Page 7 of Dukes Do It Better
“He made a career of doing favors, covering tracks. The highest currency in the diplomatic service is secrets, and your father’s code name was the Banker. When George died, your mother met with Clarey behind closed doors. Ever since, there are whispers of your father’s bank book. A journal filled with information. He recorded everything. Names. Dates. Specifics about the favors. There are pages and pages of government secrets, and the duchess is playing the same game your father played. Dealing in the only currency they respect.”
A cold ball of lead settled in Malachi’s gut, pinning him to the chair. “Are you telling me Mother is blackmailing the Royal Navy to get me pulled off sea duty?”
Simon shrugged and picked up his teacup for a leisurely sip. “Surely not all of the Royal Navy. But certain members? It would appear so.”
There were so many curses hovering on his tongue, it was hard to choose one. Instead, Malachi forced himself to focus on the important details. “Any idea if she shared specifics?”
“None at all, although I doubt outright threats were made. That’s never been your mother’s style. She’s more of a smile and drop chilling hints over tea kind of woman. I’ve rarely spent time with her without walking away feeling unsettled.”
“Yes, Mother has that effect on people. Myself included.” So she had found Father’s little book of secrets and thought to use it as a weapon to force the hands of everyone into doing her bidding.
The plan was alarmingly in character, but Lord, the woman was exhausting.
Simon’s expression wasn’t without sympathy. “She’s walking a delicate line, Malachi. If those threats are too overt, or pointed at the wrong person…well. You’re familiar with how the diplomatic service works.”
That ball in his gut grew heavier, rushing foreboding instead of blood to his vital organs. Agents of the crown would eliminate her if she made herself into too big a threat. Snuffing out one woman to contain her secrets wasn’t a particularly original tactic, but tried and true.
“Thank you for telling me.”
“I’m not sure it helped, but you’re welcome.”
“It both clarifies the situation and makes everything a tangle.” This time, Mother had gone too far. Not only had she interrupted his career, but she’d put herself at risk. Whatever she held over the government, Mal would need to get his hands on it to clean up the situation.
Mal rose from the chair, then plucked his hat from where he’d set it on the corner of Simon’s tidy desk. “It was good to see you. I’ll make sure I stop by again before I return to sea.”
As he turned into the hallway, Simon called, “If you return to sea, Lord Trenton. And get a damn shave—you look like a pirate!”
Chapter Three
Explain to me using logic and reasoning a woman would agree with, why ladies are to be demure, helpless, and proper? We aren’t supposed to have hobbies that wouldn’t be appropriate to discuss in a drawing room, our opinions are formed by the men in our lives, and we aren’t expected to enjoy sex. Meanwhile, men have all the fun. Utter rubbish if you ask me. But no one did, because I’m a woman.
—Journal entry, March 23, 1824
The candelabrum in the assembly room of Olread Cove had played over the Widow Hardwick’s features, deepening her dark eyes and creating sensual shadows on the delicate bones of her face. The sight had fired his blood and he’d been unable to resist attempting to charm her.
In the drawing room of a London town house, where Emma was sitting in a shaft of light like a cat warming itself in a sunbeam, Malachi couldn’t ignore how bloody young she looked.
He’d thought to find the room filled with people when the aging butler inspected Malachi’s calling card and said these were her at home hours. Instead, the room was empty, except for Emma.
His fingers tightened around the flowers he’d bought for a pretty penny from a hothouse vendor. After all, no matter what a man’s intentions, when one called on a lady a certain amount of wooing was expected.
He’d fully anticipated making an appearance, perhaps getting her to smile a time or two, then weaving back toward the door through a mob of eligible bachelors and chattering society ladies. Then he’d repeat the process as often as necessary until he determined if she’d like to move their acquaintance beyond her drawing room to somewhere a little more private. But to find her alone was an opportunity he hadn’t expected.
It struck him that this was the first time they’d been alone since she kissed him goodbye in the soft morning light back in October.
In the park a few days ago there’d been several sets of watchful eyes, including a child’s. Their audience meant Malachi couldn’t say everything he’d wanted to…just as well, since the whole thing would have turned into an awkward sort of confession. I’ve thought about you. So much so that I haven’t been with anyone else since. I tried in Riga, and couldn’t manage more than a kiss before walking away.
Now a question hovered on his tongue, but he bit it back. How are you lovelier than I remembered?
Malachi crossed the threshold, but she didn’t look up from the sketch pad in her lap. A plush patterned carpet muffled the sound of his steps, and she was so focused on her task, she must not have heard the butler announce a visitor. He was a few feet away when she dropped a gum eraser.
“Damn it,” she muttered, shifting her skirts aside to search the floor, flashing an enticing view of delicate ankle in the process. The sight quickened his blood and made his palms itch to touch her. Once upon a time, his hands had encircled her bare thighs, and here he was admiring an ankle. His fingers flexed at the memory of smooth skin over lean muscle.
The eraser rolled to a stop between them, marred by smudges of pencil and carpet fibers. He plucked it off the floor before his hand could betray him entirely and reach for her.
Emma rolled her eyes. “You heard that, I suppose.”
Their fingertips brushed and Malachi cursed the barrier of his gloves between their skin. “I’ve heard worse. If you want to offend me, you’ll need to work harder.”
