An Uncommon Duke. Laurie Benson
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man has quite the reputation.’ Andrew sank back further into his chair.
‘Reputation for what?’
‘You really don’t know anything about her or her friends, do you?’
‘I do,’ he lied. ‘We live in the same house.’
Andrew nodded slowly. ‘Well, in any event, I’m glad you came home when you did. I wanted to tell you in person our gunman has finally begun to talk. We were able to use the information Hart gathered to convince our Mr Clarke that if he cared at all for his family, he would tell us what we needed to know. It appears thoughts of his sickly mother helped him find his voice. He says he was contacted by a note left for him at the post about assassinating Prinny and he was told that he would find information on Prinny’s whereabouts in a book he was to check in each day at Hatchard’s bookshop on Piccadilly. He has no idea who leaves the information, just that when he completed his job, he would receive a thousand pounds. Since he has no love for our monarchy, he didn’t see a problem with profiting from Prinny’s death.’
‘I assume we have men at Hatchard’s?’
‘We do.’
‘Let’s hope that whoever was providing this information is not aware Mr Clarke is no longer in circulation. That is the only way we will find out who wants Prinny dead.’ Gabriel sat back in his chair and took a long draw of brandy, grateful they were one step closer to ensuring Prinny’s safety.
There was a long, comfortable silence between the brothers before Andrew had to ruin it. ‘Five years is a long time to be apart from your wife.’
‘Your point?’
‘You still want Olivia.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘So while you were in the dining room with us, not once did your mind turn to taking her?’
No, he was thinking about running his hands over her sweet round bottom. However now, thanks to Andrew, he was thinking about much more. ‘It did not cross my mind.’
‘Liar.’
Gabriel narrowed his gaze. ‘You are lucky we are family, or I might call you out at such an insult.’
‘Fine. Tell yourself you are not calling me out because I am your brother and not because I am a better shot than you.’
‘You are not. I bet I could shoot that taper by the window in half and you could not.’
Andrew sat up straighter in his chair, the excitement of besting his brother evident in his expression. ‘What if I shoot the taper in half?’
Gabriel removed a pistol from his desk drawer. ‘You won’t. But if you do and I don’t, I’ll buy you a new pair of Hessians.’
‘Hoby’s?’
‘Do you truly believe I would even consider purchasing anything else? And if I win, you tell me about your entire conversation with Olivia.’ What? What an idiotic thing to win!
‘That’s what you want?’ Andrew asked, as if he too couldn’t believe Gabriel’s stupidity.
‘Just go first.’ Exasperation was in his voice as Gabriel handed his brother the pistol.
‘That taper is much too close to make this interesting. I propose we try this in your ballroom.’
Once they were settled in the cavernous room, Andrew loaded the pistol and took aim at the gilded candelabra in front of an open set of French windows. The shot rang out, and the top half of one of the tapers fell to the floor, splattering wax on the wood. With a satisfied smile, he handed the gun over.
Gabriel reloaded it and took aim. Hoby’s would not be receiving an order for new boots from this house. He also cut a taper in two, but the top of his fell out onto the terrace. The sound of racing footsteps caused both men to turn towards the door.
Bennett skidded to a halt just inside the threshold. ‘Sir, is everything all right?’ he asked through laboured breath.
‘Yes, Bennett, my brother and I were just settling a bet.’
‘Very good, sir,’ Bennett said still breathing heavily. ‘I will inform madam of it, in the event she questions if you are still alive.’
Gabriel wondered if it would even matter to her.
Andrew strolled to the windows and peered out into the darkened garden. ‘We should have checked to see if anyone was out there.’
‘If anyone is skulking about in my garden at night, they deserve to be shot,’ replied Gabriel, shooing his butler away.
Perhaps if he plied Andrew with enough brandy, he could still manage to get his brother to tell him what made Olivia laugh.
Morning sunlight streamed through the large windows of Mr John Manning’s portrait studio directly into Olivia’s eyes, forcing her to keep them closed.
‘Are you certain no one will recognise me?’ she asked from her reclined position on the crimson divan.
The artist took a long tendril of her dark unbound hair and adjusted it over her gown on the swell of her breast. ‘I assure you, with your head turned this deep in profile, no one will know it’s you unless you tell them.’
She felt a pull near her hip at the grey satin gown he had given her to wear. ‘It is to your credit that I trust you as I do. I feel quite foolish lying here like this.’
The pressure from his warm hand moved her left leg. ‘You look sinful.’
She wished she could swat his hand. ‘That is not helping.’
He laughed. ‘But it’s true. Any man would kill to have you in his bed.’
Now it was Olivia’s turn to laugh, knowing just how false his statement was. ‘How often do you suppose you have said those words to the women who sit for you in this very room?’
‘Not as nearly as often as I’d like.’ He retreated back towards his easel. ‘Many women require thought to discover what is beautiful about them, but you will make my canvas sing without much effort on my part. Thereby, your allure will help me create a masterpiece all of London is sure to talk about.’
‘I already agreed to sit for you for this experiment of yours. You have no need to work your charms on me.’
‘I only speak the truth.’ He was back by her side again, his warm fingers tilting her neck up just a bit more. When she squinted up at him, his dark brown eyes were smiling down at her and his unfashionably long black hair had begun to come loose from the leather tie that held it back from his face. His unpolished appearance was a sharp contrast to her husband’s fastidious grooming habits.
‘I am relieved you do not expect me to remember this exact pose each day,’ she said, taking note of the position of her arms.
His grin widened, and he moved a strand of hair away from her face. ‘My sketch guides me. You are always quite accommodating with all my poking and prodding. Once we are finished for the day, you may jerk my body into any complex tangle of your choosing.’
That created an amusing image and she closed her eyes again. ‘What a capital notion! Now if you don’t grant me the breaks I require, I will devise painful retribution.’
‘My, what a bloodthirsty duchess you are.’
The sound of his chalk scratching as he drew eased some of her tension. ‘Are you certain I do not appear large to you?’ she asked, trying to imagine what the sketch looked like.
Chuckling, he continued to draw. ‘You are far from large. Although even if you were, it would be of no concern. Men enjoy curves on a woman. It gives us something to hold