something deeper between them than passing lust.
Ridiculous. It was his attempt to scare her, that was all. There had never been any doubt in her mind that he disliked her. Probably because she was French. His whole purpose in life was to defeat her countrymen.
* * *
‘Now, don’t you look as fine as fivepence? Bang up to the knocker, you might say.’
Freddy met Barker’s gaze in the mirror and grinned. ‘Sartorial elegance are the words you are seeking.’
Barker liked to pretend he came from the stews rather than a respectable merchant family. ‘Unlikely.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘Pity you can’t do something about your expression. You look like a man walking up the steps to the nubbin’ cheat.’
The gallows would be preferable to what he had planned for tonight. ‘Are you sure no one has seen him?’
‘Nary a peep, but we’ll find him, given time.’
Freddy cursed. With Minette on the rampage, he didn’t have time. Neither did he want to play foolish games with manipulating little baggages like Minette Rideau. He should have gone to see Gabe this morning, but that would have finished any hope he’d have of getting her to talk. He’d recognised the signs. He certainly didn’t want her going off half-cocked and ruining any chance they had of finding Moreau before he did any damage. She was as stubborn as she was beautiful. He closed his eyes briefly as the recollection of their kiss flooded his mind. The feel of her soft body pressed against his own. His blood heated. Damn it all, that was the last thing he needed.
He gave one more twitch to his neckcloth and turned from the mirror.
Barker held up his coat, fingering the cloth. ‘As fine a bit of yardage as I’ve ever seen. Weston, did you say?’
‘Yes.’ He slid his arms into the sleeves, and Barker eased the coat over his shoulders.
It was like slipping into a disguise. The persona of aristocrat, rather than that of owner of a hell-cum-brothel. It was the latter part that stuck in the craw of the ton. A gentleman might not mind enjoying its offerings but they didn’t want their wives near the owner of a bawdy house. Not that a truly ambitious mama would care if she thought she had a chance at the title.
The main reason he never went to balls and such.
Hopefully, the Gosports wouldn’t throw their uninvited guest out on his ear. While the ducal title trumped a mere baron any day of the week, likely his host wouldn’t be pleased at such a disgraceful duke darkening his doors.
Freddy grinned at the alliteration. It would make a good title for one of the romances the ladies like to read.
‘Is the carriage ready?’ he asked.
He’d had his mother’s town carriage dragged out and dusted off. Lord, his father must be turning in his grave right now, given the path his heir had decided to follow. As if he wasn’t disappointing enough as it was.
‘Ready and waiting, guv. Er...I mean, Your Grace.’
‘No need to stand on ceremony, Barker. You know me too well for that.’ Barker had dragged him home half-seas over too many times after long nights of talking to his eyes and ears in London’s lowest taverns to scrape and bow to his title.
Barker grinned. ‘Right you are, then, guv. Time we were off.’
Freddy grinned back. Whatever happened, tonight was going to be unpleasant, but at least it wouldn’t be boring. Minette Rideau was never dull.
When he arrived at Gosports’ house he saw that he had timed his arrival to perfection. The receiving line had already abandoned its post at the head of the stairs, his host and hostess off enjoying their party. He slipped the butler a coach wheel. The man closed his fist over the silver coin and agreed there was no need to announce a latecomer, particularly since he’d come at the behest of another guest.
Following the sound of music, Freddy ascended the stairs to the first floor and located the ballroom. A large drawing room with the furniture removed and a three-man orchestra at one end.
Minette, in proper debutante white, looked glorious, her face flushed, her eyes sparkling as she pirouetted beneath the arm of a fresh-faced youth. This was what a girl like her should be doing. Dancing. Flirting. Establishing herself in society. It would be a shame to spoil all that, but if he had to he would tell Gabe what she’d been up to and have her sent to rusticate at his country house until they had Moreau firmly in their grasp.
Her glance met his across the room. He stilled. Caught by the laughing brightness of her face. His chest tightened. She wouldn’t be smiling at him by the end of the evening. Most likely she’d hate him. The thought made him feel colder than usual. He scanned the room, found Gabe and Nicky standing with a group of friends. He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders.
‘Freddy. I didn’t know you would be here tonight.’ Arthur Stone’s cheerful greeting at his back had him spinning around.
Arthur, his cousin, put out a hand to steady him. Freddy gritted his teeth, avoided the clutching hand and smiled. ‘A surprise to me, too.’
The slow-top frowned his puzzlement. ‘It is good to see you, Freddy.’ He winced. ‘I suppose I should be calling you Duke now or Falconwood.’
‘Freddy will do, cuz. Falconwood sounds too much like Father to me.’
His cousin’s open countenance cleared of worry. He had a naturally cheerful disposition and a dullness of intellect Freddy found hard work, but he was a nice enough chap. ‘It’s hard to believe the old fellow’s been gone more than a year, isn’t it?’ His cousin glanced about him, pity in his eyes. ‘There are some chairs over there by the wall if you need to sit down. I’d be more than happy sit and keep you company.’
Pity for Freddy’s lame leg. Along with the unease people generally felt around someone less than whole. Not to mention a man whose mother had accused him of making a play for the dukedom. A charge levelled behind his back but never laid to his face. Fratricide. The unspoken word lingered in the air like the smell of rotten eggs.
Rather than offering to plant the man a facer, Freddy ignored the suggestion that he sit, along with those other unspoken sentiments. ‘How is the family?’
‘The boys are just like me at their age, full of pluck.’ His face beamed with pride.
Freddy liked that most about his cousin, his love of his boys. ‘I imagine they have grown a great deal since I saw them last.’
‘You really ought to pay us a visit. I’ll have Liz send you an invitation.’
He couldn’t think of anything worse. If Arthur was oversolicitous, his wife vacillated between offers to help the poor benighted invalid and the secret worry that he might yet marry, beget a family of his own and cut out her sons. He had the feeling she agreed with the old duke, his father, that if his older brother had to die in the accident, when they had been little more than boys on the cusp of manhood, it would have been better if Freddy had found the decency to accompany his brother to the pearly gates.
The old man was likely right. And if Freddy had been a kinder man, he would set Liz’s mind at rest. He had no intention of passing on what his father had called, on good days, the taint in his blood.
He watched Minette chattering to the woman beside her in the set and found the tension in his shoulders easing. ‘Perhaps I’ll come down during hunting season.’
‘Hunting?’ Anxiety creased Arthur’s brow. ‘It’s rough country, you know.’ His brow smoothed out. ‘Shooting, you mean. The very thing. We can carry a chair out with us in case...’ He seemed to realise his words were not going down all that well. ‘See how you feel on the day, what?’
Such a dolt, his heir who would one day inherit the dukedom. Biting back the words, he bowed. ‘If you will excuse me, I need a drink.’
He found his