Duke and Duplicity (Rogues and Gentlemen Book 15) Read online

  Duke and Duplicity

  Rogues & Gentlemen Book 15

  By Emma V. Leech

  ****

  Published by: Emma V. Leech.

  Copyright (c) Emma V. Leech 2019

  Cover Art: Victoria Cooper

  ASIN No.: B07MC5T638

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. The ebook version and print version are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The ebook version may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share the ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is inferred.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  The Scent of Scandal

  Want more Emma?

  About Me!

  Other Works by Emma V. Leech

  Audio Books!

  To Dare a Duke

  Dying for a Duke

  The Key to Erebus

  The Dark Prince

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  “Wherein a good deed changes everything.”

  1stJune 1819.

  The day dawned bright and fair. A cerulean sky spread wide overhead, without so much as the suggestion of a cloud in sight. After the last few days of heavy rain the sudden touch of warmth and sunshine had wrought a vast change upon the countryside. Vistas that had been dull, miserable, and lost in swirling fog just the day previous, had exploded with vivid colour. The shocking, acidic green sang against the blue above, glittering in the eye-watering brightness of the day.

  It ought to have been the kind of day that Archie loved. The bustle, chatter, and excitement of a crowd in the hour before a horse race; weather that was soft and warm, neither too hot nor too cold; and being outside, free. Yet Archie’s heart remained bruised and heavy, longing perversely for the grey skies and wretched weather that had so suited the dark mood of the day before.

  It was Archie’s own fault, of course.

  It always was.

  Not that it had been purposeful. Well, perhaps at first, but….

  A large puddle glinted, the sun catching its edges and sending it sparkling as if the small expanse of water had delusions of grandeur, as if it was trying to be something it wasn’t. Just like Archie.

  A reflection stared back from the water, returning the visage of a young, neatly dressed man. A slender fellow, a little on the pretty side perhaps but nothing out of the ordinary. An innocent looking chap who normally wore a glint of mischief and amusement in his eyes. The sort of person you’d be happy for your son to be friends with. Neither a rake nor a trouble maker.

  The reflection lied.

  Archie lied.

  Archie was no nice young man. She was a girl, and a liar.

  She hadn’t meant for it to happen. Growing up on a remote farm, her widowed father had been unsure of what to do with his only daughter. He’d needed help and he’d had neither time nor patience for raising a girl. Archie hadn’t had the time or patience for being one, either. Working outside in all weathers, stomping through the mud, helping her father about the place, mending fences, or hunting for their dinner… it had all seemed far more sensible than sitting at home in petticoats and burning the dinner. She knew; she’d tried.

  It had all been fine growing up. There were few neighbours to scandalise and, as she’d dressed as a boy practically since infancy, they’d had plenty of time to get used to her. Then her father had died and… things had gotten complicated.

  Leaving home had been terrifying, though it had been running away rather than leaving. The weeks and months that had followed had been filled with fear and the aching kind of loneliness that sucked the hope from your heart and the spirit from your bones.

  In the end Archie had found herself in London, among the artistic set, having stumbled into it via her love of poetry and words. The friends she had made on her travels thought she was a young man like them, out for her first taste of adventure and freedom. It was hardly in her interests to tell them otherwise. Through them she’d made new friends, found work and a place to stay. She’d had ambitions to try her own hand at writing too, but that had soon petered out. A love of words did not make a writer it appeared, besides which other problems had reared their heads.

  Tearing her eyes away from her deceptive reflection, she focused her attention on the crowds. The race would start soon. Her stomach growled.

  A brief investigation of her coin purse revealed meagre remains. Enough for a pie, at least, but after that….

  What the devil was she to do?

  With luck she could find friendly company to hitch a lift with back to London, or at least part way. That was the upside of being a man, one of many in Archie’s opinion. It was easy to strike up a conversation with a fellow, share a few jokes, a drink, and discover yourself a bosom pal. Men were just so much simpler and straightforward, though she well knew that it was men who made life so bloody awkward for women.

  Women were property. Bought for the price of a few promises easily broken. The women were easily broken, too. With their lace and their petticoats, they were too fragile, too timid, too easily damaged. She’d not be like that. Not for anyone. Not ever.

  Once back in London she could find work. She had friends there, people who would help her get her feet back under her. Her friend Erasmus would take her in if she asked him, though she hated relying on that. It felt like charity. She’d pay her way though, once she had work. It would be nothing exciting or well paid, but enough to keep the wolf from the door. Whatever it was, Archie would be grateful for it. Not only for the means of fending for herself, but for something to occupy her mind. She was a doer by nature, and a cheerful soul, but the events of the week previous had knocked the stuffing out of her, and her usual optimistic outlook had been hard to find.

