The School for Brides Page 3

  “State your business,” Harold said over her shoulder. The stranger glared. He obviously had no patience with her servant. He’d been left to weather the storm on the doorstep and was likely chilled to his bones. Not exactly proper protocol when one calls on a household. But Harold was no common servant, and not above taking a bit of revenge for the threats against Eva.

  “I’ll not do it out here.”

  The man put a boot on the top step and Eva startled backward into Harold’s massive chest. The stranger brushed by her.

  In the dim flicker of sconce light, the man gave her a more thorough perusal as he dripped a large puddle on the polished floor.

  “You are Eva Black? Interesting.” The timbre of his voice held no trace of warmth to take the edge off the ice in his green eyes. “You are not at all what I thought a thief would look like, though I suppose I am unused to thieves of the fairer sex. Truthfully, I am disappointed.”

  Thief? Her? She quickly pulled her mind from thoughts of gothic heroes upon storm-swept moors, and let her critical gaze drift down his body.

  Though not as tall as Harold, the stranger was taller than most men. He was draped in wool, and rain had stained his finely cut garments. It was clear to Eva that this was no debt collector, nor a merchant come to call.

  From his square jaw, to the aristocratic cut of his longish nose, to the tips of his expensive boots, this man was the epitome of arrogant nobility.

  She drew up to full height. “I fear you have stumbled onto the wrong stoop and the wrong woman, sir. I have stolen nothing from you.”

  His expression turned icy. “Do you think that I would lower myself to come to your door in this godforsaken storm if there were any chance I might be mistaken?” He paused and turned his attention to Harold. “It took my investigator over three months to find you, and I will not leave until you’ve returned my property to me.”

  The situation became more puzzling by the moment. He spoke nonsense. But she was reluctant to draw the attention of neighbors by continuing this conversation in the open doorway.

  “Very well.” She squelched an impatient sigh. “We will speak in the library.” Eva turned and led the stranger down the hall and up the stairs. She paused outside the door as he passed into the small room, and leaned close to Harold. “Make sure the ladies are otherwise occupied until I’ve concluded this matter.”

  Harold scowled and clenched both fists. One word and he’d be on her visitor like a rabid dog. Unfortunately, bloodshed would ruin the gleaming floors.

  “I do not like leaving you alone with him,” Harold grumbled.

  She patted his thick forearm. “I will be fine. Just keep the women out of sight. And have the footmen stoke the fire when we have finished. It’s cold enough in here to make ice.”

  Drawing in a breath, Eva turned to meet her adversary. He stood near the fireplace and watched her cross the room. She was careful to keep a respectable distance between them, well out of arm’s reach. Without Harold, she felt vulnerable.

  “Now that we are alone, why don’t you tell me who you are and what it is you want from me,” she said tightly. “You have me at a disadvantage.”

  The stranger drew off his wet cloak and draped it carelessly over a high-backed chair.

  “I like to keep the advantage mine,” he said briskly. “I gather you do not intend to offer me tea and cakes, Miss Black?”

  The sardonic words raised her hackles. “Had you been invited, sir, I would have planned ahead for an afternoon of buttered scones and witty banter.”

  He responded with a hard smile. “Your appearance gave me momentary pause that I might well have received misinformation and arrived at the wrong house. But now I have no doubt you are the woman I seek.”

  Without his cloak for added bulk, he was not as large as she expected. But he had broad shoulders that tapered downward to a narrow waist and hips, followed by defined and muscular thighs beneath well-cut buff breeches. He was a fine male specimen, though she assured herself that her observation was only clinical, like examining teeth before purchasing a carriage horse.

  “Sir, though I have no qualms about standing around trading insults with you until the cock crows at dawn, I have other matters to attend to. I ask again, who are you, and what do you want from me?”

  “I am Nicholas Drake, the Duke of Stanfield.”

  Instantly, she knew his name and title, though she knew not why. Perhaps from the society pages, perhaps from gossip in the market, but his introduction revealed he was no lesser baron or coachman, but a duke with all the blue blood behind the name.

