Chapter 9

 

 

 

Never had Eleanora rode in such a plush and fancy carriage. During their conversations, it was easy to forget Christian was a duke. She studied him as he stared out the window, holding the velvet curtain aside with his gloved hand. He possessed a handsome profile, well-formed chin, a sharp blade of a nose. Long lashes and high cheekbones.

Christian was entirely wrong for her, not even for a short dalliance. Why did that enter her mind?

Because she was attracted to him.

Wrong, Eleanora. So very wrong.

Calculating his age from their conversation, he was thirty, four years older than she. Eleanora had thought him older somehow. Because of his bearing? Or the deeply-etched frown lines bracketing his mouth?

What he had revealed to her about the reason his group formed—touched her. He looked lonely and lost sitting here. 

Or perhaps it was her overactive imagination.

As Althea constantly reminded her, she involved herself too much in the lives of her clients. Through the years, she’d discovered that someone blessed with good fortune, good looks, even a title, could still not be content.

How she would love to hear his masculine laughter once again. Instinctively, Eleanora knew he did not do it often, which further proved no matter how privileged, a person could still be unhappy. A group of lonely lads had found refuge and friendship, until one summer night on a moonlit shoreline. At least she had a few avenues to explore with regards to this investigation.

With one last longing look at the duke, Eleanora sighed softly. How typical the first instance she found a man attractive in many months, he was utterly unattainable. Any assignation with a duke, however brief, would not be prudent.

Shame, that.

He released the curtain and turned to face her. “Is your cousin going on a trip?”

“Sybil will be traveling to Yorkshire. Her father, my Uncle James, is not feeling well. Nothing serious, but Sybil wants to be with him. She could be gone ten days to two weeks.”

Christian crossed his legs. “She doesn’t live with her parents?”

“They bought a sheep farm in Yorkshire three years ago. Sybil did go with them at first but found she despised country life. She travels between the two locations, sort of a sixty-forty split of her time all told during the run of a year. When in London, she stays with us and assists Althea and me in our work.”

The carriage pulled up in front of a brick and stone multi-storied building. The door opened, and Christian climbed out first, turned, and held out his hand to assist her.

“Where are we exactly?” she asked.

“Basinghall Street.”

“Not far from your club, how convenient.”

Christian frowned and didn’t reply. Once they reached the front door, the duke gave three short knocks, and the grille slid open. A pair of bloodshot eyes stared back questioningly.

“Allenby and guest. Jasmine.”

The door creaked open, and a huge man stepped aside. “Your Grace, welcome.”

Jasmine must be a password; how clandestine.

Corbett had the right of it; she would never have gained entry. Christian led her upstairs before she could manage a thorough inspection of the place. Emerging from a room at the top of the stairs, a petite woman dressed in a plush lavender gown greeted the duke with a sly smile.

“Your Grace. You have brought a visitor. Will you require another girl to join you both?” she purred.

It took several seconds for Eleanora to understand the meaning. Oh. A threesome, or another term: a ménage. What could one man possibly do with two women? She had a vague idea. Had the duke participated in one before? Obviously.

Reading about vice in her father’s books was not the same as actually witnessing the surroundings in which such doings transpired.

“Not today, Bathsheba,” Christian replied, his voice distantly ducal. “We were hoping for a brief and private meeting.”

She stepped aside.” Do come in, Your Grace, and your guest, and take a seat.” She pointed to the plush circle of chairs in the corner of the large room. As she closed the door, she asked, “May I offer you both something to drink? Or possibly tea or coffee?”

So polite, and her accent was aristocratic, but it could be counterfeit. Eleanora could do the same when needed.

“No, thank you. Unless?” Christian looked to her, and Eleanora shook her head.

Bathsheba sat opposite; her hands clasped in her lap.

“This is Miss Eleanora Galway of The Galway Investigative Agency.”

Bathsheba’s shoulders straightened; a taut line formed about her generous mouth.

“As a favor to me,” Christian continued, “Could you address her inquires?”

“Of course.” But her body language said the complete opposite. Bathsheba wanted nothing to do with this. Not at all.

“I will require your complete discretion. This conversation is private,” Christian said sternly. He was using his “I am a duke, and you shall heed me” tone.

The madam nodded, a flash of fear in her eyes. Yes, he was intimidating, but not to Eleanora. No man would ever be, regardless of titles or societal standings.