  Archie pushed on, wending her way through the crowds and casting her eye over the stalls. The enticing scent of gravy and meat drifted on the air and her stomach tightened in anticipation. She’d not eaten yet today after an uncomfortable night spent sleeping in a barn. At least it had been dry, though it had taken an age to buff the dust from her boots and pick the straw from her short, brown hair.

  Cursing a little as a large, bleary faced chap jostled her, she glared at him. He was quite obviously in his cups and she took a moment to steady herself and look about
. Ah, there was the pie stall. Her mouth watered as the savoury scent grew stronger. Before she could take a step however, she stopped in her tracks, her attention arrested by the figure of a man. Tall and broad he stood out like a sore thumb among the regular race goers, not for his size, nor for his looks, though he was handsome. Exceedingly handsome. His hair was dark, and Archie felt his eyes would match, though she was too far away to be certain.

  Not that his looks marked him out as different, however. Perhaps it was the quality of his clothes, which were expensive and tailored to perfection? Perhaps it was the mirror-like shine of his boots? It might have been the way he held himself, erect and proud, as though he well knew his own worth. Whatever it was, it drew Archie’s eye, and held it.

  He was talking to another man, smaller and less interesting—to Archie, at least. Once the conversation was over the little chap hurried away as the handsome man stood, a slight frown between his eyes, clearly distracted. That was foolish in a place like this. Such a wealthy man would be an obvious mark for—

  A rangy looking fellow was sizing him up, sliding towards him in an almost serpentine manner. Archie cursed. The blasted fool would be robbed before her eyes. Before she could think about it, she was moving forward. The thief hadn’t seen her, fixed on his target now, no doubt intending to accidentally bump into him.

  Archie had no time to shout a warning but lurched forward just as the pickpocket stumbled hard into his mark. Lightning quick fingers divested the man of a heavy gold watch, a tantalising glimmer of gold disappearing beneath the thief’s coat. She slammed into him, taking him down to the ground, grappling and searching for the watch. A blow knocked her sideways, making her ears ring and her vision blur. Never one for prudence, she clouted him back.

  “What the devil!” exclaimed a cultured voice? The man stared down at them, shocked.

  “He’s got your watch!” Archie snapped back, wishing the fool would shift himself and help before she was pummelled. She didn’t even finish the thought before the thief had rammed his fist into her stomach, knocking the wind from her in a sickening blow. Furious now, Archie shifted her position and rammed her knee into the bastard’s nuts. There was a keening sound and the fellow’s eyes watered, but he was a tough little rat and shoved her sideways so hard her head struck the ground. Too breathless and dazed to stop him, she could only watch as the thief scrambled to his feet.

  Finally, however, the handsome victim of the robbery had caught up with the chain of events and grasped hold of her assailant by one grubby lapel. Archie just had time to watch a rather splendid right hook knock the light-fingered rascal’s head back, before she passed out.

  ***

  The taste of fine brandy filtered into Archie’s senses and she licked her lips.

  “That’s it, you’re all right. Come back now.”

  That same cultured voice eased over her, much in the same way the brandy was easing warmth into her veins. On an empty stomach, she worried it was having more of an effect than usual. Archie very much enjoyed fine liquor, though she was the first to admit she couldn’t hold it. She rarely drank to excess for that reason. The thought brought a recent exception to mind and she felt tears prick at her eyes. Stop that. All your own fault.

  A large palm patted at her cheek and Archie tried to swat it away as her eyes flickered open. Her breath caught. Staring down at her was the man she’d been trying to save from the pickpocket. Warm brown eyes regarded her with a mixture of amusement and concern.

  “There you are,” he said, looking relieved. “Do you think you can stand?”

  Archie swallowed and took a moment to take stock of her injuries. Her jaw ached, and she felt as if someone had kicked her in the guts, possibly a horse, but….

  “Yes,” she said cautiously. “I think so.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  He took her hand in a strong grip and hefted her effortlessly to her feet. She swayed as the world pitched beneath her, but he continued to hold her by the shoulders until everything stopped moving.

  “Better?” he asked, moving to get a closer look at her. “You look a bit dazed.”

  “A little,” she agreed, giving a weak smile and staring up at the man, who was larger than she’d realised.

  He looked pleased and bemused. He also smelled good: something expensive and subtly spicy. Archie assured herself that the urge to lean into him was entirely due to her being knocked on the head, and not because he smelled delicious.

  “I owe you my thanks, young man,” he said, tilting his head a little to look her over. “Are you badly hurt?”

  Archie shook her head and then regretted it as she stumbled. Her stomach turned and she sucked in a sharp breath, grasping an immaculately tailored sleeve to steady herself. Expecting a reproach, she took her hand away at once, but the fellow only put his arm about her shoulders as she swayed again.

  “Bad enough, I’d say,” the man replied for her, a grimmer note to his words now. “I think you’d best come with me.”

