Chapter Nine
Be it pence or pounds, if Burnham was spending it, Daphne would discover where. It was she who had uncovered his very clever and inconspicuous deductions, and it would be she who would ascertain how the pilfered funds were being spent.
But she had thought the library, where the ledgers were kept, and where the other guests provided a ready distraction against her growing attraction to the duke, would be the most logical place to begin her inquiry.
The duke, however, appeared to have a different idea, leading her away from the safety of the house and toward the same pebble-covered path Mrs. Hersham had disappeared down only moments before.
“I thought we could begin our search in the library,” Daphne said, peering longingly in the direction of the house behind her. “Is that not where Burnham keeps his records?”
The duke shrugged, the small movement bringing her gaze back to him. “Perhaps. But if Burnham is spending above his salary, the evidence will likely be in Emberton. Staff who do not reside within Thornhaven’s walls live in its village, including him. I allotted Mr. Burnham a small residence there when he was hired on.”
The duke’s logic appeared to be sound. It did, after all, make perfect sense to visit with Burnham to see if his residence bore any traces of exceeded wealth. But the sun was almost at its highest, and she had been away far longer than she had intended.
“Will we call on him now?”
The duke covered her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Not before I make a few inquiries in Emberton.”
Daphne swallowed, doing her best to ignore the pleasant tingle his touch elicited. “And how far away is Emberton?”
She glanced back at the small shadow of the boy acting as her chaperone. A few minutes strolling in the duke’s company was one thing. Hours traipsing across the countryside in close proximity to the tempting man was another beast entirely.
“About a fifteen minute walk if the company is pleasing.” He glanced toward her, the azure color of his eyes rivaling those of the late morning sky. “I’m certain we’ll be there in less than ten.”
Her cheeks ablaze, Daphne turned her head away, praying the trim of her bonnet hid her face in its shadow.
“And what of my family?” she asked, rather perturbed at the ease by which the duke seemed able to affect her. “They are no doubt wondering where I’ve taken to without a proper chaperone.”
The duke grunted in agreement. “Yes, of course. We wouldn’t want them beside themselves with worry. What do you say we give them cause to join us?”
He paused and gave a slight flick of his hand. The crunching sound of hurried feet on gravel met her ears. She turned to see the young boy, who had been trailing behind them, now clutching his chest beside the duke.
“Yer Grace?” the boy wheezed, his straw hat askew on a mop of brown curls.
“William, your sister Jane married this spring, did she not?”
“Yes, Yer Grace. To Mr. Green. On the fifth of May.”
“And a delightful bride she was, William. I’d like you to run ahead and ask if she’d act as chaperone to Miss Farrington while you make your way to Thornhaven and notify the staff of our presence in Emberton. Make sure to tell them, and Her Grace especially, that I discovered Miss Farrington straying a bit too far from the house and escorted her to town where we will be waiting on the rest of the guests to join us at Fanny’s. If you hurry, I’ll make certain to set aside an extra treat or two for you there. ” He gave the boy a wink.
William smiled, his head near rattling off his neck with his enthusiastic nod. “Yes, Yer Grace. I’ll be as quick as I can. Promise.”
Daphne watched the boy’s legs carry him over the path, his flailing feet kicking up a flurry of loose stones as her one last vestige of protection made his way toward the village.
And away from her.
She adjusted her shawl, its silken tassels swinging as she hitched it tighter around her arms. “I’m not certain if my virtue should be thankful for your thoughtfulness or fearful of your ingenuity in ridding me of my chaperone until the new one arrives.”
A slow grin curled over his lips, the movement somehow both wicked and innocent in the same moment. “I believe that depends on you. And whether or not you wish me to take advantage of his absence.”
Daphne swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. Despite her feeble protests, she would very much like the duke to repeat his earlier offense. The idea that she might once again indulge in the sweet hint of peppermint that lingered on his tongue sent her heart racing.
“Miss Farrington?” the duke asked.
Daphne grappled for a reply, something that would not reflect the true nature of her indecent and wicked thoughts…
“Who is Fanny?” she blurted, her cheery tone belying the direction her mind had taken.
“Fanny?” he asked, blinking.
“Yes. You said we would meet the others at Fanny’s.”
“So I did,” he said, lifting her hand and settling it back down upon his sleeve. “Prepare yourself, Miss Farrington, for the truly fantastical. I have cause to believe that Fanny is a sorceress. Of the highest order.”
“A sorceress?” she asked, a giggle escaping her lips. Was he absurd?
“Indeed. How else do you explain how my clothes fit comfortably when I walk into her shop but feel tight upon my exit?”