  He paused and looked around the room. In this simple setting, with its pale green papered walls, musty old books, and a worn yet serviceable Oriental rug beneath a matching set of chairs, he overwhelmed the space, and her, with his presence.

  Once his perusal of the room was complete, he turned back to her and stared down his nose. “I have come for Arabella. If you would fetch her, we will be on our way.”

  Arabella? “So that is what this is about?”

  The puzzle began to take shape. His name was familiar because he was Arabella’s former lover. According to the girl, he was possessive and ruthless, though generous to a fault. Still, not once had he ever asked Arabella what she wanted for herself, and the courtesan’s life was not her desire. She’d longed for love and children. She could get neither with His Grace. She was neither a virgin nor did she possess an impeccable bloodline to be his duchess. Mistress, yes. Wife, no.

  When Arabella had tried to end the relationship, he brushed aside her wishes and bought her half a dozen new gowns, expecting a new wardrobe to soothe her. But she had simply waited for her opportunity and disappeared, right out from under his arrogant nose.

  The right decision, clearly. Everything Arabella said about His Grace had come to pass. He was possessive and ruthless enough to hunt her down. The girl was right to flee.

  “I am sorry, Your Grace. Arabella is not here.”

  “Then tell me where she is, Miss Black. I want to see her. She belongs to me.”

  “Surely I am mistaken, Your Grace, but did you insinuate that Arabella is your property?” She widened her eyes innocently. “Is she what you claim I have stolen from you?”

  “Arabella is mine and under my protection.” His jaw pulsed. “This matter is none of your business, Miss Black. It is between Arabella and me.”

  “Of all the ridiculous notions, Your Grace!” Her body tightened with anger. “Perhaps you should have fitted Arabella with a diamond-encrusted collar and kept her tethered to your bed with a length of rope, after you trotted her through the park for fresh air and exercise like a pampered poodle!”

  He stiffened, and she went on. “The girl is not an object to be bought and sold like a mare or milk cow. She is a person, a human being. She was free to choose another path for herself. She has done so, and is no longer your concern.”

  Thunderclouds crossed his face. He covered the few steps that separated them and loomed over her, anger etching lines on his face. “Arabella is mine.”

  Eva refused to be intimidated. “She is not yours, Your Grace. She was never yours.”

  A pair of large hands clenched and released at his sides, as if measuring her neck for size.

  “That is her decision alone, Miss Black. Not yours. Tell me where she is. Now.”

  Eva froze. It would take only a moment for His Grace to snap her neck with his powerful hands before she could scream for help. “I cannot,” she whispered. “She isn’t here.”

  Undecided whether to call for Harold or bolt for the open door, in the end she did neither. He wouldn’t cow her, no matter what he did to her. She’d show no fear.

  His Grace expelled a breath through clenched teeth.

  In that moment, she saw something deeper in his eyes than a man looking for his property. Before she could put a name to it, his face closed back up and he shoved one hand through his hair. Clearly, he wasn’t about to risk years in Newgate for t
he chance to choke her dead.

  She waited silently for him to settle himself and hopefully regain some sense. This was a smart man, a man of means if not scruples. Once he realized he had lost this game, he would trot off to his mansion, lick his wounds, and move on to his next conquest.

  “If it is money you want, I have enough to purchase the chit back from you, Miss Black,” he said low and tight. “Name your price.”

  Eva stared at him. She understood the notion of men of rank taking mistresses, though she despised the practice. It was a practice going back hundreds, if not thousands, of years. The institution wasn’t about to change because of her opinion on the matter. But for this man to offer her money to buy back Arabella made her angry all over again.

  “How dare you come into this home and make such a boorish offer, Your Grace? Arabella is gone, do you understand me? Gone from London and never coming back. So you can hie yourself off to Almack’s or White’s, or wherever dukes go to drink and gamble, and forget you ever knew her. She is no longer under your protection. The sooner you give up this futile chase, the sooner you can find a new courtesan to warm your bed.”

