The Dangerous Duke of Dinnisfree Read online

  “That’s quite all right,” Mrs. Henderson said in a tone of forced cheerfulness. “Of course, Stewart should not be making lurid suggestions to you. Though”—the warden’s gaze dropped to Arabella’s chest where her old gown pulled too tight across her assets—“you should take care to dress more modestly.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Arabella said through clenched teeth.

  Mrs. Henderson smiled. “I’ll switch Mr. Black to your mother’s room, but it hardly seems necessary. Your mother does not have the youthful beauty that you do.”

  Arabella heartily doubted the warden’s pig of a son cared, but since she had no proof, she forced her own smile to her face. “I thank you for your understanding.”

  “Of course,” the warden replied, smirking slightly. “The other guard’s salary is a bit higher, and with one more patient for him to handle, I’m afraid I’ll have to charge you five more shillings a month. But you seem the sort of daughter who would do anything for her mother, am I correct?”

  Arabella had the very unladylike and very sudden vision of lunging across the desk and smacking the woman’s smirking face. Instead, she jerked her head in agreement. Two pounds and five shillings a month was a fortune! She’d have to secure more work somehow. Her head pounded with a sudden rushing of blood in her ears.

  “Excellent,” Mrs. Henderson crowed while waving a hand toward the door. “You may go. I’ll see you Monday morning with payment. Don’t forget the increase.”

  “I won’t forget,” Arabella managed to reply, though she was seething inside.

  She turned on her heel and showed herself out. She didn’t waste a moment lingering in the halls but headed straight for the exit since it wasn’t a visiting day. She’d come back tomorrow to see her mother, and by then, she’d have the money for this month and hopefully she would have Lady Conyngham as a future client to aid with some of her family’s financial burdens. And if Lady Conyngham was very pleased, perhaps she would recommend Arabella to her friends.

  Not an hour later, Arabella sat on a plush, navy-blue velvet settee in the most decadent drawing room she had ever seen. She was glad that the stuffy butler had demanded she wait here instead of following him up to Lady Conyngham’s bedchambers. Arabella had been momentarily incensed that the butler appeared not to believe she was expected and had been instructed to proceed to the bedchamber to fit Lady Conyngham. But as she wiggled her bottom against the soft cushions and slid off her right slipper to curl her toes into the lush Aubusson rug of tan, wine, and indigo, a sigh of delight escaped her and her irritation melted away.

  She’d never been in such a grand room. What a treat not to have a hard lump protruding from the settee, and the carpet… She ran the tip of her toe back and forth over the lush weave. They’d had rugs before most of their possessions had been taken away, though nothing near as fine as what was currently under her feet. Closing her eyes, she imagined this carpet was in her home, taking the place of the cold, bare floor. She only allowed the wishful thinking for one moment before she snapped her eyes open and stuck her foot back into her shoe. She trained her gaze on the boxes that contained the gowns she’d sewn. Arabella didn’t like the envy that was filling her heart. She had food and a roof over her head, and that was a great deal more than many poor souls in London had. No more pining over rugs and settees.

  She stood and bent to pick up her seamstress bag and the boxes so she would be ready when the butler came to fetch her. As she straightened, the drawing room door opened, and the butler entered. He stopped just inside the room and motioned to her. “Come. Lady Conyngham will see you in her bedchamber.”

  Arabella barely refrained from saying, I told you so. She wanted to, to be sure, but the butler’s splotchy, red face told her either he was winded from the walk or he’d perhaps been chastised by Lady Conyngham. Regardless, Arabella was not so uncharitable as to gloat. Unless he pushed her with more snobby looks. She was only human, after all.

  He turned slowly on his heel without so much as a backward glance or a word and led her at a snail’s pace down the hall and up the majestic winding staircase with its breathtaking scrolled iron railing. No doubt the man was tired from the trek up and down the stairs, so she followed in silence with her boxes, content to gaze at the beautiful stained glass windows that lined the staircase. There were four, and she’d never seen the likes of them.

  When they arrived at the top of the stairs, the butler stopped in front of a bedchamber with dark double doors. The butler raised his hand, presumably to knock on the door, but it swung open and a man burst out, almost knocking the butler down.