Daphne peered up at him, the laughter in his eyes matching those on his upturned lips. Returning his smile, she said, “I’m not entirely certain. Does she sell all manner of spells and potions?”
“Yes, indeed. Her jellied fruits, salted caramels, and elderberry pastries are positively occult. They cast a spell on me every time I visit, making it impossible for me to refuse another bite.”
Daphne burst out laughing. The duke joined in her merriment, his jollity intensifying her own. Pulling out the handkerchief he had handed her earlier, she dabbed at her eyes, drying the moisture his teasing evoked. “As magical as Fanny’s sounds, how do you think eating treats will aid in discovering how Burnham spent your pounds?”
With a quick glance around, the duke peered down at her, all traces of mirth vanishing from his face. “Because if I were swindling pounds, Fanny’s is the first place I’d spend my extra earnings.”
Daphne clamped down on her lips to prevent herself from smiling. She wasn’t entirely certain of his sincerity, so serious was the tone in which he spoke. And if he weren’t teasing, she would hate to laugh at his suggestion.
The duke chuckled at her silence, his merriment reflected in the attractive crinkles around his eyes. “I’m only jesting, Miss Farrington. It is likely Mr. Burnham has better business sense than I do, and does not invest in such frivolities.”
A glimmer of sadness dimmed his eyes, muting the earlier glints of gaiety. He had been betrayed, after all, and it was only natural that he would feel sadness and even anger.
Daphne, however, was determined not to let Burnham steal anything more from the duke, including his good humor.
“If Fanny’s is as good as you claim. I’m certain Burnham is a frequent client. Perhaps she has noticed someone with whom he shares his indulgence. Or how he might spend a bit more than a man of his salary should.”
The duke’s smile deepened, sending a warm shiver down her spine. “Yes, perhaps. I guess we’ll just have to visit and see for ourselves.”
…
The opportunity to spend an entire day in Miss Farrington’s enchanting and idyllic company amidst the narrow aisles and treat-covered counters of Fanny’s shop, was almost enough to distract him from his mother’s murderous glares, the earl’s snide comments, and his guilty conscience over his ties to the bloody foul Seraphina.
Almost.
Heaven knew all he wanted to do was forget about the ill-fated crew of the blasted ship and whisk the alluring Miss Farrington into the nearest enclave to watch her pulse throb against the soft, shallow indention of her neck as he claimed her for his.
His remorse-riddled conscience, however, continued to pester him with an intensity that no number of Fanny’s caramels could quash. His role in the Seraphina debacle hung over him, dark and gloomy, like a storm cloud boiling on the horizon on an otherwise bright and sunny day.
Ignoring the nagging of his conscience, he focused instead on his guests as they milled about Fanny’s sweet-smelling, drool-inducing shop, their cheeks, even those of his mother, filled with the colorful assortment of candies and pastries Fanny made sure to keep well-stocked.
Well, if he were to be perfectly honest, he only truly focused on one patron.
“Tell me, Miss Farrington, how do you like Fanny’s caramels?” Edward asked, lowering his voice as he maneuvered her past the cluttered shelves of jars stuffed to overflowing with peppermints and licorice strands. “Are they every bit as magical as you imagined?”
He watched as the tip of her tongue flicked across her lips, wiping away the last remnants of salt. Desire, hot and sweet, coursed through him, lingering in the lower area of his body that he did his best to hide behind the crown of his oversized hat.
“That, and more. No wonder your clothes feel tight upon your exit. These are positively divine.”
Caramels were not the only thing making his clothes tight at the moment.
Mr. Farrington joined them, his wide shoulders barely fitting between the shelves of treats. “These candies are quite remarkable, Your Grace.”
“Comparable to those found in Boston, I’m sure,” Edward added, unable to stop his raillery.
To his delight, Miss Farrington laughed, the light tinkling sound further adding to the discomfort in his loins. “On this, you might have us beaten. I’m not sure I’ve tasted any caramel quite as delicious on either side of the Atlantic.”
Edward was certain the shock registering in Farrington’s eyes was reflected in his own.
“A compliment most welcome, Miss Farrington,” he exclaimed. “I’ll be certain to pass it on to Miss Fanny.”
“There is no need, for I’ve already told her so myself. After, of course, she regaled me with information regarding a certain gentlemen of interest and his monthly purchase of two dozen crumpets made with the finest sugar she brings in from London just for him.”
“Is that so?” Edward asked, surprised by Miss Farrington’s ingenuity. They had been in the shop for a half hour at most, and the minx had already coaxed out evidence of Burnham’s greed. Was there nothing this clever woman couldn’t do?
