The following morning, as unprecedented weariness settled over him, Jack realized he should have slept after he and Frannie returned to his club. Instead he’d dealt with a lord who had been accused of cheating at hazard and spent considerable time explaining to one of his girls that he couldn’t kill a man because he’d grown tired of bringing her favors. Then he had a short conversation with the Earl of Chesney that might offer a solution to one of his problems. Swindler had stopped by to inform Jack that all he’d discovered about the cousins so far was that they led very private lives—and that, he believed, was cause for him to scrutinize them more closely. Swindler liked a good puzzle. Whatever the cousins were hiding, he’d discover it. But the majority of Jack’s night had been spent studying plans to increase his profits.
As he’d told Frannie, he’d slept little since the reading of the will, so exhaustion claimed him when he walked into his residence and was greeted with chaos. He heard scrapings as though furniture was being moved around, and various voices were calling, “Henry! Your Grace! Young Master!”
The lad had no doubt created some sort of stir. Jack wouldn’t have thought him capable of much more than sitting quietly and behaving. Good for him. It was natural for a boy to create mischief now and then.
Jack had just started up the stairs when he spied the duchess hurrying down them.
“Oh, thank God, you’re here at last,” she said on a rush.
He grinned at her. “Finally starting to appreciate me, are you?”
“No, you buffoon, Henry is gone.”
Jack wanted his bed, not to play a child’s game of hide and seek. “What do you mean he’s gone?”
“He’s disappeared. When his nanny woke up this morning, he wasn’t in his bed. No one has seen him. We thought perhaps you’d taken him. Did you?” She spoke quickly as though desperate to make her point so he could provide the answer she sought. Now he could see that worry clouded her eyes.
“No.”
“Then where is he? Has he been stolen, do you think? Is it as you suspected? He’s in danger?”
He grabbed her shoulders. “Calm down, Olivia.”
She broke free of his grasp and nearly tumbled down the stairs. “I don’t want to calm down! I want to find my son! What if…what if he’s been harmed?” she wailed.
“Who would harm him?”
“You seemed to think someone would.”
He rubbed his chin. “Yes, yes, yes.” He had thought the lad might be in some danger, but how could anyone have gotten the boy out from under the watchful eye of his nanny? Well, not so watchful, apparently. But still, he thought it unlikely that someone had crept into the house, taken Henry, and crept out. “Where have you looked?”
“Everywhere. Is this one of your sick pranks, one of the ways you think to bring me to heel?”
“I’ve not been here for hours. How could this be my doing?”
“I haven’t the foggiest, but I have no doubt that you could be responsible.”
He’d had enough of her suspicions. He started up the stairs.
“Where are you going?” she called after him. She was panting as though she’d been rushing around and was suddenly unable to catch a breath. She always seemed in control. It unnerved him to see her in a panic.
“To my chambers to splash a bit of water on my face and get my senses back so I can deal with this situation.”
He recognized the echo of her rapid footsteps as she followed him. Amazing how much about her was beginning to become familiar. The sound of her steps, her fragrance.
“You didn’t take him with you when you left?”
“Of course not.” He reached the landing. “Maybe he headed to the Great Exhibition. He wanted to go, didn’t he?”
“He wouldn’t strike out on his own. He wouldn’t even know where to go.”
“He’s a boy, Duchess. He doesn’t need to know the path to adventure. He simply needs to recognize that it awaits.”
He opened the door to his bedchamber.
“But what if he’s been stolen?” she asked. It sounded as though she was skirting the edge of hysteria. He knew the only comfort she’d welcome involved the finding of her son.
“We’ll send for Swindler. The man can follow clues blindfolded.”
He walked into his room, surprised that she followed him inside. Obviously her panic took precedence over proper behavior. If apprehension hadn’t been rolling off of her in waves, he might have teased her about it.
He was walking to the stand that held the porcelain basin when he heard a bump in the wardrobe that he passed. Had they looked everywhere? Or had they only looked where they’d expected the boy to be?
Jack jerked open the wardrobe door. The boy lunged out like a wild thing.
“N-no! I w-won’t l-let you! I d-didn’t m-mean t-to!”
