“Oh no,” she whispered, eyes wide. “I am so sorry; I didn’t mean to?—”
“Come,” the Duchess said gently, offering her gloved hand. “Let’s get some warmth in you before you collapse dramatically and force me to ruin these gloves. They’re from France.”
“But I—I have to get away… there’s a man… he’s unconscious… he’ll wake up, and he’ll?—”
“We shall discuss everything,” the Duchess interrupted smoothly, “once we have a warm fire, a sensible blanket, and tea, possibly a scone. Do you like scones?”
“I… Yes? But?—”
“Then it’s settled.” She turned toward the carriage. “James, help her in… carefully. It is not only her body that has taken quite a battering.”
Cordelia, still blinking, still breathless, allowed herself to be lifted like some sort of helpless governess from a sensation novel into the plush safety of the Duchess’ carriage. The moment she sat down, her body registered its official protest. Every limb ached. Her hair was sticking to her forehead. She smelled, faintly, of panic and horse.
And the worst part? She was actually calming down.
The Duchess settled in beside her, pulled the blanket tightly around Cordelia’s shoulders, and gave a brisk nod to the driver.
“We’ll be home shortly,” she said.
Cordelia’s eyes snapped open. “Home?”
The Duchess gave her a small smile. “Yes. Galleon House.”
Cordelia stared at her in mute horror.
“Home,” she repeated faintly.
Cordelia gave a broken, whimpering laugh and promptly buried her face in the borrowed blanket.
Chapter Three
“You presume I am the sort of man who can be bullied,” Mason, the Duke of Galleon, stated calmly with his tone so quiet that it bordered on pleasant.
The man across from him, a greasy fellow with the sort of mustache that suggested both ambition and moral confusion, even had the gall to smirk.
“I presume only that you value discretion, Your Grace,” he replied with a lazy shrug. “And that a thousand pounds is a small price to pay to keep your… shall we say,affairsprivate.”
Mason did not smile. He had many smiles; this much was true, at least as far as his sister would have it. In fact, she was the best keeper of secrets in the family, and as such, she noticed details that others did not. There was the polite, empty one he used at balls then the arrogant smirk he wore when besting someone in conversation and the rakish, teasing one reserved for moments of mild amusement. But none of these appeared now.
What he wore instead was the look of a man weighing not only the odds of being caught murdering someone in one’s private study, but whether or not it would be worth the paperwork.
“You speak,” Mason said softly, “as though you’ve only just begun your career in idiocy. But the audacity of this particular attempt, which is so utterly clumsy and so tragically uninspired, makes me suspect you’re a veteran.”
The man flushed but held his ground. “The scandal sheets would pay handsomely for what I know. Society would pay even more in whispers and shame. But I am a fair man, Your Grace. I thought I’d offer you the opportunity to settle the matter… privately and to the satisfaction of both of us.”
Mason stood. The movement was not swift nor dramatic, but it carried the weight of a man who did not rise unless it was to end something… or someone.
“I find it curious,” he said, stepping around the side of the desk, “that you speak so confidently of fairness, while attempting extortion. Tell me… Mr. Reed, was it? Have you considered what becomes of men who threaten dukes?”
Mr. Reed, to his credit, did not flinch. Unfortunately for him, Mason had grown up under the tyranny of a man far crueler and far more calculating than this squirming weasel before him. His father had taught him many things, most of them abhorrent, but Mason had learned, endured, and grown teeth of his own.
“Do you imagine I am unprotected?” the man sneered, clearly mistaking Mason’s calm for hesitation. “I have friends.Patrons.”
“Names,” Mason said, now dangerously close, “are like coins. Easy to collect, easier to spend. But there is a cost when one overplays his purse.”
Mr. Reed swallowed.
“I have no interest,” Mason continued in a low and cutting tone of voice, “in giving you what you ask for. Idohave interest in finding out how you came by this particular bit of information. But I suppose that in the end, it doesn’t really matter, does it?”