  Too dazed to protest, she moved at his insistence, still swaying a little. They’d gone ten steps at most when her feet were swept from under her.

  “Sir!” she exclaimed, shocked and startled as he lifted her with ease. “Sir, put me down!”

  To pass as a young man, Archie deliberately pitched her voice lower than her natural tone. The shocked squeak forced from her at this sweeping act startled her as much as being lifted off the ground. Happily, he seemed not to notice.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to put your pride to one side,” the fellow replied, quite tranquil in the face of her obvious shock. “You’re as unsteady as new-born colt. You took quite a blow to the head, you know, but don’t fret. I’ll have my physician check you over once we get home.”

  “Home?” Archie repeated, her heart kicking in her chest. “No, I-I can’t afford a physician.”

  The chap snorted at her. “As if I’d let you pay when you were injured on my behalf.” He sounded rather indignant at that, but the humour returned to his eyes almost at once. “And I can afford one.”

  Archie shut her mouth, panicking now. She couldn’t see a physician. Even the most lack-witted doctor would discover she was no young man in short order. Somehow, she didn’t think this man would employ a blundering fool. He appeared far too shrewd, not to mention handsome and, damn, up this close he smelled even better than she’d thought. Oh, heavens. What the devil had she gotten herself into?

  “Really, sir, I am quite all right, if you would only put me down,” she said, wriggling a little only to discover the fellow had arms like iron bands.

  “I will,” he said, sounding cheerful and supremely unperturbed at carrying a young man he’d just met through the crowds of the race meeting, despite the fact everyone was staring at them. “My carriage is here.”

  Archie looked around to see a magnificent conveyance, all glossy black paint and a rather impressive coat of arms emblazoned on the door bearing three lions. Oh no. Seriously?

  Damn it.

  Before she could object further a footman had opened the door and let down the steps and her benefactor had placed her down on a well sprung seat.

  The door closed.

  Archie blinked in the dimmer confines of the interior, a little blind after the bright sunlight outside. A handsome, smiling face appeared out of the gloom. He looked anxious again.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked, sounding just as concerned as he looked.

  Perhaps he thought she’d sue him or some nonsense?

  Archie nodded, which was a lie. She didn’t feel well at all.

  “Are you here with anyone?” he persisted, leaning forward in his seat. “Friends? Family? Do you live nearby? Can I fetch someone for you?”

  “No,” she managed, deciding that shaking her head was a bad idea. “I was just passing through. I’m alone.”

  There was something stark in her words that made her heart squeeze and she avoided the concern she could feel rad
iating from the man opposite. He was quiet for a moment, perhaps realising he’d lumbered himself with a young good-for-nothing who was on the verge of vagrancy. That should at least induce him to get shot of her quickly.

  “Your… belongings?” he asked, though there was hesitancy to the words now.

  Archie stuttered and answer, a little mortified even though it would be best if he was horrified and let her go. “N-No. That is…. No.”

  She felt the burn of humiliation tinge her cheeks. She wouldn’t explain. Let him think what he wanted. It wasn’t as if she looked like a vagrant. Not yet, at least. Her clothes were good quality, nothing to compare to the Nonesuch sitting opposite her but not shabby either. Her one-night sleeping rough hadn’t dirtied them too badly. She looked away from him to notice a little ear of corn had gotten caught in the button hole of her sleeve. Gritting her teeth, she turned her hand, so it was out of sight.

  “Well, that’s settled, then.” His voice brooked no argument, filled with kindness and certainty. The kind of voice used to being obeyed without question. Archie felt a burst of gratitude equal to the surge of panic that rose at his words. “The least I can do is give you a good meal and a bed for the night. Once my physician has looked you over, of course.”

  “No!” Archie exclaimed, a little too quickly.

  Dark eyebrows rose.

  “That is, you’re most kind, but I… I have no wish to see a physician.”

  She looked back into eyes that surveyed her with interest and no little sympathy.

  “Stubborn, eh?” he mused, smiling a little.

  “Dreadfully,” she admitted, a little rueful. It was true. “And I hate quacks,” she added for good measure.

  “Lord, I’d best not introduce to you my fellow then,” he said with a good-natured grin. “Devilish old woman, he is. Dreadful fusspot. Damned good physician, though. It would put my mind at rest….”

  “No.”

  “Well,” he said, sighing with resignation, “you surely cannot throw my hospitality back in my face too?” Her benefactor sounded a little offended now and, after he’d treated her so kindly, Archie felt a little trapped. He withdrew the gold watch she had last seen disappearing under the dark wool of another man’s coat. “I should have been sorry to have lost this.” She watched as he turned the heavy gold timepiece in his hands, his expression thoughtful. “It was my grandfather’s.”