19. Honor’s Reward

HONOR’S REWARD

S itting in his office at the Domus , Malum didn’t need to read the article a second time. Instead, he cast it onto his desk, brooding over thepositively auspicious beginningof his so-called engagement to Lady Melanie Rutherford.

This.

This was what he got for trying to be chivalrous, for attempting to do “the honorable thing” as those in Society would say.

“Blast and damn,” he cursed under his breath.

The employment agency promised discretion and confidentiality in all matters, but not, apparently, where former employees were concerned. Malum had been careless in his dealings with the former nursemaid and this was the result.

His fault.

What with the ongoing search for Ernest’s mother and then the debacle at the Fallbridge’s ball, he’d been…

Distracted.

The weight of it was unfamiliar, irritating—like a coat that didn’t quite fit. For years, he hadn’t bothered accounting for his actions to anyone but himself. Rumors could swell and swirl for all he cared; he’d been the only one bearing their brunt.

But now, there were others to consider. Lady Melanie and her family—already teetering on the edge of ruin—were caught in the web of public scrutiny he’d always had the luxury of ignoring.

And then there was the innocent child and his mother.

He’d known exactly what people would assume about his relationship to Ernest, even though it wasn’t true. Allowing the child to stay openly at Preston Hall had been an act of arrogance, the kind only possible when one was untangled and indifferent to the consequences.

Which, apparently, he no longer was.

For all intents and purposes, Malum was an engaged man.His decisions, his lapses in judgment, were now capable of dragging others down with him.

And he’d be damned if he allowed Society to wield any of it against Lady Melanie, her family, or that helpless child. They could say what they wanted about him, but he would not stand by while those under his protection were torn apart by the bloody ton .

He slid his gaze to the offending newspaper again.

Two days had passed since he’d officially betrothed himself to Lady Melanie—or rather, since he’d agreed to her absurd scheme. Thus far, he’d managed to avoid performing for the ton , skillfully evading the expected duties of a newly engaged gentleman. But, if he was going to uphold his end of the bargain, he’d have to step into Society soon enough. With that in mind, he had arranged to take his fiancée driving through the park later that afternoon, a way to break the ice, so to speak.

Of course, he wouldn’t drive her through just any park at just any hour, but Hyde Park, when all of the ton would see them together—a perfect opportunity to put on a show for the vultures.

He had sent a formal written invitation.

Naturally, Lady Melanie’s maid would have been informed of the outing. The maid would, of course, share that information with her cohorts, and within hours, the news would be winding its way through the servant class. Eventually, other maids and footmen would relay the news to their employers. And by the time he collected her from Rutherford Place, all of Mayfair would be anticipating a sighting of the Duke of Malum with his betrothed.

Like some bloody prodigal son.

He fully intended to give the ton precisely what they were hungry for—the Duke of Malum playing the loving fiancé.

In other words, he’d planned for a certain level of spectacle. But after that Godforsaken article…

Their drive—if Lady Melanie was still willing—could prove… overwhelming.

The only play here, he knew, was to go through with it.

A knock sounded at the door, and at his curt reply, Mr. Huxley stepped inside. “Mrs. Nell to see you, Your Grace.”

“Send her in.”

Malum could use some good news this morning, but one look at Nell’s face, and he knew he’d not be getting it from her.

She held a handkerchief in one hand, eyes bloodshot and shining, her lips pressed thin.

“What is it?” he asked, noting the way she dabbed at the corner of her eye.

“It’s Stella—Miss De la Cour—she’s dead.” Nell took a moment to compose herself while Malum experienced a sinking sensation in his gut. “Our investigators and Miss Rothschild found her father’s business on Shamble’s Street in Yorkshire—just like you said—and returned to London just this morning. I came up as soon as they delivered the news. Stella passed a few hours after the babe was born.”

“That is… unfortunate,” he said, the words stilted.

He hadn’t known Miss De la Cour beyond a few brief encounters in passing, but she’d been under his protection. Everyone who worked for him was his responsibility, and though she’d left his establishment—of her own volition, for reasons unknown to anyone but her—he couldn’t help but feel a dull sense of failure.

Should they arise—and they did, about as frequently as one would imagine—the Domus had protocols in place for handling situations of a delicate nature. Situations just like this one. He’d thought that they would be enough—to protect his employees, himself, and his place of business, along with the… results of those “delicate situations”. Clearly, they weren’t.

