The Dutiful Duke Read online

  "Well, he can just let you out again," Wyatt snapped, ignoring the last part of her statement. "I don't pick up doxies off the street. Be off with you!"

  Nia stiffened at the crude words. "I am no doxy, sir," she denied hotly, scowling as she struggled to bring his blurry image into focus. She'd left off her spectacles to convince the wary coachman she was a lightskirt, and she could scarce see a thing in the darkened coach. The first chance she got she'd slip them on again, and then she'd do something about her scandalous décolletage. No wonder prostitutes lived so short a life, she thought, giving the bodice of her gown a discreet tug. The poor creatures doubtlessly succumbed to pneumonia!

  The action drew Wyatt's eyes, and he studied the tempting display of creamy flesh with predatory interest. Why should he trouble his latest mistress with his lusts when he had a willing and nubile female already at his disposal, he thought, brandy and his own black mood destroying his usual reserve. He reached out and grabbed the woman's waist, pulling her onto his lap with a powerful tug.

  "Sir!" Nia gave a startled cry, her hands flying up to push ineffectively at his shoulders. "Release me at once!"

  The tones of starchy outrage in her voice amused Wyatt. "Afraid I shan't pay the piper?" he teased, bending his head to inhale her delicate fragrance. Unlike most prostitutes, who doused themselves in heavy scent, she smelled delightfully of powder and roses. "Don't worry, sweet," he added with a chuckle, brushing a soft kiss against her slender neck. "I am a generous man. You may ask any of my mistresses. They'll tell you I pay cheerfully for services rendered."

  Nia wasn't so green that she failed to take his meaning. How could she not, she wondered desperately, when she could feel the hardness of his body beneath her thighs? For the first time since approaching his coach the dangers of this insane masquerade became real, and she realized the full extent of what she was risking. She began struggling in earnest, and her frantic movements made the bodice of her gown slip even lower, exposing the curve of her breasts to her captor's touch.

  Wyatt was quick to take advantage of what was offered, his mouth sliding lower to taste the sweetness of her soft flesh. She felt incredible in his arms, and he was eager for more. His hand slid up her body to cup her breast, and he moved his thumb teasingly against the nipple until he felt it bead in response. Another movement of his hand bared her breast completely, and he lowered his head to pull the turgid peak between his lips.

  The feel of his mouth closing over her sent alarm shooting through Nia. Alarm and a burning excitement that horrified her almost as much as what he was doing to her. For a moment her mind went blank with panic, and then the instructions her father had given her flashed into her mind. She forced herself to relax, and when he began lowering her to the bench, she pretended to acquiesce. He moved to cover her completely, and the moment he was vulnerable, she brought her knee up with all her might.

  Pain exploded through Wyatt, and for a moment he literally saw stars. With his body bending in agony he had no choice but to release the woman, and she scrambled away from him to the opposite bench. He managed to grab a handful of her voluminous cape, but when he raised his head he found himself looking down the barrel of a pistol.

  "This was my father's," Nia warned breathlessly, her chest rising and falling as she fought to control the shivers racking her. "I learned to shoot when I was a child, but even if I wasn't a crack shot I could hardly miss at this distance."

  The lingering effects of passion and the brandy he had ill-advisedly consumed vanished under a wave of cold fury. "If this is a robbery, young woman, you have sadly underestimated your victim," he said between clenched teeth, taking care not to make any sudden moves as he slowly drew back. "I suggest you give it up before you end up as Tyburn fruit."

  "Dangling from a gibbet, you mean?" Nia gave a shrug, although inside she was quaking with fright. "I am hoping it won't be necessary to shoot you, but one never knows. As for my lifting your purse, I am no more a thief than I am a doxy."

  Since she had just used a weapon to defend whatever virtue she possessed, Wyatt decided to concede her the point. "Then what are you?" he demanded, furious at being put in so ridiculous a position. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and in the poor light he could see details of her appearance he had been too distracted to notice earlier. Despite the fact that her gown was half off her shoulders and her brown hair was curling widly about her face, there was something in the set of her mouth and the proud tilt of her small chin that made him wonder if he had mistaken her character.

