The Dutiful Duke Read online

  His conceit enraged Nia even further. "Don't put words in my mouth, sir! I am more than capable of speaking for myself!"

  "So I have noticed."

  "Oh!" Nia lifted her hands in exasperation, too furious to remember he was her employer. "You make me so angry! When we first met I thought you a cold, puffed-up prude, but you are nothing but a . . . an uncaring dilettante! Amanda might well be in the gravest danger, and you treat it like a lark. Do you care for nothing and no one?"

  Wyatt's confusion and indulgence vanished at the accusation. "Why should I?" he retorted before he could stop himself. "Except for Christopher, no one has ever cared a damn for me."

  The conviction in his voice shocked Nia out of her anger. She stared at him in horror. "But surely your parents . . ."

  "Tolerated me," he finished for her, confessing what he had never confessed to another soul. "My mother especially seemed to have little use for me, but since she treated Christopher the same way, I told myself it did not matter."

  His raw admission brought a lump to Nia's throat. It explained so much, she thought, her heart going out to the little boy who had stoically accepted his mother's neglect. No wonder he held himself aloof from the rest of the world. It was the only thing he knew.

  "I am sorry," she said softly, wishing she could touch him, even if only to lay her hand on his.

  "For my parent's indifference?" He gave a bitter laugh. "Why should you be? It's the truth, and it's the way things are done in my world."

  "No." Nia shook her head. "I meant I am sorry for ripping up at you as I did. I know you were only funning me. It is just I was so worried about Amanda that I fear my sense of humor quite deserted me. I do have one, you know," she added when he didn't respond.

  "Do you?" Wyatt realized she was trying to tease him out of his brown study, and was grateful. "I was beginning to wonder. At times you seem so ferociously determined to be such a pattern card for the perfect governess.

  She gave him a quizzical frown. "But I am a governess."

  "I know, but somehow I don't see you as one."

  She had to ask. "How do you see me?"

  He considered the matter for a long moment before replying. "As a friend," he said, his gaze solemn as he met hers. "Someone I can talk to, laugh with." He gave an unexpected chuckle. "I suppose it has to do with the way we first met. It is hard to treat anyone with propriety once they've held a pistol on you."

  She covered her face with her hands and groaned. "I wish you would forget about that. I still cannot believe I behaved so outrageously."

  "There you go, being the proper Miss Pringle," he chided, reaching out to take her hands in his and gently lowering them. "Come, admit it. You adored having me at such a disadvantage."

  "It did have its moments," she said, delighting in his touch even as she warned herself to be prudent. "It isn't often a governess is allowed the upper hand with her employer, you know."

  "I don't know about that. It seems to me you have no difficulty keeping me well in line," he drawled, his nostrils flaring as he caught again the faint scent of her perfume. It reminded him of the infamous night when they first met, and the memory of her white shoulders and soft breasts made the breath catch in his throat. He silently uttered a heartfelt curse and forced his thoughts away from the carnal memories.

  "Practice, Your Grace, practice." To his relief she seemed unaware of the telling affect her nearness was having upon him. "Another thing I learned at my father's knee is that it never does to show any weakness to an enemy. He will only make use of it, to your grief."

  "I would hope you do not see me in quite that light, Nia." Her given name came easily to his lips. "I am not your enemy."

  "I know, my lord. I was but teasing," Nia said, deciding it was time to turn the conversation to safer topics. "And speaking of enemies, what does this Hemsley fellow intend to do about the men following Amanda?"

  "We are discussing possible strategies." Wyatt followed her lead with relief. "In the meanwhile, what are your plans for Amanda? I know better than to think you will allow either her or yourself to remain safely behind locked doors."

  Nia sent him a sharp look, but decided he wasn't serious. "We will exercise whatever caution you deem prudent, Your Grace," she said coolly. "But no, I have no intention of allowing us to become prisoners in our own home. In fact, we were talking of an outing to the Tower tomorrow afternoon. Amanda has been looking forward to it all week, but if you truly feel it is too dangerous, I suppose we could postpone it until these men are caught."