Jack instinctively caught the boy, wrapping his arms around him, trying to still his ferocious thrashing. He was in his nightclothes, fighting like a tiger. Lost in intense fear, he was tenacious. “Hold on there, lad.”
“Let him go. What have you done to him? Let him go!” the duchess screamed.
Jack ducked. What the devil was she hitting him with? He felt the skin split in his cheek. He cursed soundly, dodged another whap!, and released the boy, who promptly kicked his shin.
Wasn’t this all just bloody wonderful.
Breathing heavily, he backed up yet another step to get beyond reach of the offending weapon—he could see now that she was holding a cast-iron poker—and her wrath. The boy was blubbering that he was sorry. With hate in her eyes directed at Jack, and the poker still at the ready, the duchess had one arm wrapped protectively around her son.
“What did you do to him?” she demanded to know.
Jack touched the back of his hand to his aching cheek, brought it away, and stared at the blood.
“I’m s-sorry,” the boy cried, tears streaking his cheeks. “I-I w-won’t do it again. I p-promise.”
“What are you on about, boy?”
Jack heard a sound in the doorway. The nanny had arrived, concern clearly etched in her features, but he wasn’t certain it was for the boy. He thought it more likely it was for herself, because she’d lost track of the lad. What was her name? Hazel? Harriet? Helen? Helen, that was it.
“I’ll take him, Your Grace,” she said, reaching for the boy.
“No, you won’t,” Jack said sharply, and everyone stared at him. At least they’d stopped their yelling. “Not until I understand what’s going on here.”
“It’s obvious he’s terrified of you,” the duchess snapped.
“I can see he’s frightened,” Jack stated calmly, when he felt anything except calm. “What did you do wrong, lad?”
The boy vigorously shook his head.
“What do you think I’m going to do to you?”
The boy shook his head again.
“Leave him be,” his mother stated, turning toward the door, her arms wrapped around the boy.
“No.” The threat of some sort of retribution must have been clear in his voice because she stopped and glanced back at him. “You seem to forget that I’m his guardian. I will have the answer to my questions if we have to stand here all day.”
He remembered how Swindler had crouched before the duchess the day before and while it went against Jack’s instincts to cower before anyone, he crouched, putting himself on eye level with the lad, trying to be as non-threatening as possible. “Are you afraid of me?”
The boy nodded.
“Why?”
The boy looked up at his mother, looked at his nanny.
“Don’t look to them for the answer, boy, look to yourself. What do you think I’m going to do to you?”
The boy began to study his toes.
“Do you remember what I told you yesterday morning? That your father asked me to protect you? I didn’t know your father well, Henry, but I know he cared for you very much and I do not take lightly the request he has made of me. I told you I’d never let anyone hurt you. So why are you afraid of me?”
He watched as the boy swallowed. His lower lip quivered. “You-you’ll b-burn my th-thumb.”
“Why would I do that?”
“B-because I f-forgot and-and sucked it w-when I-I was s-sleeping.”
So he’d awakened, discovered his thumb in his mouth, and went into hiding. The picture was beginning to take shape. “Who told you I’d burn your thumb if you stuck it in your mouth?”
“My nanny,” he whispered as though he were bearing the weight of a heavy secret.
With his gaze on the nanny, who looked as though all the blood had drained from her face, Jack slowly unfolded his body. “I’ll not be used to terrorize children into behaving. You’re let go. Pack your things and be gone within the hour.”
“But, sir, I saw no other choice. He’s the young duke now. He shouldn’t suck his thumb.”
“It’s his thumb. I don’t give a damn if he sucks it until he’s a grown man. Pack your things.”
Helen looked to the duchess. “Your Grace, have pity.”
The duchess opened her mouth—
“Disagree with me on this and you can pack your bags as well,” Jack stated in a firm voice that left no room for argument.
She looked at him, and for the first time, no anger or hatred was reflected in her eyes. Only horror and a deep sorrow at what they’d discovered. She turned back to the nanny. “He’s right. What you did was monstrously wrong, unfair to Mr. Dodger, and unbearably cruel to my son. I can neither forgive you nor speak in your defense. I fear Mr. Dodger was too generous in giving you an hour. I want you gone in half that time.”
