Page 66 of The Lady’s Deception

She recalled what the duke had said about Lord Ashborough’s gambling days. If he’d made his own fortune, other men must have lost theirs. And just once, she would like to see Charles be the loser.

“I wish you to frustrate him. Aggravate him. Make him angry enough to reveal what I have never been able to determine: why he has tried to do this to me.”

“But surely he will not speak in front of you,” the duke pointed out.

“Is there a room where I might stay hidden, yet overhear your conversation?”

“My study adjoins the library downstairs,” said Lord Ashborough. “If the door between them is left ajar, you will hear rather more than one could wish, I fear.”

“I have heard a great deal already, my lord. But today, when the moment is right, I have something to say.”

Raynham nodded his understanding, and the three of them went to await their callers.

The single chime of the longcase clock was still vibrating through the room when Philpot knocked. “The Earl of Dashfort and Viscount Setterby to see you, milord, Your Grace.”

She could hear the creak of chairs when Raynham and Ashborough rose, the muffled sound of two sets of booted footsteps, Lord Dashfort and her brother, crossing the plush Turkey carpet. Her vivid imagination had no difficult conjuring faces.

“I thank you for your assistance, gentlemen.” Charles’s voice sent a shudder through her, and she gripped the side of the wooden chair on which she sat to stop herself from leaping to her feet. “May I present Lord Dashfort, my sister’s betrothed.”

“Gentlemen.”

There was a general rustle, the scrape of chairs as the gentlemen seated themselves. Lord Ashborough offered refreshments and was refused. Then an awkward silence fell.

“I understand you have a sister, Duke.” Charles spoke first, in a wheedling, obsequious tone she had never heard him use. “I hope she is no trouble to you, as mine has been, so regrettably, to me.”

Raynham was quick to quash his hopes. “A spirited sister is hardly reason for condolence, Setterby. And my sister has naught to do with your visit.”

“Of course, Duke. My apologies.” Quickly, he changed tactics. “Your letter, Lord Ashborough, gave me to understand that Mr. Burke is here. I wish to speak with him. I’m quite sure he knows where my sister may be found.”

“Here?” Lord Ashborough drawled in his deep voice. “By no means. I said I believed Burke to have recently arrived in town.” A clearly dismissive laugh. She recalled what Raynham had said about his skill at bluffing. “I daresay no one has ever before mistaken me for my brother’s keeper.”

Even at this distance she could hear her brother’s sharp intake of breath. And she felt certain that Lord Dashfort’s querulous “Setterby?” would only add to his frustration. Good.

“I own I find it strange that your sister would not keep her promise to Lord, er—Dipfoot, was it?” asked Lord Ashborough. “Did she have some objection to the match?”

“Though I’ve done my best to check it, I’ll own she has an obstinate streak.”

“I say,” Lord Dashfort chimed in. “I don’t think I like the sound of that.”

Charles was quick to soothe him. “In the right hands, as I’ve told you, I’m confident she can be brought to heel.”

“Forgive me, Setterby.” Lord Ashborough again, sounding bored. “I thought this matter concerned your sister? Yet you would appear to be discussing a horse, or perhaps, er, some sort of dog?”

That brought Charles to his feet. She heard his bootheels strike the floor. “Damn it all. You know quite well what I mean.” She could picture the little globs of spittle forming at the corners of his mouth. “Surely, among gentlemen, we can speak of the jilts as we like.”

“I am quite familiar with how gentlemen speak of ladies. Whether they are present or not.” Raynham’s voice was solid ice transformed into sound. By suggesting her brother was something other than a gentleman, he seemed to want to provoke a response beyond mere conversation. A challenge? No—she couldn’t have a man’s death on her conscience.

“Come, Dashfort,” Charles ground out. “This is obviously a waste of precious time. Time we might better put to use tracking down Rosamund.”

She stood, unable any longer to keep still.

“Really, Setterby,” the earl protested. “It seems an awful lot of trouble. The more I think on it, the less inclined I am to believe that your sister and I will suit. I haven’t any wish for another difficult wife. Perhaps it would be best if you just returned what I gave you.”

Charles cleared his throat. “That won’t be possible.”

Dashfort stood. “I say. I can’t afford to—”

“Oh dear.” She crept close enough to the door to see Ashborough tip back in his chair. He was observing the conversation between her brother and Lord Dashfort like a spectator at a badly-acted play. “Sounds like someone intends to renege on a debt of honor. Tut-tut, Setterby. Badly done.”