  Wyatt considered that and then reluctantly shook his head. "Since I can't guarantee that will never happen, you might as well go ahead with your visit," he said with a sigh. "God above knows how long this could take, and I don't want to deprive you or Amanda of the sights. But I believe Ambrose and I shall accompany you, just to be safe."

  They spent the rest of the ride discussing the visit to the Tower, and by the time they returned home Nia had all but forgotten their earlier altercation. But Wyatt evidently had not, and just as Nia was about to climb down from the carriage, he laid his hand on her arm.

  "You are wrong to say I care for nothing and no one," he said quietly, his expression forbidding as he held her gaze with his. "I do care, for Amanda . . . and for you. I would give my life to keep you safe. Remember that."

  "Uncle Wyatt is going to the Tower with us?" Amanda's eyes were bright with pleasure when Nia broke the news to her the following afternoon. "That is wonderful! Do you think he will show us the scaffold where Mary, Queen of Scots lost her head?"

  "I shouldn't think it would still be standing," Nia said, accustomed now to the bloodthirstiness of the young. "But if it is, I am sure he could be persuaded to show you a peek."

  "And the jewels," Amanda reminded her. "You said the warden would show them to us if we asked politely."

  "Provided there aren't a great many people there. Although that shouldn't be a problem," Nia added, casting a worried glance at the rain lashing against the latticed window. "Are you quite sure you want to go out, dearest? I fear you may catch a chill."

  "Pooh," Amanda replied with youthful disregard for such practical concerns. "I'll wear the new cape Uncle Wyatt bought me, and I shan't feel a drop."

  "I'm sure you won't," Nia agreed wryly, thinking of the fur-lined cape of purple velvet that had arrived yesterday along with several new dresses.

  "Will you wear your new cape?" Amanda asked, cocking her head to one side. "It's ever so pretty."

  Nia's cheeks grew rosy at the mention of the black alpaca cape that had been delivered along with Amanda's things. It was elegant and simple, and except for the French braid across the shoulders, devoid of decoration. It was a perfect cape for a governess, she acknowledged, but it stung that Wyatt had bought it for her.

  "Yes, I believe I shall," she answered, putting her pride aside with conscious effort. After yesterday she felt she and Wyatt had come to a sort of understanding. His buying her the cloak wasn't meant as an insult, He was only trying to look after her, and his thoughtfulness touched her.

  Besides, she added with a private smile, what choice did she have? He'd insist she wear the wretched thing, even going so far as to put it on her himself if she refused. Arrogant devil, she thought, her eyes glowing with emotions better left unexplored.

  While Nia and Amanda were adding the finishing touches to their appearances, Wyatt and Ambrose were in the drawing room holding an impromptu council of war.

  "Now remember," Wyatt began, "I want you to keep a sharp eye about you. If you suspect we're being followed, inform me at once. I will handle matters from there."

  The note of deadly intent in his friend's voice brought Ambrose's brows up in speculation. "As you wish, Tilton," he replied easily, "but I still say you are going about this all wrong. Are you quite sure you won't pack your niece off to the country? At Perryvale Manor, a dark man in a strange coach would be very noticeable."

  Wyatt turned away from the fireplace and
stalked over to the window. He and Ambrose had been arguing all day, and although he knew his friend's concerns were valid, he couldn't bring himself to send the little girl away. He'd been up half the night wrestling with his decision, and the more he thought about it the more determined he became to keep Amanda with him. He'd never forgive himself if she came to grief and he wasn't there to protect her.

  "If I could be there to keep watch over her, it would be one thing," he said in a grim voice, swinging around to meet Ambrose's gaze. "But you must know I can't leave town while Parliament is in session. Until then, we'll have to be doubly vigilant and guard her as best as we can."

  "Any more ideas as to why she is being followed?" Ambrose asked. "I must own it makes no sense to me. I mean," he added before Wyatt could speak, "I can understand that someone might wish to kidnap her because she is your niece, but how would they know she is your niece? You've hardly paraded her about town in an open cabriolet."

  The same thought had occurred to Wyatt, but he was no closer to an answer. "I can only suppose they heard the gossip being bandied about," he said, wishing he knew more. "You did say it was the talk of the town."

