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The next day Rupert still lacked the appropriate happiness his cousin’s upcoming nuptials warranted. Dudley needed to be as devoted as he’d declared he was when he’d first asked Rupert to assist him with his correspondence.
Rupert paced his cottage, then left abruptly. He marched past the gardeners, then knocked on the door of Laventhorpe Castle.
Barnes opened the door and glared.
Even though Rupert had visited the castle nearly every day for the past several weeks, Barnes continued to bestow a regal stare, as if Rupert were some riff-raff who’d accidentally ended up at the finest estate in Staffordshire and had possessed such little knowledge that he’d wandered up to the main door instead of the servants’ entrance. Doubtless, Barnes thought he should have avoided venturing past the hedges bordering the estate entirely.
“Mr. Andrews.” Barnes sneered.
“I would like to see my cousin.”
“The duke is dressing,” the butler said. “It will take some time.”
“Then I’ll visit him in his rooms,” Rupert said and proceeded up the grand staircase.
Barnes could act intimidating, but that didn’t mean Rupert had to succumb to intimidation. Rupert strode past the familiar sideboards and vases, gilt mirrors and decorative boxes, gathered from two centuries of lavish wealth.
Finally, Rupert knocked on his cousin’s door.
“Enter,” Dudley’s voice boomed, and Rupert stepped into the room.
Dudley’s valet was fussing with his cousin’s cravat.
“Ah, Rupert.” His cousin nodded to him absentmindedly, and the duke’s valet focused his attention on the duke’s cuff links. “Have you met the bride and her family?”
“No. I mean—I saw them.”
“From a distance.” His cousin smiled. “You always were shy.”
“I trust you had a pleasant visit with her party yesterday?”
“Ah.” The duke shrugged. “I wouldn’t characterize it as pleasant. It is rather dull to have many people exclaim about the beauty of one’s abode.” The duke shot Rupert a condescending glance. “You wouldn’t understand. You only have a cottage.”
Rupert bristled, but resisted the temptation to saunter off. “How was your meeting with the princess? Was it everything you expected?”
The duke shrugged. “She was a bit dusty, but one does rather expect that. One rather hopes for dust-free guests, but it is mostly a wish in vain.”
Carriage wheels crunched over the gravel, temporarily masking the sound of water gushing from the fountain, and the duke frowned. “I thought all the guests had arrived yesterday.”
“Everyone wants to celebrate your wedding.” Rupert forced a cheerful smile on his face.
The duke’s eyes narrowed, and he strode toward the window. The duke’s valet let out a yelp as the cuff link fell to the herringbone floor and he dived to the ground.
Rupert bent down to help him, but was interrupted by the duke’s sudden shriek.
“Damnation!” the duke roared. “Damnation.”
Rupert gave a tentative glance at the valet who focused on his search for the missing cuff link. Finally, the valet’s expression eased, and he held up the cuff link triumphantly. “I found it.”
“Not that, you idiot.” The duke glared. “You think I need money? I’m a duke, for god’s sake, and my new bride is very, very, very wealthy. You should see those jewels she wore! One of those gems alone...”
A carriage door slammed, and the duke scurried to the window. His face reddened, and even though Dudley eschewed boxing, his hand formed fists. “Blast! That’s her. Double blast!”
Rupert blinked at the duke’s sudden tirade of dishonorable expressions.
Rupert and the valet exchanged baffled glances.
“Who is it?” Rupert asked finally.
“Greta!”
Puzzlement must have shone on Rupert’s face, for the duke sighed. “You must know Greta van Konigsberg.”
Rupert shook his head.
“Greatest opera singer in the world?” the duke bellowed, then gave an exasperated huff. “Clearly, you’re a plebeian.”
“I have heard of her,” Rupert said.
Rupert had always been too careful with his money to enjoy going to the opera, which for aristocrats mostly involved dressing in splendid attire and sneaking glances at the royal box.
“Is she playing at the wedding?” Rupert asked.
The duke snorted. “I should make her do that.” He raised the window, then poked his head out. “Go away!”
“I will not,” a female voice shouted back.
Her soprano voice was loud, and it was easy to imagine her voice filling Covent Garden.
The duke drew back suddenly. “Never get into an argument with an opera singer. Take my word for it. Their vocal cords and diaphragm make an appalling combination.” He shook his head mournfully, then pointed at his valet. “Bring her in here before the princess and her entourage spot her. They’re going on a damned tour of the castle.”
“You want me to bring this—er—guest into your personal room?” the valet asked incredulously.
“Yes! You going deaf?”
“N-no,” the valet stammered, then scrambled from the room.
The duke paced the room. “Damned opera singers. What is she doing here?”
An uncomfortable feeling settled in Rupert’s stomach, and his heart hurt. He wrapped his arms about each other and held them against his chest, as if that could protect him from the pain raging inside.
It hadn’t.
It was all so laughable and pitiful.
Aria was perfect. And now she was marrying someone who didn’t adore her, who wouldn’t cherish her. Aria wouldn’t lead the life she desired.
“You don’t love her,” Rupert said.
His cousin furrowed his brow. “When did you get so romantic? What does love have to do with this marriage?”
Loud voices sounded downstairs.
“Blast,” the duke said, then hurried from the room.
“Shall I accompany you?” Rupert asked.
“I am perfectly capable of going downstairs on my own,” the duke said.
Right.
Rupert flushed, then sat awkwardly on a striped satin bench.
Just what had his cousin involved himself with?
Footsteps sounded on the steps, then the duke entered the room. His hand was clasped about the wrist of a pretty blond woman with a generously curved body.