  The dark-haired man, thick locks disheveled and cravat dangling from his neck, bowed slightly to the butler while offering an apology, and then he fixed his burnished gaze on Arabella. He didn’t seem a bit surprised to see her, which was odd until she considered that, of course, he must have heard the butler announce her arrival. A slow smile spread over his face, and then, before she knew what he was doing, he had taken her hand and raised it to his lips to place a kiss there.

  “You are exquisite with your bright blue eyes and sable hair,” he murmured. “And quite the seamstress, I hear.”

  “I’ve said no such thing,” came a feminine, distinctly irritated voice from behind the man.

  Arabella snatched her hand away and quickly curtsied to Lady Conyngham, who stood in the doorway in a shocking state of dishabille. Arabella did her best not to gape at the woman, but honestly, who with any sense pranced around in a sheer dressing robe for all to see what God had given her? A quick look at the butler told her that he was having the same thought. High color touched his cheeks, and he snapped his mouth shut and shot his gaze toward the floor. For a moment, the inability to decide what to do paralyzed her, but then she quickly spoke. “Good afternoon, Lord and Lady Conyngham. Thank you for—”

  An eruption of laughter from both of them drowned out the rest of Arabella’s hastily planned greeting. She frowned. What had she said wrong?

  Still chuckling, Lady Conyngham stepped toward her and eyed her with a sharp, rather unfriendly narrowed gaze. She dismissed the butler with a flick of her hand. “Go, Mr. Gregory.”

  The butler moved quicker than Arabella would have thought possible of him. Lady Conyngham, who was a good five inches taller than Arabella, stared down at her, her light eyes darkening and narrowing further. “This man is not my husband.” She fluttered her fingers at the gentleman still standing by the door.

  Arabella’s gaze went back to the gentleman before she could stop herself. Not only was his cravat untied but his shirt had been tugged loose at his neck. She stared at the multitude of lip prints perfectly made on his neck and upper chest, revealed by his open shirt. Slowly, she pulled her gaze back to Lady Conyngham and desperately tried not to look at the woman’s mouth, but it was as if her whole face had suddenly been consumed by enormous, ruby-stained lips.

  Arabella licked her own lips and winced when she realized what she was doing. “I’m sorry. I assumed since he was coming out of your bedchamber—” She bit down on the inside of her cheek to stop herself from prattling any more nonsense that would worsen the already rapidly disintegrating situation.

  “Never assume anything, Miss Carthright. It shows how foolish and ignorant you are.”

  “Elizabeth,” the gentleman chided. “Don’t be so testy. Or jealous. You know my heart is yours.”

  Yet, Lady Conyngham’s heart should be with her husband only. Or at the very least, her bedchamber reserved solely for the lord of the house. What a sticky mess.

  Arabella pondered how not to get embroiled further in the lady’s private affairs, nor continue to rile her possessiveness over this man. Excusing herself seemed the best recourse. “I’ll wait in the bedchamber for you, my lady.”

  “How very wise of you,” Lady Conyngham snapped, even as her lover, who was standing behind her, winked at Arabella, as if to say he would tame any ruffled feathers. Arabella certainly hoped he could, though sh
e had serious doubts. The lady did not seem in the mood to be appeased.

  Arabella prayed she was wrong. Within minutes of Arabella’s entering the opulent, royal-purple bedchamber and setting the gowns out, Lady Conyngham breezed into the room, her mouth swollen and red with fresh kisses. She stopped in front of the settee where Arabella had carefully laid out the four gowns she had created. Lady Conyngham plucked up the first one, a deep-burgundy cloth, and fisted it in her hands. “This is not the color I ordered,” she said, tossing the frock to the ground.

  Arabella’s heart plunged downward with the garment. The blasted gown was the exact color that had been ordered. She took a deep breath and hoped she sounded soothing and not angry. “Lady Conyngham, I assure you this is the same burgundy you said would nicely suit to scandalize the ton.”

