Chapter Twenty-Four

L ucien stood in front of a dockside tavern so nondescript, it didn’t even have a sign hanging over the door, and let out a heavy breath. His goal sat inside. Thank God. In the two days since leaving Ealing and parting with Jess, he’d put himself through hours of hell.

But the next few minutes might just prove his salvation.

“Wait here,” he called up to the driver of his town coach. He didn’t wait for an answer before shoving open the tavern door and stepping inside.

Immediately, a rancid smell of fish, stale ale, and smoke engulfed him, and he paused to let his eyes adjust to the dim light inside, despite the large windows on both ends of the tavern that bowed out to resemble the aft end of an old pirate’s galleon. A hush fell over the room at his unexpected appearance. But he couldn’t blame any of the dockers and seamen who cast him a curious glance from beaver hat to Hessian boots. His sort rarely stumbled into a place like this. If Lucien had his way, he wouldn’t be here for long.

He approached the bar and placed a coin onto the board.

Behind the bar, a mountain of a man with arms as big as two fully grown sheep wiped his hands on the dirty towel tossed over his shoulder. “What’ll ye have?”

“I’m looking for a man who works for the East India Company who’s staying in one of your rooms. He’s sailing for India this evening on the Java .” Lucien paused, then shared the name that had taken him two days to discover. “Henry Graham.”

As soon as he’d returned from Ealing and properly dressed, he’d ridden directly to the East India House on Leadenhall Street in the City. He knew men who worked there, and he was determined to call in every favor he was owed to gain their assistance in tracking down the man who’d fathered Amanda’s baby. Jess wanted him to prove his goodness, and he couldn’t think of a better place to start.

Time was not on his side, not with Amanda leaving soon for Ireland and the father leaving perhaps permanently for India, so he’d waited at Leadenhall for hours before finally leaving, only to return the next morning, the next afternoon, and the next morning after that. He’d sworn to make a nuisance of himself if necessary. The information Jess had given him was scant at best, yet it was enough that, finally, one of the men on the East India Court of Directors was able to narrow down the list of potential fathers to just one man. A man who at that very moment was waiting here at the East India Docks for his ship to set sail. Lucien had arrived within a hair’s breadth of the ship raising anchor and now felt closer to having the future he wanted than at any point since he had proposed to Jess.

If he could convince Graham to do the right thing, marry Amanda, and make the baby legitimate. The irony was not lost on Lucien that he was planning to do to Graham the exact same thing Jess had been trying to do to him.

“Aye, he’s here,” the innkeeper answered. “Up ’n his room.”

“Which room?”

The man crossed his beefy arms and stared icily down at Lucien. Clearly, he had no intention of sharing that information with a stranger, even one who was well-dressed enough to prove he didn’t belong here.

“All right, then.” Lucien placed a second coin onto the counter. “I’d like to rent one of your private dining rooms for the rest of the afternoon.” Although he didn’t plan on being there nearly that long. “With whatever good port you can provide. Lots of it.” He placed another coin on the bar, which would more than cover the expense. “If you would be so kind as to tell Mr. Graham that I need to speak with him?”

“And who be ye?”

“The Duke of Crewe.”

The man’s eyes flared. Contritely, he removed the towel from his shoulder, tossed it onto the bar, and collected the coins. “Your Grace.” He jerked his head toward the hallway leading off the common room. “This way, sir.”

He paused in leading Lucien through the tavern only to shout out to one of the bar wenches to bring a bottle of port—the best bottle, he clarified—and a tray of food to the blue dining room. Food for quality , he stressed.

Lucien didn’t plan to be there long enough for that, either, but ordering it allowed him to increase the bill, which increased the importance of the meeting. Which meant Henry Graham wouldn’t get away.

The innkeeper showed him into the dining room, then left to personally fetch Graham.

Lucien circled the small room, made even smaller by the large table that dominated its center, and tugged off his gloves. Through the dirty window, he could see tall ships docked along the wharf, with an army of porters scurrying to load and unload each one like a colony of ants, and rows of dilapidated warehouses lining the river. Over the years, he had delved into that riverside world whenever he needed to pummel—and be pummeled—in order to tolerate the other parts of his life.

