CHAPTER 9
A Wicked Notion
The girl looked at him in alarm, but at that moment, Connor heard her maid sharply clear her throat. They stepped apart a heartbeat before some portly old gent wandered into the aisle and began studying the bookshelves.
It was time to take their conversation outside.
Connor gave his chosen accomplice a discreet nod toward the back door of the establishment, indicating that she follow.
She furrowed her brow, but he did not wait for her to object, slipping out of the aisle. As he walked out the back door of the bookshop, he glanced over his shoulder and saw the look of baffled worry that she and her maid exchanged.
He must have intrigued the lady, though, for a moment later, both women followed him out into another cobbled shopping lane. Unlike the arcade, however, this one had no roof.
It was also considerably less crowded, and for his part, he was glad to get out of the dim, stuffy shop on such a pleasant spring day.
Outside, horses were tethered in front of different establishments here and there, tails swishing, stirrups run up neatly to the saddles, but at the moment, no carriages were passing, so the street was quiet.
Candy smells sweetened the air from the confectionery a few doors down. Hanging baskets of flowers swung in the slight wind.
There were playbills and other advertisements plastered on the wall near the spot where they stood. They flapped in the breeze, and the pub from which the smell of food and the sound of laughter spilled out a short distance down the way seemed interesting.
He wished Lady Margaret and he could have had the luxury of strolling here together merely on promenade, visiting the shops, having a bite to eat at that cheerful pub with its door propped open. He should have liked to buy her some trifling bauble or other, since God knew he had more gold than Midas now.
She deserved spoiling, he thought. But at the moment, she was staring at him dubiously.
“Give us a moment, would you?” he said politely to her maid, and though he said it with a smile, his tone made it clear this was an order.
“Oh…!” Lady Margaret said when he commandeered her hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow.
“Walk with me a moment.” He led her away a few sauntering paces, keeping his voice down. “Though our chat requires privacy, the bookshop was not inappropriate, for, as it happens, I have a story to tell you, my lady.”
She had to turn her head all the way to see him past the brim of her bonnet. “I’m listening.”
Connor shortened his strides as they strolled so she could keep pace with him more easily.
“Once upon a time,” he began, “there was an Englishman who’d been a marquess for decades. But after some obscure personal favor he’d done for King George, this chap was made a duke. Let’s call him Granduncle Charles.”
“Ah,” she said. “The first Duke of Amberley?”
He gave a terse nod. “Yes. He had great wealth, vast power, wide influence and many friends, and, one assumes, some enemies as well. But when he died peacefully in bed about two years ago at the ripe old age of seventy-one, his exit from this earth was deemed of natural causes.
“Since the first duke had no son,” he continued, “his younger brother took up the title. Granduncle Rupert was the churchman of the family, as I mentioned to you last night. You do remember that, don’t you, amidst all the excitement of showing off your ankles?”
She huffed at his mischievous reminder, but said, “Of course I do. A duke, a churchman, and a soldier, you told me.”
“Precisely. You look very pretty today, by the by.”
“Oh—thank you,” she said with a blush.
It was true. She wore a cornflower-blue pelisse, he believed it was called, over a cream-colored muslin gown with a small pattern of muted blue flowers. The brim of her golden chip bonnet was swathed in an airy scarf, but he noted the nutmeg-brown tendrils that escaped from underneath it, and found himself wondering how long her hair was when it hung loose.
To her shoulders? Down the middle of her back?
But thinking about her back was dangerous. For he imagined it bare, and his mind offered up a ready fantasy of creamy skin, delicate shoulder blades and a supple spine, the curve of a slim waist, the flare of her womanly hips…
When his fingertips started to tingle with the need to glide all over her body, he dropped his gaze to the well-polished toes of his black boots, tapped his hat against his thigh a few times, and continued his story.
“Well,” he said as they strolled on, “as it turned out, the poor vicar-duke lasted less than a year in his new role. He went out walking one day, contemplating heaven, I suppose, when he lost his footing on a high promontory overlooking a river on his estate, and fell to his death. It was deemed an accident.”