  Lady Conyngham’s eyes widened a fraction, so Arabella knew the woman recalled saying the words. Yet, her mouth twisted into a vicious grimace. “I would never have said such an intimate thing to you. You are incorrect, and I won’t take this gown.”

  Arabella swallowed the curses she wanted to fling at the woman. The lost revenue would cost her dearly, but letting her pride get the best of her and saying what she really felt would undoubtedly cost her more. Fierce anger burned in her throat, but she managed to say, “Of course, my lady.” She motioned to the ice-blue gown Lady Conyngham had exclaimed would match her eyes perfectly, undoubtedly the cool color suited her heart, as well. “What of this one? Won’t you try it on? I’m sure you will love it.”

  “Never be sure of anything. Especially not men who vow they love you. Men are liars.” She stalked over to her dressing table and snatched up a gold box. A multitude of stones embedded the closed lid. They glittered in the sunlight streaming in through the windows. “They try to cover their lies and false hearts with pretty baubles,” Lady Conyngham growled. “Trinkets are not love. Real love is what I desire! I don’t want these trinkets. I want utter devotion!” She’d fairly screamed the words as she reared her arm back and threw the box. It hit the wall with a loud clank and slid down to the floor, landing with a clattering noise that made Arabella grit her teeth.

  When the room fell to silence again, she tried to think of something to say to calm the tempest that was Lady Conyngham. Before she could utter a word, the woman bent down and swept all the gowns off the settee and onto the floor. “Get out. And take the gowns with you. I no longer want any of them.”

  A cold sweat instantly dampened Arabella’s brow as her stomach squeezed and started to turn violently. This simply could not be happening. Lady Conyngham had to take the gowns. “I’ll come back tomorrow, my lady, when you are feeling better.”

  “You sound exactly like my pathetic husband! I won’t want these gowns tomorrow or ever. I could never wear them now. I’ve been betrayed.” She glanced wildly around the room while turning in frantic circles, then stalked to the gold box she’d thrown and kicked it. “Duped! Left to sit, wait, and hope in vain! As if I would simply do so because he rules! I won’t wait like a child.” She kicked the jewelry box again.

  Arabella stared in awe. That box, if sold, could likely pay for her mother’s care for the year. Wild laughter filled the air, causing her to flinch. She dragged her gaze back to Lady Conyngham, who was glaring at her.

  “Do you hear me?” the lady demanded.

  As if the woman needed to ask, but Arabella forced a nod. The woman must have been angered by her lover. Perhaps their dalliance was now ended. Whatever the circumstances, it did not change the fact that Lady Conyngham had ordered the gowns. She simply had to take them or pay for them at the very least. Each one had been made exactly as the lady had demanded.

  “Lady Conyngham, regardless of what has happened with your friend, you did order the gowns.”

  The lady drew her eyebrows into a high arch. “I will not keep them nor pay for them, and you are giving me a megrim.”

  Arabella’s hands went clammy and her vision swam. She blinked rapidly. The woman had no care for anyone but herself. There would be no reasoning with her.

  Lady Conyngham cocked her head. “I’m going to speak with my portrait painter now, and I do not want you here when I return. Understand?”

  Arabella understood the woman was a hateful witch who was needlessly jealous. She also comprehended that to say so could worsen her already terrible problem. “I’ll be gone,” Arabella said in the calmest voice she could muster.

  “Excellent.” Lady Conyngham turned to leave but paused near the door and swiveled back around. “I’m afraid I’ll have to tell Madame Chauvin what a terrible disappointment your creations were.” She smiled a cruel, twisted smile. “I don’t think you have a promising career as a seamstress. I’d try the brothel if I were you. You dress as though you crave attention.”

  Arabella was so angry she was left momentarily speechless. Lady Conyngham took full advantage of the moment and promptly quit the room. Blast the woman to the devil!

  Outside the door, Arabella heard a deep male voice speaking in a soothing tone, and then Lady Conyngham screamed, “Mr. Gregory, get rid of that damned atrocious jewelry box! I never want to see it again!” The angry tap of slippers on the stairs filled the air, after which all fell silent.

