Chapter 2

" I 've never even met the girl, and now I'm accused of dallying with her?!"

Phineas Thorne, the Duke of Eavestone, prided himself on being able to keep a cool head under pressure. This, however, was beyond the pale. The idea that he would dishonor a young lady was intolerable—more than intolerable. It went against everything he stood for. Not to mention that this particular young lady was the last one he would ever court.

Throwing the paper down on the table, the Duke glared across to the settee, where his best friend, Lord James Bolden, sat watching him. "And of all the young ladies," he spat, "Miss Iris Crampton! The daughter of that infernal, backstabbing, treacherous snake? Why would I want to tie myself to that man?"

"It does seem unlikely," James agreed, his tone infuriatingly matter-of-fact.

"His daughter is probably as vile as he is."

"Now, now," James interjected, holding up his hands in a placating manner. "I know the father is villainous, but don't take that out on the poor lady."

Phineas checked himself. "You're right, I suppose it was unfair of me to say so. I'm sure she is… lovely."

Though, even as he said it, he could hardly believe it.

James's lips quirked up. "In fact, from what I understand, she's actually quite beautiful, if a bit of a bluestocking. You could do worse, really."

Phineas narrowed his eyes, annoyed by the look of amusement on his friend's face. "What are you smiling about? This is hardly the time to make jokes."

"On the contrary, I think this is exactly the time to make jokes." James folded his hands in his lap and tilted his head to the side. "Come, sit down, and let's sort this out."

Phineas stood still for a moment, defiant, then sat down on the settee opposite James. He folded his hands and tried to regain his composure.

"You can't deny it's a catastrophe," he argued after a moment. "I've been implicated in a scandal with Carfield's daughter, and it will ruin the plans I have been setting in motion for ten years now…"

He shook his head and turned to stare out the window. It was late April, and the London Season was being favored with a beautiful spring. Outside the window, Mayfair was in full bloom. The trees lining Berkeley Square were full and green, while beautifully sculpted hedges hemmed in rows of vibrant flowers that glinted in the buttery morning light.

It should have lifted Phineas's spirits. But it was impossible for him to feel cheerful these days—or really, for the past ten years. He'd been so careful, so methodical, so strategic in his takedown of Jebediah Crampton, the Viscount Carfield. One by one, he had crushed all of the Viscount's closest allies—all as corrupt and prone to taking advantage of those weaker than them as he was—until Lord Carfield was the last one standing, alone and unprotected. And now this?

He wasn't sure exactly what it meant that he'd been romantically linked to the man's daughter, but it couldn't be good.

"If you'd stop stewing in self-pity for a minute," James said tartly from the settee, "and think for a moment, you might see how this romantic entanglement could be good for you. How you might use it to your advantage."

Phineas stilled. James might be a little too unserious at times, but he was his oldest and most trusted friend, and his advice was usually astute.

"And how might that be?" Phineas asked.

James grinned. "Your marriage to your enemy's daughter could be exactly the answer to your prayers. Just think, Phineas. She knows her father even better than you do. She could give you invaluable insights into how to take him down."

There was a moment of quiet as Phineas absorbed these words. "Surely she would not inform on her father," he countered slowly.

"She might not even know she is," James pointed out. "She's a spinster, after all, probably desperate for marriage. If you were to show her kindness, even affection, she would open up to you without question. And then you could discover what you need to know about Carfield's weaknesses."

There was sense in these words, and as Phineas mulled them over, he almost smiled. Almost. Phineas Thorne never smiled, and he wasn't about to start now.

James was right. An impressionable, pliable spinster, unlucky in love, was exactly what Phineas needed to finally achieve his long-awaited revenge. The brilliance of these words even outweighed his next, more irritating ones.

"And who knows," James added with a melancholic sigh. "Perhaps having a woman in the house is exactly what you need to cheer you up a little…"

"After all these years, we meet again… and under equally unfortunate circumstances."

Phineas sat across from the Viscount Carfield, his pale blue eyes taking in the man who had, for so long, been his sworn enemy.