  "I am a schoolmistress."

  "What?" Her cool answer had Wyatt shaking his head in disbelief. He couldn't have heard aright.

  Nia hesitated, and then decided she had nothing to lose by telling the truth. "Your Grace," she began at last, "I give you my word that I mean you no harm. All I want from you is but a moment of your time. Do you promise you will listen?"

  The novelty of having a woman assure him his person was in no danger, especially after all that had passed between them, struck Wyatt as bordering on the farcical, and for a moment he was tempted to test the veracity of her statement. Then he remembered the conclusion to their passionate interlude, and his brows met in an angry scowl.

  "Very well, madam," he said, inclining his head mockingly, "say whatever it is you have come to say. As for having my undivided attention, you had that the moment you aimed that pistol at my heart."

  "It's not as if I wanted to bring the wretched thing with me," Nia grumbled as she cautiously lowered the gun. "But I thought it might be the prudent thing. 'The readiness is all,' you know."

  The literary reference had Wyatt arching his eyebrows in amusement. "Hamlet, madam? Hardly a reassuring quote, considering the gentleman was contemplating murder, but I take your meaning. You felt it best to be prepared against any eventuality. A wise decision for anyone entering a life of crime."

  "I am not a criminal!" Nia shouted, deciding she'd had quite enough of the duke's sardonic accusations.

  Her hot denial brought a wry gleam to Wyatt's dark eyes. "Yes, I'd forgotten that," he drawled in a voice meant to give offense. "You're a schoolmistress, aren't you? Tell me, madam, just who is it you instruct? Highwaymen?"

  There was a hiss of air as Nia drew in her breath. Another silence ensued before she said, "I teach orphans, Your Grace. Specifically orphans of soldiers who have fallen in gallant defense of their country, and kindly stop calling me 'madam' in that odious manner. My name is Miss Pringle."

  "My apologies if my manners offend you, Miss Pringle," Wyatt returned, amused by her indignant tones. "But this is the first time I have ever been held at gunpoint, and I am afraid I am not up to all the niceties. Where is it you teach?"

  "The Portham Academy, of course," Nia answered, feeling another stir of unease. "Don't you recognize my name?"

  "I am afraid not." For some odd reason he felt compelled to apologize. "Although I admit the Portham Academy sounds vaguely familiar." He gave the matter some thought before adding, "It was started by the countess of Colford, was it not?"

  "Ha! As if you didn't know!" Nia declared, furious he could keep feigning innocence even now.

  His amusement vanished at the accusation in her voice. It was one thing to humor a woman holding a gun on him, but quite another to allow her to question his honor. He straightened in his seat, his eyes narrowing as he studied her shadowy figure. "I warn you, Miss Pringle," he began, his tone dangerously soft, "my patience is wearing thin. Unless you are truly prepared to use that weapon in your hands, I suggest you not test it any further. What is it you want with me?"

  "What I want from you, Your Grace," Nia replied, determined to match his cool control, "is that you do your duty. Nothing more, and nothing less."

  "What the devil is that supposed to mean?" he demanded, struggling to decipher the cryptic words. "What duty have I failed to perform?"

  "Your duty to Amanda, naturally!" Nia snapped, deciding she'd had enough of his silly games. He could prete
nd all he liked, but he knew precisely what she was talking about. She'd seen the letter bearing his crest arrive at the school, so he could hardly claim to be an innocent in any of this. "Why else would I have gone to the bother of seeking you out like this?" she continued in an exasperated tone, indicating her mussed clothing with an impatient wave of her hand. "Do you honestly believe I'd have gone to such lengths had you left me any other choice?"

  "Who the devil is Amanda?" Wyatt snapped, beginning to fear a madwoman was holding him captive.

  "You know very well who Amanda is!" Nia retorted, hating that he could be so single-mindedly selfish. "And what is more, you can tell that hateful solicitor of yours that he needn't waste his ink penning any more threats. Amanda is most assuredly your niece, and what is more, I have all the evidence it will take to prove the matter in court! Unless you want the greatest scandal of the season, my lord, you will cease shirking your duty and admit to the truth. Amanda Perryvale is the daughter of your late brother, and you know it!"