“A butterfly tattoo is on the ankle of several of your sex workers. Why?” Eleanora asked.

Corbett had already told her why, but she wanted to judge the madam’s character—and level of truthfulness.

Bathsheba’s lips pursed. “I have strict rules of engagement. My elite girls are attractive, clean, and only for my very best customers. The tattoo reflects they have been employed here for one year and are healthy. My elite employees undergo countless and rigorous physical examinations. And they are expensive.”

She smiled knowingly at the duke, and a stab of resentment tore through Eleanora. No, it wasn’t resentment; it was jealousy. Of any woman who had ever been with Christian. How strange. This unknown emotion would bear further reflection. She swiftly filed it away and turned her attention to the madam.

“Have any of these elite girls been dismissed or left of their own accord in say—the past year? Or more?” Eleanora asked.

The madam’s mouth twitched. Her pupils dilated. She was about to lie; Eleanora would bet coin on it.

“My employees are satisfied with their lot, and I am satisfied with them.”

A complete non-answer.

“Obviously someone has departed, or I would not be asking. Either that or you have a one-legged prostitute in your employ,” Eleanora snapped. “Come now, speak the truth.”

Bathsheba glowered, confusion showing on her face at the one-legged comment. Eleanora wasn’t about to explain.

“There have been two in the past year,” the madam replied. “One gave her notice as she had found a rich patron, another I dismissed for breaking the rules of the house.”

“What rules?” Christian interjected.

“She was not using sheaths with certain customers, charging an additional fee and pocketing the money,” the madam replied, nervously glancing at the duke.

“What? You made certain guarantees. Now I find you’re not diligent in your dealings.” Christian was annoyed. “You made a guarantee that all the ladies used protection, in every circumstance.”

Who could blame him? Eleanora was annoyed as well, but for a different reason altogether. How dare Christian interfere in her investigation?

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Eleanora admonished, “Allow me to continue.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, as the duke was no doubt not used to someone speaking to him in such a blunt and reproachful manner. Then he did the strangest thing, a smile curved about his mouth, and his eyes twinkled.

With what, amusement? No, she had seen that heated look before in men’s eyes—and she had seen it in Christian’s eyes: last night at the ball when they danced.

It was—desire. Something else to ponder later.

“Pray continue, Miss Galway,” he murmured.

“Thank you.” She pulled a small notebook and pencil from her cloak’s pocket. “Please give me a description of the employee you dismissed.”

Bathsheba huffed. “Medium height, slim, blonde, but I believe she dyed her hair. Attractive, even beautiful, I suppose. Early twenties. There is nothing else to say.”

“There is every chance the employee you dismissed is now deceased. I will not reveal the particulars. A blood test showed that there were high traces of mercury and iodine in the blood. I’m certain you are aware of what the combination portends. The person was suffering from syphilis. Taking that combination is believed in medical circles to stem the worst of the symptoms, if only temporarily.”

“What!” Christian yelled, rising to his feet.

The madam looked horrified, and worried. “I assure you, Your Grace, that I—”

“Give me the names of the women no longer in your employ,” Eleanora demanded.

“I will not. I have a reputation to uphold—”

“I assure you, madam, I will make it my mission to tell all and sundry of the decided lack of accountability taken by you for your brothel. No one of any worth will ever darken your door again,” Christian snarled. “The Duke of Watford will hear of this, and you know what his public disapproval will mean for your business. Finished.”

Christian interfered once again in her questioning of Bathsheba. It took all Eleanora had to hold her tongue.

“Please, Your Grace, I had the girl thoroughly examined before I kicked her to the cobbles! There was no sign of any pox, I assure you!” the madam cried.

Bathsheba sounded scared. As far as Eleanora could tell, she was telling the truth. Syphilis takes weeks or months before symptoms appear. One word from the dukes and she would be out of business. Completely ruined.

“The names?” Eleanora asked coolly. “I require—”

The madam was shaking her head.

“Give her the names, Bathsheba,” Christian growled.

With shaking hands, she dipped her pen in the bottle of ink and scribbled the names. Christian snatched the paper from her hand, blew on it to dry the ink, and stuffed it in his pocket. Grabbing Eleanora’s elbow, he brought her to her feet.

“Your Grace, have pity. I swear she was clean when she left here,” Bathsheba whimpered.

“Which name is the one dismissed?” he demanded.