Or that he didn’t want her to do? Edward’s eyes couldn’t help watching her as she licked the last vestiges of the sticky confection off her bare fingers, his mind evoking far too many images of what he would like her to lick off of him.
“I’m guessing if we ask at the other shops, they’ll have comparable stories,” Miss Farrington continued, thankfully unaware of the course his mind had taken.
“Then we’ll just have to stop in at each one,” he replied. “Do you think you can bear a day of treat sampling, ribbon buying, and excessive shopping?”
Another ripple of laughter was her response, making him, if it were at all possible, even more aroused.
Unfortunately, he was not the only one affected by her gaiety. Westbrook sauntered toward them, his hat perfectly perched atop his head, a cluster of sweetened almonds in his proffered hand.
“Would you care for some candied nuts, Miss Farrington?”
She shook her head, a golden curl slipping out of her bonnet and landing provocatively against her cream-colored neck. “No thank you, my lord. I have far exceeded my treat allowance for the day.”
“It is for the best, I suppose. These nuts are rather small and not quite as large and gratifying as those found in Sussex.”
Were Westbrook an inch closer, Edward would have pummeled his fist into the man’s face, removing, once and for all, the smirk that seemed to be a permanent fixture upon its surface. As it were, Edward’s teeth ground, his nose flared at the crude insult.
Lord Colwyn stepped beside Westbrook and adjusted his gloves. “I believe I’ve relieved Miss Fanny of all her crumpets, Waverly. Now that you have me fully sated, Lord Satterfield and I thought we would head over to the butcher. Apparently your groundskeeper is there. Miss Fanny says he was in not long ago, bragging of an excellent fishing spot. Would any of you care to join us as we ask the man to divulge his location?”
Mr. Farrington slipped his sister a sidelong glance before saying, “I would be delighted, thank you.”
“Where are you headed, Miss Farrington?” Westbrook asked before popping one of the apparently inferior almonds into his mouth.
Her eyes lifted to Edward’s before directing them toward the earl. “To the ribbon shop. One of the ribbons on my bonnet is starting to fray and I fear it will have to be replaced.”
“Then I shall accompany you. I have assisted my sister in making more than one purchase of ribbons. Perhaps I can do the same for you.”
Farrington lifted his top hat and held it to his chest. “Actually Lord Westbrook, I wondered if you might accompany us fishing. My sister has made mention that you are the leading expert in all things relating to Sussex. I was hoping you could educate me on the exports of the area and the local goods produced there.”
Edward hid his chortle behind a well-timed cough. Miss Farrington, it seemed, was not the only clever one in the family.
Westbrook frowned. “I certainly wouldn’t label myself an expert.”
Miss Farrington laid her gloved hand on the earl’s sleeve, the action irritating Edward far more than it should. “Nonsense. There is no need to be modest, my lord. I would be much obliged should you regale my brother with your knowledge of the area.”
Westbrook’s eyes slid to her hand, after lingering on the fichu-covered swell at her neckline. “It would be my pleasure.”
And Edward’s, to have the scheming man out of his way.
Miss Farrington removed her hand and gave the earl one of her devastating smiles. “Thank you, my lord.”
Farrington replaced his hat and clasped his hands together. “Well then, it seems everything is settled.”
“Almost, Mr. Farrington,” Edward’s mother interjected. She waited as Farrington, Colwyn, and Westbrook made room for her in the narrow aisle. Her golden eyes pierced into Edward’s. “Lady Isabella appears to have come down with a stomachache, likely wrought from her over-indulgence in Miss Fanny’s delicacies. I was hoping His Grace might escort her back to the house while the rest of the ladies continue their shopping.”
His mother was truly an agent of the devil.
He had plans, dammit. Ones that involved wooing, amusing, and even indulging in a stolen kiss or two. Initiated, of course, by Miss Farrington.
His eyes caught the object of his musings. Was that disappointment swirling in their blue depths, or relief that she would not be forced to endure his company for the duration of the afternoon?
Because he would accompany Lady Isabella as was his duty. He would not defy his mother here, in Fanny’s, in front of Westbrook. Or Miss Farrington. He was a gentleman. One who would like to ravish Miss Farrington, but a gentleman nonetheless.
“Yes, of course,” he said. “I’ll have William bring round the carriage and return it upon our arrival.”
His mother beamed, the demoness.
“Come then, Miss Farrington,” the duchess near crowed. “Lady Amhurst and your cousins have already gone ahead to the ribbon shop. We shan’t keep them waiting.”