  Arabella shook where she stood as her blood roared in her ears and pounded through her veins. She squeezed her eyes shut and sucked in gasps of air to calm herself. After a minute, the roaring subsided, though as she raised her hands to her gown, she noted they still trembled. She tugged at her gown, trying to loosen the way the material clung to her breasts, but it was useless. The frock was too small, had been for quite some time, but there was no money to purchase material to make a new one.

  A brothel, indeed. Arabella’s principles were just fine, too-snug gown or not. Lady Conyngham was the one who had misplaced her morals, with her sheer, frothy white robes and her lover.

  She made a disgusted sound and wearily bent to pick up the clothing that had been thrown to the floor. Losing this money was bad, but deep within, she feared the worst was yet to come. Madame Chauvin liked her, but not so much that she’d jeopardize losing Lady Conyngham as a client by keeping Arabella as an employee.

  Bile rose in her throat, and she struggled against the urge to curl into a ball and pretend all this had not just happened. In three days the money to pay for her mother’s continued care was due, not to mention that she needed to pay her father’s caretaker and buy food.

  She shoved the gowns into their boxes. Even if Madame Chauvin paid her the meager salary she was owed, which Arabella was uncertain would happen, it would not make a drop in the giant bucket required by Monday. Arabella swallowed her mounting fright. She needed money, and she needed it quickly. Standing here like a fool was not getting her closer to solving her problem.

  She started toward the door but stopped when her toe hit the gold jewelry box. She glanced down and her heart began to hammer. She could take it. Lady Conyngham didn’t want it anyway.

  Arabella squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again, perspiration covering her brow. Tremors engulfed her entire body, along with clamminess, yet she crouched down, her knees popping as she did so. She breathed heavily as she set her packages on the floor and reached out to touch the box. She ran her index finger over a large emerald and snatched her hand away, feeling as if she’d been burned or, better yet, branded a thief. Taking the box was wrong.

  “Take it,” a deep, amused voice said behind her.

  Her heart gave a hefty jerk as she twisted around and faced the gentleman who had started all her trouble.

  He offered a mock bow, his hair flopping over his eyes. As he came up, he flicked his hair back, walked over to her, and held out his hand. She took it but left the box, which he immediately bent down to scoop up and then thrust at her. “Don’t be a foolish nitwit. She no longer wants it. She ordered it thrown out.” He eyed her for a moment. “I heard what she said to you. I hear everything.” His silky smooth voice surrounded her.


  Arabella glanced at the box and back to him. “Don’t you want it?” He’d given it to Lady Conyngham, after all. It seemed as though he’d desire to have such an expensive thing back in his possession.

  For a moment, his stare turned incredulous, but then laughter filled his eyes. “No, I don’t want it. That box fills my mouth with distaste. You can have it and sell it for whatever you can get for it. In fact, I’ll help you.”

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “Ah, but I do,” he replied. “You are a desperate woman in need, correct?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ve been desperate before. One can always recognize a fellow troubled soul.”

  She nibbled on her lip. “How can you help me?”

  “I know a man who can sell the box for you. He’s incredibly discreet, and he’ll know how to find suitable buyers for you. Understand?”

  Arabella nodded, as a hopeful flutter filled her belly. “Could you arrange a meeting for me this afternoon?”

  He smiled but shook his head. “No, Mr. Winston is not in Town currently, so you must bide your time.”

  Her legs suddenly felt as if they could no longer hold her up. Hope had been teasingly offered, only to be cruelly dashed away. She needed money now. Not next week. Perhaps she could find another buyer herself.

  As though the gentleman had read her thoughts, he shook his head. “Don’t even consider it.” The words were a command and a fierce one. “You may sell only to Mr. Winston. That is my requirement for giving you this box. You cannot disappoint me.”

  What the devil did he mean “disappoint him”? She started to ask but then clamped her jaw shut. It was no matter if he said odd things, if he could help her. “I need money now,” she admitted, shoving aside shame in favor of survival.

  A strange glint filled his eyes, almost a knowing one. “I can offer you another way if you trust me. Do you? Do you trust me?”

  Wariness enveloped her. What choice did she have? “Tell me.”