Lord Carfield looked old, Phineas was pleased to see. In the years since they had last met, his once-dark hair had become streaked with gray, and while his dark eyes were still sharp and intelligent, there was a wariness to them that hadn't been there before. His townhouse was equally diminished. From what Phineas could see, it was shabby and in need of updating. It seemed that the Viscount's business dealings were not going as well as they once were.

The only thing that didn't look diminished about the Viscount was the portrait of himself that hung behind his desk. If anything, the artist had enlarged Lord Carfield, adding several inches of height and considerable handsomeness to his image. The portrait didn't depict the Viscount's looks so much as his vanity.

Phineas liked to think he was to thank for that. He'd caused more than a few losses of profit for the Viscount over the years.

"What has it been? Six years?" Lord Carfield asked carelessly.

"Ten. Ten years since you cheated me out of my inheritance."

Lord Carfield gave him a contemptuous sneer.

Glad to see some things never change .

"Still holding a grudge, are you, Eavestone? I think it's time to let bygones be bygones, don't you? We have other more pressing matters to discuss."

Phineas nodded. "This is true. I didn't come here to discuss the past. I came here to put to bed the specious rumors that I dishonored your daughter."

The Viscount's expression remained skeptical. "Yes, I heard the same disgusting gossip as you."

"And yet, you did not call me out immediately upon reading the rumor."

"I know you," the Viscount countered. "And I knew you would do the honorable thing."

Phineas considered this. The fact that the Viscount had not appeared on his doorstep with a sword and pistol the moment the article came out the day before gave him pause. His lack of fury now only confirmed his suspicions.

Is it possible that Carfield is pleased about the rumor? But why? He must think it is to his advantage.

If so, it disgusted Phineas beyond belief that a father would risk his daughter's reputation for financial gain.

"I vehemently deny the accusations," Phineas stated, his deep, resonant voice filling up the entire library. "I would never dishonor a young lady. I think we both know this to be true."

"I know nothing of the sort," Lord Carfield snapped. His eyes had narrowed, and his frown had deepened. "You have long had it out for me. How do I know you didn't seduce my daughter to enact your revenge?"

"My quarrel is with you," Phineas snarled. "Not with your daughter."

"Do you take me for a fool?"

Lord Carfield's eyes glittered with hate, and Phineas felt, for a moment, as if he was fifteen again, grief-stricken and vulnerable, feeling the sting of the Viscount's ring against his cheek. As if on cue, the scar on his cheekbone tingled, and he struggled not to touch it.

It had been a long time since he'd felt that powerless, and he didn't like the feeling one bit. Over the last ten years, he'd worked hard to make himself into the man he was today—fearsome, powerful, and in control of his emotions. No one would ever again take advantage of the Duke of Eavestone. No one would ever again make him feel small, of that he was sure.

"I know how these things work," Lord Carfield continued. "You see my daughter, icy but beautiful, twenty-three and still unmarried, and you think you can take advantage of her. Spinsters are desperate, you assume, so you court her in secret, make promises you have no intention to fulfill, until the moment she gives herself to you and you can take your revenge on me. Well, the jig is up, Eavestone. You've been caught, and fortunately, before it is too late. Now you will have to marry the girl, or you will have me to answer to."

Red-hot fury radiated through Phineas. He hadn't been this angry in years. Usually, he maintained a low level of simmering rage, a reminder of the vengeance he sought. But now, it took all his self-restraint to keep from leaping to his feet, seizing Lord Carfield by the cravat, and bludgeoning him. As it was, he couldn't keep the anger from his voice when he spoke.

"You are throwing dangerous accusations, Lord Carfield. I am the last man on earth who would ever take advantage of a naive and innocent young lady."

Except that's what you just told James you would do , a small, nagging voice whispered in the back of his head.

"After what was done to me by the men who said they were my parents' friends, I know better than most how it feels to be duped by people you trust." His eyes bored into Lord Carfield's, which, he was not surprised to see, did not look remotely embarrassed. "The idea that I would ever abuse my power over a young lady is beyond reprehensible. I ought to call you out right here and now."

Something in his voice must have told Lord Carfield he was serious, because the Viscount shifted and blinked, and his face grew pale. Licking his lips, he adopted a slightly more apologetic tone.