“The second one. Emily McCarthy. That is her real name. She used the name Lucinda with customers. Please, Your Grace. Do not repeat any of this!”

“What name did the other girl go by?” he snapped.

“Eurydice.”

“If these names are not legitimate, I will return.”

“Please, Your Grace…”

Christian ignored her and steered Eleanora toward the door and down the stairs. Eleanora huffed, stuffing her notebook and pencil into her cloak, but she didn’t fight him. Inside a brothel was not the place to make a scene.

When they stepped outside, Eleanora grabbed his arm and twisted it around, causing him to yelp. Catching him off guard, she gained the advantage and pushed him into the nearby alley.

Releasing his arm, she poked him in the chest, her anger and frustration boiling over.

“Do not ever do that again.” Eleanora kept walking and poking until the duke’s back hit the brick wall. “I am in charge here; I will make the threats or demands and ask the questions. Understand?”

A ragged moan left Christian’s lips; his eyes closed.

Wait, he’s aroused by this?

Momentarily stunned, she stepped in reverse, unsure of what to do or say. In her younger years, not so long past, Eleanora had acted impulsively on more than one occasion. Through sheer determination, she’d learned to curb such behavior on the whole, especially when she opened her investigative agency.

However, impetuosity sometimes burst through, even though her sister and cousin tried to contain her worst impulses.

Standing here with Christian, all restraints melted away. Leaning in, she laid a kiss against his lovely lips. The brief contact caused sizzling heat to travel through her.

His eyes popped open. Eleanora had shocked him. Placing her hands flat against the brick wall on either side of his head, she kissed him again, nibbling on his full lower lip.

Yes, Althea and Sybil would have stepped in to stop this reckless behavior.

A good thing they were not here.

A deep-throated growl left his throat. Christian grasped her upper arms and whirled her about until she was against the wall. A shockingly potent thrill moved through her. He gave as good as he got, and how that aroused her.

His kiss was hungry, ferocious, and the blistering flames between them combusted into a roiling fire. Eleanora tunneled her fingers through his thick, silky black hair, knocking his hat askew, which caused him to moan once again. They were breathing hard, grinding against one another. The hardness of his erection pressed against her, causing her insides to melt. He clasped her leg and draped it across his hip, taking the kiss deeper as he ground against her.

A loud bang against the bricks tore them apart. “What’s all this, then? Enough of that. Move along sharpish.”

It was a uniformed copper, carrying a baton and a Bull’s Eye lantern. He looked them over as he tucked his truncheon in his holder. Seeing that Christian was dressed as a gentleman, he touched the brim of his hat in a show of respect.

“Sir. Take it off the streets. If you please.”

Christian gathered her close as if to hide her identity. The protective gesture caused her heart to flutter. Yet another strange reaction.

“Right away, constable.”

Satisfied, the copper continued on his beat.

“Sweet Mother,” Eleanora mumbled into his shoulder.

“Indeed.” Christian stepped backward, and their gazes met. Their breathing was uneven, the air crackling with sensual energy. “Take my arm. We will head toward the carriage.”

“I’m not sorry,” she said breathlessly.

“For what, manhandling me or kissing me?”

“Both.”

He gently trailed the tip of his finger along her cheek. “I’m not sorry either—for both. We will talk more in the carriage. Come.”

Strange, her legs were as if made of jelly. Best to take his arm. Casually, they strolled out of the alley.

Once bundled inside the carriage, the small window slid open. Christian instructed the driver to take a leisurely and circuitous route to Cleveland Street. Then he handed her the note with the names. Eleanora glanced at the paper then tucked it in her notebook.

“As much as I would like to continue to explore what sparked in the alley, we must talk about what happened at the brothel.” Christian removed his hat and gloves, and also removed all vestiges of his loss of control. He had successfully slipped on the mask of the aloof duke.

“What do you wish to discuss first, Your Grace?”

His mouth quirked. “What happened to Allenby or Christian?”

“I believe it best we remain client and investigator.”

Christian scoffed. “Oh, hang it all, that’s not what I want, and neither do you. I want to be involved in this investigation, every step of the way.”

“Absolutely not,” Eleanora said firmly. “I never allow clients to become involved in investigations. This is not a game to me. It is not my job to amuse a bored aristo. Not for any amount of money. Besides, why would you want to?”

“Why not? I can be of assistance—as in gaining entry to places that would be off-limits to you. Like the brothel.”