  "Mmm," Ambrose replied, rubbing a thoughtful finger over his lips. "If we could discover how they learned of her, we might be closer to finding out their identity. You've questioned the staff, I take it?"

  "Both Hemsley and I questioned them at length, and we are convinced they are innocent of any wrongdoing."

  "Hemsley?" Ambrose gave a slight grin. "That would be the charming gentleman with the scar on his face and the manners of a top sergeant? I thought I saw him skulking about when I arrived."

  Wyatt smiled at his friend's telling description. "Never mind Hemsley's manners," he told Ambrose. "He comes highly qualified, and that is all that matters to me. Although I'll have to question those qualifications if a dandy like you managed to spot him."

  Ambrose took no offense to Wyatt's charge; he merely smiled enigmatically. "There is more to us lackadaisical dandies then you may first suppose," he drawled, looking smug. "But in defense of Mr. Hemsley's sterling reputation, he was dressed as an ostler and checking the horse's traces when I arrived. He tipped his hat to me and wished me a very cheerful good day."

  "Good. I wouldn't—" He broke off as the door opened and Amanda raced inside.

  "We're ready, Uncle Wyatt!" she cried, sliding to a halt in front of him and tipping her head back to meet his eyes. "May we go now, please?" She added the last with an enchanting smile.

  Wyatt bent to scoop her into his arms. "If you are quite sure you really want to go, poppet," he teased, savoring the feeling of holding her safe. "Wouldn't you rather stay home and do your Latin lessons?"

  Amanda's eyes widened in horror. "Oh no!" she denied, shaking her head from side to side. "I really, really want to see the Tower. It's . . . it's . . ." She struggled for the right word. "It's educational," she said, twisting around to appeal to Miss Pringle, who had entered the room behind her. "Isn't it, Miss Pringle? It will help me understand my kings and queens. You said so."

  "So I did," Nia agreed, smiling. "Good afternoon, Your Grace, Mr. Royston," she murmured, curtseying to each man in turn.

  "Miss Pringle," Wyatt said, pleased to see she was wearing the cloak he'd ordered. He'd half-expected her to refuse it, and was fully prepared for a fight. Hopefully she'd be as sensible about the other things he'd purchased, he thought, lowering Amanda to her feet with a pat on her head.

  They set out for the Tower in the duke's crested carriage. Nia noted the presence of several grooms clinging to the back of the coach. She hated to think of them shivering in the cold rain, but she was grateful for the added security they offered. She wondered if any of them were armed, and decided she would ask Lord Tilton the moment they were alone.

  As she suspected, the inclement weather had kept away all but the hardiest of souls, and they were able to explore the historical buildings in relative solitude. Amanda, of course, was more interested in the dungeons and sites of executions than in the dusty details of history that Nia dutifully offered, and she soon gave up the effort.

  "I had no idea children could be so gruesome," Wyatt commented as Amanda dashed over to peer at the Bloody Tower, where the little princes were rumored to have met their fate. "I'd have thought she would be terrified of such a place."

  "She is," Nia informed him with a rueful smile. "That's half the attraction for her. It wouldn't be any fun at all if there wasn't the added spice of fear."

  "I hadn't thought of it quite like that," Wyatt agreed, a smile tugging at his mouth. "At Perryvale there is an old cottage where a hermit once lived. After he died the villagers wouldn't go near it, claiming it was haunted by the old man's ghost. One summer's night Christopher and I decided we would stay the night there—to show our manly courage, of course," he added, giving her a rueful look.

  "And did you?" Nia asked, amused by the idea of the duke as a young boy shaking with fear and excitement as he walked toward the abandoned cottage.

  "We made it as far as the front door when an owl screeched and sent us fleeing home," he confessed with a laugh. "We were never able to work up the courage to try a second time."

  "Is the building still there?" Nia asked, her eyes straying across the cobblestoned courtyard where Amanda was standing with Mr. Royston.

  "I'm not sure. Why?"

  "Because if it is, I suggest you have it boarded up. If Amanda should hear the story, I can guarantee she won't rest until she's explored the place."

  "I'll write my steward at once and have him see to it," Wyatt promised with alacrity. "Ghosts aside, the place is doubtlessly unstable, and I wouldn't want her to be hurt by falling stones."

