Page 49 of The Wayward Duke
Delancey drew himself up with pleasure at the acknowledgement. “Most kind of you, duke.”
As the orchestra swelled into a lively waltz, Julian noticed Caroline across the room. Even at a distance, her radiance stole his breath. The glittering chandelier light caressed each elegant coil of her hair, bringing out glinting highlights of gold.
Despite the urgency of their purpose here tonight, Julian’s gaze traced those seductive lines, his imagination filling in details of the body he knew so intimately beneath the fine silk and lace. The visceral need to keep her close clawed at his throat.
With effort, Julian wrenched his attention back to his task at hand. “My apologies, you were saying?” he asked Kellerman.
“We need an entire fleet of ships ready by year’s end,” Kellerman replied.
“Of course. Speed and decisiveness will be critical,” Julian agreed. He turned the conversation to practical matters, probing for details. “What arrangements have you made? Commissioned shipbuilders, secured crews? Or would you purchase the fleet?”
He wanted to see how far Kellerman would spin this fiction to hook his victims. How intricate and layered the lies designed to reel them in.
As Kellerman expounded on timetables, shipyards, and a hundred other minor logistics, Julian catalogued details for later evidence. He needed to prove Kellerman was the man who had spilled blood in pursuit of some twisted vendetta. He needed to figure out who his specific targets were.
To avoid rousing Kellerman’s suspicions, Julian said, “Send me the particulars in the morning, and I’ll discuss them with my man of business.”
Kellerman’s thin lips curved. “Excellent. You won’t regret this, Hastings.” His signet ring flashed as he clapped Julian on the back.
That ring. Something about the large, vulgar piece sparked familiarity once more. But before Julian could grasp the elusive connection, it slipped away.
“In the meantime, enjoy the fete,” Kellerman said. “I confess, such garish affairs are not usually to my taste. But one must keep up appearances.”
“Of course.” Julian nodded. “Appearances are everything in business.”
19
The ballroom was full to bursting with London’s elite.
Caroline nodded along as the ladies prattled on about fashion and gossip. Vultures dressed in silk and feathers. But behind her practised smile, Caroline focused on more valuable conversations. She had positioned herself near the wives of investors in Kellerman’s dubious trade venture, listening closely.
The women tittered about the weather and speculated about the season’s most extravagant upcoming ball, but nothing of consequence reached Caroline’s ears. At least not until the hungry lions turned towards more tantalising fare.
“It’s so lovely to see you here, duchess,” Lady Kenilworth said, a sly smile curling her lips. “And your handsome husband, too, of course.”
Ah, there it was. Caroline swallowed down a grimace. “Thank you. I’ll be certain to tell Hastings.”
“I heard he saved you from that dreadful bombing,” Mrs Trumbull said, breathless. “That he held you in his arms after a dead faint. Did he truly carry you over the rubble to safety?”
Caroline resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Oh, for heaven’s sake. She supposed the story of the formidable Duke of Hastings cradling his wife’s limp form sold more papers than the truth – that she’d barked orders, covered in dust and blood.
“It was an alarming experience,” she said. “Fortunately, Hastings proved himself quite gallant in the aftermath.”
“I do hope they find the vile culprit,” another woman fretted. “I almost didn’t attend tonight, but I couldn’t possibly miss it. Mr Kellerman’s so charming, isn’t he?”
Caroline tried not to glance at the man in question lest her distaste show. “I couldn’t say. I don’t believe I’ve made Mr Kellerman’s acquaintance before this week.” Time to redirect their hunger. “Tell me, how long has he been a fixture in London society?”
“Only since last year. He was abroad for ages before that.” Lady Kenilworth lowered her voice. “But there are hints of rather low beginnings despite his obvious education and polish. I heard he began life in Cheapside. Or was it Spitalfields?”
“Surely not,” another woman said.
“No one seems to know his family or origins,” mused another gossip. Her predatory gaze tracked Kellerman through the crowd. “I’ve heard whispers he might be a tanner’s son.”
More dramatic gasping.
Caroline arched a brow, layering her tone with mild surprise. “How extraordinary. Though clearly, he has adapted himself well to high society.” She filed away the gossip for later scrutiny.
Across the sea of feathers and finery, Julian stood scanning the crowd. When their gazes caught, he lifted two fingers in a subtle summons before turning to slip through the gilded doors.