“How awful!” She glanced anxiously at him. “I am sorry for your loss.”
He shrugged. “Thanks, but I only met him once, as a boy. My grandfather brought me to London to meet all my English relatives. He didn’t really get along with them, you see, which is why he moved to Ireland after leaving the Army.
“In any case, Rupert’s son, Richard, became the third duke. Did you know him, if he was such great friends with your suitor?”
“No. He died before Bryce and I were introduced.”
“Ah.” Connor nodded. “Here is where things start to get interesting. By the time Richard came into the title, it seems he’d begun to suspect that something was, er, rotten in Denmark.”
“How so?”
“He found his father’s fall from that cliff quite suspicious, and began looking into it. But before he reached any certain conclusions, Richard had an unfortunate carriage accident of his own several months into his tenure as duke.”
“Dreadful.” She shook her head.
“To be fair, he was known to be fond of driving too fast. Still…”
“Yes.” She gave him a troubled glance. “One does start to wonder.”
“Indeed. It was at that point that Mr. Rollins, the family solicitor, tracked me down in Ireland to let me know I’d just become the fourth duke.”
“Were you shocked?” she asked with a smile.
“Flabbergasted.” He smiled back. “I’d barely finished unpacking from the Peninsula. I stayed on for several months after Waterloo to help with the occupation, so I had just got home.”
“Why?” she asked abruptly, sounding mystified. “Hadn’t you had enough of the war?”
He shrugged. “Fighting’s what I do. Well,” he added awkwardly, “it’s what I used to do, anyway.” He shook off the uncomfortable topic and forged on.
“When the solicitor explained this run of ‘bad luck’ that had befallen my relatives in England over the past two years, it probably should’ve alerted me that something was wrong. But in my shock at the news, I must’ve ignored any inner warning. Either that, or I’d got so used to being surrounded by death that it just seemed normal to me—at first, anyway.”
She made a soft sound of sympathy.
“But then,” he continued, “I arrived in London to claim the title. And in the short four months since I got here, there’ve been two attempts on my life. Not counting the duel.”
She stopped walking and turned to him. “What?”
He sighed. “Somebody’s trying to kill me.”
She stared at him. “Oh my God.”
He shrugged, smirked a bit. “Nothing new in that, really. But, I confess, when your suitor called me out, and then you came knocking at my door moments later, I thought you both might be a part of it somehow.”
She gasped. “Me?”
“Silly, I know. Sorry. I’ve become a bit paranoid of late.”
“One can hardly blame you!” She looked dazed at his revelation, and indignant on his behalf. “How awful. I’m so sorry you’re going through this.”
“Thanks.” Her show of instant support comforted Connor more than he would’ve expected. A bit of sympathy was welcome for a change—especially coming from a beautiful woman.
Even if she did have a suitor.
Not that he intended to let that match continue. How could he, now that he knew Bryce’s secret?
Thinking of Bryce brought him back to the matter at hand.
“So, you see, your suitor was not so far off the mark when he made his accusations, claiming that Richard was murdered. I think so, too. But I assure you, I had nothing to do with it, or any of their deaths. You do see that, don’t you?”
“Yes, yes, of course. But tell me what happened. Who tried to kill you? Where and when did this occur, and do you know why?”
“No! The who and the why of it are utter mysteries to me. One of my predecessors must’ve wronged someone—badly—it would seem. Someone who now seems bent on revenge and won’t be happy till they’ve altogether ended our line.”
An appalled sound escaped her, then they walked on.
“As to the when and where of it, the first attempt happened moments after I’d stepped off the boat from Ireland onto the London docks. This was a few days before Christmas. I was attacked by what I assumed at the time was a footpad. Fought him off, no harm done. I had all but forgotten about it.