  They continued walking about, but the rain was causing Nia's spectacles to fog over, and she was finding it more and more difficult to see.

  "Blast!"

  "What is it?"

  "The curse of those who must wear spectacles," Nia grumbled, removing the offending item with a scowl. "I can't see a thing."

  She looked so much like a cross owl that Wyatt could not help but chuckle. "Allow me," he said, pulling a kerchief from his pocket and offering it to her with a bow. "I wouldn't want you to walk off a parapet."

  "Thank you, Your Grace," she replied, accepting the square of soft cambric with relief. "You have no idea how disorientating the world looks all covered with spots!"

  "I'm sure I do not," he agreed, his gaze resting on her face. Without her glasses he could see that her eyes were an enchanting blend of green and gold, and lavishly rimmed with thick, dark lashes. The rain had brought a soft glow to her cheeks, and tendrils of chestnut-colored hair had slipped from beneath her ever-present cap to curl about her forehead. He realized he'd never seen her with her head uncovered, and he found himself wondering what she would look like without the prim covering.

  "There," Nia said, returning her spectacles to her nose with a relieved sigh. "That is much better. Now I can actually see what I am looking at." She glanced about her. "Where are Amanda and Mr. Royston?"

  "Over there, by the gate," Wyatt answered, indicating the others with a nod. "Amanda has been dragging him from one gruesome venue to another. I'd put an end to it, but he seems to be enjoying himself almost as much as she is."

  Nia smiled at the sight of the elegant man bending to read a brass plaque bolted into the stone wall. "Yes, he does seem rather contented," she said. "I wonder how he will react when we stop at the Egyptian Hall."

  "The Egyptian Hall?" Wyatt repeated, his brows lifting. "I don't recall your mentioning this yesterday."

  "Didn't I?" She contrived to look innocent. "Oh dear, I thought I had. Napoleon's coach is on display, and—"

  "Stop!"

  The shout brought Wyatt's head snapping around to see Ambrose struggling with a man in a shabby cape. He started forward at once, his hand closing around the loaded pistol he'd slipped into his pocket that morning. He'd taken less than a step when a second man materialized from
a recess near the gate and snatched up a screaming Amanda. The sight of his niece held in the unknown man's arms filled Wyatt with a murderous rage.

  "No!" he roared, drawing his pistol and levelling it on the man. "Let her go, you bastard!"

  At the threat the man turned, his eyes glittering wildly in his dirty face. At the sight of the pistol, he panicked and began backing toward the wrought iron fence.

  "Stands back!" he warned, a knife flashing as he held it high. "Stands back, or I swears I'll cut her throat!"

  The words lanced through Wyatt, but he forced himself to remain calm. He could feel Miss Pringle trembling beside him, but couldn't take the time to reassure her. He cautiously lowered the gun, but did not drop it.

  "Think, man," he advised softly, his eyes never leaving the villain's face. "You cannot hope to get away. Look about you; you are surrounded."

  The man spared a quick glance around him, his eyes growing even more frenzied as they fell on the small crowd that had gathered, drawn by all the shouting. He ran the hand that was holding the knife across the back of his mouth, and Wyatt allowed himself to relax marginally.

  "I won't bring charges," he promised, taking a wary step forward. "Just let my niece go, and tell me who hired you to abduct her. He's the man I want, not you."

  "Ye says that now, but how does I know ye'll keep yer word?" the man asked, sweat mingling with the rain on his face. "And even if ye does, I'm a dead man. 'E'll kill me sure if I was to tell 'is name."

  Wyatt opened his mouth to reassure the man when Miss Pringle suddenly stepped forward, her arms held out in front of her. "Let her go," she implored, advancing step by deliberate step. "You don't have to tell us anything if you don't want to. Just don't hurt her."

  The man hesitated, his eyes darting from Nia to Wyatt. The crowd was pressing closer, and in the distance a female voice could be heard shrieking for the guard. The thought of soldiers was evidently more than he could bear, for without warning he threw Amanda roughly to the ground and rushed forward.

  "No!" he screamed, the knife still clasped in his upraised hand. "I won't let ye 'ang me!"