Page 51 of Dare to Love a Duke
He needed her. But he couldn’t have her.
Barring that, what he needed, more than anything, was time and space to consider and sort through the morass of his thoughts.
“Though your father had not invested in the canals,” the duke continued, “I never doubted his loyalty to our cause. Shouldyouback the company, however, I will take it as a sign of good faith—that I can rely on you. That Hugh and your sister can rely on you. If you don’t... How do I know you are trustworthy?”
Fury stoked within Tom’s chest, clouding his vision. He was chained like a goddamned bear, with the hounds of Brookhurst’s threats tearing out chunks of his flesh.
Blackmail was the provenance of seedy garret dwellers—or so his youthful self had believed whenever he’d read salacious accounts in the papers. Never had he suspected that the nation’s most powerful men resorted to such filthy tactics.
Clearly, he’d been wrong.
“We shall talk of this anon.” The duke gave his back a hearty pat. “Get some rest, Your Grace.”
“I shall try.” But despite the weariness that pulled at his body and dragged down his mind, he knew that he’d find no respite in his bed tonight. Not when he felt himself stretched tightly like a man on the rack.
Sooner or later, he was going to break.
Two days passed with no communication from Tom. Lucia didn’t expect him to write her, especially after the uncertain way in which they’d parted. Yet as she’d gone about the ordinary business of her life, she often found herself standing in readiness, her head tilted to one side as if to catch a sound of his approach.
In the interim, she’d finally begun her search for a location for the girls’ home. Just to take that step filled her with excitement and hope. She’d visited two properties so far, but either they didn’t meet her requirements or the terms were too dear.
Her enthusiasm for the project hadn’t dimmed. If anything, her desire to finally have a site for the home blazed higher.
Today, she’d left off her search. It was Wednesday, and in less than eight hours, the Orchid Club would be open for business. She had no time for woolgathering or speculation or thoughts of tomorrow.
She, Elspeth, and Kitty—cradling Liam—stood in the kitchen and surveyed the baskets of ingredients Jenny would later transform into the guests’ refreshments.
“Eggs?” Lucia consulted her list.
“Six dozen,” Elspeth said with a quick look at the basket. Amongst her many valuable skills, she could count speedily and accurately from merely looking at a quantity of an item. Truly, her father had been a fool to deny her a position within the family accounting business.
“East India Sugar?”
“Two fourteen-pound loaves,” Kitty said. She snatched Liam’s hand away as he made a grab for one of the cones of sugar.
“Butter—”
A knock sounded at the service entrance.
“Expecting anyone?” Elspeth asked.
“All the deliveries were made this morning,” Lucia said. “Must be a peddler or tinker.” She checked the pocket of her apron and found a ha’penny. “I’ll give them a coin and we’ll resume our inventory.”
Quickly, she headed to the back door before pulling it open.
“We don’t need—” Her words abruptly halted as she beheld Tom standing on the back step, carrying a valise. Blankly, she said, “I thought you were a tinker or a rat-catcher.”
A corner of his mouth hitched up. “Not especially adept at catching vermin. Though some of the hangers-on at White’s might qualify.” He looked at her warily. “The damned thing about trying to think is that there’s always too much noise to put any thoughts together. So much clamoring for my attention—it was enough to make me consider Bedlam as a quiet alternative.”
Her mind struggled to catch up to seeing him on her doorstep, hours before the club was set to open. “There’s always Astley’s Amphitheatre.”
He smiled wryly. “I told my family and friends I was off for a few days of travel. Got in my carriage and had the driver pick a destination. But I didn’t get far before I realized that the place I most wanted to be was here.” He drew in a long breath. A note of uncertainty was in his voice as he said, “I’d like to stay here until Saturday, and put my thoughts in order.”
“Here,” she said slowly.
“If it’s not an imposition.” When she was silent, he said, “I’ve no designs on returning to your bed. If there isn’t a spare room for me, I can sleep on the floor. With a few cushions, of course. I’m a duke, not a dog.”
She looked at him for several moments, excitement and trepidation at war beneath the surface of her skin. Having him close would prove a temptation, even if they didn’t share a bed. The wise thing would be to refuse him.
