Page 1 of Disciplined by the Duke
Chapter One
London, 1813
She dug her nails into her palms, deep enough to draw blood. Of everything she’d been asked to do to rescue her sister, this was the worst.
“My lord.” She tried not to choke on the honorific. “Surely you can’t mean that you want to steal from the Duke of Montague.”
The Earl of Westmore swirled the brandy in his short, bulbous glass. He sat slouched in an ornately carved oak chair, his booted feet propped up on his desk. “My dear Miss Wilcox. Of course I don’t want to steal from the duke.” Her shoulders relaxed, and the creases by his mouth deepened with his smile. “Youwill steal from him for me.”
Elizabeth Wilcox turned away, not wanting him to see her distress. These past months working for Westmore had shown that he took pleasure in the suffering of those around him. She stepped up next to his sofa, and gazed out his study window upon the bustle of Grosvenor Square. A girl about her age sat atop a curricle. She threw back her feather-plumed head, and laughed at the man seated next to her. Liz’s stomach burned. She used to be that girl. Carefree. Coddled.
Shoulders rigid, she worried the back of Westmore’s brocaded settee, her fingers scratching at a loose thread. Had he purchased it with stolen goods, along with all the other gilt furnishings and objets d’art that cluttered his home? He would profit greatly from her theft. But what more could he cram into his town house? It was already bursting at the seams.
Sighing, he dropped his feet to the floor and rose. The earl circled behind her. Liz’s stomach coiled tighter as each step brought him closer. They stood in silence, his moist breath slithering across her ear. It was a power play, an attempt to intimidate, but fear of this man no longer motivated Liz.
“I spoke with your sister’s judge just yesterday,” he said. “Even with the money I pay him he is becoming most anxious over the respite he’s given to your sister’s sentencing. His fellow judges can’t understand why a convicted murderess hasn’t hanged yet.”
A cold fist gripped her heart, and squeezed. Only sheer force of will kept her upright. “When you found me in the courthouse after . . .”
“After your vicious bitch of a sister had been convicted.” He stepped closer, the front of his falls brushing her hip.
She swallowed down bile. “Yes, after the conviction. You promised you would help her.”
“For a price, Miss Wilcox. Never forget that. Everything comes with a price.”
How well she knew that. Digging her fingers into the settee, she struggled for the appearance of calm. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me—”
“But not as well as I’d hoped.” He sighed, and the short hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. “I had such high hopes for a gently bred woman such as yourself working for me. You’ve been rather a disappointment. You’re fortunate I’ve kept your sister from the hangman’s noose for so long.”
She pressed her palm to her throat, and blinked back tears. She’d completed every task Westmore had given her, but this was part of the earl’s game. Make her so scared for her sister’s life that she’d obey without question. Make her doubt her own abilities to keep her dependent on his goodwill. Yes, she knew his game. But that didn’t mean it still wasn’t effective.
He dragged his hand across her shoulders, and she suppressed a shudder. She’d become proficient at hiding her feelings. “Miss Wilcox, once I have the duke’s letter in my hands, your debt to me will be paid in full. You will have earned enough to ensure your sister’s release. And I . . .”—he paused and took another sip of his brandy—“I will have the information necessary to intercept some very valuable cargo.”
Turning, she met his pale blue eyes. She and her sister had caught the occasional glimpse of this man at various balls last season, and thought him quite handsome. An earl had been far above their marital aspirations, even then. Although their great-grandfather had matched his title, there were too many second sons in their lineage to hope for that lofty of a union. Now, a year later, the idea of marriage toanyonewas but a cruel jest; and one with Westmore, repellant. Ensuring her sister’s release from Newgate Prison was her only concern.
She moved away from him and sat on an embroidered chair in front of his desk. “It is unusual for a duke to involve himself in business, is it not?”
“Most unusual. Montague isn’t merely an investor; he started his shipping business, built it up to twenty-eight ships.” Frowning, he opened a glass-fronted cabinet, picked up a small jade figurine. He scratched at a mark on it with his fingernail. “That business, combined with his other investments, has made the duke one of the wealthiest men in England.”
And Westmore wanted a part of it. “How do you propose I go about obtaining this letter? I’ve learned much these past few months doing . . . odd jobs for you, but I don’t know that I have the skills to steal something from a duke’s household.”
Westmore replaced the statuette, and strode to his desk, lowering himself gracefully into his chair and steepling his fingers together. His gaze dropped briefly to her bosom. “My dear, no special skills are needed on your part.” He pulled a piece of writing paper from a desk drawer and began scribbling. “I have a contact in the duke’s service. He has recommended you, a Miss Elizabeth Smith, to the duke’s steward for an open chambermaid position. You will go to your lodgings, pack some serviceable items, and take the morning coach to Leicestershire.” He sealed and sanded the letter. “My contact will pick you up. Give him this letter.”
“And then?”
“Then, my dear, you will be in the service of the duke. You will have access to his home and you will use it to find my letter.” A letter that told the route of a very important shipment, according to the earl. A shipment he intended to steal.
She clutched at her faded skirts. He made it sound so easy. “My lord, I can’t imagine that a chambermaid has access to all the rooms of a duke’s estate. If I’m not assigned to clean his study or private rooms? What then?”
His mouth tightened with disgust. “Then you find another way. Surely it isn’t such a difficult task for someone who is so eager to help her sister.” He lifted one eyebrow, and smirked. Shame curdled her stomach. How had she ever found this man attractive? “And if all else fails use the skills that all women possess. I hear the duke has some unusual tastes that you can exploit.”
She suppressed a shudder. How low must she fall to save her sister? First thief, then whore? She would make sure to be a successful spy, leaving any other skills unnecessary. “How will I recognize this particular letter, my lord? I’m sure the duke receives much correspondence.”
A knock sounded at the door, and the earl hollered for the person to enter. A footman led in a young woman. She smoothed a stained hand down a garish orange gown. Her calculating smile was missing one tooth.
Westmore pushed back from the desk, and the woman dropped to her knees in the small space he’d created. Watching Liz over the prostitute’s head, he said, “That shouldn’t be a problem. It has a most unusual seal. Purple, a falcon clasping a hare in its talons. As soon as you retrieve it, bring it here to me.”
Liz leaped to her feet. The woman was already at the last button on the earl’s falls.