“No, of course not,” Miss Farrington replied. “Gentlemen.” She dipped into a curtsy, her gaze never leaving his. “I look forward to visiting the shops and discovering their secrets.”
The minx.
He couldn’t help but smile. If he was forced to accompany Lady Isabella back to Thornhaven, it was no small consolation to know Miss Farrington would continue their investigation into Burnham’s spending.
Edward placed his hat on his head and bowed. “And I look forward to hearing all about it.”
Never had truer words been spoken. At least not by him.
…
Despite her best attempts at polite conversation, appropriate mannerisms, and well-timed moments of restraint, Daphne remained the target of the duchess’s ire for most of the afternoon.
It was of no surprise. She had seen the disapproval the duchess had cast in her direction every time the duke had given her the smallest ounce of attention. But Daphne had thought, and rather naively so, that once the duke had left with Lady Isabella, the duchess would relent and be more civil.
Daphne was wrong.
Which was why it was nothing short of a miracle that she had managed to get through an entire dinner and even most of the requisite after-dinner tea, without the duchess issuing one cutting reply, queer question, or rude remark.
Her indifference, however much appreciated, was not exactly a blessing. Conversation was discouraged. And any hopes she had held of slipping the duke information regarding Burnham’s expenditures were thoroughly squashed.
Daphne was tired. Frustrated. And not wanting to tempt fate any further, she closed her eyes and complained of a headache most foul.
It was also, unfortunately, the absolute truth.
“You do look a little pale, dear,” Aunt Susan agreed, setting down her steaming cup on the side table and patting Daphne’s hand. “Have one of Her Grace’s staff take you to your room. I’ll have a maid draw you a nice hot bath.”
Daphne placed her other hand atop her aunt’s. “Thank you for your understanding, Aunt Susan. I am most grateful.”
“Alfred,” the duchess called, summoning a lanky footman standing near the sitting-room door. “Please take Miss Farrington to her room.”
Daphne dipped into a curtsy, grateful the duchess had declined any further comment.
“I do hope you feel better soon,” Henrietta added, as Alfred led Daphne away.
The black uniform of the footman blended into the darkness, the flickering flame on his candle the only light in the darker hallways of the mansion.
“Here you are, miss.” Alfred handed her the brass holder with the half-burned stick of beeswax before disappearing and leaving Daphne to realize it was not her room that he taken her to, but some sort of study.
“Alfred,” Daphne called, lifting the candle and stepping out into the hall. “I think you have made a mistake.” But the footman had vanished, his tall form invisible in the shadows.
What the devil was she to do now? She was only slightly familiar with the layout of the house, having received a brisk educational tour of the home upon her arrival. But knowing that the tapestries in the dining room were from the fifteenth century, approximately four hundred years prior, and according to biblical numerology, a divine and perfect period of time, was not going to aid her in discovering which way her bedroom lay or where her hot bath waited.
Daphne retreated into the room, her shoulders slumping as she leaned against the nearest wall.
The heady scent of cloves and man overwhelmed her just as a familiar voice tickled her ear.
“I apologize for the theatrics, but I wanted to speak with you away from prying ears.”
Daphne’s pulse quickened as the duke touched a wick to her flame, his candle sputtering to life, illuminating his handsome features and inquisitive eyes.
Daphne pushed away from the wall, her shoulders straightening as she righted herself. “So you had me misdirected? A simple note would have sufficed, Your Grace.”
A smile touched his lips. “But where is the fun in that? In truth, a note arouses suspicion, while a simple disappearance takes longer to be remarked upon.”
“And you know this from experience?”
“Of course. I always make sure to hide away intelligent American women with extensive knowledge of my financial affairs.”
He took hold of her arm just above the elbow and led her toward a large chair facing an equally enormous desk.
“And what is it that you would like to discuss in such secrecy?” Daphne asked, near breathless from his touch.
He walked around to the back of the desk and sat in a large upholstered chair. “I was hoping to be regaled with details from your afternoon in Emberton. Were you able to collect any more information regarding Burnham’s expenditures?”
Surprisingly enough, she had. Even with the duchess breathing down her neck, Daphne had managed to slip in an extra question or two. And certainly enough to implicate the cheat of a man.
“All but one shopkeeper confirmed our suspicions. His purchases are rather sporadic, but he occasionally places orders for special cuts of cheese, meat, and even linen. It isn’t enough to explain the thousands he has been hoarding, but it is certainly a start.”
The duke’s shoulders fell.
