Chapter 2

If Lady Io Hale believed that Corbin was going to discuss his employer's private business with her—or anyone else—then she was not nearly as clever as she thought she was.

Instead of commenting on her verbal gauntlet, Corbin merely smiled coolly at the Duke of Hasting's siblings. "I cannot discuss my employer's affairs with anyone other than His Grace. But I am sure the duke would be more than happy to answer any questions you might have on that subject or any other, my lady."

Lady Io stared steadily at Corbin for a long moment, as if she could somehow reduce him to a quivering mass of jelly with a look. When it was apparent that her harsh glare was having no effect on him, she gave an unladylike snort that contrasted jarringly with her beautiful, feminine features. And she was lovely—quite the most attractive woman Corbin had ever seen—as long as one ignored the combative glint in her gaze and the stories he knew about her sordid past. Of which there were many.

"His Grace," Lady Io repeated giving Corbin a look so filled with mockery that his skin actually tingled. He locked eyes with the witch, refusing to look away.

"Yoyo," her twin murmured in a gently chastising tone.

Yoyo? Corbin blinked at the soft, sweet pet name. It was like calling a cobra Fluffy.

As if she'd heard him, Lady Io gave Corbin a look that promised she was not finished with him, and turned to her brother.

The two commenced to converse in tones too quiet for him to hear so Corbin ignored their chatter and thought instead about how these people—the denizens of a lunatic fringe religious commune that was anathema to everything men like Corbin and the duke stood for—had come to be not only in Hastings's drawing room, but in his life for the foreseeable future.

Not to mention that Lord Balthazar—a man who'd been raised to eschew personal wealth and donate every cent he earned to the depraved leadership of the Canoga Community—was in line to inherit four million dollars.

The injustice of all that money falling into the hands of religious extremists not only made Corbin feel ill. It also enraged him.

Even though he had learned of the duke's connection to the Canoga Hales almost a month ago, he was still in shock.

He'd been best friends with Zeus Constantine Jonathan Hale since the two had met at boarding school at the age of eight almost three decades earlier. Not until this past month had Corbin learned that the name he had called his friend all these years—John—was preceded by two other names, and outlandish ones, at that. Far too outlandish for the stern, practical man whose nickname in the world of New York finance was the Puritan of Wall Street.

Not that it mattered what John Hale's given name was because there would be very few people in the world invited to use it now that he'd inherited the ancient Dukedom of Hastings.

Even if John hadn't become a duke, Corbin still would not be using his Christian name because Hastings was—for the last six months—his employer.

They had been best mates through school and soldiers in the army, saving each other's lives more than a few times.

And then, half-a-year ago John—not yet a duke—had also become Corbin's savior.

For twenty years Corbin had worked alongside James Corbin—the source of his Christian name and also his father—growing their construction business into the largest in New York state.

Only after his father's death did Corbin learn that his name had not been included in his will. Whether it had been an oversight, or on purpose, every bit of James Corbin's considerable estate had gone to his younger—and legitimate—son, Richard.

In the blink of an eye an empire that Corbin had devoted most of his adult life to building now belonged to somebody else.

And somebody who hated and despised him: his own half-brother.

Corbin had been devastated and confused. And also without a source of income.

John Hale had wanted to offer Corbin a partnership in a new construction venture. He had argued that Corbin could contribute his labor and experience and John would provide the capital.

But the last thing Corbin had wanted was to borrow money from his oldest friend, which is essentially what such a partnership would have been.

Instead, Corbin had asked for a different favor. "You are still seeking a secretary?"

A notch of confusion had appeared between John's unusual ice-blue eyes. "Yes."

"I would like to interview for the position."

"What?"

"I have the qualifications. In addition to learning every other aspect of my father's construction business," he had all but snarled, "I also spent time during the early years familiarizing myself with financial and business matters of the firm." But not enough time, evidently, or he would have been wise enough to insist on formalizing the hand-shake agreement he and his father had formed years before, when Corbin had still been in school.

"Of course you are qualified, Corbin! Overqualified," John had said. "And far too intelligent and hard-working and—"

"I will not accept your money in any capacity other than a salary, John. If you don't wish to employ me as your secretary, perhaps there is an opening at one of your banks, or at—"

"Corbin!"

He'd stopped talking at the sight of his friend's obvious distress.

"Any job you want is yours," John had said firmly, hurt glinting in his frosty eyes. "Anything at all I can give you is yours."

"I want the position of personal secretary."

"Then you have it."

And so Corbin had begun working as a combined business and social secretary to the most powerful banker in New York state, quite possibly in the entire country.

And over the past six months Corbin's brother Richard drove the construction business into the ground while Corbin could do nothing but watch, powerless to stop him.

All water under the bridge.

Indeed, it was. He pushed the depressing thoughts aside and turned his attention to Hastings' newly discovered siblings.

