The Duke's Men [1] What the Duke Desires (3 page)

“I’m not going anywhere, Mrs. Bonnaud. The first place Tristan would come is here,
if only to tell you of Father’s passing.” George stared at her with the lazy arrogance
that made them all hate him. “So I’ll make this simple enough for even a French whore
to understand. Either tell me where Tristan is, or vacate this cottage by first light
tomorrow.”

As Dom cursed under his breath, Lisette spat, “You can’t do that!”

“I most certainly can.” George glanced at Maman. “Do you have this month’s rent?”

“Of course not,” she said, her face now ashen. “Ambrose owns it.”

“
Owned
it. My father is dead, remember?” George said coldly. “So now the cottage belongs
to me, and I require rent. Can you pay it? Because if you can’t, I have the right
to evict you.” He smiled his bullying smile. “Hell, I have the right to evict you
anyway. Especially since you’ve been harboring a thief.”

Dom stepped forward. “Show some mercy, George. They’re still reeling from the news
of Father’s death. We all are. Allow them time to grieve, to get through the funeral
and the reading of the will.”

“I hope you’re not siding with them, brother mine,” George said acidly as his horse
danced back and forth. “Because there’s nothing in Father’s will for you. He wrote
it shortly after I was born, and he hasn’t changed it since.”

Judging from Dom’s sharp intake of breath, he hadn’t known that. “That can’t be true,”
he ground out.

“Consult with Father’s solicitor if you don’t believe me. He’s been trying to get
Father to update his will for years.” George cast his brother a smug smile. “So I
suggest you figure out whose side you’re on. Because I’m more than willing to be generous
to my
legitimate
brother and give him what Father neglected to leave to him legally. Or . . .”

His malevolent pause made Lisette’s blood run cold.

“Or?” Dom prodded.

“I can end your future career as a barrister just like that.” He snapped his fingers.
“If you help them hide Tristan from me, you won’t get a penny of Father’s fortune—no
allowance, no property, nothing. And you’ll find it very difficult to continue studying
law without money.”

Despair gripped Lisette. Dom’s life would be over before it even started. He hadn’t
agreed to that when he’d agreed to help Tristan.

“How can I hide him from you when I have no idea where he is?” Dom said with a calm
mien, though she could feel the tension in him.

George frowned. “Be very careful what choice you make, little brother. I mean it when
I say I will cut you off.”

A heartbreaking look of pure betrayal crossed Dom’s face. “You really did burn that
codicil, didn’t you?”

The color drained from George’s face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I heard that Father wrote a codicil to his will on his deathbed that provided for
all of us, including me. And you burned it.”

“Aha!” George leaned forward in the saddle. “You
do
know where Tristan is. Otherwise, you wouldn’t—” He broke off with a chagrined expression.

“Have heard about the codicil?” Triumph lit Dom’s gaze. “I thought you didn’t know
what I was talking about.”

George wasn’t about to let anything so inconvenient as the truth stop him from his
course. “Don’t try your legal tricks on me, little brother. You’re not a barrister
yet, and I’m not admitting anything. Where is he, damn you?”

“I told you. I have no idea.”

“You’re lying.”

“So are you,” Dom bit out.

“You can’t prove that. You have only the word of a worthless thieving bastard who
has nothing to lose by slandering me.”

“And you can’t prove that I know where he is.”

“I don’t need proof. I’m the heir. My law is absolute.” He tightened his fist on the
reins. “So are you with me, little brother? Or with
them
? Because if you choose them, I swear I’ll leave you with nothing.”

Lisette held her breath. Even the horses seemed to halt their fidgeting, waiting for
Dom’s answer.

He stared at George for a long, hard moment. Then he turned to offer Lisette his arm.
“Come, sister. It appears we will have to pack your and your mother’s belongings before
tomorrow.”

Shock lined George’s face. Then he narrowed his gaze. “Fine. You’ve made your choice.
Tell Tristan that your ruin is on
his
head.” Whirling his gelding toward
the other men, he barked, “Search the house! Search the fields and moors and every
inch of land between here and the sea! He must be here somewhere!”

As his men rushed into the house, Lisette said, “Dom, you shouldn’t—”

“Keep quiet until they’re gone, dear girl,” he whispered. “Then we’ll talk.”

He was right to be cautious, but it took all her restraint not to protest as Hucker
pawed through her closet, and the others turned furniture upside down, ignoring Maman’s
French curses. Hucker was smoking his vile Spanish cigarillos, and the thought of
the sickening scent permeating her clothes was almost more than she could bear.

Battered by the day’s events, Lisette wanted to scream at them, but there was no point.
Nothing would ever be the same anyway. Papa was gone. There’d be no more lazy breakfasts
with him reading funny parts of the paper aloud or regaling them with stories about
his latest trip. No more walks along the cliffs at Flamborough Head with him and Maman.
No more nights staring up at the stars with Dom and Tristan.

Tears burned her eyes again. How would she bear it? And what was to become of them
without Papa?

It didn’t take long for George’s men to figure out that Tristan wasn’t inside. As
soon as they’d left to check the surrounding property, Maman approached Dom with a
look of worry. “My boy, you mustn’t do this. George will leave you penniless for certain.
Your father wouldn’t want that.”

“You’d rather I give Tristan over to him?”

“Of course not, but perhaps if you reason with George—”

“You saw how well that worked.”

Maman frowned. “What if Tristan gave him the money he got for the horse? Surely George
couldn’t . . . wouldn’t have his own brother hanged. Would he?”

