of the truth of all that had occurred was best. The duke could not possibly think Miss Lancaster complicit if he knew the whole of it. That was James’s first priority. “When my father first told me of your suggestion that I court your sister-in-law, I will admit I was hesitant. However—”

“I would never make such a harebrained suggestion.” The duke’s interruption was more growled than spoken.

For a moment, those words did not sort themselves into any degree of sense. “Shortly before Miss Lancaster’s first at-home,” James reminded him. “My father told me you approached him suggesting that I court your sister-in-law, beginning with calling on her.”

“Calling on her was all I suggested.”

Could that be true? Had Father lied? James’s heart sank to his stomach. Of course Father had lied. He had done little but lie. “Calling on her was all I agreed to at first, along with offering a friendly greeting should I see her at balls or soirees.”

The duke and lieutenant appeared wholly unimpressed with his original adherence to gentlemanly behavior.

“Under the influence of my father’s threats and machinations, I allowed myself to be manipulated into pursuing a match with Miss Lancaster and did so by giving the impression of an eager and willing suitor and purporting a deeper affection than I felt.”

“You lied to her.” The duke’s words were tight, angry.

“I did.” He swallowed against the lump of regret and apprehension in his throat. “When your sister-in-law learned of my behavior, she put an end to our association, and rightly so. I am concerned that she will be blamed.”

“She is a young lady who was actively and publicly courted,” the duke said. “Every expectation was raised of a connection, and that courtship has ended. All of Society will blame her, and your perfidy will follow her, perhaps for years. My standing and influence will significantly lessen what she will endure, but even I cannot eliminate it entirely. She will suffer, and for that, Tilburn, I should run you through right here and now.”

“But you do not blame her? You won’t hold this debacle against her?” He cared too much for Daphne to allow her to be further injured if he could at all prevent it.

The duke pointed his dagger directly at James. “You risked your very life by confronting me in order to save her from mistreatment when you yourself are guilty of doing her an egregious injustice, of taking advantage of her good and kind heart, of subjecting her to the ridicule of an unforgiving Society?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Far from improving the duke’s opinion of him, James’s declaration seemed to annoy his interrogator further. “And what do you hope to gain by this? Do you think I will plead your case to Daphne?”

“No, sir. Not at all.”

The tension in His Grace’s countenance emphasized the massive scarring that marred his face. The web of badly healed skin pulled James’s attention despite himself.

Lieutenant Lancaster stepped around the desk, his gaze uncomfortably scrutinizing.

“I understand, Tilburn,” His Grace said, “that you have arranged for your mother to have a companion. Your brother’s financial position is relatively sound. Further, your father is withholding your income for the remainder of his pathetic life. Does that accurately sum up your situation?”

Surprised, James nodded once more. How had the duke come by such detailed information so quickly? He didn’t think all of those things were common knowledge.

“Might I suggest”—more than a hint of condescension colored the duke’s words—“when you are lord of your father’s estate, you consider the possibility of hiring a new steward? The man I sent had only to buy the gum-flapper two pints at the local ale house before he knew everything there was to know about you and your family.”

James sat in stunned silence. The duke’s servant had plied the Techney man of business with ale in order to ask prying questions? What else was the duke willing to do to accomplish his ends?

His Grace showed no outward signs of a guilty conscience over something that most would consider more than a touch underhanded. “If any member of my staff so much as discussed my morning meal preferences, I would dismiss him forthwith.” James would feel more at ease if he knew just what the duke’s intentions were toward him.

“What do you intend to do about your current financial state?”

Likely the duke knew precisely James’s plans, thanks to that drunkard of a servant. Honesty was decidedly the best approach. “I am looking to secure employment, perhaps as a gentleman’s secretary. I do have some experience in the political arena and could likely make myself useful. I mean to give it my very best effort, at least.” Lud, his voice hadn’t cracked so much since his Harrow days.

The duke folded his arms across his chest and leveled James with a look that made his heart thud to a stop. He knew instinctively they’d reached the point in the interview where his answers would directly impact the duke’s feelings about putting a painful period to James’s existence. “Why not marry a girl with a large dowry like every other pinch-fisted, worthless worm of the ton would do?” The duke’s scars grew more pronounced as his eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened. That did not bode well.

“Or better yet,” the lieutenant jumped in again, “simply fall in line once more with your father’s demands and hope he restores your income?”

The idea required no thought, no consideration. “I would rather be a pauper than puppet to a tyrant.”

“How does your father feel about your decision?” The duke’s tone had grown less mocking.

“My father’s opinions no longer matter to me.”

“Your father’s opinions have never mattered to anyone of sense,” the duke said. “You’re not likely to secure many comforts on a secretary’s salary.” The duke’s warning sounded decidedly halfhearted, as though he felt obligated to say something but would rather have seen James suffer unsuspectingly.

“If poverty is the price of integrity,” James said, “I am willing to pay it.”

“A very pretty speech.” The lieutenant could hardly have looked less sincere. “What are your current intentions in regard to Daphne?”

Did his intentions really matter? It wasn’t as though he had any options. “I do not mean to impose upon her. I only wished to make certain she was not blamed for this.”

The lieutenant’s eyes narrowed. “Then you had nothing to gain personally by coming here?”

They both studied him. The duke had not set down his dagger, and the lieutenant’s hand continued to rest on his scabbard.

The duke broke the heavy silence. “None of us blames Daphne for your stupidity.”

“Then she is well?” he asked, feeling his tension lessen.

The reassurance he expected did not come.

“She is well, isn’t she?”

They offered no confirmation. Every ounce of anxiety returned. Something was wrong with Daphne.

“Is she ill? Has something happened?”

“We will look after Daphne,” the duke said. He gestured with his dagger to the door. “Off with you.”

Lieutenant Lancaster moved to James’s side, obviously intent on seeing that he complied with the duke’s dismissal.

James sidestepped him. “What is wrong with Daphne?” Panic surged through him. What had happened to her? Was she injured?

“You do not have the right to use her Christian name, Lord Tilburn,” the lieutenant said, taking him firmly by the arm.

“What’s happened? Please—”

A hard shove forced him to stumble to the doorway.

“Consider yourself fortunate that neither the duke nor I acted upon our first impulse to simply shoot you on sight.” The lieutenant handed him over to a waiting footman. “Scurry off, Lord Tilburn. And forget you ever heard of Daphne Lancaster.”

The book room doors snapped shut as the footman, joined by the starchy butler, escorted him down the corridor and out of the house.

“Please,” he pled with the servants. “I only need to know that Miss Lancaster is well. Please.”

The front door closed firmly. He stood there facing it, worry filling every part of him.

“Please,” he continued pleading, though he stood there alone. “I need to know she is well. I need to.”

No one answered because no one was listening.