The nanny released a hideous sob before turning and fleeing down the hallway.
Jack lowered his gaze to the boy. “I will never hurt you. Do you understand?”
The boy blinked, nodded.
“Good.”
“You’re bleeding,” the duchess said.
“I’ve bled before. Now, I want a bath, so get the hell out.”
“Mr. Dodg—”
“Get out,” he ground out through clenched teeth, interrupting whatever the hell the duchess was going to say. “Because you, Duchess, I’m likely to hurt.”
She ushered the boy out, reached back to grab the knob, and stilled. “I wasn’t going to disagree with your decision to dismiss Helen—even before you threatened me.”
Did she think that confession would ease his temper? Before he could think of an appropriate response, she quietly closed the door.
Jack tore at his cravat. It wasn’t enough. He strode to a small table beside the couch in the sitting area. He picked up a vase and slammed it into the hearth, shattering it into a thousand pieces. It didn’t make him feel any better.
He’d garnered the low opinion of men for years. Why was he so bothered that a silly duchess thought him capable of harming her son? Her opinion didn’t matter. She was nothing to him. He didn’t care what she thought. At every turn she expected the worst. What had her husband been thinking, to name Jack guardian?
Staring at the broken vase, he thought of the boys who worked for him, of the night he’d almost killed a man in his club because he’d touched one of the boys in a way that no man should ever touch a boy. Had Lovingdon been there that night? Did he know that protecting young boys was Jack’s weakness?
“Could it be that simple?” he asked himself in a low whisper.
The door to the dressing room opened. For a second, Jack had expected to see the duchess coming from the room, and much to his chagrin, he’d felt a momentary surge of anticipation. But it was his manservant, Stiles. Jack had met him briefly the day before. He wasn’t much taller than the duchess, and he was up in years. But he still stood proud.
“The duchess said you were in need of some attention and a bath,” he said formally.
“Attention?”
He bowed his head slightly. “You’re cut, sir.”
Jack again touched his tender cheek. His fingers came away with barely a speck of blood. “It’s fine.”
“I could send for a physician—”
“I said it’s fine. If you wish to stay in my employ, you won’t make me repeat myself.”
“Yes, sir. I have the maids bringing up the hot water now. The bath should be ready shortly.”
“Good. I’ll want one prepared every morning after I arrive and every evening before I leave.”
“As you wish, sir.”
“And when I take clothes off, I don’t wear them again until they’ve been washed and pressed.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jack had never had a manservant. He wasn’t certain he wanted one now. “I’m not a duke. I understand that your status might slip if you serve me. If you wish to leave, I’ll provide a good reference.”
The man tilted his head in acquiescence, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Thank you, sir, but I have served the duke from the time he was a young man. I’m comfortable in this household and change does not suit me. I prefer to stay if you have no objections.”
“Fair enough. I packed some clothes. They’re in the coach. Have a footman bring them up.”
“Yes, sir. Will there be anything else?”
“After my clothes are brought up, lay out something for me, then leave. I plan to sleep for a bit and I can dress myself.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Tell me, Stiles, did you ever disagree with the duke?”
The wrinkles in his face shifted as he smiled. “On occasion, sir. He had an atrocious lack of good judgment when it came to coordinating colors. Sometimes he would look like a randy peacock.”
“That won’t be a problem in dressing me. Everything I wear is black or white, except for my waistcoats.”
“Yes, sir. I did notice that you seemed to have quite the flair when it came to your waistcoats.”
Jack heard no censure in his voice. He thought the two of them might get along. “You miss him?”
“Very much so, sir.”
“Tell me, Stiles, did the other servants accept my becoming their master as well as you have?”
“I believe they’re reserving judgment, sir.”
“A pity the duchess couldn’t have done the same,” Jack mumbled. Then he waved Stiles off. “See to your business, while I see to my bath.”
“Yes, sir.”
Stiles quit the room. Jack went into the dressing room. His gaze immediately went to the other door, the door that led into Olivia’s bedchamber. She wouldn’t be there now; she’d be with Henry in the nursery. Maybe she’d even sleep in there now that he had no nanny.
