Your brother,
Benedict
Beatrice raised her eyes to Knight’s grey gaze.
“Benedict says I am to hear you out,” she said slowly. “What is this about?”
“Perhaps, after supper, I might have a word with you alone…”
“Over my dead body will you be alone with her,” Wick said flatly.
Knight raised his brows. A look that clearly said,That could be arranged.
“Whatever you have to say,” she said, “you may say it here.”
“As you wish.” Knight adjusted his cufflinks before speaking. “I have recently come into an inheritance. An unexpected one that comes with certain obligations. Obligations that I am not in a position to fulfill on my own. Thus, I am in search of a partner.”
Bea frowned. “What sort of a partner?”
“A wife—a duchess, to be precise.” Knight’s smile had a taut edge. “It turns out my inheritance included a collection of titles. The fifth Duke of Knighton, Marquess of Wroxley, Earl Wroxley, and so forth.”
In the time it took Bea to blink, Wick shoved back his chair, rising. Bea had never seen him look so foreboding, his jaw clenched and hazel eyes blazing.
“A word outside, Knight,” he said in clipped tones. “Now.”
12
Wick stalkedinto the moonlit garden. He didn’t bother to look behind him, knowing that Knight wouldn’t back down from a challenge. He and Knight had crossed paths plenty of times in the London underworld where they’d both made their fortunes. From past experience, he knew the other was a worthy competitor whether it came to business, women, or a game of cards.
Wick respected the bastard, sometimes even liked him.
This was not one of those times.
Knight appeared, Beatrice not far behind him.
“What in heaven’s name are you doing, Mr. Murray?” she said, her brow furrowed.
“Go back to supper,” he said evenly. “This is between Knight and me.”
Her lovely eyes flashed. “And this ismyhome. Mr. Knight is my guest.”
She wedged herself in between him and Knight, who remained impassive.
Wick knew the cunning nature behind that bland mask. Knight belonged to the elite group of men known as “dukes” of the underworld—and now it appeared the bastard was a bona fide duke as well. Knight’s moniker, the Duke of Silk, alluded to the fact that he controlled the territory of Spitalfields, a center of silk weaving and clothing manufactory.
There was another reason Knight had earned that name: the cull’s manner was smoother than the expensive fabric his weavers produced. He was well known for his exploits with the fair sex. Wick didn’t want him anywhere near Bea.
Much lessproposingto her.
“Not for long,” Wick said grimly. “His Grace will be leaving.”
Knight arched a dark brow. “Will I?”
“Find yourself another duchess,” Wick bit out. “Beatrice is spoken for.”
“Since when?” Beatrice said.
“Since…”
