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The fascination he’d been battling since that night at Lady Peregrine’s ball, when Pippa Cavanaugh had stared at him with her large wounded, and yes, ugly splotched face, felt like whimsy…fate.
And he needed to find out the possible role she could play in his life. Lover, enemy, friend…or a duchess.
Several days later Amelia invaded Christopher’s study, slapping a scandal sheet atop his desk. “Is this you!” she cried, pointing at a section with a cartoon.
In it, the man had tied his cravat around a lady’s hand to what appeared to be a bedpost. Scandalous indeed, for the expression of the man implied he was a debaucher, while the young lady’s appearance was one of tears and innocence. Bloody hell. He was almost anxious to read the damn article.
The duke of many knots, the headline screamed.
“Christopher?” his sister asked.
The man in the drawing bore no resemblance to himself, so he did not understand the fuss. Unless…his gaze dropped to the author. Ah, Lady W.
This author has it on the highest authority a certain duke has found another use for his cravats. And it is not to tie around his neck! Shocking and not so saintly one could say. Mothers should be mindful of their precious daughters who could be led to ruin by the duke of C.
The blasted woman had penned at least two more inflammatory pieces over the last ten days, all featuring the duke of C, where only an idiot would not know it spoke of the Duke of Carlyle.
“There are only two dukes of C within society, and I doubt Carrington, a man I declare to be not a day under seventy is using his cravat to tie his lovers,” his sister cried, a blush engulfing her entire tall, slender frame. “This Lady W’s suggestion is outrageous and libelous, and she must be stopped! Mamma’s nerves are shattered at the very suggestion this…this article may refer to you.”
He carefully folded the article and leaned back in his chair. “In case you hadn’t notice, poppet, I have a guest,” he said coolly.
Her hazel eyes, much like their mother’s, widened in alarm at doing anything so improper, and she whirled around as the newly minted Viscount Shaw, Sebastian, rose to his feet. “Lady Blagrove,” the man said with a smile. “A pleasure.”
She nodded regally slightly bobbing the perfect blonde chignon at the nape of her neck and sent Christopher a look of censure passed down from mother to daughter as if to say why did he have the viscount in his home. Christopher silently chuckled when she huffed at the blank stare. The viscount was a genius with investments and a solid character which Christopher genuinely liked. The man had recently married a lady who had courted scandal by jilting the Marquess of Trent at the altar last year. Rumors claimed Fanny, Viscountess Shaw, had caught the marquess in a very salacious embrace with his mistress on the day he was to marry Fanny. Christopher didn’t vilify the lady for running away from the bounder. Society had not been as kind or understanding, mainly since she then chose to marry a man who worked and owned factories.
Christopher liked and admired the couple and counted the viscount a friend. His sister’s ridiculous prejudice would not change that fact, no matter how much he adored her. To society and his family, it was hard to accept that Viscount Shaw had not been born into their privileged life. He was a self-made man of great wealth who owned several iron smelteries. He did not belong, and they did not hesitate to remind him. But the viscount tolerated it all with some amusement, and his lack of ruffled feathers made Christopher admire the man more.
With a pointed look at the newssheet atop his desk, Amelia marched from the library.
Sebastian sent him a look of bald amusement. “I’d wondered if the articles referred to you.”
Christopher arched an arrogant brow. “Do you read the scandal sheets now?”
The viscount chuckled. “My wife swears she is above it all, but she seems quite delighted with this Lady W and reads everything the woman writes. It seems Lady W has targeted you.”
Christopher grunted, rising from behind his desk. “She has. I’d not wanted to rush to that conclusion, so I gave her a little time. Now there is no doubt confidential information gleaned from my home is being used to bring scrutiny to my name.”
“How did this woman get your private information?”
“She broke into my library almost two weeks ago.”
The glass of brandy making its way to the viscount’s mouth froze. “The hell you say!”
“I do say it,” he said on a light chuckle. “I believe it is time for me to ask the lady why she has targeted me.” Dark, heady anticipation curled through his gut at the idea of seeing her again.
“You know her identity?” the viscount demanded after taking a healthy swallow of his drink.
There it went again, that odd need to protect Miss Cavanaugh. “I do, but I will not reveal it.”
“Ah…you are protective of the lady, curious.” Intense speculation glowed in the man eyes.
“Shall we return to the architectural plans Mr. Ashley has drawn for us?” Christopher asked, collecting several rolls of papers from his desk.
The viscount was ambitious enough to want better living conditions for the workers of his factories. Better homes with at least two rooms and a small parlor. Better latrines, and better health care. Many other factory owners resented him for his innovation, hating that many workers flocked to the viscount’s employment, leaving the other owners behind. It had made the viscount many enemies, and he had thought it prudent to ask his powerful friends to weigh in on the housing crisis.
The one-bedroom hovels many of the workers lived in now spread many diseases and misery all around. The duke and the viscount were working together and buying up land across the city, and in several other areas, with the intention of developing numerous housing projects.
Since Christopher had gotten involved, he had taken over a few factories operated by unconscionable men. The conditions women and children worked in had been deplorable, and he hadn’t been able to leave it be. He’d made them offers their greedy hearts could not have refused, and now he worked with the viscount to improve it all before he divested himself of it. Possibly he would sell them to the viscount himself. His mother had fainted when he’d told her of his interest in helping the workers of the factories. He’d obligingly spent the afternoon with her to soothe her nerves, but he would not be deterred from doing what was just and honorable.
