that it will be to some entirely unsuitable miss who will lead you about by your nose.”
Stefan arched a dark brow. “Actually I’ve always assumed that you would be the one to tumble neck deep in love with some spirited lady who will lead you a merry dance. It would be only fair, for all the havoc you have caused among the fairer sex.”
There was no need for Edmond to fake his shudder. He possessed a natural desire for a beautiful woman, but never for more than a passing affair.
He would readily share his body and his wealth, but never anything more.
“Mon dieu, not even I deserve such a hideous fate,” he muttered.
Stefan chuckled, but he didn’t appear nearly as convinced as he should have been. “Now, tell me all the news from Russia. You know I hear nothing here in the country.”
Edmond leaned forward, his smile fading. “Actually, Stefan, I am far more interested in what has been happening at Meadowland.”
IT WAS CLOSE TO TWO HOURS later when Edmond entered his private sitting room. Decorated in soothing shades of cream and sapphire, it possessed a simple elegance. The furniture was fashioned in the solid English style with a satin settee, a mahogany chased ormolu and brass bureau, and a few trellised-backed chairs that smelled of beeswax. On the walls were several Flemish masterpieces that had been collected by a distant ancestor; the floor was covered by a magnificent oriental carpet.
It was the logs laid in the fireplace and fresh flowers arranged on the marble mantle, however, that made his lips twitch with amusement.
Clearly Goodson had not lied. The room looked as if he had never left.
Shifting his attention, he regarded the short, rotund form of his brother’s valet who was standing near the arched windows that offered a stunning view of the nearby lake. The servant was neatly attired in a black and gold uniform, his pudgy face settled in lines of stoic patience.
“James, thank you for coming.”
“My lord. It is good to have you home.” The valet, who had been with Stefan for over ten years, offered a deep brow. Straightening, he dared to allow a hint of disapproval to touch his pale eyes. “His Grace pines for your company when you are gone.”
“Well, I am here now.”
“So, you are, sir.” James covertly glanced over Edmond’s elegant attire. “I would be happy to lend you assistance in your chambers whenever my duties with your brother…”
“No, my manservant should be arriving with my luggage before nightfall,” he interrupted. “What I need from you is information.”
James frowned in confusion. “Information?”
“I want to know every incident, no matter how trivial, that has put my brother in danger over the past year.”
“Oh…thank God.” Without warning, the servant was moving forward and falling to his knees directly before the startled Edmond. “I have tried to convince his Grace that he is in danger, but he refuses to believe that anyone would want to harm him.”
“I assumed as much, which is why I have returned. Unlike Stefan, I am not naive enough to brush aside such obvious attempts at murder. And I can assure you that I will not rest until I discover who is behind these attacks.”
CHAPTER TWO
THE TERRACE HOUSE ON CURZON Street was a narrow affair with a wrought-iron railing and unremarkable facade. The interior had once been fashionable, with a cheerful front parlor and long, formal dining room. These days, however, it could claim nothing more than a vulgar collection of Egyptian-inspired furnishings complete with a sarcophagus and mummy that had caused more than one visitor to faint in horror.
Precisely the sort of overblown opulence that marked the owner as one of those encroaching mushrooms with more money than good breeding.
The house did, however, possess a tidy garden in the back that had the added advantage of a small grotto where it was possible to hide from prying eyes.
Standing near the narrow window of the grotto that overlooked the back gate, a young woman pressed a hand to her stomach, which was tied in painful knots.
Standing in the shadows, with her vibrant curls yanked into a stern knot at the nape of her neck and her small, delicate body encased in a heavy black gown more suitable for the depths of winter than the pleasant October day, she should have looked a dowd. That had certainly been her intention when she had left her chambers that morning.
Unfortunately, nothing could manage to dim the finely molded features that were dominated by a pair of slanted, thickly lashed green eyes and a wide, lush mouth. And certainly nothing could dim the vibrant beauty of her auburn hair that held hints of red, gold and a shimmering bronze.
Her nose was dainty and her eyebrows an elegant sweep of color that emphasized the ivory perfection of her skin. Even her cheekbones were carved with exquisite care.
To men, she appeared to capture the very essence and allure of the first Eve, a woman who could tempt a man to barter his very soul to own her.
But in this moment, she would give her sizable dowry to be invisible to men.
At least to one man in particular.
The familiar squeak of the back gate brought a swift end to her dark thoughts, and leaning forward, she gave a low whistle to capture the maid’s notice.
“Janet,” she called softly. The plump female, attired in a gray servant’s gown and white cap covering her dark curls, cast a glance about the seemingly empty garden. “I am in the grotto.”
With hurried steps, the maid entered the grotto and pressed a hand to her ample bosom.
“Lord, Miss, ye bout scared the wits outta me.”
“Mr. Wade has returned from his club early, I could not risk having him overhear us,” Brianna Quinn whispered.
Janet grimaced, her pretty features hardening with distaste. It was an expression most women displayed when speaking of Mr. Thomas Wade.
“Aye, he is always sneaking about, watching you like a hungry cat watching a mouse.”
A shiver inched down Brianna’s spine before she was sternly lifting her chin and sucking in a deep breath. No, she could not give in to her looming panic. The only means of saving herself was to keep her wits clear and focused on escape.
“He will discover that I am no mouse,” she said, fiercely. “I do not care what it takes, I will be rid of my vile stepfather before the week is out.”
“As to that—” Janet ducked her head in apology as she reached her hand into the pocket of her apron and removed the vellum envelope that Brianna had given her earlier that morning.
Brianna frowned in disbelief. She had devoted the past week to sending letter after letter to Stefan’s town house. She had been certain when she learned the reclusive Duke was in town that he would be her savior.
But, as day after day passed with no word from her childhood friend, she had at last sent her maid to confront him directly.