“What are you doing here?” the duke growled and pushed the woman onto the bed. Her blonde hair toppled down becomingly by the force of his movement.
She arched her torso up, straining slightly as she sank into the bed chords. “You’re getting married to some princess.”
She spat the last word out as if it were an insult.
The duke’s face reddened. “Perhaps.”
Miss van Konigsberg scrambled up from the bed. “You promised you would marry me.”
The duke shifted his legs over the floorboards. “Did I?”
“You did.” She leaped toward him and pummeled her fists against his chest. “You promised.”
“Er—right.” The duke managed to look guilty, a feat that Rupert had assumed was impossible. The duke took Miss van Konigsberg’s hands in his. “I swear to you, we will still marry.”
Rupert blinked. Did the duke mean to break off his engagement with the princess? That seemed doubtful, given the fact the princess was here with her entourage and that the wedding was scheduled for this evening. Since the princess had traveled a long time, the duke had opted for delaying the wedding from its customary morning schedule to later in the day.
“You’re engaged to someone else,” Miss van Konigsberg scoffed. “After everything you promised. You know I’m with child.”
Rupert’s jaw fell. The duke had a pregnant mistress?
Still. The duke had committed himself to marrying.
Rupert prepared himself for the duke to sneer and snarl. He prepared for the duke to say that an opera singer could never expect to marry a duke. He prepared himself for the duke to insult her. He even prepared to comfort Miss van Konigsberg and to lead her back to her carriage.
None of those things happened.
Instead, the duke pulled Miss van Konigsberg toward him. “My dearest darling, I promise you, I am doing this for us, and I will marry you soon.”
She eyed him with suspicion. Rupert didn’t blame her; he was doing the same.
“I love you.” The duke’s voice emanated tenderness, and if the duke hadn’t had his betrothed in another section of his castle, the action would almost have been romantic.
As it was, Rupert’s stomach turned. He wanted to flee this room, but his feet may as well have turned to lead.
“I won’t be your mistress anymore.” Miss van Konigsberg raised her chin. “I have morals.”
“And I made promises,” the duke replied. “But when this is finished, I’ll be an even wealthier man, my dear.”
“You already have a castle.”
“Castles require maintenance.” He tilted his head. “And I have a feeling you would like to redecorate this place. We can cover the ballroom with gold leaf.”
Miss van Konigsberg narrowed her eyes. “What are you speaking about?”
“When the princess dies, I can marry you.”
Rupert’s heart dropped through his stomach. He must have misheard. Still, queasiness overcame him.
Miss van Konigsberg stared at Rupert’s cousin. “But—”
The duke gave her a firm glance, then her shoulders relaxed.
“Oh,” Miss van Konigsberg breathed, and she gazed up at the duke with awe.
Had the duke been teasing his mistress? Rupert furrowed his brow.
Then Miss van Konigsberg threw her arms about the duke and giggled. “You mean it.”
“Of course I mean it,” the duke said. “You are my heart. You are my life.”
“I-I don’t understand,” Rupert said.
The duke stilled and turned slowly to him. His gaze was glacial, and though actual slabs of prehistoric ice weren’t in the room, Rupert shivered all the same.
“This is a private conversation,” the duke said.
“You asked me to be here.”
“Not so you could comment on my personal plans.” Dudley returned his attention to his mistress.
It’s a joke. It’s a joke. It’s a joke.
The duke simply couldn’t actually be speaking about murdering the woman he was planning to marry in a few hours’ time. He was simply appeasing someone who might well be a madwoman for all that Rupert knew.
And yet Rupert felt sick, not amused.
Dudley wasn’t the first person Rupert would think of as humorous, but was it possible he was jesting?
“You really mean to murder her?” Miss van Konigsberg cooed, batting her thick lashes.
The duke grinned and swept his arm about her tiny waist in a practiced manner. He inhaled Miss van Konigsberg’s hair and stared at her in open adoration. “Of course, my treasure.”
“My cousin doesn’t mean it,” Rupert said, then glanced at Dudley. “Tell me, you don’t mean it.”
The duke glowered, and any regality in his face was quickly transformed to pure ugliness. He scrunched his thick lips together, as if contemplating using them as a weapon to attack Rupert.
“Might I remind you that you are my very impoverished cousin?” The duke’s eyes bored through him with an efficiency that carpenters might desire for their nails. “What I do with my future wife does not concern you.”
Rupert widened his stance and resisted the urge to remove his gaze from him. “Murder concerns everyone.”
“I’ll take my chances with God,” the duke said. “And we both know that the law won’t assume nefarious intentions on my part.”
Rupert’s heart sank. His cousin was correct.
“People will think it’s a terrible accident,” the duke said. “My poor new wife didn’t know better than falling out the window in her new place.”
“You’re so wise,” Miss van Konigsberg cooed. She fluttered her lashes.
“I’ll tell them otherwise,” Rupert said staunchly, but his heart didn’t feel as confident as his voice, and his lungs were busy constricting. “I won’t let you get away with it.”
Miss van Konigsberg shot him a concerned look. “Is he going to be fine?”
The duke rolled his eyes. “Sometimes he has difficulty breathing. He’s always been that way. Let’s go.”
The duke grabbed Miss van Konigsberg, and they marched from the room. Miss van Konigsberg shot him a curious look, while the duke’s ample Roman nose curled in customary disgust.
They exited the room, and Rupert rushed toward the door, even as he struggled to breathe. The door slammed in front of him. He reached for the handle, but he was too late. A click sounded in the door. Damnation. He was locked inside.
Blast.
Rupert searched the room. He needed the key. He needed to rescue the princess.