Page 5 of The Duke of Deceit

The men broke into raucous laugher.

Christ.Lucien pulled in a deep breath and cast a longing glance after the attendant. He needed averygenerous pour.

“Theon ditregarding my newfound goodness is mistaken,” Lucien said, wiping his hand down his sleeves to futilely fling away the rainwater. “I haven’t made a donation to the Foundling Hospital and have no intention of making one. You know me.” He swiped his hands over his thighs. His trousers were just as soaked as his waistcoat. “I only spend money when it benefits me. Or amuses me.” He gave a grin he didn’t feel. “Either way, it’s always aboutme, certainly not orphans or foundlings.”

“Ah, but giving money to unwanted brats is exactly the sort of thing that might amuse you,” Merchant-Fox countered. “That is, to bring attention to how many of them come from aristocratic seed—”

“Then watch the pride of Westminster scramble to donate money to care for children they’re all pretending don’t exist in the first place,” Darnley finished.

Merchant-Fox pointed his cigar at Lucien. “And all of them wondering which ones areyours!”

That roused even more laughter from the men.

The realization sank over Lucien as coldly as had the rain that he couldn’t win. The more he attempted to deny any contribution to the Foundling Hospital, the more the men would believe it. Despite everything, one certainty always applied to theton’sgossips—the more improbable the story, the more they loved to spread it around. And Lucien Grenier giving significant money to unwanted children was the most improbable story to circulate in years.

The club attendant returned with his drink. Lucien snatched the glass from the man’s silver salver and turned on his heel to stomp toward the stairs. His boot landed on the first step—

“What charity will you give to next, Crewe?” Merchant-Fox called out after him. “Going to establish a Sunday school?”

“That’s giving Crewe too much credit,” Darnley objected. “He’d have to know which day of the week is Sunday.”

“Ah! But he does know,” Merchant-Fox corrected. “It’s the day when all the brothels are closed!”

Damnation.Lucien rolled his eyes and took the stairs two at a time, leaving tiny puddles behind on every other step. Irritation heated through him at being the butt of their jokes. Worse—he had no idea how anyone could have confused him with the real patron of the Foundling Hospital, whoever it was.

But he was damned well going to make it stop.

Chapter Two

Jessamyn St Clairesat in the slant of morning sunlight falling across her small desk in the drawing room and scanned her To Do list.

She let out a long sigh.Goodness,she had a lot of work ahead of her.

“You won’t succeed,” Aunt Matilda called out from her chair in front of the fireplace where she was knitting a…a…

Jess glanced up at the mess of green and purple yarn spilling out of her aunt’s lap and frowned, puzzled. Well, she had no idea what exactly Auntie was knitting, but whatever it was, Matilda was working on it with dedication.

She could certainly understand that. How many hours in the past week had she spent with her watercolors and pastels by the window in the garden room she’d converted into a studio because that spot offered the best light? How many times had she taken solace in her art over the years? She would be lost without it, both emotionally and financially. It wasn’t merely a hobby. It was her salvation.

“But Iwillsucceed,” Jess answered and returned her attention to her list. “Amanda is counting on me.”

She wouldn’t let her younger sister down, especially when she was in trouble. So Jess took up her quill and crossed out the first item on her list.

1. Send Opera Donation to the Foundling Hospital.

“I simply cannot believe your sister Amanda wants you interfering in her personal affairs like this,” Matilda muttered between the click-clack-clicks of her knitting needles.

Jess guiltily kept her gaze glued to her list. “We all must do things we don’t like in life in order to make our way.” She mumbled, “Ask any of the royal princesses.”

The click-clack-clicking stopped. Jess glanced up at the silence.

A grim expression darkened Auntie’s face. It was the same expression she’d been using against the two sisters since their mother died when they were just ten and eight, when Auntie moved in with them and their father to raise them as best she could.

Unfortunately for Auntie, her disapproving expression hadn’t worked on them then, and it didn’t work on Jess now as a grown woman.

“Amanda doesn’t know what you’re doing, does she?” Matilda asked, although her tone was more of an accusation than a question.

“She’s all the way over in Ireland.” Her eyes darted back to her list. “It’s not practical to keep her involved in every aspect of my plan.”