The Dutiful Duke Page 14

Her quiet solemnity made Wyatt stiffen in awareness. Whatever she was about to ask, he knew it had little to do with travel arrangements. "Certainly, Miss Pringle," he replied, mentally steeling himself. "What is it?"

  Nia shifted uneasily on her chair. She'd spent a greater part of last night and this morning brooding over the attack on Amanda, and the more she considered it, the more troubled she became.

  "It is about yesterday," she began. "If kidnapping Amanda had been those men's intent, then why did they not strike while we were alone and unguarded but for a footman? Why did they wait until you were with us? It is almost as if . . . as if . . ."

  "As if?" he prodded gently.

  "As if they wanted you there to witness it," she concluded. "And yet that makes no sense. Surely they must have known you would do everything possible to stop them?"

  "It is interesting that you should ask," he said slowly, thinking about Elliott. "I've been sitting here asking myself the same thing."

  "And?" Nia said when he did not continue.

  "And I have concluded that while I have a very good idea who may be behind the attack, I do not know why."

  The enigmatic response brought a scowl to Nia's face. "If you know who, why should the motive matter?" she demanded, thoroughly irritated with him.

  "Oh, it matters, Miss Pringle," he replied, something cold and dangerous shimmering in his eyes. "It matters a great deal."

  "I do not see why," she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest and fixing him with a disgruntled glare. "You ought to have the beast arrested before he can strike again."

  "Perhaps."

  "Perhaps?" Nia could not believe her ears. "What the devil sort of reply is that? Amanda might have been killed because of him! How can you just sit there and do nothing? I insist you turn this villain over to the authorities at once!"

  "Without a single shred of evidence?" he asked, forcing himself to consider the matter logically. "I think not. The authorities are an odd lot, ma'am, and they require a modicum of proof before hanging a man."

  "But you just said you knew who it was!" Nia protested, furious he could be so sanguine. "Surely that is enough!"

  Her naivete brought a bitter smile to his lips. "What one knows and what one can prove are two separate things," he told her coldly. "This isn't France, where I can have someone imprisoned with nothing more than a lettre de cachet. Until I have something more definite than suspicions, the authorities can do nothing to help us."

  Although she knew he was right, his calm pragmatism enraged Nia. She'd been raised to believe that action was the only sensible response to a provocation of this magnitude, and she couldn't believe he intended doing nothing when someone was threatening his niece. She tossed her head back and gave him a challenging look. "Then you intend letting him go unpunished?" she demanded, her voice ripe with contempt.

  "I didn't say that."

  "But—"

  "I said there was no sense in going to the authorities," Wyatt corrected, finding her bellicose attitude amusing, despite the seriousness of the situation. "I thoroughly intend that the person responsible for hurting you and Amanda pays, and pays most dearly. When I am done with him, he will wish himself dead."

  The lethal intent in his voice and ebony-colored eyes convinced her of his sincerity, and she felt a flash of shame at doubting him. She should have known he could be trusted to protect Amanda, she told herself, dropping her eyes to her clenched hands. Had he not proven time and again that he was a man of impeccable honor? Then something he had said struck her, and she glanced up to find him watching her.

  "What did you mean, the man who hurt me?" she asked, puzzled. "I wasn't harmed."

  "Only because I killed Quiggs before he could strike," Wyatt said, his jaw clenching as he remembered the look in the assailant's eyes as he attacked. "And don't forget they did their damnedest to run you down in the street. The man who hired Quiggs and his repellent friend is to blame for everything, and I intend holding him responsible."

  Nia supposed she should be horrified at the thought of the duke exacting whatever bloody revenge he could, but she wasn't. Amanda might have died, and it was only right the man who gave the orders be held accountable for his actions. Her only concern was that Wyatt himself would be harmed. He'd already admitted he had a deadly enemy, and she didn't want him taking any senseless chances. She pushed her glasses back up her nose and gave him a worried look.

  "You will be careful, won't you?" she asked, feeling more than a little foolish. "This man . . . whoever he is, is obviously dangerous. Perhaps you should let Bow Street see to him."