Removing his jacket, he wondered if she’d bathed in that copper tub, imagined her lounging back, the heated water steaming her cheeks and throat, causing her hair to curl around her face. He imagined the water lapping at her breasts, her stomach, her hips, her thighs. He imagined her sitting with her knees serving as small islands in the middle of the tub.
He groaned with his body’s reaction to the erotic images bombarding him. Damned good thing he’d instructed his manservant to leave. He didn’t need to be parading about when his body was standing at full attention.
He removed the remainder of his clothes, stepped into the tub, and sank beneath the water. It was lovely. Absolutely bloody lovely.
Resting his head against the back of the tub, he closed his eyes. He wondered if he’d return to this house every morning to find some crisis afoot. He was going to have to find some time to spend with the boy. He supposed he should talk to Luke, find out what sorts of things a child of the nobility should know. Jack could teach him how to hide—
He chuckled with a mixture of pride and admiration. The boy had done a fairly good job of that himself. He was also more courageous than Jack had originally given him credit for—to hide so close to the lair of the one he feared. Yes, there was more to the boy than Jack had first realized. He still needed nurturing to become a man, but even with his stammering, he had a good start. If his mother would just give him leave to let go of her skirts.
His mother. Lord, when she was angry, she was something to behold. Jack slid down further in the tub. Not since he was a boy had he had anyone wash him, though he could certainly imagine her gliding the cloth over him. But as she wasn’t here, he’d have to do it himself. Pity.
He released a long sigh. He seemed unable to stay angry with her for long. He admired her tenacity when it came to protecting her son. He thought she was probably a woman capable of great love. He’d be content if she’d simply give him the benefit of the doubt from time to time.
Olivia didn’t want to think that at that very moment, Jack Dodger was in her dressing room…bathing. How would she climb into the tub and sink beneath the water knowing that his bare person had touched the same copper as hers? She should share a dressing room only with someone she knew well. While they wouldn’t be in the tub at the same time, it still seemed rather intimate and decadent.
And thinking about Jack Dodger’s bareness was not what she needed to be concentrating on. She needed to focus on finding Henry a new nanny.
Henry was nestled against her side as they sat on a settee beside the window in the day nursery. He’d tucked his thumb inside his hand and curled his fingers around it, as though determined not to suck on it. Yet if ever a time was right for sucking it, this morning seemed to be it.
She knew he needed to break his habit, but she could hardly fathom that Helen had used so cruel a means to try to stop him from slipping his thumb into his mouth. But as unsettled as she was by Helen’s actions, she was even more amazed by Dodger’s. Her opinion of him had shifted during those tense moments, shifted in his favor. She’d been on the receiving end of his blistering glare, but it had never burned as hotly as it had when he’d directed it at Helen. Olivia was surprised the young lady hadn’t burst into flames.
Olivia had feared Dodger would be as cutting with Henry as he was with her. She’d expected him to give no care to her son’s feelings. She’d expected him to be as harsh and unforgiving as he seemed to be with all things. He’d surprised her.
She’d judged Jack Dodger based on conversations she’d had with other ladies. They’d spoken of men coming home in the early hours reeking of drink and women—and Olivia had assumed Jack Dodger drank heavily and fornicated often. One lady had mentioned that her husband had sold her jewelry to acquire funds for his gambling habit—and Olivia had assumed Dodger spent an abundance of time at the gaming tables. He lounged while sitting, and she considered him slovenly. But he dressed impeccably and even now he was bathing.
She’d considered him mean-spirited, and yet he’d not fought back when she’d struck him with the poker. He’d simply moved beyond her reach, when she had little doubt he could have effectively wrestled her to the ground. As bluntly as he’d spoken to Henry to get to the root of the problem, he’d somehow managed to elicit the child’s confidence, and he had confessed everything.
She’d considered him unlikable, but the woman last night—Frannie Darling—had teased and cajoled and even slapped his shoulder playfully. She’d chastised him and he’d not retaliated. He’d taken it as his due.
She’d considered him a man who would do anything for a coin. Her son’s finances were now in his hands and he could surely divest him of everything—yet he’d indicated he wouldn’t. A ploy perhaps, to cause her to lower her guard. If she trusted him, then he could get away with a good deal more. If she trusted him, might she find herself enjoying his presence? No, never. The only thing they had in common was her son, and they disagreed on every aspect concerning him.
