The Swordmaster's Mistress: Dangerous Deceptions Book Two
Louise Allen
Chapter One
March 30th 1812. London.
‘Do I have to produce a murder to keep you interested enough to stay? Are you bored without mystery and murder?’ Gareth Thorne, Duke of Calderbrook, pushed the brandy decanter towards the man sitting opposite him at the long table. ‘I don’t want to lose you – why do you feel you have to leave?’
Marriage has made Cal more open in his feelings, Jared Hunt thought. It was a long time since he had seen his friend let the controlled mask slip quite so far. Almost seven years of self-imposed exile and the knowledge that someone, or something, at the heart of his great ducal estates was trying to kill him was enough to account for any degree of reticence, let alone stifling out-and-out statements of affection for anyone. He and Cal had been as close as brothers for years, but neither had ever felt the need to speak of that bond before.
‘You are not losing me, Cal.’ Jared let his own composure slip, just a little. There were not a great many things in life that he feared, laying his soul bare was one of them. He cleared his throat. ‘I will no longer be a member of your staff, I will no longer live under your roof as one of the household. But I remain your friend, your swordmaster. It is time I trod my own path. Besides, think of the saving on the wages bill,’ he added with a smile.
Cal waved away the feeble joke. The last thing he needed to consider was making savings and they both knew it. ‘Is this because of my marriage?’
Both men glanced towards the half-open door though which they could hear Sophie, the new Duchess of Calderbrook, in energetic discussion with her mother about the latest government scandal.
‘It is not, although your life is changing, there will be a family here soon, no doubt. And Her Grace finds me… sinister. But your marriage coincided with the discovery of what was behind the accidents and illnesses of your youth and that means you no longer need someone to watch your back.’
‘You are sinister,’ Cal pointed out. ‘You enjoy being sinister. You cultivate being sinister. And enough of this Her Grace nonsense. Sophie considers you our friend now, she knows you have saved my life on more than one occasion. This is your home – why leave?’
‘Your father hired me as your swordmaster when I was nineteen. We went abroad to escape whoever – whatever – was attempting to kill you when I was twenty two. That was seven years ago. Your life is safe now, you are back home.’ He shrugged. ‘I have spent almost a quarter of my life at your side. It is time for me to move on.’
Jared tugged at the tie at the end of his tight queue of hair and let the strands unravel. He shook his head and it settled around his shoulders, loose and comfortable in a way he only allowed when he was alone or with very close friends, like this man. It was unfashionable to wear it so long, but it was his fashion, part of his carefully constructed image.
‘I forget how young you were when you first came to Calderbrook.’ Cal’s eyes had lost their focus as he looked back. ‘I was an ignorant, sheltered, sickly sixteen year-old and you were so sophisticated, so worldly-wise in my eyes.’
‘You caught up soon enough,’ Jared observed. He poured a scant finger of brandy into his glass and pushed the decanter back across the table. Sophisticated? He’d had a tough two years apprenticeship to learn to feign at least the appearance of that, sufficient to persuade the old duke to hire him to teach his son. Then those years knocking round the globe with Cal had honed both his skills and his confidence. And his ability to hide behind the mask he had created.
‘So how will you live?’ Cal demanded, frowning at him.
‘I might not have ducal wealth.’ Jared waved a hand vaguely at the hangings and the portraits and the silverware that surrounded them. ‘But I am hardly penniless. I have saved, I bought gems abroad, sent back goods to trade and invested the profits, as you know. Now I am, let me tell you, much in demand. I have a very respectable waiting list of gentlemen wanting me to school them in the art of the sword.’
‘And?’ Cal prompted, leaning forwards. ‘There’s more, I know you.’ He was interested, concerned, but Jared did not miss the flicker of his eyes towards the door, towards his wife. Yes, now was the time to leave, move on. It would be as much of a wrench as leaving home had been all those years ago, although the circumstances were considerably pleasanter.
‘I have bought a shop on Great Ryder Street and I am having it converted to give me a salle d’armes, changing rooms, office and armoury. There’s an apartment above – just liveable now, but that is being renovated also. The builders started work three days ago.’ And it was taking a great deal of self control not to be there every minute of the day gloating. Mine.
‘Why didn’t you tell me beforehand?’
‘Because you would have come up with all manner of good reasons why I shouldn’t be doing it. You’ve a hard business head and would assuredly have pinpointed something that I would have ignored. I rely more on instinct than you do, you would have spoiled my fun with common sense.’
Cal gave a snort of laughter. Relaxed now, he leaned back in his chair, waistcoat unbuttoned, glass turning idly between his fingers. ‘So, as it isn’t ready yet you’ll stay in your rooms here a little longer as our guest?’
‘Thank you, but no.’ Jared shook his head. ‘I will move out tomorrow. I need to keep an eye on things.’ And the Duke and Duchess, newly returned from their honeymoon, needed their great Town house to themselves – if one ignored a dozen or more staff.