Corbin, a Presbyterian, had known about the Canoga cult for years—for that is what it was in his opinion: a cult. Indeed, during the year he had spent in seminary, the disbanding of the Canoga commune had been the raison d'être of several of the leaders of the Presbyterian community.

Corbin had a less than positive opinion of the place and the ragtag appearance of the five Canoga members currently sitting in front of him had not raised his estimation, any.

Although all the Hales were attractive and well-formed young people, the glint of rebellion in their eyes—even the youngest girl's—was more than a little concerning to him.

And then there was Lady Io Hale, whose willful, independent, and almost masculine behavior made the hairs on Corbin's neck stand on end.

"They are each impressive people, Corbin," the duke had said after returning from his visit to Canoga a month ago—the first time he and his siblings had met. Corbin and the duke had been enjoying brandy and cigars, a pastime the duke's fiancée, Miss Edith Barrymore, despised and had relegated to Hastings's study or the dining room.

"And you think the oldest one—Lord Balthazar—will fall into line with the requirements of his grandfather's will?" Corbin had asked, dubious.

"No. Not without some exertion on my part," the duke had admitted, and then added, "Balthazar has asked me not to inform our younger siblings of the true details of the will."

"What? Why not?"

"He was very upset to learn that their grandfather left everything to him."

"But Balthazar is Horace Sinclair's oldest grandson and heir," Corbin had said. "Why wouldn't Sinclair leave it all to him?"

The duke had smiled faintly at his words. "I'm afraid my brother sees things differently, Corbin. It is Balthazar's intention to split the fortune into equal shares when he inherits."

"Equal shares for his brothers?"

"For all his siblings." The duke had paused, his eyes glinting with something that had looked like amusement at Corbin's obvious shock. "You know their commune discourages marriage?" he asked.

Corbin's lips had curled at the question. "Yes. They believe in group marriage and free love."

"Yes, well, Balthazar fears his siblings' views on marriage would sway them against accepting their share if they found out that he was forced to marry against his principles."

"And you've agreed to keep the terms confidential?"

The duke shrugged. "I am not pleased with his deception, but he asked for no other concessions, so I will grant it. It is my intention to settle money on all of them, regardless if Balthazar inherits. That is something else they don't need to know. I am determined to use the two years they've all agreed to spend in England to wrangle them around to a sensible point of view."

"And by sensible you mean convincing them never to return to Canoga?"

"Just so." His jaw had flexed. "I will never forgive my father for what he did to my siblings. Not only separating us but raising my brothers and sisters as if they were so many chickens in a barnyard." The anger and determination in Hasting's unusual eyes would have chilled his siblings if they had seen it.

Or so Corbin had believed.

But now that he sat looking at the five younger Hales, he had to admit that none of them appeared to be the sort who would cow easily. It was his opinion that the duke would have his hands full breaking them to bridle.

Corbin already knew quite a bit about them thanks to a report prepared by the private investigator Hastings had sent to inquire into his newly discovered siblings.

The investigator's report was interesting, to say the least.

The oldest brother, Lord Balthazar, was as tall as the duke but his build was massive and brawny rather than lean and elegant. Balthazar was a brilliant engineer who was already well-respected for his agricultural inventions.

Unfortunately—thanks to a recent expose written by one of Lord Balthazar's former lovers from the commune—he was now notorious across the entire nation for his unorthodox sexual relations.

Already there were journalists sniffing around the duke's mansion, seeking tidbits about his infamous brother. Corbin could only imagine the circus that would ensue when the press discovered that The Wicked Spare—as they'd dubbed Hastings's heir presumptive—was no longer tucked away in his rural commune but running amok among the female population of New York City.

Next in age was Lord Balthazar's twin, Lady Io.

Corbin's jaw flexed as he examined the older of the two Hale sisters from beneath his lashes. She was tall—all the siblings were—and built upon Junoesque lines.

Her clothing was a disgrace to fashion, but he had to admit the short skirts and bloomers showed her figure to far better advantage than the padding and bustles and other feminine falderal that were now so popular among society women.

She was obviously uncorsetted and her threadbare gown left little to the imagination. High breasts, long legs, and a small waist made for a magnificent body. Lady Io had probably drawn the eyes of every man in Grand Central Depot.

Her hair was shockingly short, the dark glossy curls framing a face as appealing as a mythical siren's. Her high cheekbones and slightly tilted hazel eyes were—and he hated to use the word—bewitching. And her full red lips—even when thinned in anger—had unwanted wicked thoughts springing into his head.

Some of those thoughts were probably due in part to the private investigator's report on Lady Io, which had been extensive and explicit, painting the picture of a woman who was as well-versed in the erotic arts as any Parisian demimondaine twice her age.

But it wasn't only Lady Io who had sexual experience beyond her years. All the Hales did, as did every adult member of their commune.

