Page 78 of The Duke of Deceit

He paused in leading Lucien through the tavern only to shout out to one of the bar wenches to bring a bottle of port—thebestbottle, he clarified—and a tray of food to the blue dining room. Food forquality, 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 Londonwas 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. “Howdareyou? 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. “Youdidhave 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.”