Well, almost every aspect. She did agree with Dodger that Helen had to be dismissed. It was an appalling bit of behavior on her part to use Dodger to frighten her son into behaving. How had she missed that Helen was capable of doing such a thing? Had she made other veiled threats to Henry?
He was such a quiet, good boy. Shy, to be sure, but Olivia had always assumed his stammering was responsible because it embarrassed him. Lovingdon hadn’t been concerned by it. “It’s the Lovingdon curse. He’ll grow out of it. I did.”
So Olivia tried not to worry about it. He was like his father in so many ways. He had his blond hair, but her amber eyes. He had long limbs and she knew eventually he would grow into his father’s height. But with Dodger as his guardian, she didn’t see how he would acquire his father’s dignity.
The door burst open, startling both her and Henry, and Dodger strode in with a confidence she didn’t think even Lovingdon had possessed.
“Henry, let’s go,” he said.
Henry started to ease away from her, but she drew him back. “Where are you taking him?”
“As I’m his guardian, I don’t have to explain my actions to you, but as you’re his mother and no doubt concerned about his welfare, I shall tell you. I’m taking him for a ride in my brougham.”
“I thought you were going to sleep.” After hearing something shatter, she’d had a quick word with Stiles after he’d left Dodger’s room to make certain everything was all right. He was going to have the remnants of a vase cleared away after Dodger awoke.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “I was, but I decided I needed to see to this matter instead.”
“What matter is that?”
She heard a deep purr like that of a large cat contemplating its next victim. “Olivia, you do try my patience. Come on, boy.”
Olivia could feel the tremor that went through Henry before he pulled away from her and got to his feet.
“I can’t let you take him anywhere without me,” she said as she rose. “I’ll come with you.”
“Shouldn’t you be interviewing nannies?”
“I’m going to have one of the chambermaids assume the role until I can gather some recommendations.”
He gave her an impatient glare. “I’ve had the brougham readied. I’m on a schedule today. I don’t have time to wait for the coach, and as you so kindly pointed out, my vehicle is more suited to two.”
“Henry can sit on my lap. I will fight you tooth and nail if need be, but I will not let you take him without me.”
Something shifted in his eyes as though he’d welcome the challenge. She wasn’t altogether certain it would end in fisticuffs, but the thought of them wrestling—
“All right, let’s go, then. Be quick about it. I haven’t all day.”
Grabbing Henry’s hand, Olivia wondered what she was getting herself into.
Henry sat on his mother’s lap. He’d always liked riding in the brougham with his father because the front of it was a window that made it very easy to see everything. He could observe the world and it was all so fascinating.
Although the carriage did seem very small with Mr. Dodger sitting in it. He wondered if his mother had realized how much room Mr. Dodger would take up and how crowded they’d be. He could feel the tension in his mother. She was barely breathing. It was what Henry did when he got frightened at night—he lay in bed, barely breathing, as though somehow bad things couldn’t find him if he didn’t breathe.
He wondered if his mother was afraid of Mr. Dodger. He wondered if he should be afraid of him. Mr. Dodger had told him he wouldn’t burn him, had told Miss Tuppin he didn’t care if Henry sucked on his thumb. That had made Henry feel better, but it had also made him want to stop sucking on his thumb, so he was keeping it tucked tightly behind his fingers to prevent his putting it in his mouth.
Mr. Dodger didn’t wear a top hat like Henry’s father had done. But he wore a nice black jacket. And his waistcoat was a dark green with gold buttons, not the purple one he’d worn yesterday.
He looked tired. Once he yawned without covering his mouth, which had made Henry’s mother sniff. Even Henry knew a gentleman was supposed to put his hand over his mouth when he yawned. After his mother made her sound of displeasure, Mr. Dodger had winked at Henry as though they were sharing a secret. It made Henry think that Mr. Dodger knew the rule about yawning, too, but thought it would be more fun to make Henry’s mother sniff. While he didn’t think his mother liked Mr. Dodger, he thought maybe Mr. Dodger liked her.
The carriage pulled into a cobbled drive, and Henry could see a large residence looming before them.