“We have done that. There’s no need for any further collaboration.” Honestly, what on earth was he doing? Or thinking? “Do you not think I am capable of conducting this investigation? If not, I will refund your money, and you can engage someone else. No doubt a man,” she huffed.

Christian gave her an incredulous look. “When have I ever shown any lack of confidence in your abilities? You do recall it was I—over the objections of the others—that employed your agency?”

Well, he was correct there.

“I can also gain access to people who would not otherwise give you an audience,” he continued. “Like the baronet or any peers that may crop up in your inquiries. Besides, with your cousin temporarily gone, you could use the assistance.”

The dark duke again had a point.

“I cannot be responsible for your safety. It is too much to ask, and the risk is too great.” Eleanora shook her head, but inside, she was wavering.

Truth be told, she yearned to be in his company. To embark on an adventure with a man who had caught her interest like no other?

Tempting. Very tempting indeed.

But common sense had to be considered. It must prevail.

Never had Eleanora allowed her clients to become involved in any investigation. After Christian had gained her entrance to the high-end brothel, she should have made him wait in the carriage. Kept him out of it altogether.

“I am capable of looking after myself. I should be the one to decide on whether it is too risky.” Christian didn’t sound angry, merely firm in his statements.

“What about all your duke duties and such?” she asked.

His eyes crinkled with amusement. “Parliament is not in sitting at the moment, so I am not needed.”

“I was told that you rarely attended.”

His eyes widened, then narrowed. “You’ve asked questions about me?”

“A couple of general and cursory inquiries, I do so with all my clients. Is it true?”

“Shamefully yes, but I had made the decision a few weeks past to amend all that. In fact, I have already made certain other changes in my life.”

Eleanora observed his body language. Christian was not acting defensively, as in crossing his arms or glowering; his tone was sincere. He was open and honest, at least with her. It was vastly appealing.

“What changes?” she asked softly.

“The rakish lifestyle. I had more or less ceased the various activities some weeks ago. I have the distinct feeling others in our group have done the same. Believe it or not, meaningless encounters do become tedious.”

“What about running your vast empire?” she asked.

Christian snorted. “It’s eighteen ninety-seven; most peers no longer possess enormous wealth. Luckily, I have a competent steward and a reliable land manager. They make certain that I do not sink into financial oblivion as many peers have the past two decades.”

Eleanora gave him a teasing smile. “Clearly, considering the lushness of this carriage.”

He chuckled. “My one indulgence. At the turn of this century, the Bamfords owned ten estates and three townhouses. Under my advisors’ shrewd advice, I sold everything not entailed—over a period of years—and now only have my country seat, Bamford Park in Essex, the townhouse in London, and the smaller residence for my mother. The money from those sales were placed into investments that give me a comfortable income. There is still a smattering of tenants in Essex, but not enough to earn the estate a living. The world is changing.”

“That it is,” she agreed.

“Since I am unencumbered at the moment, why not use me in your investigation?”

“My gut instinct is saying no, and I always listen to it.”

“I have another motive. I want us to become better acquainted.”

Eleanora shook her head in disbelief. “And you thought assisting me would be one way to go about it?”

“It is certainly more exciting than going to the theater or to a ball. Besides, we already attended a ball.” Christian gave her a brief smile. “I like you, Miss Galway. I want to know you better. On a lesser note, it will give me something to do. A purpose. I cannot remember the last time there was any purpose in my life.” Christian shook his head. “And here I am revealing more than I should. Once again.”

The loneliness radiated off him, and blast it all if it didn’t affect her.

“I will think on it. I am not promising anything, mind.”

“Fair enough, I will not press the matter any further—today. But with regards to the delivery: I have a feeling this may not be a macabre prank after all.”

Though she agreed; Eleanora said, “It’s far too soon to rule out anything as yet.”

Christian crossed his legs, regarding her closely. “How on earth will you track Lucinda? She could have gone anywhere after being dismissed.”

“Have you ever been with her? I ask because of the pox.” And she was curious as well.

The corner of his mouth quirked. “Always straight to the point. No. I haven’t been there in well over a year, and before that, I do not recall a Lucinda. As I said, my brothel activity has fallen sharply over the last eighteen months. I had best mention this to the lads, though. It is a rule between us all that we do not venture forth on our sexual adventures without taking proper precautions, but who knows if anyone had at The Chrysalis.”

