“But she very well could be,” he muttered. What if she carried his child? Yet another reason to solve this riddle and convince her to marry him. Never would he abandon his own or be a cruel, heartless bastard like his father. He picked up the slip of paper and slowly rubbed his thumb back and forth across her flowery signature. “What is your secret, Lady Cecilia? What is this web of lies you have woven?”
His brother, Aurelias Montseton Raines, fourth Duke of Almsbury, affectionately and sometimes not so affectionately known as Monty, strolled into the office without the courtesy of knocking. “Your summons sounded both urgent and slightly rude, little brother.” He softened the accusation with an affectionate smile as he dropped into the chair facing Elias’s desk. “What sorry business has you so crusty?”
Elias ignored Monty’s usual flippancy. “You are widely traveled. Have you ever crossed paths with the Duke of Hasterton?”
“Hasterton, you say?” Monty scowled as he pondered the question, then shook his head. “I don’t believe anyone has, old man. Why?”
“He is my client, yet never responds to correspondence unless he initiates it. His dying mother had me draw up her last will and testament to leave all her worldly goods to her devoted companion, Miss Celia Bening. According to the dowager duchess, her son was much too busy to escort her to London for a final visit, and her daughter’s frail health prevented her from coming also.” Elias leaned forward and thumped the desk. “Her Grace also extracted an oath from me to protect andloveMiss Bening, who I have since discovered is, in fact, her daughter, the Lady Cecilia.”
Monty squinted as if sorting through all Elias had just said caused him physical pain. He straightened in the chair, then leaned forward. “Her Grace’s companion is actually her daughter?”
Elias nodded.
“Why would her daughter pose as a companion?” Monty grimaced. “Is she too unpleasant for Polite Society?”
“Unpleasant?” Elias snorted. “Only in attitude. Her beauty is beyond compare, yet she is the most stubborn, infuriating, unreasonable woman I have ever met.”
“And you love her,” Monty observed with a shrewdness only a beloved brother could possess.
“Yes, damn you.” Elias raked his hands through his hair. “And she said she loved me. I even applied for a special license so we could marry before death claims her mother.” Another disgusted snort escaped him. “But, of course, that was whenMiss Beningrevealed her true identity and decided to send me packing with the claim that she refused to be responsible for my ruin.”
“Your ruin?”
“Yes, and she would not elaborate on how exactly that might occur.” Elias threw himself back in the chair again and scrubbed a hand across his mouth. “How the devil could the woman possibly ruin me?” He gritted his teeth, then made up his mind to confess all to his trusted brother. “It is her that could be ruined if our evening in her garden results in more than a single night of pleasure.”
Monty cringed and slowly shook his head. “You never do things halfway, do you, little brother?”
“Apparently not.” Elias yanked open his bottom desk drawer, pulled out a bottle and a pair of glasses, and poured them both a drink. “I love her, Monty, and I mean to solve this infuriating puzzle and make her my wife.”
“What do you need from me?”
“Do you know of anyone who has met Hasterton? Has the man ever warmed his seat in the House of Lords? I have been unable to find anyone who personally knows the man, but your connections cast a much wider net than mine.”
Monty shook his head again. “The man is an enigma. Never seen but known to be the shrewdest businessman and investor London has ever seen in our time. Do you know I even heard he devised a system of shops all across the Continent? And every single one of them is a roaring success. All have the same business model, and all are run by women. Some sort of combination tea and biscuit book shops or some such nonsense. I cannot recall the details about that particular venture, but according to the prime minister, anything Hasterton touches turns to gold.” He sampled the whisky, gave an appreciative nod, then took a deeper sip. “As his solicitor, you know the extent of his successes. You know the man’s wealth, and his ability to ferret out yet another success.” Monty turned thoughtful. “Do you mean to get the man to force his sister to marry you? Is he her guardian?”
“She is of legal age.” Elias tapped on the date beside Celia’s name. “His twin, in fact. Both are three and twenty.”
Monty leaned forward, his mouth sagging open. “You are telling me that cunning fellow who is probably richer than Croesus by now is a mere three and twenty?”
“Yes.” Elias wouldn’t go into detail about Hasterton’s wealth, but the dowager duchess and the young duke had done quite well with the estate, increasing it several times over.
“What about your man, Mr. Portney? Has he been able to discover anything?” Monty slid his glass onto the desk but shook his head when Elias offered to freshen it. “He’s the best of the Bow Street Runners. Even better than old Elkins.”
“I have had him on the case for a while. So far, nothing.” Elias swirled the whisky in the glass. The way the golden liquid caught the light helped him think. “It is almost as if the duke does not exist.”
“I know quite a few individuals down at the Exchange who would beg to differ. The man’s every move is watched and mimicked in the hopes of reaping at least a portion of his successes.”
“Yet the only servants or employees willing to offer us information about him are those most recently hired for his London townhouse. And even they have never seen him.” Elias slowly shook his head, then lifted his gaze from his glass and settled it on his brother. “I love Celia, and she will be mine.”
Monty returned a sympathetic look. “We will work this out, brother. I swear it.” His expression of sympathy furrowed into a studious frown. “Lady Bournebridge mentioned spotting you in the park the other day.” His frown slowly shifted to an amused smirk. “Quite beside herself, she was, because neither she nor her cackling hens-in-waiting could identify the two lovelies you treated to a ride in that fine barouche I gave you.”
Elias smiled at the memory. “The raven-haired goddess was my Celia. The fetching redhead was Lady Sophie, sister to the fourth Earl of Rydleshire. I believe the Rydleshires spend most of their time in France, just as the dowager duchess and Celia have spent the lion’s share of their lives in Germany.” He cocked his head and arched a meaningful brow. “And Lady Sophie is unattached.”
“Our task at hand is to get you married, dear brother. Not me.” Monty tapped on the desktop again. “Lady Whitfield’s dinner party is this evening. An intimate gathering of sixteen to twenty persons, as I understand. Did you receive a card for it? I know her husband thinks quite highly of you after your handling of that rather delicate affair for him last year.”
Elias glanced at the basket on the corner of his desk. It overflowed with messages and cards in dire need of attention. “I have yet to sort through the correspondence from the past few days.” He dismissed the issue with a shrug. “I fail to see how Lady Whitfield’s soiree is relevant to my dilemma with Celia.”
“According to Fords, the aforementioned Lady Sophie and the dowager Countess of Rydleshire, Lady Ardsmere, and her mother-in-law,andthe dowager Duchess of Hasterton and your Lady Cecilia will be in attendance.” Monty preened like a peacock and added a wink for good measure.