  A slow smile spread across Wyatt's austere features. "Why, Miss Pringle," he drawled in a mocking voice, "never say you are worried about my wellbeing. I am honored by such concern."

  Nia felt her cheeks grow pink, and could have cheerfully bitten her own tongue. "I am concerned for Amanda's well-being!" she retorted, her expression fierce. "The poor child has few enough relations as it is. She can hardly afford to lose another through carelessness."

  "Of course," he agreed, the twinkle in his eyes at odds with his solemn tone. "A most pragmatic attitude, ma'am, and one I might have expected from such a logical lady as yourself. Naturally you aren't personally concerned for my welfare."

  Nia's lips twitched as she fought back a smile. "You are doing it a shade too brown, Your Grace," she warned. "And I suppose I am a trifle concerned for you . . ."

  Wyatt was more touched than he cared to admit by her gruff admission. He couldn't recall when anyone other than Ambrose had expressed real care for him. Oh, his servants cared after a fashion, and he supposed any of his current mistresses might be counted upon to shed a pretty tear or two before finding a new protector, but that was all. The realization was deeply disturbing.

  "Are you going to tell me who he is?"

  The unexpected question brought Wyatt out of his black reverie, and he gave her a confused look. "Who who is?"

  "Your mysterious malefactor," Nia clarified. "Are you going to tell me his name, or is it some dark secret?"

  Wyatt considered the matter carefully before answering. "Until I decide upon a course of action, I don't believe I shall tell you. I know you too well, and I don't want you stealing a march on me." When she would have protested, he held up a hand.

  "I am serious, Nia," he said. "I do not wish for you to become involved in any of this. I will handle the man in my own time, and in my own manner, but that is all you need to know. This is my concern, not yours, and the less you are involved, the better."

  Two hours later, Nia was still fuming over the high-handed command. She had tried arguing her point, but when he refused to be swayed she'd stormed out of his study in high dudgeon. The front door had shut a few minutes later, and she knew he'd gone off to pursue his own vague revenge. The knowledge added to her fury, and she refused to recognize the fear that lay beneath her simmering anger.

  How dare he pat her on the head and then send her on her way as if she was some delicate society miss who needed guarding from every ill wind, she brooded, restlessly pacing her elegant sitting room. She was made of sterner stuff than that, and he should know that by now. Apparently she'd given the arrogant devil more credit than he deserved, she decided with a snort, but she'd soon show him the errors of his ways. If it was the last thing she did, she would prove to him that she was worthy of his trust.

  She was contemplating some means of pursuing these nebulous goals when Nancy tapped on her door.

  "I am sorry for disturbing you, Miss Pringle," the maid said with a curtsey, "but Lady Catherine Declaire has called and is asking to see you."

  "To see me?" Nia asked, her eyebrows arching in surprise. "You're certain she didn't ask for Lady Amanda or His Grace?"

  Nancy gave her a horrified look. "An unmarried lady would never call upon a gentleman!" she said, clearly scandalized by the thought. "And I am certain she asked for you. Mr. Johns told me himself."

  If the ever-so-efficient butler had given
Nancy the message, Nia knew there was no mistake. Wondering what the younger woman might have to discuss with her, she rose to go down to greet her. Instead of moving aside, Nancy remained firmly in place, regarding her with a frown.

  "You don't mean to be going down like that?" she asked, pointing an accusing finger at Nia's rumpled apron.

  Nia was about to say yes when she caught sight of her reflection. Nancy was right, she admitted with a rueful grimace. There was no way she could greet her guest looking like an untidy scullery maid.

  "Please tell her ladyship I will be with her shortly," she said, glancing at her wardrobe and praying she could find one suitable gown that hadn't yet been packed.

  After Nancy left, Nia rushed through her toilet before donning one of her newer gowns of heather-colored merino. She was debating whether she should wear her cap when the door opened and an excited Amanda dashed in.

  "Amanda!" Nia exclaimed, turning from her cheval glass to give the little girl a frown. "What are you doing out of bed?"

  "I heard Nancy telling the footman that Lady Catherine is here," Amanda said, fairly dancing from one foot to the other in excitement. "May I see her, Miss Pringle? May I?"