"Perhaps there is no truth to the rumor," he conceded. "I cannot say for sure. The problem is, the story is out there, so regardless of its veracity, my daughter's honor—and thus mine—is tainted. There must be a marriage, and quickly, in order to rectify this situation. Now… I believe I can sweeten this prospect for you."

Phineas hadn't been expecting this, but his face did not show a flicker of emotion or surprise as he continued to gaze steadily at the Viscount.

Lord Carfield smiled—a cool, calculating smile that did not reach his eyes—and held his hands out in supplication. "You will find I am not an ungenerous man, Your Grace. In order to encourage you to marry the girl, and to soften the blow somewhat, I am prepared to give you a stake in my coal mines. I believe you will find this offer more than fair."

He reached into a drawer and pulled out a piece of paper, which he slid across the desk.

Phineas took the paper and unfolded it. It was not merely a percentage, he was surprised to see, but a legal contract drawn up by Lord Carfield's solicitor.

He could not have arranged all this yesterday .

Phineas pretended to consider the offer in front of him.

If Carfield had this contract drawn up ahead of the printing of the gossip sheets, that meant he must have already known about the rumor. Not only known about it but figured out a way to make the marriage more appealing to me.

Which meant Phineas's instincts were right—Lord Carfield had planted the rumor himself.

But why? What does he have to gain from this?

Ten years ago, when Phineas was just a lad of fifteen, his parents had died in a tragic carriage robbery. Afterward, Lord Carfield took advantage of Phineas's grief and naivete by stealing the Eavestone seal and forging documents granting him ownership of the dukedom's coal-rich lands.

For ten years, Phineas had been plotting to get the lands back. And now, here he was, presented with the chance to own part of the business that should have been his. Lord Carfield was offering it up, with only the condition that he marry his daughter. It felt suspicious. More than suspicious. It felt like a trick.

Unless… unless Lord Carfield knew how close Phineas was to taking him down.

Unless he was trying to tie their assets together, to disincentivize Phineas to ruin the venture he himself had a stake in.

Unless he wanted his daughter close to Phineas, perhaps have her try to get close to him, so he would feel some loyalty toward her family.

Phineas almost smiled. Almost.

It was too good. After all these years, the Viscount Carfield was scared of him . So scared that he was willing to give up a portion of his profits, and his daughter, to keep him at bay.

Well, two could play that game.

"I find your premise insulting," Phineas began, setting the paper back on the desk. "I don't want a percentage of your mines. I do not need to be bought off in order to do the honorable thing. I will marry your daughter because it is the right thing to do. Her dowry will be sufficient. However, I do ask that it reflect the accurate sum you owe me."

Reaching for the quill that sat in an inkpot on the desk, Phineas crossed the percentage that the solicitor had written and wrote in a new number. He then slid the paper back across the desk to Lord Carfield.

The Viscount's face went from pink to a bright vermillion red as he stared down at the new sum.

"Are you out of your mind?" he hissed, slamming his fist down on the desk. "This number is outrageous! It's?—"

"The exact amount the lands you stole from me were valued at," Phineas finished for him. "Adjusted for inflation, of course."

Both men stared at each other, a shiver of understanding passing between them.

"I will not be manipulated," Lord Carfield snapped. "Not by the man who may or may not have taken liberties with my daughter."

Phineas merely smiled. He could feel the man's control over the situation slipping. If the Viscount refused to give the sum Phineas had demanded, then his daughter and family name would be ruined. If he accepted it, then he would be forfeiting the money he'd saved by stealing the land in the first place.

Lord Carfield, however, surprised him. Standing up, he leaned over the desk, until his face was uncomfortably close to Phineas's. "Your arrogance has once again gotten the better of you, Your Grace. There will be no betrothal, not with these conditions. I will find another way to ensure you compensate me for the ruination of my daughter's reputation. Now, get out of my sight."

Phineas gave him his most disdainful look as he rose to his feet. "Happily, My Lord. But may I suggest you think this over? After all, I have nothing to lose from your daughter's disgrace. You, on the other hand, have everything to lose."

As he left the Viscount's library, Phineas felt sure that he had bested his old enemy at his own game. In fact, he was so caught up in his victory that he did not notice the swish of a skirt as someone disappeared around the corner.