  Eva stood, chin upright; a tiny terrier facing down a tiger. No matter how he intimidated her, she would not be the first to look away. One sign of weakness, and he’d rip her to shreds.

  Thank goodness he couldn’t see the churning in her stomach or hear the rapid clip of her beating heart.

  “I will find her, Miss Black,” he said through gritted teeth. “When I do, she will happily return to my bed and forget the silly notions you put into her head.”

  It took strength of will to keep her fist from smashing him right in the nose. Never in her life had she met such a vexing and stubborn man!

  “Silly notions, you say? What, for Arabella to aspire to greater things than to be a plaything, a warm body, for a duke?” Eva lifted her hands lest he step forward. “And what of her husband and the baby she carries? Will you murder the captain and take the baby to raise it as your own? Will she accept the death of the man she loves and eagerly spread her legs for you because you command it, Your Grace?”

  His Grace stepped backward, almost faltered, if a man like him could falter. The arrogant beast looked as if she’d dumped ice water down his breeches.

  “Arabella is married and with child?”

  “I watched the vicar pronounce them man and wife, and a letter last week confirmed she is with child.” This time, Eva did see emotion pass through His Grace’s eyes before he turned his head away. Fondness? Regret? Though he considered Arabella his property, apparently the man had some affection for the girl. It explained his desperate search for her, and showed his heart wasn’t entirely a black lump of coal after all.

  Perhaps there was a human being beneath his cold, arrogant, pompous exterior? Arabella had touched him in some way. Maybe there was hope for him. Unfortunately, Eva had neither the time nor the desire to find a shovel and dig for humanity beneath layers of aristocratic upper crust.

  A life in America for Arabella with her beloved ship captain husband was her future now. His Grace would have to move on with his life without her. Even he wouldn’t dare interfere with a marriage made in the eyes of God.

  “As you can see, Your Grace, you cannot have her back,” Eva said. “I am positive, should you make your desire for a new mistress known about London, there will quickly be young women lined up outside your door.”

  If Eva expected resignation in his eyes when he lifted them back to her, she was startled by the intensity and black rage she found there.

  “I will not forget what you’ve done, Miss Black.”

  In the dim room Eva watched, transfixed, while he retrieved his cloak and jerked it around his shoulders. He said not another word as he stalked past her, nor when he gained the hall and then the stairs, heavy footfalls marking his passage to the lower floor. She flinched when the oak panel door slammed closed behind him.

  Harold found her rooted to the same spot moments later when he returned to her side and placed his comforting hand on her arm. His mouth screwed up with concern.

  “Miss Eva,” he said, and bent to peer into her face. “Are you ill? Did he hurt you?”

  “Oh, Harold,” she said softly when she finally found her tongue. She rubbed the chill flesh of her exposed upper arms and felt the same strange brush of cold air she’d felt earlier. “I think I have made a powerful enemy.”

  Chapter Three

  Nicholas swore under his breath as he climbed into the coach and pulled the door closed with a bang. He reached to rap on the ceiling, and the driver urged the horses on.

  Blind fury filled his mind. Arabella was lost to him forever. Sweet, beautiful Arabella. Two years of wooing and seducing her away from the Earl of Seabrook. Hardly a year spent in her bed. All wasted. It took years of searching for a perfect mistress, and she was yanked away by a pinched-faced spinster unable to mind her business and stay out of his.

  “Miss Black will regret crossing me,” he vowed.

  Leaning back, he pictured Arabella and remembered the moment he’d first laid eyes on her beautiful face. She was in a private theater box, watching some forgettable play, shadowed by a pair of heavy drapes so as not to ruffle the sensibilities of the Ton by being seen publicly on the arm of her lover.

  She’d laughed at some witty comment from Seabrook, her blue eyes dancing, when she turned her head slightly and caught his eye. The connection lasted only a moment before she turned back to her companion, pointedly dismissing him.

  But the hook was set.