“But then, at Twelfth Night, a good friend of mine, a guest, was poisoned under my own roof, at my own table, and that’s when I realized…I had a problem.”
“Good Lord.”
“That’s why the house is a shambles,” he explained. “I sacked the whole staff, since one of them had to be involved somehow. Called in the lads from my regiment to help watch my back. Loyal, they are, but cooking and cleaning?” He chuckled. “Not exactly what they’re trained for.”
“You poor man.” She shook her head. “What of your friend who got the poison? Did he die?”
“No, thankfully, he recovered. There has not been a third attempt—yet—and I don’t intend to sit around and wait for it. I’m trying to piece together information on my predecessors’ lives so I can figure out who bears this vendetta against us.
“It hasn’t been easy. The family is, er, closed-mouthed about many things. They, like the rest of the ton, see me as an outsider, and, of course, that’s what I am. Which is why I was hoping for a little help from you, Lady Margaret.”
“What can I do?” She stopped and turned to him.
Her dove-gray eyes were wide, their expression grave. Her lips, primrose pink, were drawn into a thoughtful little frown.
He let his gaze roam admiringly over her peaches-and-cream complexion, down her regal neck to the demure lace frill around her alluring throat.
He had a fleeting vision of tearing that delicate lace asunder with his teeth, claiming her pearly neck with his lips. God, what was this effect she had on him? Even his wound stopped hurting in her presence.
Yet her nearness made his body feel hot and constricted, like he was wearing too many damn clothes.
Perhaps her maid sensed his errant thoughts, for she cleared her throat loudly from a few feet behind them, playing chaperone.
They both glanced over and saw the woman’s pointed look that clearly said, That’s far enough, you two.
Lady Margaret looked up at him, her gaze troubled. “We should turn back,” she murmured.
“As you wish.”
They retraced their steps, and the maid stepped obediently out of the way, waiting till they passed to trail after them again.
“You were saying?” she prompted.
“You can go places and talk to people I can’t.” Thankfully, by now, Connor had managed to curb his more primal urges. “You fit in here, Lady Margaret. These people trust you. Me, I’m a stranger in a strange land.”
She passed an uncertain glance over his face. “I suppose I could help to introduce you around…?”
He snorted. “Frankly, if last night in the ballroom was any indication of my future in Society, I’d rather spend time with my horses.”
She winced. “Rest assured, there are good people, too, Your Grace, but never mind that for now. What exactly would you have me do?”
“Advise me on who’s who in Society. I could really use an insider’s knowledge about various people so I can narrow the list of who is probably not the killer. They’re all strangers and thus all suspicious to me. I’ll need answers about certain people. Basic backgrounds. Where they’re from. With whom they associate. On occasion, you may have to act—in a limited way, mind you—as my…well, as my spy in Society.”
“Spy?” she burst out, then started laughing. “Me?”
Connor saw nothing funny. “Will you do this? You gave me your word.”
“Yes, I know, but…” She hesitated, and her laughter trailed off as she searched his face. “I’m not sure I can. That is, I know we made an agreement, but…I wasn’t expecting anything involving murder!”
“Shh! Keep your voice down.” He glanced around, annoyed at her wavering, exactly as he’d feared.
This was precisely why he’d connived her into baring her ankles. Only, now that it came down to it, Connor did not want to have to use that against her.
He wanted her to help him willingly.
“You’ll be perfectly safe. I would never put you anywhere near the danger. As I said, I just want a wee bit o’ guidance. You can provide me with the information I need from the comfort of your own home. Nobody even has to know you know me, if you’d rather not acknowledge me as an acquaintance. Well—except for your maid, since she’s already seen us together.”
“It’s not that, it’s just…”
“What?” he demanded.
“Well—I’m a lady!” she blurted out, bewilderment filling those pretty eyes beneath her long lashes. “This all sounds quite reckless, and I-I’m not very adventurous, you see. A spy? I don’t like deceiving people, and I haven’t much experience sneaking around.”
