Misleading a Duke. A.S. Fenichel
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Faith’s heart broke for the couple who had created Nick and loved so truly. She brushed a tear away. “Would you like more wine?”
A cold wind blew through the hothouse, indicating the door had been opened. Faith had told the meager staff that they were not to be disturbed, so something must be wrong. “Thea? What is it?”
A man with a round face, ruddy cheeks, and an odd accent stepped around the large potted orange trees into view. “I’m afraid it isn’t your cook, my lady. She and the other two are safely locked in the cellar.”
Nick’s grip tightened and he tugged her behind him. “Charles, what on earth are you doing here?”
Another man, tall and good-looking with sharp features and cruel eyes, stepped from behind the trees. This man sounded well educated but distinctly French. “We are here to settle a debt, old friend.”
“Joseph, this is a surprise.” Nick’s voice could cut glass.
Faith gripped his arm and his muscles were tense as a bow pulled back and ready to fly. They might be playing the part of friend for the moment, but these were dangerous men. “I did not know we were to have company. May I offer you gentlemen some wine?”
A third man, dressed in the English style and with an elaborately tied cravat, joined them. He had a scar above his left eye and the blacks of his eyes nearly disappeared, leaving only the palest blue. He and the man Nick called Joseph were tall and lean. “I’m afraid that is not what we came for, Miss Landon. You may not know this, but you have aligned yourself with a fiend.”
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