But no more. Since making love to Jess, he’d finally found the peace he’d been searching for in the boxing rings and battlefields. Now he would fight to the death to keep it.

A short rap at the door caught his attention. “Come!”

The door opened, and a bar maid nodded her head in deference as she carried in two glasses, a dusty bottle of port, and a tray of cheese, cold meats, bread, and fruit. She set them on the table, and with a sly glance that told Lucien more was for sale here than food and drink, she sashayed out.

He wasn’t at all tempted. Making love to Jess had put an end to those unsatisfying encounters, as well.

Despite himself, Lucien caved to the growling in his stomach and reached for the knife to slice up an apple. He’d been so busy since returning from Ealing that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. Between visits to East India House, he’d sandwiched in a flurry of meetings. First with his accountant to find out how his accounts and business interests were doing so far this year and how he could funnel off some of the profits into charitable donations. His accountant nearly fell out of his chair, then proceeded to gape like a fish when Lucien gave him a list of over a dozen charities and foundations he wanted to send donations to, including the Foundling Hospital—this time, all of them would know the name of their benefactor. Shout my name from the nearest church tower , Lucien instructed the man. Hell, donate to the church, too…

At that, the stunned accountant slid right out of his chair and onto the floor.

Lucien chuckled at the memory of the look on the man’s face. Who knew that turning good might be such devilish fun?

Then, there was his solicitor. That meeting came at midnight last night, during another night when Lucien knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Fortunately, the man understood his whims and graciously arrived at Brixton House long after the rest of London was asleep. Lucien wanted to wrap up loose ends regarding Ealing that should have been taken care of years ago. He asked the man to transfer the deed for the farm to Mr. and Mrs. Porter, with the caveat that they could not sell it, rent it, nor move out as long as Phillip was alive and under their care; once it was no longer Phillip’s home, then it would be theirs to do with as they pleased. Then he had the solicitor set up a separate trust for Phillip to make certain he and the Porters would be supported if anything happened to Lucien. To fund it, Lucien ordered that all his personal assets be placed within it. Those properties and accounts were completely separate from the dukedom and could not be touched by the Crown, even if the dukedom were attainted and the Grenier family lost it completely. It wasn’t a lot—the late duke had already sold off most of those properties years ago to fund his illegal activities—but Lucien hoped it would be enough.

Another knock sounded at the door.

“Come,” he ordered around the bite of apple.

A tall, lanky man with dark blond hair and unassuming clothing stuck his head inside the room. He glanced at Lucien with a puzzled frown, as if he couldn’t have possibly been given the correct message that a duke wanted to speak with him. “Your Grace?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Lucien muttered and spit out the apple piece onto the floor. “Are you Henry Graham?”

“Yes, sir.” Trepidation darkened his expression. “Miller said you wanted to speak with me.”

“I do. Have a seat.” He pointed the paring knife at a chair across the table from him and arched a brow. “You’ll want to be sitting down for this.”

Graham hesitated, but he did as Lucien asked.

Lucien waved the knife at the port. “Help yourself.”

Graham flicked his gaze to the bottle but didn’t reach for it, then narrowed his gaze on Lucien. “What do you want, Your Grace? I can’t speak on behalf of the East India Company until I reach Calcutta, so if you’re hoping for—”

“Did you have intimate relations with Miss Amanda St Claire?” he demanded, bluntly. There was no point in dragging this out.

Graham’s mouth fell open, stunned. Then he slammed it shut and crossed his arms, the initial shock replaced by anger. “How dare you? Miss St Claire is a good woman whose character is beyond reproach.” His jaw worked hard. “You, sir, are a cad to insinuate—”

“Then let me put it this way.” Lucien leveled a hard gaze across the table on Graham and pointed the knife directly at him. “You did have intimate relations with Miss St Claire, and since she has no male relatives to defend her honor, you’re now stuck dealing with me.”

“What business is it of yours?” He clenched his hands into fists, but the man was smart enough to know not to attack. Despite Graham’s height, Lucien could drop him to the floor with a single punch.