  At first he’d limited his pursuit to casual public meetings and mild flirtation, out of respect for the earl. Eventually, he’d chased her with a single-minded purpose, uncaring of Seabrook’s anger. When he finally made her his, she’d proved to be everything he’d dreamed. Lovely, loving, and eager to please; in bed and out.

  They’d laughed and played, and for most of their time together she’d seemed content. He was sure of it. Only over the last few months had he sensed restlessness in her that she’d tried to mask with good humor and passion. She’d been distracted and rushed when he visited, and several times she’d been late to arrive when he’d called. When he’d queried her about it, she’d shrugged her perfect shoulders and pulled him down on the bed with a passionate kiss.

  Then one morning he’d arrived on their one-year anniversary, with flowers and a ruby necklace in hand, and she was gone.

  Vanished.

  The servants were as puzzled as he. At first he worried she’d come to harm, and sent a footman for a Bow Street Runner. Then he’d found her note, penned in her delicate scroll on vellum. She thanked him politely for their time together and left his gifts piled up in the center of their bed.

  All of his gifts down to the last ruby. She’d left with only the clothing on her back.

  It had taken months to hunt her down to the last place she’d been seen. A shabby town house in Cheapside with a door guarded by a bear of a man and occupied by a woman of mystery who was as secretive as she was plain.

  Eva Black. Medium height, hair an uninteresting brown, eyes the color of deep amber behind a pair of oversized spectacles. A mouse of a woman so much beneath his notice, and without Arabella’s sparkle, she might well be a piece of dusty, faded furniture forgotten in an attic. Her dress was drab gray muslin and shapeless, hiding any hint of the body beneath.

  Compared to Arabella, this woman was a dried-up crone, a spinster, and not worthy of his interest. Had she not stolen Arabella away from him, he’d be satisfied to go to his dotage without ever having crossed her path.

  What infuriated him most was her outright defiance of his wishes and the look of satisfaction on her face, and in her eyes, when she’d dropped a figurative anvil on his head with the news Arabella was wed, bedded, and with child.

  For a flash, he’d wondered if the infant could be his, then dismissed the notion. He was careful with all his lovers, and certainly with Arabella. The last thing he w
anted was his perfect mistress burdened with his bastard.

  It wasn’t as if he did not want children someday to carry on his legacy. Just not with his beautiful courtesan. He wanted children with a carefully chosen wife of impeccable pedigree and high social standing.

  Under his breath, he cursed the damned Black woman again and felt rage well in his stomach to sour the hopes he’d had to reclaim Arabella this afternoon. What good were money and a fine name when he couldn’t keep a beggarly little nobody from sneaking into his life like a thief and stealing away someone he treasured most deeply?

  Now Miss Black was staring down the barrel of his pistol, and he intended to pull the trigger. Not literally, of course, but she had to pay for her interference. He wouldn’t be satisfied until she was destitute and begging on the streets for moldy bread crusts, and hiking up her skirts for any man with the jangle of coin in his pocket.

  A slow grin passed over his face. Such an unseemly fate would certainly wipe the pinched line off her spinster’s mouth and knock the haughty and disrespectful glint out of her eyes.

  The coach slowed. “Collingwood House, Your Grace.” Pulling his mind from thoughts of revenge, he looked out the window at his home, a monolith of gray stone and red brick, a pair of columns bordering the entrance of the mansion. The home had been his family’s residence for two hundred years, ever since his great-great-grandfather won it over a hand of cards.

  Nicholas always wondered if the old man had cheated. It wasn’t common knowledge among the Ton that his ancestor sometimes donned a highwayman’s mask to recoup his gambling losses, but rather a carefully guarded family secret. Any whispers of such a scandal had been only that, whispers.

  The Drake name was one of the oldest in England and highly revered. Any ancestor who might have veered slightly off the proper ducal path to engage in nefarious behavior did so under the cover of darkness so as not to soil the family title.

  Yet, with the money and power Nicholas had at his disposal, and Collingwood House, he still couldn’t keep one mistress content under his care.