Page 62 of Any Duke in a Storm

Briefly, she wondered if Thornbury had sold the residence he’d had constructed around the same time that William Astor had built his brownstone home on Thirty-Fourth Street. Before he’d become duke, Valentine had loved that place, which was why she was hoping beyond hope that he’d kept it, despite living in Scotland and London. She was taking a big gamble, consideringValentine’s marriage and the fact that his wife might impact his decisions. Otherwise, she would look quite the fool showing up at a stranger’s house.

“It’s just over there on the left, past dear Lina’s,” she said.

Carr’s face twisted with ill-concealed rancor but he hid it quickly. Lisbeth huffed a small laugh. The way Caroline Astor flaunted both her money and her name would offend anyone with half a brain. She was by all accounts one of the biggest snobs Lisbeth had ever met and the self-appointed pinnacle of New York high society. Her servants wore court livery, she fed her guests on gold plates, and her elite parties were the subject of every newssheet in existence. And she adored Valentine, more so since he’d become duke.

When the coach stopped, Lisbeth descended gracefully. “Thank you, Mr. Carr, we are most obliged.” The stone-faced man watched her carefully, but she ignored the awful feeling his attention provoked. “Come along, darling,” she said to Thorin, taking his arm to ascend the steps.

The door opened before she could knock, and the familiar face of the butler made her stomach dip with sweet relief. “Barnaby, wonderful to see you!”

The older man, who had been employed by Valentine for years and knew quite a bit about their clandestine operations back in the day, did not miss a beat, eyes flicking to the stern-faced entourage on the street. “Lady Waterstone.”

“Is the duke in residence?” she asked. “This is the Earl of Rennard.”

“I don’t use that name,” Thorin whispered from the side of his mouth, but she glared him back into silence.

“Welcome to the club of defunct, disgraced, and discarded titles. Until the laws of primogeniture change, you can refuse your birthright all you want, but it will still be yours.”

“Lord Rennard.” Barnaby held the door open and welcomed them inside. “Will your other visitors be joining us?”

“Oh, no,” she said with an airy wave to the agents, lifting her voice slightly so it would carry. “They insisted on delivering my fiancé and me here, you see. Quite generous though unnecessary of them.”

When the door closed behind them, Lisbeth nearly collapsed against it with a loud groan. “Barnaby, you clever, clever man. How are you? It’s been an age, but you look marvelous.”

The butler gave her a doting grin. “Thank you, my lady, as do you. I have been perfectly well. May I offer you a glass of brandy while I alert the staff to ready the Rose Rooms?”

Between the debacle with the dresses, her interlude with Raphael, and the silent standoff with Agent Carr, she was absolutely ready for a glass of brandy. She nodded and then frowned at the rarely used suite of rooms on the third floor. “Rose Rooms?”

He canted his head. “With His Grace and the duchess in residence, your previous apartments are occupied.”

Wait. Thornbury was here? And Bronwyn, too? Whatwere the chances? Not that she was looking a gift horse in the mouth, but she also did not want her cover to be compromised by an errant slip of the tongue. “Yes, of course,” she said to Barnaby and then glanced up at the polished staircase. “Are either of them at home to callers?”

“They are not, right at the moment,” Barnaby said in a tone that suggested the couple might be at home, but indisposed. Lisbeth hid a smirk at the thought of the very serious, very stern Duke of Thornbury, former fearsome spymaster, being put through his paces by his feisty, young wife. He deserved to have some fun in his life.

“We shall wait in the—”

But her words were interrupted when a well-familiar, all-too-mocking laugh greeted her. “Well, well, well. What have we here?”

“Val,” she said, staring up at the man who had been her best friend for so many years, and the beautiful woman he’d married leaning over the balustrade.

They both looked as though they’d tumbled out of bed and thrown on the closest garments they could find. Valentine’s waistcoat buttons were mismatched and Bronwyn’s dark hair was practically a bird’s nest. Lisbeth grinned. Good to see that they were still infatuated with each other. She’d heard scandalous rumors of their adventurous trysts before their marriage and had struggled to believe the straitlaced Valentine could be so brazen. Now, she revised that opinion.

He looked…happy.

“Causing trouble?” Valentine asked, as Bronwynbounded down the steps with no thought to propriety whatsoever and enveloped Lisbeth into an exuberant embrace.

Lisbeth laughed, hugging the woman back. “Always.”

“How long has it been?” Bronwyn shrieked. “At least since the wedding. Where have you been anyway? You look well. Glowing, I would say.” She frowned and looked over Lisbeth’s shoulder. “Is that…? Are you? I beg your pardon, but did I overhear you say ‘fiancé’ before?” She released Lisbeth with a noise of surprise as she turned to Thorin. “Gracious, Lord Rennard, I nearly did not recognize you,” she exclaimed as her husband joined them.

Thorin bowed. “It is, but I do not go by that address anymore. Just Thorin will do. I’d heard word of your nuptials during my travels, Your Graces. May I offer my belated congratulations.”

Lisbeth winced. Reports of his estrangement with his father had been the talk of London several years ago, but Lisbeth hadn’t realized that Thorin had cut off all contact. Or fully renounced his birthright. Now she felt badly for reminding him about the pillars of primogeniture.

“What brings you both to New York?” Valentine asked. “Are you traveling?”

The inflection on the last was subtle, but Lisbeth nodded. “Funny story actually,” she replied with a weary laugh, wondering where on earth she could possibly start without unraveling the whole thing. “And one best told over a glass or several of the strongest, most expensive liquor you have.”

“That can be arranged.”

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