“I never understood why anyone would engage in such reckless behavior, but I suppose it is being part of the privileged class. Thinking you’re all above any reparation for any of your actions.”

A furrow formed between his brows. “Can we please lay aside your obvious disdain for my class? I’m not saying you’re exactly wrong, but damn it, having it thrown in my face constantly is increasingly wearisome. Yes, peers, particularly men, are feckless, reckless, and conceited. Let us leave it at that.”

“You’re right; I will not do it again. It’s not just peers acting in such a way, but yes, let us leave it lay,” she said, her voice gentle.

Eleanora could not allow her prejudices to enter into this investigation or any decision in allowing Christian to assist.

“As to your original point,” she continued, “We start tracking this Lucinda by finding the other name on the list, Fiona Mapleton. I will also ascertain where the ladies of The Chrysalis congregate and find any information there.”

“By wearing a disguise?” he asked, his tone lighter.

She smiled. “Of course. This type of gathering is usually at a pub. A few pints of bitter, and they will spill all sorts.”

Heat emanated from his attractive pale blue eyes. “The kiss.”

“Is this the part where you say it must not happen again?” Eleanora queried.

Deep down, she was apprehensive about what exactly he was going to say. Because she wanted it to happen again.

Frequently.

Another reason to allow him to become involved in this case: more opportunity for those fierce, heated kisses. But those wild kisses were also a detriment. It was not prudent to become distracted by an incredibly handsome duke.

Sweet Mother, she didn’t know what to do.

“Perhaps this isn’t wise.” The duke stared out the window again. “Mixing business with pleasure is always grounds for complications. Or so I have heard.”

Eleanora waited for him to elaborate further, but he didn’t.

“I cannot promise it will not happen again,” she stated.

His head whipped about, and he met her gaze. “What do you mean, exactly?”

“I cannot promise I won’t kiss you again.”

“I have never met a woman like you. Frank, fascinating, and extraordinary in every way.” His voice was low, his tone sensual, and it caused a shiver of desire to dance along her spine. The words he had spoken also sent a thrill deep to her core.

Impulsive.

Not only in speaking her mind regarding their apparent magnetism, but she was considering his proposal to work with her on this case. But staring at his muscular form, noticeable despite his layers of clothing, had her ready to throw aside all restraints.

“What do we do?” she ventured.

“See where it leads,” Christian rasped in reply.

“What? The case?”

His eyes came alive with blue fire. “Indeed, I speak of the case.”

His desirous look had her tempted to wrap herself around him. Hold him close and nuzzle the strong column of his neck. Muss him quite thoroughly. How her hands itched to run through his silky hair once again. A little restraint would be warranted, at least for now.

“What comes next—regarding the case?” Christian asked again.

The change in subject was jarring, for she still thrummed with excitement.

Yes. The case. Focus, Eleanora.

“Tomorrow, Althea will lead the interview with Brookton. Huxley has not responded to our inquiries. In fact, when Sybil stopped by yesterday, no one answered the door.”

Christian blew out a breath. “Huxley is having—issues. I will stop by his townhouse tomorrow. Surely he will gain me entry.”

“Good. However, you cannot share any information with your chums. Understand? I believe in forming a thorough report, not giving out information in dribs and drabs. And not until I say.”

“Understood, Miss Galway. However, as I said earlier, I should share the information on the syphilitic Lucinda and The Chrysalis. Will you permit me?”

“Yes, but nothing else of the conversation.”

“Understood, Miss Galway.”

“I also will require a list of all former members of the Rakes of St. Regent’s Park. Can you get that for me?”

“Yes, I can. Watford would know. Leave it with me.” The carriage came to a stop. Christian pushed aside the curtain. “Home again. When will you contact me?”

“When I decide that I need you. If I need you at all.” Eleanora wasn’t cruel in her tone, merely straightforward. She made the short step to the cobbles. Turning, she gave a slight bow. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”

Lord, how officious she sounded—and nonchalant. When in fact, she burned with desire, her emotions in a whirlwind. She hurried toward the entrance, then stopped, and rushed back to the carriage. The door was still open. Lifting her skirts, she climbed the two steps and leaned into the carriage, grabbed Christian by his lapels, and gave him a hungry kiss.

Before he could respond, she exited and ran for her front door, entered, and closed it. Breathing hard, she leaned against the wall. A slow, but satisfying smile crept across her mouth.

The duke was entirely delicious.

And Eleanora couldn’t wait to taste more.