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“Why did you give him your coat and money?”
“He was cold, and perhaps hungry. The money is an advance for working in my stables.”
This astonished her. “He works for you!”
“No, but if he is interested, he will start tomorrow.”
She absorbed this in startled silence. Who was this man? “So, you can be compassionate.”
“You say this as if you know me to be cruel and callous, my intrepid thief.”
“No,” she murmured. “I have no experience with the manner of your character.”
She glanced in the direction the lad had disappeared. Even if that boy sold the coat, and he would be smart if he did, food would be in his belly and his family for several weeks from the profit. It was a kind thing the duke had done, and acknowledging it, shook Pippa. In her experience, those who were selfish users did not have the withal to perform acts of charity and kindness. She was tempted to believe in what she saw, but she could not let the dratted man deceive her of his true character. Beneath the heart of the charming, fascinating man tonight was the morals of a snake!
The clip-clop of hooves had her glancing down the street. How fortunate! A Hackney wa
s delivering someone home. The duke generously hailed the man for her, and she made her way to the small carriage.
“Thank you,” she said, careful to keep her features shadowed by the hat.
“Until we meet again,” the duke said, sounding very confident it would happen. Then he paid the driver and stepped back.
She glanced at the driver. “I will inform you of where to take me when we are away.”
The small rotund man shot her a curious stare before shrugging as if to say whatever she wished. She hopped into the carriage, genuinely appreciating the freedom trousers provided. The carriage rumbled away, and she opened the small window and shouted her address to the coach driver.
Several minutes later, Pippa snuck into the countess’s townhouse, grateful to see everyone was still at Lady Grayson’s ball. She hurried to her room, ripping the hat from her head as soon as she made it inside. One thought had dominated her musings on the quick ride over. The duke wanted to kiss her…and she had ached for him to do it.
Recall what he did to Miranda, Pippa reminded herself fiercely as she jumped onto her bed with a gusty sigh. The man is not to be trusted. Yet the feelings in her heart did not want to listen to her logical mind. Who are you…and why do I want to know you?
Quite irritated with herself, she scrambled from the bed and hurried over to her small writing desk, grabbing a small lamp from the mantle as she went by. Opening the drawer, she retrieved a sheaf of paper, quill, and an inkwell.
The Duke of C is a jaded libertine, and not all society believes him to be. A rake of the first order, a man scandalous in his musings and deeds hides amongst society, a dangerous wolf…a jackal in sheep’s clothing. This author has it on the first most authority he is not to be trusted, he is a man with little honor and no regard for the innocent, and he shamelessly seduced a fine, wonderful girl at a particular garden party a few weeks ago and then refused to marry her.
He is a wicked, unprincipled libertine…a dangerous wretch. All young ladies of virtue should steer clear!
Taking a deep breath, Pippa wrote every reason she should not trust the duke or allow her foolish heart to be compromised. She must redeem Miranda’s honor. Pippa could not fight a duel on her behalf, nor did she have the power to disrupt his business and investments. But this she could do, warn other unsuspecting debutantes of his vile, wicked, and rakish behavior.
And I must keep my heart and reputation intact while I do it.
With a sigh, she glanced down at the writing in her hand, knowing she would not be able to publish it. For though Miranda was her friend, Pippa hadn’t witnessed his dastardly deed first-hand, so she needed evidence to corroborate Miranda’s painting of his character. Which Pippa had failed to do tonight. All she’d confirmed was the duplicity of the man. She folded the paper neatly and slipped it between her diary. Instead, she drew another sheet and recalled the scandalous drawings she had seen in his book.
A blush heated her cheeks. Pushing down the flutters in her heart and the peculiar heat in her belly, she started to write.
A duke by any other name! This author…
Chapter 7
A duke by any other name! Touted as honorable, and a sterling example all young bucks should emulate. This author has it on the highest authority that a certain duke is nothing but a libertine who believes his lovers should be spanked. Grab your weekly features of the tattle to keep abreast with the Duke of Disgrace.
There were only a handful of dukes within society, and most were old and doddering. Only two other dukes were within his age, but it was he, Carlyle, those other young men were often urged to emulate. But the most heart-pounding fact was he had sensually spanked his lovers in the past. How many other dukes in society had such sexual urges and predilections they kept ruthlessly hidden as he did with his desires?
And how would this author—he glanced down at the signature—Lady W be privy to it? Worse, it was by sheer bloody chance, the headline which screamed Duke of Disgrace caught his attention. He did not live his life by chance or happenstance. His days and evenings were carefully planned and inked into a calendar, so there were no errors, no breaches in expectations, no possibility of scandal. It was the least he could do. For his father and his forefathers before, whose reputation had been the bedrock of their motto.
Duty and honor above all.
Another glaring fact he could not ignore: Miss Pippa Cavanaugh had seen his book of erotic drawings. Might it be that she had informed this Lady W of the explicit and lusty images? Was it that Miss Cavanaugh was prone to gossip and revealed their encounter? Christopher frowned. That assessment felt wrong. She had been so nervous he hadn’t the heart to inform her he knew her identity. He’d allowed her the disguise, charmed by her bravery, and delighted by her skill in playing chess. It was unlikely this woman would dare tell anyone she had been improper and broken into his home and found the scandalous drawings. The only other conclusion he could reasonably draw was that Miss Cavanaugh and Lady W were the same.
