Page 7 of A Virgin to Tempt the Duke

Anna watched something move across his face, as if she could see the wheels turning. He looked again at her wrist, then back up at her face. The voices were closing in on them, but he was already moving.

“Rachel.” He gestured toward the far door, the one that connected to what Anna assumed was a library. “Take her in there. Now.”

“Frederi—”

“Now, Rachel.”

She nodded and gently guided Anna. They moved quickly through the door, into the cooler dark of the library, the sound of the crackling fire receding behind them. Rachel drew the door nearly closed, leaving just a sliver of light.

They stood together in the shadows.

On the other side of the door, Anna heard the Duke’s unhurried footsteps, and then the morning room door opening, and then his voice. It was entirely transformed into something smooth and impenetrable, the voice of a man receiving callers in his own house on a perfectly ordinary morning.

“Lord Edgeware,” he greeted. “Birchall.”

CHAPTER 3

“Gentlemen. I would say this is unexpected, but I find I am rarely surprised by anything before nine o’clock.” Frederick kept his voice warm, because warmth was a useful instrument with lesser men. “What can I do for you?”

His gaze moved between the men and something in him went still. Not the stillness of calm, but the other kind. The kind that came before a decision had been made, but after it had been reached.

“Your Grace.” Birchall’s voice was suave, unhurried. “I apologize for the early intrusion. My bride—the Viscount’s cousin, you see—appears to have gone astray. We were married at St. Clement’s just this morning, and she became distressed during the journey. She left the carriage at an inn on the Oxford Road.” A pause, weighted and deliberate. “She was seen, by more than one witness, riding in this very direction.”

“I see.” He heard his own voice, steady and faintly curious, as though Birchall had mentioned something mildly interestingover cordials. “And have you evidence that she came here, to my home, specifically?”

“Lady Rachel has been my cousin’s closest friend for the past year.” Jonathan’s voice had an edge to it, defensive, slightly too fast. “If Lady Birchall was going anywhere, it would be here. I know my cousin.”

Frederick stared blankly at him. He did not let his thoughts reach his face. No more than he ever had.

“I’m certain you do,” he said flatly. “She is still not here.”

“Perhaps you might call Lady Rachel down?” Birchall, pleasant as ever, asked. “It is possible that?—”

“It is not,” he said, his voice sharp.

“Your Grace, if I could please?—”

“Lord Birchall.” Frederick tilted his head very slightly and raised an eyebrow. “I know everything that takes place in this household. I make it my business to. If a bride in a wedding dress, having ridden from the Oxford Road, had arrived at my door this morning, I would be aware of it.” A pause. “Lady Birchall is not here. I have now said so three times, by my count. I would prefer not to say it a fourth.”

Birchall smiled, but it was a different smile now. The pleasantness was dropping away, and something moredesperate was taking its place. “All the same… I wonder, Your Grace, if you might permit us to?—”

“No.”

“A brief look, simply to?—”

“No.”

The smile stayed, but something behind it hardened. Frederick watched the recalibration happen in real time and found it entirely unsurprising. Birchall was a man who had exhausted his subtler options and concluded that a duke was simply another obstacle to be moved around.

“She may be here without your knowledge.” Birchall stepped forward, not far, but deliberately. He squared his shoulders back and looked Frederick square in the eye. “A friend concealing a friend. It would not be the first time. I am simply asking to satisfy myself that?—”

“You are not asking anything.” Frederick’s voice dropped, rather than rose. “You are standing in my house, demanding you walk through it as you see fit. I want to be certain I have understood you correctly. Because I would not like to misrepresent your position to my solicitor.”

Birchall went very still.

Silence was among the most efficient instruments Frederick had. People filled it with their own discomfort before they could stop themselves. He waited until Birchall had felt the full weight of it. Then he looked at Edgeware.

“You were at that altar this morning,” Frederick said. “At some point during the proceedings, I imagine it became apparent that your cousin did not wish to be there. Otherwise, she would not be missing.”