“That’s Lord Chesney’s residence,” his mother said. “It’s far too early in the day for a social call.”
“We’re not here for a social call,” Mr. Dodger said.
“Why are we here?” his mother asked.
“Because the young duke needs to see him.”
“Whatever for?”
Mr. Dodger was looking forward, but it seemed to Henry that he was suddenly happy. He noticed just the smallest shift in the shape of his mouth as though he might have the tiniest of smiles.
“Because the earl’s bitch recently had a litter of puppies.”
Henry thought his heart was going to leap out of his chest. “Puppies?”
Mr. Dodger looked at him and winked again. “Promised you one, didn’t I?”
Henry didn’t see his hand move, but suddenly he was extending a card toward Henry. “Your calling card.”
“That’s the duke’s,” his mother said.
“Yes, I found them in a desk drawer. They rightfully belong to your son now, as he’s the duke.”
Henry’s mother blinked several times, the way she did when she was trying not to cry.
The carriage came to a stop. The footman hopped down, opened the door, and unfolded the steps. Mr. Dodger climbed out. Henry scrambled out after him. Mr. Dodger looked back into the carriage and extended his hand. “Coming, Duchess?”
She looked at Mr. Dodger, then looked at Henry and gave him a sad smile. “I’m in mourning. It wouldn’t be proper. Be a gentleman, Henry.”
Henry nodded and looked up at Mr. Dodger. He was a little afraid and wanted to take Mr. Dodger’s hand, but Mr. Dodger didn’t look at all frightened. He patted Henry’s shoulder, which was almost as comforting as taking his hand. “Come along, lad.”
Henry followed Mr. Dodger up the steps and into the house. A butler approached.
“Show him your card,” Mr. Dodger said.
Henry did as he was told. The butler put it on a silver plate and walked away. Henry fought very hard to stand perfectly still, as still as Mr. Dodger. He wanted to hop and jump around and clap his hands. He was getting a puppy.
It seemed forever before a fellow with a large, round belly appeared. “Ah, Your Grace. Mr. Dodger here informed me that you’re in want of a puppy.”
“Yes, s-sir.”
He smiled. “I’m Chesney. Sorry about your father. Good man. Very good man.”
Henry was sure he was supposed to say something—
“Thank you, Lord Chesney,” Mr. Dodger said. “The duke appreciates your sentiments.”
“But you’re more interested in my dogs, aren’t you, lad?”
Henry nodded quickly.
“Come on, then, I have a special room for my collies. I treat them royally…”
As he led them through the house, Lord Chesney continued to talk, telling Henry all about the dogs’ history, but Henry barely paid attention. All he cared about was the fact that he was going to have a dog.
Finally, they came to a small room. In a corner on a mound of pillows and blankets was a large white-and-brown dog. Around her three puppies tumbled.
“Go ahead, Your Grace, play with them. See which one suits you.”
Henry sat on the floor and the puppies bounded over to him. He laughed. Lord Chesney crouched beside him. “Which one do you want?”
Henry looked up at Mr. Dodger.
“Don’t look to me, lad, look to yourself.”
Henry studied the puppies. It was so difficult to decide. What if he made a mistake?
“There’s no wrong answer, lad,” Mr. Dodger said quietly.
Henry snatched up the first puppy that had landed in his lap and hugged him close. “This one!”
“That one, it is,” Lord Chesney said with a laugh, standing up, his knees creaking as he went.
Henry glanced back at Mr. Dodger, who handed Lord Chesney a small pouch that jingled when it landed in his palm. As they were walking back to the carriage, holding his puppy close, Henry said, “He c-cost a lot.”
“Not really. I suspect in the end he’ll make me money.”
“How?”
“Can you hold a confidence?”
Henry nodded even though he didn’t know what a confidence was.
Mr. Dodger grinned broadly. “When his pockets are full, Lord Chesney plays very loosely at the gaming tables. Tonight he’ll spend what I just gave him and then some, so it comes back into my coffers.”
Henry wasn’t exactly sure what Mr. Dodger was talking about. “Will he t-take the dog back then?”
“Hell no. The dog is yours.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome, lad.”
He knew his mother wouldn’t agree, but Henry thought Mr. Dodger was a very good guardian.