Many of the policies of Canoga offended notions of decency, but none more than their commitment to equality of the sexes when it came to carnal relations.

When a member of the commune turned eighteen, they were encouraged to choose a sexual mentor—usually an older member of the commune—to tutor them in sensual pleasure.

Lady Io had chosen Lamar Jacobsen for her tutor. Jacobsen was the scion of a rich Boston brahmin family. Or at least he had been until he'd donated all his worldly wealth and possessions to the Canoga commune at the tender age of twenty-three.

Jacobsen had been forty-four to Lady Io's eighteen when the two had commenced their mentoring relationship, one that had lasted far longer than usual for a collective that disapproved of monogamy. Lady Io had become pregnant at twenty-one but had suffered an early miscarriage.

After her association with Jacobsen ended, she had taken frequent, but casual, lovers.

Lady Io's passion in life was the furtherance of reproductive rights for women. To that end, she had run afoul of the law outside the commune numerous times for distributing radical literature and condoms.

Corbin reluctantly wrenched his gaze from Lady Io and turned to her younger brothers. Lords Apollo and Ares might look identical, but the young men could hardly be more different in nature.

Lord Ares was another in the stamp of his older brother Balthazar. Which was to say he was a rampant womanizer who'd had so many lovers the investigator had simply given up listing them all.

But Lord Ares was not all fluff, he was also a master woodworker on the level of Chippendale and Sheraton. After learning that his brother was a wood worker the duke had purchased one of Lord Ares's pieces from a New York City fine furniture dealer. It was only a small cabinet, but Corbin had never seen such a beautiful piece of woodworking. The man was truly an artist.

As for his twin, Lord Apollo, he was fast on his way to becoming one of the most respected thoroughbred breeders in New York state. The small stud he operated out of Canoga had produced three of the last five winners in faraway New Orleans, at the Fair Grounds Race Course.

Lord Apollo's stud operation was severely limited by Canoga's governing council which disapproved of money derived from gambling-related activity, although it was worth noting that the council had not rejected the earnings Lord Apollo's endeavors brought in.

Lord Apollo was the most circumspect of the Hale brothers and had only taken two lovers and neither union had lasted for more than a few months. An introvert and loner, he was the Hale sibling the investigator had learned the least about.

Corbin turned to the youngest of the Hale progeny, Lady Evadne, who was only twenty.

While Lady Io was a siren who lured men to their deaths, Lady Evadne resembled an angel come to Earth.

She had lovely, even features and huge eyes, blue-violet eyes rather than hazel. Her dark hair and ridiculously thick eyelashes made for a mesmerizing contrast with her peaches and cream skin.

While Lady Evadne looked like an angel, she most certainly was not. The youngest Hale was busily engaged in compiling a volume of street cant. According to the investigator, her lexicon was not the sort that would be published by any reputable publisher.

Lady Evadne's only relationship had been her brief association with a mentor at nineteen for half a year.

Eva, as she was called by her siblings, was an ardent anglophile and, aside from Lord Balthazar, had been the Hale sibling who'd argued most vigorously to accept the duke's invitation to live with him in England for two years.

Corbin anticipated there would be little trouble getting the youngest Hale to acculturate to life outside the Canoga colony.

Her older brothers and sister, however…

Corbin certainly could not envision any of the Hales other than Lady Eva embracing the lessons that Miss Barrymore thought to teach them in the coming weeks.

Especially not Lady Io.

Privately, Corbin questioned Balthazar's wisdom when it came to concealing the truth of his grandfather's will. Oh, he understood why Balthazar's communitarian upbringing, not to mention his unconventional belief that women were the equals of men before the law, made him want to share the inheritance with his siblings. But he doubted the younger man had thought about what would happen if he did not knuckle under and locate a suitable—according to the will—wife to marry.

Had Lord Balthazar considered how vulnerable he and his siblings would be at that point?

Because the truth of the matter was that all the Hales would be dependent on the duke's generosity for the two years they lived outside Canoga, and possibly afterward.

He doubted any of them suspected the will of iron hidden behind the duke's aloof fa?ade. Corbin knew the other man did not want his brothers and sisters to only stay in his life for a few years. Hastings wanted them permanently and would use everything at his disposal to keep them from returning to Canoga. And there was no better persuasive weapon than money.

Had any of them considered that?

Well, it was not Corbin's affair if they hadn't.

He found his gaze sliding back to Lady Io Hale who was animatedly discussing the sights they should all go see while they were in the city. When she lost her antagonistic frown, she was breathtakingly beautiful and far more youthful-looking.

For a moment, Corbin felt sorry for Lady Io. Indeed, he felt sorry for all five of them. There would be no time for sightseeing in Miss Barrymore's stringent schedule of shopping, manners training, dance lessons, and on and on.

Indeed, the siblings would be fortunate to find enough time to eat and sleep in the coming weeks.