Page 57 of Dukes Do It Better
“Bloody hell, that’s ghastly.” Calvin’s words were muffled, spoken into the crook of his elbow.
Malachi couldn’t agree more. With his eyes watering, he tried not to breathe and avoided looking at the lump underneath the burial shroud. Snagging the lantern from the floor where they’d left it, he shone the light on the inside of the coffin.
“I think I see it,” Simon said, pointing toward a shadowy corner beneath the marble lid.
Malachi handed the lantern to Simon, and Calvin came alongside to hold his light up as well.
“Here goes nothing.” He shoved his hand into the coffin, keeping as close to the lid as possible. The occasional brush of silk against his palm made his stomach roll, but after an endless moment, his fingers brushed leather. “I’m sorry, brother,” he murmured, withdrawing the satchel George had taken to his grave.
Closing the coffin was completed without further conversation.
Malachi held the bag, not touching the outside except for the strap. Setting it on the ground, he nudged the flap of the satchel up and pushed it open with the toe of his boot. Calvin craned closer to look, bringing the light with him.
Peeking from within the darkness in the bag was the binding of a book. Why his fingers trembled as he pulled it out, he didn’t want to consider. The book was several inches thick, red leather, with a well-worn paper edge. In fact, the only thing noteworthy about it was its familiarity. All those years, this book had moved with them, and he’d been oblivious to the fact that its secrets were capable of manipulating His Majesty’s government.
“I can’t believe we did all this for a book.” Calvin’s voice rang out in the quiet room.
“My father’s book of secrets. This is my best defense to allay charges of treason against my mother.”
Calvin’s eyes went wide. “Your life is far more interesting than I gave you credit for. Treason?”
“That’s the fear,” Malachi said. “The more real possibility is that she will have an accident. Or something appearing to be an accident. That’s how spies work.” Holding a book powerful enough to blackmail a government, the truth was undeniable. Father had been a spy. A good one. A spy powerful enough to have the influence to guide Malachi’s career without ever setting foot on one of his ships.
Simon nodded. “I haven’t heard anything through official channels, so you’re probably right about the pending accident.”
Smoothing the red leather cover with one hand, Malachi opened the book and flipped through the first few pages. Father’s bank book. Government secrets. Columns of…gibberish. He squinted and tilted his head. No, the text didn’t make sense sideways either.
“What’s wrong?” Ethan asked.
“It’s encoded.” He slapped the book against his thigh. “Of course it’s encoded. A proper spy would never leave damning information lying around where anyone could read it, if it wasn’t in some code only he knew.”
“So you admit he was a spy?” Simon asked distractedly, taking the book from Malachi’s hands.
“Button your lip, Simon.”
“Are you going tae turn it over? Whatever is in these pages is important enough tae code and threaten the king. You’ll be giving away your father’s work,” Ethan asked.
“Do you have a better idea, Lord Bibliophile?” Calvin grunted. “Leave it to you to want to keep the bloody thing.”
“Does anyone actually know what this looks like?” Ethan pointed to the book.
Simon let out a sharp laugh. “A decoy. You’re thinking to make a decoy.”
The idea made Malachi snatch the book back from Simon. This was his father’s work. The dukedom had been a matter of birth. But this book, with every bit of damning information it held, had been Father’s passion. “We find another red journal in case someone is familiar with what it looks like. And we burn it. Bring the Admiralty a box of ashes with enough pieces of red binding to be convincing.”
“Make them think you burned it to protect everyone’s secrets, and it could work,” Calvin said.
A breath escaped on a sigh. “That’s what we will do. I’ll steal Father’s book back from the government.”
“What was it Simon said at the picnic? You can’t steal what’s already yours. This book belongs to the Duke of Trenton.” Calvin swept an elaborate bow toward Malachi. “Your Grace.”
For the first time, the title didn’t grate on his nerves. Instead, he smiled and tucked the red book into his coat.
Chapter Sixteen
You’re only a fantasy, aren’t you?
—Journal entry, June 22, 1824
