Page 4 of His Unwanted Duchess

“No? Well, I am considered as something of a bluestocking in Society, so I have a great many opinions.”

“Hm. Interesting. Don’t you find that opinions only narrow your view of the world?”

She frowned. “No, of course not. Theyexpandit. We cannot possibly explore and understand the world around us without first forming our own opinions. Otherwise, we would be like… like babies, wobbling through life without understanding or even compassion.”

“Compassion?” he echoed. “Dear me, no. Such a thing only gets in the way.”

“Of courseyouwould think that,” she muttered, taking a sip of her tea. “You might not know me, but I knowyou,Your Grace. I know that they call you Duke Blackheart, and for good reason.”

Abruptly, Stephen leaned forward and down, coming almost nose-to-nose with the girl. She squeaked in surprise, flinching backward. Tea spilled out of her cup, pooling in the saucer.

“You donotknow me, Miss Haversham,” he whispered, his eyes narrowing. “You think you might. You know my nickname and some of the things I am rumored to have done. But you do not know me, and don’t ever presume to believe that you do. And despite this awful opinion you hold of me, here you are. Do you care to explainthat, my dear?”

She swallowed hard, blinking rapidly. He leaned back, a little shocked at how hard his heart was pumping. Blood pounded in his ears, pooling in his gut and threatening to descend to other areas.

Wretched woman. Spoiling my supper.

“I suppose I ought to get to the point,” she managed. “You see, I’m here because I heard that you deal in information, Your Grace. And I need… I need you to find out something.”

CHAPTER 2

Beatrice’s heart was hammering. She felt sick, although that was likely due to not eating anything all day. She’d known, after all, that she meant to come here, and that had killed her appetite quite efficiently.

She sat back in her chair, affecting nonchalance, and tried to gauge how the man opposite her was reacting to her words.

He might not have known her—or remembered her, which stung a little—but she knew him. Oh, she knew him. Just about everybody in London knew Duke Blackheart. The ladies shivered and shied away, clutching their fragile reputations to their chests like jewels.

Gentlemen tried to pretend that they didn’t care, that they weren’t afraid of him, but she had seen them. Eyes rolling like frightened horses, they scuttled out of the Duke’s way when he strode past, never glancing left or right, just presuming that others would move.

Annoyingly, they generally did. For Beatrice, who was generally below shoulder height compared to most people and had to fight her way through the crowds, that seemed remarkably unfair.

Of course, that was neither here nor there now. One might argue that the man’s height helped him move smoothly through the world. He was taller even than Anna’s Theodore, and peopledidview you differently if you towered above them. He’d certainly tried to use his height to his advantage earlier—although, of course, it had not bothered Beatrice.

I have had a lifetime of being towered over,she reminded herself.

“So, I’m a man who deals in information, eh?” the Duke remarked half to himself, cutting into her thoughts. “I’m not sure I have ever heard my occupation described like thatbefore.”

She shifted in her seat, trying to look calm and in control of the situation.

I am an educated woman. A grown woman, at that. I won’t be cowed by some leering flirt of a man. No matter how handsome he is.

Best not to dwell too long onthat. The Duke was certainly handsome, that was never to be denied, but he was also a rake, a scandalously shocking man, and notoriously cold.

“That’s one way to put it, I think,” Beatrice forced herself to say, keeping her chin up and her gaze fixed on him. She’d boasted about not being a shy, demure little debutante, and now she was going to have to make good on that promise. “Correct me if I am wrong, but you know just about everybody in Society—everybody worth knowing, that is—and you can find out anything about anybody.”

“For a price,” he added.

She swallowed hard. “For a price.”

Abruptly, he pushed off the edge of his desk and began to stroll around the room. His cup of tea lay untouched, getting cold. Beatrice drained hers—the cold had seeped into her bones, and she was suddenly ravenously hungry. To her relief, she saw a demure plate of biscuits on the tray, and she helped herself.

“Before I hear whatever little task you have for me,” he said, crossing the room to stand in front of the fire, “I should like to hear how you heard this rumor about me. About my trading ininformation. After all, it’s hardly beneficial to me ifeverybodyknows about it.”

Beatrice nearly choked on the crumbs of her biscuit. The heroines in her favorite novels—guilty pleasures, naturally—would never be caught deadeatingin front of a handsome villain. No, they would be busy swooning and making feeble but determined protestations that they would never give in. It never seemed to matterwhatthey were not giving in to.

“I believe you helped Theodore—I suppose that isHis Graceto me—discover things about that dreadful man who was so obsessed with Anna. He explained it all to Anna, and she told me about it, you see. You found out things about him—debts and vices and such—and he was able to exert his influence and have the man put in debtor’s jail, and now Anna is free.”

“Theo did not put the man in debtor’s jail,” Stephen pointed out. “The gentleman managed that himself.”

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