  Nia's resolve wavered at the hopeful look in the child's deep blue eyes. The doctor had ordered bed rest for her shock, but perhaps the distraction of company might prove a better cure, Nia decided, reaching out to twine one of Amanda's blond curls around her finger.

  "Oh, very well, you shameless baggage," she capitulated, bending to give her a swift hug. "I will bring her ladyship up to see you once we have finished speaking. All right?"

  Amanda pouted slightly. "Couldn't I come down with you?" she wheedled, peeking up at Nia through her lashes. "I promise I'll be ever so good."

  "I am sure you shall," Nia replied, giving her small nose a playful tweak. "But you will remain above-stairs nonetheless. You had a bad fall, and you need your rest."

  Amanda left the room, her small shoulders slumped in dejection. Nia watched her go, biting her lip in fond exasperation. If she hadn't been so familiar with Amanda's tricks, she'd have relented on the spot. As it was, it took all of her willpower to keep from melting.

  Lady Catherine was nervously pacing when Nia entered the drawing room. The door had scarce closed behind her than the pretty blond dashed over, her blue eyes filled with concern. "I hope you'll forgive me for barging in like this," she apologized, taking Nia's hand in hers, "but when I heard what happened yesterday, I was so upset that I rushed right over!"

  "You know about the attack?" Nia asked in amazement. Given the duke's taciturn nature, she'd have thought he'd have done everything within his power to keep the matter private.

  "It is all anyone is talking about," Catherine responded with a shudder. "How awful things have become when a man can't even take his family to so public a place as the Tower without being attacked by ruffians!" She gave Nia an anxious look. "How is Amanda? She wasn't hurt, was she?"

  Nia softened at the anxious note in Lady Catherine's voice. "She's bruised and a little frightened, but otherwise she is fine," she said, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "She was excited to hear you had called, and I promised her you would go up for a visit when we finished speaking."

  Tears showed in Lady Catherine's soft blue eyes before she blinked them away. "I would like that very much," she said, allowing herself to be guided over to the settee. "I have a doll for her. I meant to bring it, but I am afraid I hurried out so quickly, I left it behind."

  "Some other time." Nia brushed the matter aside with an understanding smile. She glanced around the drawing room, noting for the first time that they were alone. "Where is Miss Saunders? Did she not accompany you?"

  Catherine blushed prettily, and lowered her eyes to her hands. "I am afraid she was also left behind," she admitted with a laugh. "I was so anxious I wouldn't wait for her, but went tearing out of the house. No doubt I shall get a dreadful scold when I return home."

  "No doubt." Nia tried not to grin as she imagined the older woman's outraged response. She could almost see her pursing her lips together as she reminded Lady Catherine that daughters of earls did not pay sympathy calls unless they were properly chaperoned.

  They continued visiting comfortably, enjoying the tea Mrs. Mayton brought them. Lady Catherine's natural charm and kindness greatly impressed Nia, and she couldn't help but admire the lovely picture the other woman made as she gracefully poured out more tea. She would make a perfect duchess, Nia decided, and then frowned at the sudden twinge of pain the admission brought to her heart.

  "Is something wrong, Miss Pringle?" Catherine asked, eyeing Nia with concern. "Did I put in too much sugar?"

  "What?" Nia blinked at her, then gazed down at the delicate cup in her hand. "Oh! No, my lady, my tea is fine. I was only thinking of the packing. We are leaving for the country tomorrow, and there is still a great deal left to be done."

  "And I am keeping you from it." Catherine set her cup down at once. "I am sorry, Miss Pringle. What a rude person you must think me to intrude like this when you must have so much on your mind. I shall go at once."

  "I didn't mean that, my lady!" Nia exclaimed, fearing she had given offense. "Indeed, I am enjoying your company. Please don't feel you need to leave on my account."

  "Well, if you are certain," Catherine said, allowing herself to be persuaded. "But you must promise me you will send me away the moment I become a bother."

  "I shall toss you out on your ear," Nia promised solemnly, her eyes dancing.