“I have an interest in the St Claire family, you might say.” He poured two glasses of port and slid one across the table to Graham. “My future is tied to yours.”

He snorted a disbelieving laugh. “I can’t imagine that my feelings for Miss St Claire have any impact whatsoever on a duke.”

“You’d be surprised.” Lucien reached for his glass and sank onto a chair. “There’s no easy way to break this news except to say that Miss St Claire is a wonderful woman and will make an even more wonderful wife…and mother.” Lucien lifted his glass in a toast. “Congratulations, Mr. Graham. You’re about to become a father. But first, we have to make you into a husband.”

Graham’s eyes shot open as wide as saucers. “Amanda is… expecting ?”

Lucien felt a stab of sympathy for the man. He’d had no idea of her situation. “Yes.”

Lucien held his breath and waited for him to deny it, to ask what proof Lucien had that the baby was his—God knew Lucien would have done exactly that himself only a few weeks earlier if someone had delivered that same news to him.

“She never told me,” Graham said quietly instead, staring down at the glass of port but not reaching for it. “I told her—that is, I made her promise that if…” He swallowed, so hard the vein in his neck pulsed. “She broke off with me, refused to see me—begged me to take the new post in Calcutta, said it was for the best since she had to go north to help with her relatives.” His mouth screwed up with a mix of betrayal and foolishness. “To help a cousin who was going to have a baby and needed her help.” He bit back a low curse. “And I believed her.”

“You had no reason not to,” Lucien assured him. “The St Clair women can be very…”

“Persuasive?”

Lucien smiled with pride as he thought of Jess. “Devious.”

“But why—why would Amanda do that?” He searched Lucien’s face for answers. “Why would she keep something like this from me?”

“Because she loves you. So much, in fact, that she didn’t want to interfere with your career.” He helped himself to a large dose of port and wished Graham would do the same. This conversation would be a lot easier if both of them were foxed. “She knows how important this opportunity in India will be for you, and she knows that you would never have accepted the position if you knew about the baby. You would have done the right thing and stayed in London to marry her.”

“I would have. I love her.”

“Truly?” Lucien popped a piece of boiled beef into his mouth and said around chews, “Amanda’s in London. I can take you to her right now. She can explain everything, and you can be married by special license within the fortnight.” Carefully gauging the man’s reaction, he added, “But you’ll miss your ship. Are you willing to stay in London and put Amanda and your child above your career?”

Graham’s gaze strayed out the window toward the docks, and his shoulders slumped. He murmured, as if to himself, “If I miss that ship, I’ll lose my position with the Company.”

Lucien’s chest tightened. He’d begun to believe Graham was a good and honorable man who would never have left Amanda in her predicament had he known. Was Lucien wrong about him? He asked carefully, “And you’d rather have your position than a life in London with a wife and child?”

“Of course not!” Graham shoved himself away from the table and began to pace.

Lucien really wished the man had snatched up a glass of port for liquid comfort. He grimaced. Leave it to his future sister-in-law to fall in love with a teetotaler.

“But I’ll have no way to support us if I stay in England, and I refuse to allow Amanda and our baby to be exposed to the hardships of India. So what am I supposed to do?” He halted, placed both hands on the table, and leaned over them toward Lucien, shaking his head at the impossibility of his position. “What kind of husband would I be if I can’t even feed and house my wife and child? She deserves better.”

“Yes, she does,” Lucien muttered as he studied Graham over the rim of his glass. “However, I might have a solution.”

Graham straightened. “Which is?”

“I need an assistant, a man I can trust to carry out a very special project for me, one that requires complete confidentiality and unwavering determination.” Lucien thoughtfully swirled his port. “I think you might do nicely in that position, but the project might take years to complete. Of course, I’ll provide a wage comparable to the salary you would have had in India, along with living accommodations for you and your family, both here in London and on my estate, for those times when you might have to travel into the countryside on business. Interested?”

“Very much so.” Graham’s shoulders eased down as the weight of the world lifted from them. “But are you truly serious?”

“Deadly so.”

Graham nodded. “Then when do I start?”

Lucien stood and gestured toward the door. “Right now.”