“You did fine last night,” he drawled, sending a meaningful glance toward her ankles.
She scowled at the reminder of how she had flirted with scandal by coming alone to his house after dark.
“Are you trying to say you’re just some helpless female? Because that claim won’t work. Not with me.”
“Well, I didn’t say that.” She gave a little humph.
An indulgent feeling filled him as he gazed at her in soft amusement, half wanting to let her off the hook, though he really couldn’t spare her.
Besides, this would be good for her.
For a moment, he assessed her the same way he did every new fresh-faced recruit they had sent to his regiment. She had more strength than she knew.
He saw a careful young woman, perhaps slightly lacking in confidence, and holding herself a little too tightly in check.
But she had heart. She had shown herself capable of startling bravery last night when she’d come knocking on his door, risking any young lady’s most valuable asset—her reputation—to save a man’s life.
That he respected.
Clearly, though, his little English rose was buttoned up a wee bit too tightly, lived too often on her best behavior. He could see that. A thoroughly nice girl, but a creature caged.
And, suddenly, the wild side of him wanted to free her.
“Do you trust me, lass?” he asked softly.
“Can I?”
“What does your heart tell you?” Connor watched her closely, ignoring the worried look from her maid.
Lady Margaret consulted the sky, as though the answer floated amid the big, puffy clouds drifting by overhead.
Then she looked at him once more, squaring her shoulders decisively.
“All I know is that you kept your word to me. And so, of course, I shall do the same. Whatever the cost,” she added with a gulp.
Connor pondered her with a sudden flood of tenderness inside. Relief unfurled inside his solar plexus, and a smile spread across his face. “I knew you wouldn’t fail me.”
“Just remember”—she gave him a disapproving poke in the chest—“you promised not to ruin my life.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Lady Maggie. Do you mind if I call you that?”
“Actually, I prefer it.”
They smiled warily at each other for a moment, and then walked on. This time, when she took his arm, she held on to his biceps with newfound determination.
“No one out there is going to kill any neighbor of mine, I assure you,” she said.
Connor grinned and looked askance at her. The kittenish protectiveness in her grip both touched his heart and amused him.
“So, what does this entail?” she asked. “Where and when do we begin? And how?”
“There are a few members of Society I want to ask you about—general information, whatever you know about them. Whatever gossip you might’ve heard concerning them. This will save me from wasting loads of time investigating people who are most likely innocent, and time is of the essence. The quicker this is sorted, the sooner I can get on with the whole horrid business of being a duke.”
This got a chuckle from her. “Is it so bad?”
“It’s bloody miserable,” he grumbled.
“Perhaps you’re just not used to it yet.”
He heaved a sigh. “Perhaps. But if I have to hear one more fool make some snide remark about the Irish, I may put him through a wall.”
“Ah, they’re just jealous of you.”
“Testing me, I think.”
“Hmm, probably some of that, too. But you are the rightful Duke of Amberley now, and too bad if they don’t like it. You outrank them, and that’s that. It’s their lot to conform themselves to you, not the other way ’round.”
“You think so?” he asked in skeptical amusement.
“I know so,” she said. “Act the part and they will fall in line, as they’ve all been trained. And that, Your Grace, is the great secret of how to go about in Society.”
“If you say so.” He smiled at her, warmed by her surprisingly cynical advice. She was very dear in her way. “Unfortunately, I’ve got bigger things to worry about now than my lack of popularity.”
“Indeed,” she said with a twinkling glance.
The next shop window caught his eye as they strolled past, showing him their reflections together. They looked like a real courting couple, maybe even married. The thought so distracted him that he almost missed her next question.
“So, who are your suspects, Your Grace? Do we have anyone in our sights yet?”
“We do.” Thrilled at her turn of demeanor now that she’d put her will into his cause, he snapped back to awareness. “But first things first. We need to establish a convenient method of communication away from prying eyes. Tell me, can you see Amberley House from where you live?”