  Chapter 2

  There was a charged silence in the carriage, and in the faint light filtering through the glass Nia could see the shock on the duke's face. "What?" he gasped, his tone harsh.

  For the first time since sneaking from the academy, Nia knew a moment of indecision. Slipping into His Grace's coach posing as a doxy hired by an undisclosed "friend" had been an inspiration, and when she'd succeeded, she'd thought the most difficult part of the night was behind her. While waiting for the duke's return she passed the time marshalling her arguments, and she was confident of her ability to counter any opposition he might offer. The one thing she hadn't planned on was that he would deny any knowledge of either her or Amanda.

  "I don't know what you're talking about," he said furiously. "Christopher is dead. He couldn't possibly have a child!"

  "I beg to differ with you, Your Grace," she said, gentling her tone as she sensed the confusion behind the fury. "But Amanda is indeed the issue of your brother's marriage to a Miss Miriam Jensen. I have her birth records and a copy of their marriage lines, if you'd care to see them."

  "There is no need for that," Wyatt said slowly, struggling to comprehend what he was hearing. "I'm well aware of Christopher's marriage to Miriam. I did my best to talk him out of it at the time, but he wouldn't listen."

  "Yes, I'd heard there was some opposition to the match," Nia said coolly, some of the pity she'd been feeling fading at his distracted words. "But I hardly think that any reason to label an innocent child a bastard."

  Wyatt stiffened, his hands clenching into fists. "I have never labeled any child a bastard, Miss Pringle, nor am I likely to do so, especially if there is even the slightest possibility that child could be my brother's daughter."

  The menace in his voice made Nia draw back into the shadows. "Very well, Your Grace," she said, wondering at his vehemence. This wasn't at all the reaction she had expected, and she wondered if perhaps she'd misread the duke and the situation.

  "Good." He gave a curt nod. "As for my opposition to the match, that had nothing to do with Miriam. I simply thought Christopher too young to be thinking of marriage. He was just twenty-one, you know."

  "I know," Nia answered softly, the pain in his voice making her catch her lip between her teeth. Whatever the man's faults, it was obvious he had loved his brother, which made his neglect of Amanda all the more mysterious. Given that affection, she would have thought he'd have moved heaven and earth to provide for his niece.

  Wyatt leaned back in the seat, fighting for a composure he was far from feeling. A niece, he thought dazedly. Christopher had left a child behind. The notion was almost overwhelming, but even as joy welled up he fought it down with hard practicality. Until he had the whole truth, he would refrain from committing himself. His eyes narrowed on the woman sitting opposite him. Clearly the first thing he must do would be to learn all he could about her, then he would decide what to do about his alleged "niece."

  "May I ask you a question, Miss Pringle?" he queried, idly stretching his long legs out in front of him.

  "What is it?" Nia answered warily, not caring for the lazy note in his deep voice.

  "I surmise you didn't light the lantern so as to keep your presence a secret, but is it necessary to keep us in shadows?"

  Nia was annoyed to feel her cheeks warming with color. "I am afraid I haven't any flint with me, Your Grace," she muttered. "I hadn't thought it would be necessary."

  Wyatt's lips quirked at the waspish words. "I will see what I can do," he said, rapping on the roof of the coach to draw his driver's attention. A few minutes later and they were on their way again, the carriage lantern his father had installed as a novelty blazing brightly.

  In the flickering golden light Wyatt could clearly see his mysterious visitor's face, and what he saw both amused and intrigued him. Her dark hair was rioting about her small face, and a pair of bright hazel eyes sparkled behind the gold-rimmed spectacles she had just slipped on her face. Her nose was small and somewhat pointed, as was her chin, hinting at the aggressive and determined nature he'd already encountered. High cheekbones and a ripe, full mouth softened the sharp angles of her face, giving her an almost fey beauty. She was, he decided calmly, the perfect caricature of a schoolmistress, and he didn't trust her so much as an inch.

  Nia burned under his sharp-eyed scrutiny, her resentment simmering along with her temper. "Well?" she demanded tartly when he seemed satisfied. "Do I pass muster?"