Malum leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping a steady rhythm atop The Enquirer’s troublesome article. He would have to address the lapses in those protocols at a later time, but for now, there were unfortunately more pressing issues at hand.

Stella De la Cour’s death complicated matters considerably. All Malum had wanted was to return Ernest to his mother and close that chapter of his life for good. Instead, he was now responsible for a young infant no one else wanted, while engaged to a young woman determined to remain unmarried. In the worst possible twist, these two predicaments had merged into one scandalous entanglement.

From the moment Ernest had been left on his doorstep—and when Lady Melanie, with her compassionate yet somewhat reckless nature, had refused to leave the baby to the elements—the course of his life shifted. Otherwise, none of this would have mattered.

Which brought to mind another question. “If Stella De la Cour died shortly after the child’s birth… then who the hell left Ernest on my front step?” Because Lady Melanie had described Miss De la Cour perfectly.

“That would have been her sister,” Nell replied quietly.

A sister? That would explain it then, he thought bitterly.

Nell dabbed her eye again. “Apparently, the brothers told her to get rid of it—said they didn’t want another mouth to feed. Especially a bastard one.”

Malum nodded. He didn’t approve, but did understand the practicality of the decision, cruel as it may be.

“Would you like me to make arrangements for the baby?” Nell asked, her voice steady, though her eyes held a hint of worry.

It would likely be for the best. Malum’s gaze drifted to the paper before him, an article that ought to have been no more than a simple betrothal announcement. Instead, he found himself navigating unfamiliar waters—waters he’d managed to avoid in the past.

Still, he was reluctant to send Ernest away so easily. There was still much to be sorted.

“Not just yet,” he said, rising from his desk with newfound resolve. He needed to speak with Lady Melanie; no doubt her family would have thoughts about the article’s insinuations, and he had no intention of letting the matter spiral beyond his control.

Any more than it already had.

“If that’s all, then,” Nell murmured, already backing toward the door.

He gave her a vague wave, barely aware of her departure as his thoughts turned to the conversations he’d need to have. Then, shrugging into his jacket, he stepped out of his office. “Is the carriage ready out front?” he asked Mr. Huxley.

“It is, Your Grace,” his secretary replied, rising halfway from his desk. “Shall we expect you back this afternoon?”

Malum paused, considering. Until he spoke with Lady Melanie, he couldn’t be certain of what lay ahead—particularly given her family’s already precarious footing in Society.

The thought that they might have already spirited her away to the family’s country estate ought to have been welcome. Indeed, it would have spared him the burden of this vexing scandal—and his unwelcome role within it.

Yet, why did he feel this persistent urge to hurry across town to see her?

“I’ll return when I return,” he muttered, more to himself than to Huxley, before striding into the hall.

He could dispatch a coach after her, if necessary. Standish might very well be her brother, but it would be Malum who decided when —and if —she should be sent to the country.

He was so consumed with his thoughts, eyes fixed on the floor, unseeing as he moved along the walkway overlooking the gambling floor, that he didn’t even see her. If he hadn’t glanced up at that precise moment, he might have bowled her over.

As it was, he stopped so suddenly he nearly stumbled.

“You.”

There, poised with a matching sense of urgency, stood Lady Melanie.

Melanie .

A surprising sense of satisfaction flickered through him—she was just as eager to confront this mess as he was. Even better, he wouldn’t have to dodge her family’s inevitable meddling to have this conversation.

But then reality struck—where they were, and what it could mean if anyone saw her here. It was her previous visit that had set all this in motion in the first place.

His gaze flicked around the corridor, noting two patrons ambling along the opposite balcony. Without another thought, Malum acted on instinct, guiding her swiftly into the nearest room where they could speak in private.

Fortunately, it was unoccupied.

On the other hand, and perhaps unfortunately, the room he chose happened to be one of the private parlors.

As he closed the door behind them, even Malum had to admit that bringing her in here was a step beyond the pale.

Although his fiancée appeared startled, she also looked around with more than a little interest. Her crystal-blue eyes, wide with curiosity, took in the massive canopied bed, the sumptuous furnishings, and even the mirrored ceiling—a particular detail he might have hoped she’d overlook. Yet as he watched her take it all in, Malum found his attention shifting from the room itself to the lady within it.

And for a moment, heat flooded his veins.

But then she lowered her chin and fixed him with a steady gaze.

“You were planning to cancel our drive this afternoon, weren’t you?”

He had to admit, it was impressive how she cut to the heart of the matter.

A faint smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Not at all,” he replied smoothly. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he added, “Were you?”