as much. You take their money under false pretences,’ Nettie countered angrily. ‘You give Pa a small fraction of what you take and, he doesn’t realise it, but he’s risking imprisonment and ruin if he’s found out.’
‘I have the contacts and I am a businessman first and foremost.’
‘You are a criminal and a trickster.’
‘I dare say you’re right, but Robert is in this too deep to stop now. Or perhaps you’d rather see your father lose everything, including his reputation?’
‘No, of course not,’ Nettie said angrily. ‘I’m going to tell him what you’re up to.’
Duke moved closer so that she could feel the heat of his body, and the scent of spice, citrus and maleness filled her head with dizzying effect. He leaned towards her so that their faces were inches apart. ‘You can’t prove it and I will deny everything. Robert will believe me because he needs me. Either you accept the situation and do your best to keep him out of trouble, or you face the consequences brought about by your father’s frailty. It’s your choice, Nettie. What’s it to be?’
She looked into his dark eyes and knew that he had won this time, but she was not beaten. ‘What do you want me to do?’
He backed away, smiling. ‘That’s better. That wasn’t too difficult, was it?’ He picked up the magnifying glass and turned away to study the painting. ‘Tell Robert to bring it to me when he’s satisfied that it will pass the closest scrutiny, but I want it soon or there’s no deal, and I’ll find someone who will work faster.’
‘Why don’t you tell him yourself?’ Nettie faced him angrily. ‘You could come to our rooms and see the painting as it is now. You know very well that it will take weeks, if not months to dry.’
‘Which is why I want to have it and keep it safe.’ Duke leaned towards her, narrowing his eyes. ‘Your father is paid to do as I say. He’d do well to remember that, and so would you.’
‘One day you’ll meet your match, Duke.’ Nettie walked away without waiting for a response.
‘Don’t take it to heart, Nettie,’ Robert said calmly when she finished recounting her experience in the art gallery. ‘Duke is like that with everyone. I wouldn’t normally associate with someone like him, but he pays well.’
‘He’s a criminal, Pa. He’s exploiting your talent for his own ends. He gives you a pittance for your work and makes a fortune for himself. I don’t agree with what you’re doing.’
Robert put his palette down and sighed. ‘You’re wrong, my dear. Duke has kept us out of the workhouse and he pays well. One day I will get one of my original paintings accepted by the Royal Academy and I’ll never have to make another copy.’
Nettie sighed and shook her head. ‘Do you know a man called Samson Wegg? He was hanging around outside the gallery. Pendleton said he’s a police informer.’
‘I don’t know the fellow personally, Nettie. Duke has upset a great many people in the past, and I suspect that Wegg is one of them. It’s nothing to do with us.’
She knew that it was useless to argue. ‘I’ll leave you to get on, Pa. Just remember that Dexter wants the painting urgently.’
‘It’s nearly finished, and I’m going to the Lamb and Flag for some refreshment.’
‘Must you, Pa? We owe Ma Burton three weeks’ rent.’
‘I’ve been working hard, Nettie. A pint of ale won’t bankrupt us.’
Nettie bit back a sharp retort. There was no reasoning with Pa when he was in this mood. ‘What shall I do about supper?’
Robert stripped off his smock and reached for his jacket and hat. ‘Don’t worry about me, dear. I’ll get something at the pub. You should have enough change from the paint to buy yourself a pie.’ He kissed her on the cheek and sauntered from the room.
Nettie stared after him, shaking her head. Duke Dexter was undoubtedly a ruthless criminal who had led her father into a life of crime, and Pa was both feckless and easily duped, but she herself must take some of the blame for the fact that she had no money for food. She should not have spent so much on the notebook, and she could have walked from Piccadilly in order to save the bus fare. Yet again she would go to bed hungry – unless there was good news from the publishing house. It was some weeks since she had submitted the manuscript of her first novella, Arabella’s Dilemma, a gothic tale of passion and revenge, which was as good, she hoped, as anything that Ann Radcliffe had penned in The Mysteries of Udolpho, or Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Nettie had changed her style since writing about Arabella’s adventures, but if the story was accepted it would give her a measure of independence, and relieve the pressure on her father to become ever more involved with Duke. There was nothing for it but to put on her bonnet and shawl and venture out again, although this time it was on an errand of her own. She set off for Soho and the small publishing house that had been her last resort. All the major publishers had rejected her manuscript, but Dorning and Lacey were yet to reply.
Nettie left the office in Frith Street with the manuscript tucked under her shawl. The clerk behind the desk had been sympathetic, but was obviously practised in dealing with disappointed authors. The rejection letter was similar to the others she had received for previous attempts at writing fiction, giving her little hope of furthering her ambition to see her work in print. It had begun to rain, and although it was probably just an April shower, it was heavy enough to soak her to the skin in a few minutes, adding to her frustration, and she was hungry. Perhaps this was her punishment for squandering money instead of putting it towards the rent arrears.
She arrived home at the same time as Byron. He took one look at her and his smile of welcome faded. ‘Good Lord, Nettie. Where’ve you been? You look like a drowned rat – I mean,’ he added quickly, ‘you don’t actually look like a rat – it’s just an expression, but you are very bedraggled.’
‘You don’t have to tell me that,’ Nettie said ruefully. ‘I got caught in a shower.’
He opened the door and held it for her. ‘You’d better get out of those wet things before you catch cold.’
She put her finger to her lips. ‘Tiptoe or Biddy will leap out and ask for help. I’ve been caught once like that today.’
Byron followed her, treading as softly as was possible for a tall young man who looked as though he would be more at home on the cricket pitch or playing a game of tennis than working in the city. However, despite his boyish appearance, he was the person Nettie trusted the most.
They managed to get past the Lorimers’ door without being waylaid, and Nettie could only hope that the outing to the theatre might have done sickly Josephine some good. They continued up the next flight in silence, but when they reached the second floor and Nettie was about to say goodbye to Byron, he caught her by the hand.
‘Before you go upstairs, I wanted to ask you to join us for dinner tonight, Nettie. It’s my birthday and I’m treating the chaps to dinner at the Gaiety Restaurant – I’d be honoured if you’d come, too.’
The mere thought of a decent meal made Nettie’s mouth water,