  "You'll do," he responded with an indifference that set her teeth on edge. "You spoke of proof earlier. May I see it?"

  It took Nia a few seconds to take his meaning. "I thought you said you knew of your brother's marriage," she said, frowning in suspicion.

  "I do, but you mentioned a birth record. Because Miriam and Christopher wed, it doesn't necessarily follow there was a child."

  Nia had to grant him that, and dug out the papers she had secretly removed from Mrs. Langston's study earlier that day. "She was born in Bournemouth, as you can see," she said, handing him the papers. "She'll be seven in a little over two months."

  Seven, he thought bleakly, studying the papers he had been handed. He'd been an uncle all this time and Christopher had never even written him. He'd known the rift that had parted them was deep, but he'd never thought it ran so deep as this. A fresh wave a pain washed over him as he thought of how much his brother must have hated him.

  "I—I have a portrait of her," Nia said hesitantly, seeing the pain darken his eyes. "I painted it myself so it's not very good, but I like to think it's a fair resemblance. Would you like to see it?"

  "Please."

  Nia dug the miniature out of her reticule, thanking the impulse that had made her bring it with her. At the time she'd thought it might serve to further prove Amanda's identity, but after seeing His Grace she wasn't so certain. She handed it to him, and as he gazed down at the portrait she took the opportunity to study him.

  As she'd noted when he'd climbed into the carriage, he was quite tall, with the broad, muscular shoulders of the natural athlete. His tanned features were too harsh to be termed handsome, but it was his hair and eyes, both the color of polished ebony, which most fascinated her. She'd been expecting an older, more masculine version of Amanda, with her wheat-blond hair and violet-blue eyes, and the sight of a man who looked more like a dashing Corsair than an English lord left her somewhat disconcerted. Surely, she thought uneasily, there would be some resemblance between an uncle and his niece.

  Wyatt stared at the miniature in his hand, a painful lump forming in his throat. My God, he thought, his hand shaking as he brushed his fingers across the child's sweetly smiling face. She was the very image of Christopher, of generations of Perryvales, and to think that until this moment he hadn't even known of her existence. He raised his eyes to find Miss Pringle watching him, a wary expression on her face.

  "You said she is a pupil at your academy," he said, his voice sounding strained even to his own ears. "I take it then that Miriam
has also died?"

  "In a carriage accident," Nia replied carefully. "She had been living with her sister, but the family was unable to continue providing for Amanda, and so she was brought to us."

  The thought of the little girl being deposited at an orphanage like an unwanted cat made his lips tighten in displeasure. "And it never occurred to them to notify me?" he demanded, his dark eyes flashing. "Whatever the differences between Christopher and me, she is my niece as well."

  Nia could only gape at him. "I daresay it did occur to the Jensens to notify you," she retorted, "and doubtlessly they met with the same response I did— haughty indifference and threats of legal action if they persisted in their claims. You are hardly the injured party here, my lord."

  "But this is the first I have heard of her!" Wyatt exclaimed, angered by her cutting words. "I have been traveling a great deal since coming into the title. In fact, I was out of the country when word of Christopher's death reached me. I would never have allowed my own niece to languish in an orphanage had I known of her plight. Good God, woman, what sort of man do you take me for?"

  "But I—"

  "Never mind," Wyatt interrupted with an impatient wave of his hand. "None of that matters now. The important thing at the moment is Amanda."

  Although this was a sentiment Nia could readily understand, she wasn't certain she trusted his abrupt change of heart. "What about Amanda?" she asked warily.

  "I want you to take me to her," he answered, meeting her suspicious scowl with equanimity. "I am taking her home."

  Nia stared at the duke in disbelief. "You wish to take Amanda home?" she echoed, her eyes wide. "Tonight?"

  "Certainly tonight," Wyatt replied, impatient to meet his niece now that he knew of her. After two years of desolate loneliness, he had a family. The thought filled him with joy.

  "But, Your Grace, it is after midnight!" Nia protested, feeling rather like a novice rider strapped to a runaway stallion. "Amanda is already in bed, and I hardly feel yanking her from a sound sleep and thrusting her into a stranger's care will prove in the least beneficial to her."