Beguiled by a Baron (The Heart of a Duke Book 14)(8)

Wordlessly, he pulled out two items. First, he slid a one hundred pound note across the table. Then he fingered a special cloth sack he’d had made to shield and protect items he acquired. Vail stood. “Do not ever attempt to renege on a deal with me.” He spoke those words as a lethal threat. “I do not take to being made a fool.”

“My apologies, Chilton,” Derby stammered, scrambling to his feet. “I-I’m still able to come bid, then? I’ve more items to sell you in the meantime. If you’d care to—”

“This is all I’ve a need for now.” Never let a person know one’s interest or eagerness. Let a person present the item for bid, then feign disinterest, and walk away…and then later strike the terms of an agreement that fit one’s own desiring. Not bothering with another glance for the man, Vail marched the same path he’d traveled a short while ago and took his leave.

Once outside, he searched the streets, looking not for his mount, but—

His gaze landed on his black lacquer carriage emblazoned with the gold Chilton falcon. With its wings spread and talons curled, he was a predator about to pounce. It was an ideal symbol he’d inherited that perfectly matched the role of hunter he’d adopted. Vail stalked over to that conveyance. Everything about his meetings in King Street was perfectly orchestrated: from Jeremy who collected his reins, to the guards, attired as a driver and footman who returned and traded out Vail’s mount for the carriage to escort him home.

“My lord,” Ernest greeted, a question in his eyes.

Vail inclined his head in the silent, universal statement they’d adopted which confirmed everything had been met without conflict. Book in one arm, Vail climbed inside the carriage and, as the conveyance rolled away from the Coaxing Tom, he leaned back and relished his thrilling triumph over the nobility.





Chapter 3


“Oh, Lady Bridget, I do not like this. I still don’t like it at all,” Nettie repeated, wringing her hands.

There was something frustrating in going through life banished by one’s parents, spurned by one’s siblings, and not known by anyone in Society. Yet, to have the one woman who’d cared for you since your birth unable to, all these years later, refer to you with only your name went beyond that frustration.

Lady Bridget.

“I know that, Nettie,” she said softly, surveying the rooms she’d rented in London. Bridget didn’t like any of it. From the scheme her brother demanded she play part in, to the accommodations they’d call home for the next…however long it took her to obtain that book.

She studied the dirt-stained lead windows, the water stains upon the ceiling, and the discolored furnishings, and sighed. In all the times she’d dreamed of leaving the countryside and exploring the city of London, she’d never expected this would be where she and Virgil would reside. Only it wasn’t her. It would just be her son and Nettie. Her heart constricted at the thought of being parted from him.

Tucked away on the outskirts of Piccadilly, in a townhouse that was dark, dank, and damp, there was no other place she wished to be but back in their small, familiar cottage.

“A waste of resources this one is,” the graying, lifelong nursemaid muttered.

“Yes.” But at the end of this deception, there would be coin enough to free her of the manipulation at Archibald’s hands. And there’d be enough money to last her, Virgil, and Nettie well into the future. “It is just for a short while.”

Nettie tightened her mouth. “I don’t understand what manner of man would expect you to take up residence in his household, all to evaluate books.”

A dull blade of guilt twisted inside. For that was the lie she’d given this woman who’d made her entire life—hers and then Virgil’s.

“It’s not natural, I say,” the woman said in hushed tones. “I don’t care if he’s one of those bookish scholars you deal with. They’re wicked ones, too.”

Warmth suffused her breast. The older woman might only ever refer to her as Lady Bridget, but Bridget had been invisible to her parents. Nettie had been far more a mother than had she given Bridget life. It was a bond she appreciated even more since she’d become a parent to Virgil. She wrapped her arms about the other woman’s shoulders and squeezed. “I daresay there’s no scholarly scoundrel with wicked intentions for a partially deaf, scarred widow,” she said pragmatically. She was a woman of logic and reason. As such, she’d never given much worrying or regret to her appearance. It was a thing that could not be changed and certainly not a reason she’d ever want one to notice her.

Nettie swatted at her hand. “Don’t speak ill of yourself.”

Bridget bussed her nursemaid on a wrinkled cheek. “You know I only ever speak the truth. I hardly have any vanity where things such as my looks should ever matter.”

“Humph, the only reason some gent hasn’t absconded with you is because you’ve been hidden away for your whole life.”

Repressing a smile, Bridget gave Nettie’s shoulders another light squeeze. The nursemaid may as well be a proud mama for how she’d always spoken of her. “Well, I promise, I shan’t run off anywhere unless I have you and Virgil with me.”

“Where are we going?”

They both looked up as Virgil skidded into the room.