Daphne’s gaze dropped to the plush carpet covering the floor. She had expected the revelation to bring her some sense of gratification. She had, after all, revealed the true nature of Burnham’s character. But instead of pride swelling her chest, a hollow emptiness filled her.
Daphne reached out and put a hand on Edward’s arm. “I am sorry.”
He placed his large hand over hers. “It is what it is. The important thing is that you discovered his scheme and we can now bring him to justice.”
“What will you do next?”
He gave her fingers a little squeeze before retracting his hand and running it through his hair. “I summon Burnham.”
“Yes, of course,” she agreed. The duke would no doubt question the thief and then have the authorities take him to prison. It would all be very neat and tidily done.
He peered at her through the darkness, the flickering flames casting dark shadows across his face. “But first I must query you.”
“Me?” she asked.
“I wish to know your opinion of me.” His words came in a whisper, warm and rich, that stretched across the space between them.
Her opinion of him? He was arrogant and proud, yet exceedingly humble and modest. He was the quintessential aristocrat, yet nothing like his peers. How was she supposed to answer, when she did not yet fully know?
Daphne leaned forward. “How does my opinion have anything to do with Burnham?”
He turned his face into the shadows. “Nothing, I suppose. And yet, everything. I have time set aside to speak with your brother tomorrow. I’m certain he would very much like to know whether or not I intend on investing in your family’s shipping line.”
“And will you?” she asked, her fingers digging into the soft leather.
He leaned forward, his eyes piercing into hers. “It depends.”
“On what?” she breathed. He was on the verge of agreement, she could feel it in her very bones. All he had to do was give his consent and sign the papers…
“On the documentation he provides…and if you are able to accept that not everything is as black and white as you are so determined to see it.”
Daphne blinked, uncertain of the duke’s direction. “You think I am incapable of seeing things in their various shades of gray?”
“Not incapable, just unwilling.” His voice lowered, the edges of it taking a slightly huskier tone. He stood and made his way to the front of the desk where he lounged against the polished wood, his arms crossing in front of his broad chest. “I fear you think that just because I am a duke that I fit into that neat little box of yours. That I can be neither dark-gray nor muddied white. I am all black as you have painted me, or not a duke at all.”
“That is absurd.” Even though she knew very well that it wasn’t.
“No?”
Daphne stood, not wanting to be pinned to the chair with his all-seeing eyes. “I am more than able to discern variances. I am not incapable of making allowances. But that is neither here nor there. You brought me here to discuss Mr. Burnham, not my personal views.”
A warm finger lifted her chin.
“I may have brought you here under the pretense of inquiring after Burnham, but I can assure you I am far more interested in you and whatever opinions you hold, especially where they concern me.”
Her breath caught in her throat and for a sheer instant she thought herself an invalid. Her limbs were unable to move but her nerves tingled as though her slippers had slid over the carpet and produced a shock.
But what was, perhaps, even more frightening than the possibility of momentary paralysis was the intensity of her attraction to the man whose parted mouth hovered mere inches from hers. She wanted him to touch her again. To place his lips against hers. To make her pulse race as it was doing now.
Logical thought would dictate that she retreat and politely ask the duke to retrieve a footman to take her to her room. But her reasoning was diluted by the heady scent of spicy cloves and virile male.
Daphne took a deep steadying breath. “I don’t fully know what to think about you, Your Grace.”
“Perhaps I can convince you to see otherwise.” His eyes darkened as they watched her, their depths filling with a hunger she was only now beginning to understand.
Her rational mind tried once again to assert itself, to argue the merits of quitting the room with her head held high. But Daphne was tired of doing what she was told. “And how do you propose to do that?”
He lowered his lips to her ear, his breath tickling her sensitive lobe. The hairs along her neck rose, as if warning her of the danger in remaining beside a man that was temptation incarnate.
“Kiss me, Miss Farrington, and discover for yourself.”
Her tongue swiped across her lips, though she was quite certain she hadn’t willed it to move. The very top of his throat was exposed, the white of his cravat having slipped ever so slightly from his constant tugging on the damnable knot. If she just leaned forward ever so slightly she could press her lips there, where his pulse lay, to see if his was as erratic as hers.
“Your Grace.” Alfred appeared out of nowhere, his pale face nearly scaring her witless. “Ten minutes have passed.”
Edward gave a deep shuddering breath before taking a step away. “Please take Miss Farrington to her chambers, Alfred. I trust you can find your way this time.”
Alfred handed Daphne a flickering flame. “Here you are, miss. Right this way.”
She had turned to follow the footman, her skirts swirling over her ankles, when she paused and tossed a look back at the candle-lit face of the duke. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you very much.”