Page 34 of The Duke of Deceit

She slumped against the wall, screwed her eyes shut, and focused on steadying her breath. But it did no good. Even now she could still smell the lingering scent of him in all its deliciousness, and her racing heart simply would not calm down.

“Jessamyn!” Auntie popped her head out into the hall and craned her neck to see out the sidelights to learn if he were truly gone. “What happened? Did you two talk about Amanda? And whose necklace do you really think that is?”

Jess pushed herself away from the wall and walked down the hall past Auntie, ignoring her stream of questions, to return to the dining room. The pamphlets were waiting right where she’d left them.

She unwrapped the brown package paper and stared down at them.Courtesy of the Duke of Crewe…

What he had said about that night at the Hawthorne ball couldn’t possibly be true. For heaven’s sake, she’d seen them together with her own eyes!

No, nottogether. Not the way she’d heard that men and women joined bodies to procreate and share physical pleasures. What she’d seen was Amanda’s skirt around her waist, and Lucien’s hands on her hips. Exactly as he’d claimed.

But that couldn’t have been all that happened between them. Amanda was with child; there was no dissembling about that, and there was no other man who had caught Amanda’s attention. No other man who had called on her, danced with her, walked with her into the darkness… Amanda would surely have told her about any man who had. They kept nothing from each other.

Lucien Grenier, however, kept a wagonload of secrets from the world. The information in Mr. Stevenson’s letter spun through her head, along with the warning not to trust him.

Trust him?She choked back a laugh. Everything Lucien told her completely contradicted her sister’s version of events. But Amanda had never lied to her, while Lucien lied to the world. Most likely, he was lying about this, too, and the letter supported not the truth but only the version he wanted her to believe.

“She had reason not to mention she was with child in the letter,” Jess muttered to herself in Amanda’s defense. “She was probably too ashamed to admit it, knowing the scoundrel would only blame her.”

After all, hadn’t Lucien practically said that exact same thing, by claiming Amanda had been the seducer instead of the other way around?

Jess rolled her blurring eyes. Of course, he would blame her sister. Didn’t men always blame women when it came to reproduction—their fault for not conceiving, their fault for conceiving too easily? It was appalling to think how much control men had over women’s bodies. For heaven’s sake, under the law and the Church, the womanbecameher husband’s property in every way the moment she said “I do,” including giving him the right to beat her or imprison her.

Her head spun! Who was she supposed to believe—the sister who loved her, or the man who loved no one but himself?

She owed him nothing, certainly not an unconditional surrender. Nothing had changed, despite his visit. Amanda was still in trouble, and as far as Jess was concerned, Lucien was still the one responsible. He simply could not be trusted.

Until she learned more, though, she would at least declare a truce.

She scooped up the package of pamphlets, gave Auntie a reassuring kiss on the cheek when she passed her in the hall, and carried them into the refuge of her art studio. They would make for excellent blotting paper, and the first blot of ink went exactly where she’d hoped…onthe Duke of Crewe.

*

Inside his towncoach, Lucien leaned back against the squabs and let out a fierce curse.

“Went that well, did it?”

He shot a murderous glare across the compartment at Shay. “I should have shoved you into the Thames when I had the chance.”

“Missed chances can never be made up.” Shay faintly shook his head, even now careful to keep the scarred side of his face from Lucien’s view. The act had become such second nature to him that Lucien wondered if he even realized he was doing it. “Trust me on that.”

Lucien yanked off his gloves and tossed them onto the seat beside him. “What are you doing here? I distinctly remember my coach being empty when I left it.”

“I need to see Devlin, and I don’t want anyone to know. Not even his wife. You know how to find him when he’s not at Dartmoor House.”

“Yes.” Shay hadn’t yet been told about Brechenhurst and the children who found refuge there. “He runs a charity of sorts in Seven Dials and often spends his afternoons there. I’ll take you. He’s usually in the basement.”

Shay’s brow inched upward. “The basement?”

“You’ve missed a lot since the last time you were in London. You need to visit more often.”

“No. This is a one-time event.”

Disappointment clenched Lucien’s gut. He’d missed his friend since they’d parted ways on the Continent. He only hoped Shay would eventually find his way back into the world.

Lucien pounded his fist on the roof of the compartment, then called out the window to the driver, “Brechenhurst!”

“Yes, sir!” the coachman called back and turned the team down the next street, taking them east toward the city.