Page 48 of The Duke of Deceit

“You hold too much faith in the mental capacity of theton.” Auntie poured chocolate into Jess’s cup, then topped off her own. “You need to contact His Grace and ask him to—”

“No.”I never want to see you again…She meant it, too, no matter that her foolish heart still yearned to be in his arms.

An odd expression that Jess couldn’t quite read crossed Auntie’s face.

“Soon, Amanda will reply to my letter and explain everything, and I trust in her to tell me the truth,” Jess asserted. “She will stay in Ireland as long as she needs to, and then, when she returns to London, we will help her however she needs.” Shefolded her hands in her lap. “The Duke of Crewe will have no part in any of that.”

“Are you certainyouwant that, my dear?” Auntie asked gently.

When Jess raised her gaze to meet Matilda’s, she knew her aunt could see the glistening of tears in her eyes. They simply couldn’t be held back.

Jess nodded, unable to find her voice around the tightening in her throat, and looked away.

She stood and walked back to her easel. She might not have a man who found her as beautiful and challenging as Lucien Grenier claimed to—which was the cruelest part of all, to know those wonderful things he’d said about her were nothing but lies—but she had her art. Her love for it would keep her going.Somehow.

A soft knock sounded at the door, and Jess turned to find Simms with a letter in his hand.

He held it out to her with a slight incline of his head. “This just arrived for you, Miss.”

It was from Mr. Stevenson, her investigator. Her stomached tightened as she snapped the plain wax seal. Had Lucien contacted the man and paid him to break off working for her? Or simply threatened him to stop?

She pulled in a deep breath and read it.

Miss St Claire –

Please come to my office right away. I have made a terrible mistake. Crewe is not at all who you think.

Please do not delay.

—Mr. Jonas Stevenson

“What is it, dear?” Matilda pressed. “Has it something to do with Amanda?”

“No.”Not really.At least, not anymore. Jess forced a smile as she folded the message. “Mr. Meade forwarded this to me. I have to go into the city today.”

“Then I’ll come with you.”

“No need.” She waved away Auntie’s concern. “You know how many complications can arise with a book like the one I’m helping with.”Helping with.La! The one she was practically creating herself. But since she was already lying to Auntie, what was one more lie to herself? “I’ll be back before lunch, and we can take a stroll through the park after.”

Jess placed a kiss to Auntie’s cheek, then quickly hurried through the house to her bedroom to change.

In a fresh day dress of sprigged muslin and her lucky straw bonnet, Jess hired a hackney to take her to Covent Garden and to the investigator’s office, which was located just off Bow Street. Mr. Stevenson was a former runner, and she didn’t blame him for wanting to be close to his Bow Street acquaintances. Besides, she loved this part of the city, passing the old medieval market where flower vendors filled buckets and barrels with bouquets and cloth merchants displayed beautiful bolts of silks and damasks. Best of all, it took her near Somerset House where the Royal Academy held its annual summer exhibition, one of her favorite spots in all the world. Someday, she hoped, one of her paintings would be displayed there.

The hackney stopped at the street corner near Mr. Stevenson’s office. She paid the driver, then sent him away rather than ask him to wait because she had no idea how long she would be. Besides, a niggling suspicion told her she’d want to walk a ways after the meeting, if only to calm her pounding heart. That was one of the few joys of being middle-class and socially unimportant. No one cared if she ventured out by herself.

A bell jingled over the door as she stepped into the old storefront that had most likely once served as a pawn shop, given its location.

Two assistants glanced up from their desks, both looking as if they’d spent the night before prowling London’s underworld. Knowing Mr. Stevenson’s clients, they most likely had done exactly that.

The door to his office in the rear of the storefront opened, and he smiled as he came forward to greet her. Yet his expression struck Jess as tense, and lines on his face proved he’d gotten as little sleep last night as his men.

“Mr. Stevenson.” She extended her gloved hand. “Your message sounded urgent.”

“Indeed.” His smile faded into grim solemnity as he held the door open to let her pass. “Please—come inside.”

He left the office door partially open to give them privacy yet maintain propriety as Jess sank onto the chair in front of his large mahogany desk.

She took a deep breath and steeled her spine. “So you’ve learned more about the Duke of Crewe?”