“Yes, easily. My sister’s residence is Number 71 Moonlight Square. It’s in the middle of the south terrace, across from your home.”
“That’s Marquess Row?”
She nodded, smiling. “Several marquesses live side by side there. My brother-in-law being one of them. But yes, I can see your house easily from my bedchamber window.”
“Good. Then let us devise a system of lantern signals. Whenever you need to see me, if some urgent matter should arise, or if you uncover information that I need to know quickly, put a lantern in your window, and I will contact you. I’d prefer if you tell me your findings in person. I don’t expect you to learn any codes, but I’d really prefer you not write these things down where others might find them. Since I don’t know yet who might be involved, and have even had trouble with servants, I want all this treated with the utmost secrecy. Between you and me only.”
She nodded, wide-eyed. “I understand.”
He nodded back. “Good. Now, to signal that you need to see me, simply put a lighted lantern in your window after dark. To let you know, in turn, that I’ve seen your summons, I’ll answer by doing the same, and vice versa.
“However, if a serious emergency should arise, if you feel yourself in danger at any time in all this, put two lanterns in your window. This will tell me that something is wrong, and I will come to you at once. If you’re not at our meeting place, I’ll come and find you and make sure you’re safe.”
“Meeting place?” she echoed.
“Yes. We must agree upon some mutually convenient location, where we can meet without drawing attention to ourselves. Any ideas?”
“Well, there’s the garden folly in the middle of the park. It’s a normal place where either of us might be seen, since we live on the square, yet secluded enough among the trees that we should be able to avoid notice, especially after dark. And,” she added, “we can both get there quickly, as it sits halfway between our two houses.”
He nodded, impressed. “That should suit.”
Encouraged to find her warming to her role, he reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out the small folded list of names that he had copied down from his cousin’s diary. “Put this in your reticule. Wait until you’re alone to read it. Study it well. Learn it. Then burn it.”
“What is it?” She took the square of paper from between his fingers and obediently tucked it into her reticule.
“It’s a list of names my cousin assembled before he was killed. These are the last five people known to have dealings with Granduncle Rupert before he ‘fell’ off the precipice. Memorize this, then destroy it. Mark me?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good. Keep these names in mind, and if you see an opportunity where I might be able to approach any of our suspects in Society, I shall drag myself out to the ballroom again, if you’ll point them out to me.”
“I’d be glad to,” she said. “But, for that, it sounds like you and I are going to need a formal introduction, Your Grace. Otherwise, this all becomes entirely complicated, given Society’s rules. Especially after my, er, outburst this morning.”
He smiled wryly at the reminder of how she’d come running over to him.
“I couldn’t help it!” she said, blushing. “I was horrified. I still don’t understand how you could be so calm about it all.”
He laughed. “Used to it. But who could we get to introduce us in a manner that would satisfy the ton? I doubt we have one mutual acquaintance. Well—aside from Lord Bryce, but I doubt he’d indulge us.”
“Leave this to me,” she said proudly.
He arched a brow.
“Edward.”
“Who’s that?”
“My brother-in-law, Lord Birdwell. I will tell him to befriend you. Oh, you’ll love him dearly. He’s the most pleasant of men. Which reminds me…I should get back to my sister.”
“Was he the chap who brought you to the duel this morning?”
She nodded. “And don’t worry. Edward can be trusted. I can vouch for him wholeheartedly.”
“Well, that is excellent news. There’s one name I can cross off my list of suspects.” He sent her a grin. “Only nine hundred, ninety-nine thousand more souls in London to go.”
She chuckled, and he was loath to let her go, but her maid was starting to look seriously worried at the length of their conversation.
“My lady?” she called in a stage whisper.
Connor glanced at his fob watch. “She’s right. I’ve kept you long enough. It’s been nearly twenty minutes now.” He snapped his watch closed. “I daresay we’ve already tempted scandal enough over the past twenty-four hours.”
“I am glad you were not too badly hurt, Your Grace.”