“He could and would, I’m afraid. If he’s willing to trample over the wishes of our
dead father, he’ll do anything.” Dom gazed out the window to where George was spurring
his men on in the search. “Besides, I suspect that even if I were cruel enough to
hand Tristan over, it would gain me little except a lifetime of slavery to George.
He’d use the bludgeon of his fortune time and again to require my compliance with
whatever scheme he concocts, and I refuse to live like that.”

“But how
will
you live?” Lisette asked. Dom was her brother, too. She didn’t want him to suffer.

Dom chucked her under the chin. “I’m a grown man, dear girl. I can take care of myself.
My legal education may not have progressed far enough to gain me a position as a clerk
or solicitor, but I have a friend in the Bow Street Runners who might hire me on the
strength of it.” He broadened his gaze to include Maman. “I’m more concerned with
how you three will live.”

Maman squared her shoulders. “We shall slip away with Tristan to my family in Toulon.”

Dom frowned. “That means leaving everything behind.”

“Not everything,” Maman corrected him. “I have my
children. Besides, my possessions were bought for me by your papa, so George will
claim that they belong to the estate anyway.” She tipped up her chin. “I won’t have
any accusation of thievery laid upon
my
head. Or Lisette’s. We will take our clothes, that is all.”

“But how will you live in France?” Dom asked.

“I can find a position as an actress again.” She tilted her head coyly. “I am still
young and pretty enough for that, no?”

Dom smiled at her show of vanity. “Yes. And you have whatever money Tristan got for
the horse.”

“He shouldn’t keep it,” Maman whispered.

“Ah, but he should. Father wanted him to have it.” Dom turned pensive. “At least we
know that Father
meant
to do right by us all, even if George thwarted him in the end.”

The shadow of grief that darkened his face made Lisette feel sorry for him. “Papa
should have put you in his will. It was very wrong of him not to.”

“You know how he was, always off somewhere exploring a new city or island or lake.”
An edge entered Dom’s voice. “He had no time for things like family responsibilities.”

“Do not blame him too much,” Maman said. “He might not have been good at such things,
but he did love you.” Her gaze stretched to include Lisette. “He loved you both very
much.”

That started Maman crying again, and she left to find a handkerchief. After she was
gone, Lisette whispered, “Yes, he loved us. Just not enough.”

That was the trouble with relying on a man to save you. Men were unreliable. Papa . . .
George . . . Even Tristan had made matters worse with his anger. Of the important
men in her life, only one had always done the right thing—and much as Dom wanted to
help, even he could do little more than pack them off to France.

Maman had been wrong to place her faith in Papa. All it had gained her was grief for
her and her children.

Lisette dashed away fresh tears. Well, she would never be so foolish. First chance
she got, she would make her own way in this world, no matter what it took. She wasn’t
going through this kind of betrayal ever again.

T
HERE WASN’T A
single letter from Tristan in the whole lot.

As the misty morning brightened to a less gloomy gray, Lisette tossed the mail onto
the desk in Dom’s study. Typical. When she’d left Paris, Tristan had promised to write
her once a week. But though he’d started out well, two months had now passed without
so much as a line from him.

She was torn between worry over what had stopped the flow of letters, and a desire
to string her feckless brother up by his toes and let
him
see what it was like to be left hanging.

“Are you sure you don’t want to accompany me to Edinburgh on this case?” Dom asked.
“You could take notes for me.”

Lisette looked over to see her half brother lounging in the doorway. At thirty-one
he was leaner and harder than when they were young, and he now had a scar across his
cheek that he wouldn’t talk about, which
came from God knew where. But he was still in her camp.

Most of the time. She scowled. Sometimes he could be as bad as Tristan.

Ever since Dom had fetched her here from France six months ago, she’d worked hard
to turn his rented town house into a home. Just because it also served as the office
for Manton’s Investigations didn’t mean it had to feel cold and impersonal. But what
had her efforts got her? Nothing but another
man
to govern her behavior.

Sitting back in the chair, she lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t need me to take notes—you
remember everything word for word.”

“But you’re better at descriptions than I am. You notice things about people that
I don’t.”

She rolled her eyes. “I will only go if you let me do more than describe things and
make you tea.”

He eyed her warily. “Like what?”

“Interview witnesses. Follow suspects. Carry a pistol.”

To his credit, he didn’t laugh. Tristan would have laughed. And then tried,
again
, to find her a suitable husband from among his swaggering soldier friends in Paris,
who acted as if a half-English bastard like her should be grateful for every crumb
of their attention.

Instead, Dom eyed her consideringly as he came into the room. “Do you even know how
to use a pistol?”

“Yes. Vidocq showed me.” Only once, before Tristan put a stop to the lessons, but
Dom needn’t know that.

He was already cursing Eugène Vidocq, the former head of the French secret police.
“I can’t believe our brother allowed you anywhere near that scoundrel.”

She shrugged. “We needed the money. And Vidocq needed someone at the Sûreté Nationale
whom he could trust to organize all his index cards containing descriptions of criminals.
It was a good position.”

And to her surprise, she’d enjoyed it. After Maman’s death three years ago, when Lisette
had moved to Paris to live with Tristan, she’d craved useful work to take her mind
off her grief. Vidocq had offered it to her. She’d learned about investigating crimes
from him. Vidocq had even proposed hiring her as an agent for the Sûreté, as he’d
done with other women, but Tristan had refused to allow it.

She snorted. Tristan thought it perfectly fine for
him
to be an agent for the Sûreté all these years, but his sister was to be kept wrapped
in cotton until she found a husband. Which got more unlikely by the year. She was
already twenty-six, for pity’s sake!

“What is your answer, Dom?” she prodded her half brother. “If I go with you, will
you let me do more than take notes?”