  "Good, I am glad that is settled." Catherine picked up her teacup and gave Nia a bright smile. "And I must say I am relieved, for I am enjoying our little coze. It seems forever since I've had an intelligent conversation with another female, and I am starved for rational discourse. Most of the other ladies I meet are only interested in their gowns and their beaus, or the latest on-dit. I can't wait until I see Portia again."

  "Portia?" The name was unfamiliar to Nia.

  "Miss Portia Haverall. She and her father live in the village nearest our estate and that of His Grace's. Her father is a retired don from Cambridge, and he and Portia are forever squabbling. You will like her, I think, for you are much alike."

  "Oh?"

  Catherine was pleased with the interest in Nia's voice. "She is intelligent, and very well educated for a lady," she explained, smiling at the thought of her willful friend. "She reads Greek and Latin, and can quote Shakespeare at the drop of a hat. She is also one of the most stubborn and strong-minded ladies I have ever met, which is why I feel the two of you will get along so well. I don't believe either of you has a liking for the complacent and the commonplace."

  The intuitive observation took Nia by surprise. She had already observed that Lady Catherine was both beautiful and kind; now it appeared she was also perceptive. Precisely the sort of bride a man like Wyatt . . . the duke, she corrected hastily . . . would require. This time she was prepared for the stab of pain the observation caused.

  "You're right, my lady, Miss Haverall does sound most interesting," Nia said, firmly putting all thoughts of the duke from her mind. "If you would be so kind as to give me her direction, I should like to write her and invite her to tea. With the duke's permission, of course," she added, although she was certain Wyatt would have no objections.

  "Oh, I am sure His Grace shan't mind," Catherine assured her. "I believe he is acquainted with her father. However, to expedite matters I will write her and let her know she is free to call upon you. I only wish I might be there to introduce you."

  Nia noted the slight wistfulness in her voice. "Will you be returning to the country, my lady?"

  "Not until the season is over," Lady Catherine said, her lips curving down in a slight frown. "I should like to come sooner, but my sister believes Lord Barstowe is on the verge of offering for me, and she would never let me leave."

  "Oh." Nia was uncertain how she should respond to the shy confession. She knew felicitations were clearly in order, but it was
equally clear that Catherine was less than pleased at the prospect. In the end she decided it would be safer to go with good manners, and quietly offered her congratulations.

  "Thank you." Catherine inclined her head. "Lord Barstowe is a very worthy gentleman, or so I am told, and I am sure we shall be quite happy together. It is only . . ."

  "Only what, my lady?"

  Catherine's cheeks pinked with embarrassment as she met Nia's eyes. "It is only that I do not love him," she confessed. "Oh, I know it is not the way such things are done in our world," she rushed on at Nia's incredulous expression, "but I have always longed for a marriage based on real love rather than expediency. I see my sisters' lives, and that is not what I want for myself. I suppose that is unforgivably selfish of me, but—"

  "It isn't in the least bit selfish!" Nia interrupted, laying a gentle hand on Catherine's arm. "We all of us want happiness. I see nothing so terrible in that."

  "Perhaps." Catherine's smile was one of sad acceptance. "But that is because you aren't the daughter of an earl. If you were, you'd know how silly and self-indulgent I am being. Ladies of my class do not choose the men they marry on the basis of something so foolish as love."

  "How do they choose them?" Nia asked, although she was fairly certain she knew.

  "Oh, by his position, his breeding, that sort of thing," Catherine replied with an uncomfortable shrug. "It sounds so mercenary, I know, but that is how it is done. And usually it is for the best. Marriage is difficult enough, but unless both partners are equals in such things, it can be impossible."

  Nia felt as if she had been stabbed. She thought of Wyatt and the huge chasm that separated them, and for a moment she feared she would disgrace herself by bursting into tears. Logically she knew nothing could ever come of her foolish infatuation, but in her heart she had spun foolish dreams of what might be. Hearing the truth so blatantly spoken shattered those dreams beyond all repair, and left Nia with a numbing sense of loss.

  "I see," she said, swallowing uncomfortably, staring down at the tea cooling in her cup. "Lady Catherine, might I ask you something?"