“Ah, well, much to my enemies’ dismay, I’ve proven vexingly hard to kill.”
“Indeed.” She narrowed her eyes, studying him, then started to turn away, but paused. “What kind of soldier were you, exactly?”
The question took him aback, then he feigned an ominous tone. “A very nasty kind indeed. I’ll tell you all about it some other day.”
“You will find me an attentive audience, I’m sure—but do leave out the gory parts, if you please.”
“Then it’ll be a brief conversation.” He winked at her, and to his delight, the roses crept back into her cheeks. “Au revoir, my lady.”
“Good day, Your Grace. And do stay safe until we meet again.” She turned away and glided back to her attendant.
Connor tipped his hat to the maid, who’d opened the back door of the bookshop for her mistress.
Before she stepped inside, Lady Maggie sent him one last parting smile, looking intrigued, then disappeared into the establishment. Her maid followed in her footsteps, and the screened door banged shut behind them.
Well, thought Connor, pleased. It seemed he had himself an accomplice.
* * *
Maggie’s heart was still pounding over what she’d just agreed to as she returned to the close confines of the bookshop with her maid in tow. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the dim, and her nose twitched with the dust of the countless tomes lining the shelves. But as she wove by browsing customers, her feet barely seemed to touch the floor.
Oh, she knew that Amberley’s demands were entirely improper, but she could not deny he was a thrilling man.
Sussing out a murderer? She had never been involved in anything so daring in her life.
Nor had she ever met anyone like him. She only wished he weren’t so handsome. It would’ve made concentrating on their shared task far easier.
Frankly, it would’ve made refusing to help him easier, too. But those blue eyes glimmered with Irish charm, and what could she do?
For heaven’s sake, someone was trying to kill the poor man, and was he not one of her neighbors? If she were in a position to help and did nothing, that would be most unchristian. Like noticing that one of the houses of Moonlight Square was on fire in the middle of the night, but rolling over and going back to sleep with a yawn, instead of sounding the alarm.
In short, it would be hideously wrong, as would be giving her word and then abandoning him to this troubling situation.
And she wasn’t scared, per se. She believed him absolutely when he said he’d keep her out of danger. The man clearly knew how to fight. So she wasn’t worried about her safety. Not yet, anyway, though things might become dicey…
Lord! Maggie thought. This might prove to be the first bona fide adventure of her entire life.
But certainly not his.
In truth, Maggie doubted that this unknown enemy of his would have the slightest success. This villain, whoever he was, probably hadn’t realized yet that he had sown the wind, and would soon reap the whirlwind.
With full confidence in Amberley’s ability to conquer, she tingled with excitement over her role in lending a helping hand. This pursuit of justice made her feel strangely important.
To think, an ordinary young lady like herself might somehow help preserve the life of a mighty warrior! Besides, His Grace had shown her great honor by seeking her assistance, placing his trust in her under such delicate circumstances.
Maggie burned with curiosity about the slip of paper tucked away in her reticule. She could hardly wait to get started.
Disoriented by all the thoughts spinning in her head, she stopped in the middle of the aisle, needing to collect herself. Penelope bumped into her on account of her sudden halt, then mumbled an apology.
“No, it’s my fault,” Maggie said absently. She scratched her brow for a moment, out of sorts, then glanced toward the counter of the bookshop. “You know, I dare not go back to my sister empty-handed. I have to buy something.”
She scanned the nearest shelves, still too much aflutter to concentrate on any particular reading material. Striding over to the rack of fashionable ladies’ magazines, she snatched up the latest issue of La Belle Assemblee.
“This will do the trick,” she murmured, heading for the counter. “Of course, my sister will steal it from me the moment she sees it.”
Penelope grinned.
Delia did love keeping up with the fashions. Her greatest thrill in life was identifying herself as the anonymous “Lady B—” whose latest handsome outfit, observed in the park or at the theater, was described in detail by the fashion writers to their readers so they could copy the look.
