Page 8 of A Duke in Disguise
Ash followed her gaze. “So that’s where you’ve gotten to, miss.”
When the animal hissed in response, Verity knew precisely what it was. “I thought Nate didn’t let her into the house.”
“Um. Well. About that. Nate didn’t let her in.”
Verity raised an eyebrow. “But you did?”
Ash had the grace to look sheepish. “It was raining and she looked pitiful.”
“Ash, that cat is two stone, not to mention vicious. She’ll starve in here unless we’re harboring a more abundant mouse population than I dare contemplate.”
“She won’t starve. I leave the window cracked open most of the time, and she comes and goes as she pleases. Besides, I may possibly share some of my food with her.” His eyes darted to an empty dish near the window.
“Does Nate know you’ve suborned his cat into betraying him?”
“To be fair, I haven’t quite accomplished the act yet. As you can see, she’s still deciding whether I’m friend or foe.” The cat hissed again, arching her back and glaring at Verity as if she had understood every word they had spoken. “Well, what’s that you’ve brought me?” Ash gestured at the parcel she carried under her arm.
“It came in the post. Do you remember that conversation we had at dinner the night after you arrived, about the relative safety of printing obscenity compared to politics?”
“How could I forget?”
“At first I thought it was a silly idea, but in the next few months one of two things will happen. Either Nate will be more cautious about what he puts in theRegister, which means we’ll lose some income, or he’ll be arrested, and we’ll still be out that income.” She swallowed. It was hard and unfeeling to talk about her brother’s future in strictly economic terms. But she saw Ash nod. “Well, I decided that if a suitable—or unsuitable, haha—” she laughed nervously “—novel landed on my desk, I’d consider it. Well, this morning’s post brought the answer to my filthiest prayers.”
He was silent for a moment. “You have my attention, Plum.”
“It’s a perfectly competent novel along the lines ofWaverleyto which some rather more explicit material has been added.” Those scenes appeared to have been appended after the fact, in a scrawled and hasty hand. Only years of practice reading Nate’s chaotic penmanship had prepared Verity for this manuscript. “I thought that perhaps, if you were interested, you might agree to illustrate the first volume. If it’s a success, we can consider doing the other two volumes.”
He crossed his arms across his chest, which, since he wore only shirtsleeves, drew her attention to the musculature of his arms in a way she found entirely unnecessary. “I’m hardly an expert in obscenities law,” he said dryly, “but it seems to me that illustrations would transform this from a slightly naughty novel to something more actionable.”
“The book is really quite tasteful,” she protested. “As far as these things go, at least. And we could keep the drawings vague. Suggestive,” she added. “If you’re not interested, I’ll find somebody else. I’ve brought it to you so you can see for yourself.” She tapped the sheaf of papers.
“If you go through with this harebrained idea, I’ll do the work uncredited. I’m entirely unsuited todurance vile.” He paused. “You might read me a passage, though.”
“It’s quite, ah.” She had planned to leave the manuscript on his desk and flee before he read it. “I can leave it for you overnight.”
He shook his head and sat on the edge of his worktable. “That won’t do, Plum. If you want me to illustrate your dirty book, you can’t be bashful about it.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Besides, I have to finish this set of sketches so I can start engraving the plates tomorrow.” He gestured at the tools laid out beside him.
“Of course.” She moved a stack of books off a spare chair and sat. “The premise of the novel,” she said, arranging her skirts before her, “is that Perkin Warbeck has a number of amorous adventures—”
“Perkin Warbeck?” Ash repeated in tones of plain astonishment. “PerkinWarbeck?”
She had been similarly astonished, and had looked up from the manuscript several times to consult a book on the history of the Wars of the Roses; the tome had lingered unsold on the bookshop’s shelves for so long that dust had slipped between the pages and the binding had gone brittle. That era of history was evidently not in much vogue at the moment. “How much do you remember of that affair?” Verity knew Ash’s schooling had been irregular and sporadic, and ultimately had been confined to the topics Roger found of interest.
“Only that he was a pretender to the crown. Most of what I know of history comes from Shakespeare and a volume on Queen Elizabeth that Roger illustrated some years ago.”
“So, in 1483, or thereabouts, Richard III probably murdered his nephews, the proper heirs to the throne. But a few years later, this boy showed up and claimed he was one of the princes, and had been spirited away to the Netherlands before Richard got a chance to murder him. In that case he would have had a better claim to the throne than Henry VII.”
“Because Richard III was long dead at that point?”
“Exactly. There was intrigue and a few very poorly planned attempts at invasion, and then Henry VII captured the fellow and had him admit that he wasn’t one of the princes, but rather a Dutch fellow named Perkin Warbeck. Of course, confessions extracted under pain of death aren’t terribly convincing, so people do like to speculate.”
“I would like to know what about that fellow screamedwrite an erotic novel about me.”
Verity snorted. “Well, in pursuit of the crown and his, um, lady love he beds various and sundry individuals before finding a lasting passion with the Earl of Warwick while imprisoned together in the Tower of London.”