Ah, Lady Birdwell was competitive in all things. She’d probably be entirely annoyed if she found out that lowly Mags now had important secret dealings with a duke. But she was never letting Delia find out about this.
She would ruin it for certain.
Finally beginning to settle down, Maggie stepped up to the counter and purchased the magazine.
A moment later, a small bell jangled over the shop door as they stepped back out into the sunshine. Penelope and she drifted into the center of the arcade, glancing around.
“I wonder where they’ve gone,” Penelope said.
Delia and her followers were nowhere in sight.
Maggie shook her head. “We’d better find her before she decides to leave without us.”
They began hurrying along the arcade, glancing into the shops and trying to find Delia and her friends, when the group of ladies emerged noisily from the milliner’s. They could hear Delia braying with laughter from a few shops away.
Maggie nudged Penelope.
“Oh, good, you’re back,” Delia said loudly as the two of them returned to the fold.
“We’re going to the tea shop next,” one of Delia’s friends said. “We didn’t want you to miss out on taking refreshments with us.”
“How kind!” Maggie said. “Thank you for waiting.”
“Did you find your book club novel, Lady Margaret?” asked another.
“You know, they were sold out,” Maggie lied—easily—to her own astonishment. Maybe she was a better liar than she realized. God knew she had been lying to herself well enough where Bryce was concerned. “I bought this instead.”
“Ooh, La Belle Assemblee!” Delia snatched it out of her hand, right on cue. “Am I in there?”
Maggie bit her lip as Delia began flipping through the pages while they sauntered along, heading for the teashop. Even Delia’s hangers-on looked surprised at this rude display.
Despite her embarrassment at her sister’s behavior, Maggie managed another placid smile. But behind her mask of equanimity, she was gritting her teeth.
God, maybe it would be worth it, marrying Bryce, just to escape her sister’s house…
But, suddenly, a wicked thought dawned in her mind. It took her so much off guard that she stopped for a moment.
Amberley.
Why not set her cap frankly at him?
Maggie’s pulse jolted. She dropped her gaze, amazed by the notion.
Her first thought was that it was wrong to think of marriage in such mercenary terms. But then, if Amberley was using her for what she could do for him, then why should she not contemplate the practical advantages that she, in turn, could gain from a possible match with him?
Her second thought was how furious Delia would be if she, lowly Mags, the inconsequential younger sister, should go and snare herself a duke, when Delia had only got a marquess—never mind how completely that marquess adored her.
Maggie bit her lip, scandalized by the temptation forming in her mind.
After a lifetime of Delia’s belittlement, for once, she would outrank the insufferable firstborn.
Oh, don’t be petty, she scolded herself. You don’t marry someone for such absurd reasons.
And yet, half an hour later, she was still contemplating the wicked notion of getting such sweet revenge on her sister, who had already ruined so many matches for her. It was bad of her, she knew, and she did not normally think this way. But somehow, today, the temptation of a match with this wild Irish duke tasted even more delicious than the glazed apricot scone that Maggie nibbled at the teashop with her lemony cup of Ceylon blend.
What a catch he would be. Rich and powerful, a war hero, handsome as sin?
Maybe it wasn’t the maddest idea. He was unattached, after all, and they had already forged this unlikely alliance. The Duchess of Amberley…
It had rather a nice ring to it.
Of course, the man was a bit of a lunatic. She’d have to take him firmly in hand, try to tame him just a little.
As if that were even remotely possible.
A smile twitched at her lips with the thought.
But then she abruptly remembered that someone was killing off members of his family. And she wished to risk becoming one?
Was she mad, too?
Lud. A cold chill ran down her spine. Perhaps not my best idea ever.
In truth, being Amberley’s friend seemed dangerous enough. She did not care to attract the attention of a killer, to boot.
Not that she’d be backing down from their bargain, of course. They had a deal. And although her hand might tremble a bit as she lifted her teacup to her lips, whatever her faults, Maggie Winthrop always kept her word.