Page 6 of Stolen By the Cruel Duke
Ten years ago, when Phineas was just a lad of fifteen, his parents had died in a tragic carriage robbery. Afterward, Lord Carfield took advantage of Phineas’s grief and naivete by stealing the Eavestone seal and forging documents granting him ownership of the dukedom’s coal-rich lands.
For ten years, Phineas had been plotting to get the lands back. And now, here he was, presented with the chance to own part of the business that should have been his. Lord Carfield was offering it up, with only the condition that he marry his daughter. It felt suspicious. More than suspicious. It felt like a trick.
Unless… unless Lord Carfield knew how close Phineas was to taking him down.
Unless he was trying to tie their assets together, to disincentivize Phineas to ruin the venture he himself had a stake in.
Unless he wanted his daughter close to Phineas, perhaps have her try to get close to him, so he would feel some loyalty toward her family.
Phineas almost smiled. Almost.
It was too good. After all these years, the Viscount Carfield was scared ofhim. So scared that he was willing to give up a portion of his profits, and his daughter, to keep him at bay.
Well, two could play that game.
“I find your premise insulting,” Phineas began, setting the paper back on the desk. “I don’t want a percentage of your mines. I do not need to be bought off in order to do the honorable thing. I will marry your daughter because it is the right thing to do. Her dowry will be sufficient. However, I do ask that it reflect the accurate sum you owe me.”
Reaching for the quill that sat in an inkpot on the desk, Phineas crossed the percentage that the solicitor had written and wrote in a new number. He then slid the paper back across the desk to Lord Carfield.
The Viscount’s face went from pink to a bright vermillion red as he stared down at the new sum.
“Are you out of your mind?” he hissed, slamming his fist down on the desk. “This number is outrageous! It’s?—”
“The exact amount the lands you stole from me were valued at,” Phineas finished for him. “Adjusted for inflation, of course.”
Both men stared at each other, a shiver of understanding passing between them.
“I will not be manipulated,” Lord Carfield snapped. “Not by the man who may or may not have taken liberties with my daughter.”
Phineas merely smiled. He could feel the man’s control over the situation slipping. If the Viscount refused to give the sum Phineas had demanded, then his daughter and family name would be ruined. If he accepted it, then he would be forfeiting the money he’d saved by stealing the land in the first place.
Lord Carfield, however, surprised him. Standing up, he leaned over the desk, until his face was uncomfortably close to Phineas’s. “Your arrogance has once again gotten the better of you, Your Grace. There will be no betrothal, not with these conditions. I will find another way to ensure you compensate me for the ruination of my daughter’s reputation. Now, get out of my sight.”
Phineas gave him his most disdainful look as he rose to his feet. “Happily, My Lord. But may I suggest you think this over? After all, I have nothing to lose from your daughter’s disgrace. You, on the other hand, have everything to lose.”
As he left the Viscount’s library, Phineas felt sure that he had bested his old enemy at his own game. In fact, he was so caught up in his victory that he did not notice the swish of a skirt as someone disappeared around the corner.
Chapter Three
“Iris Crampton, what have you gotten yourself into now?”
Iris couldn’t help but ask the question out loud as she slipped out the door of her father’s townhouse. It was ludicrous, really. After dressing in the simplest frock she could find and donning an old white cap she had secretly borrowed from her maid’s bedroom, she had waited until noon, when her father typically took his nap, her sisters were at their pianoforte lessons, and the servants were having their lunch, before sneaking out of her bedroom. She went down the servants’ stairs on tiptoe and then snuck out of the back of the house and out into the alleyway between the lanes.
“You’ve really lost your mind,” she muttered to herself as she turned out of the alley and into Grosvenor Square.
At this time of day, the square was quiet. Most ladies slept late and were only breakfasting now. In an hour or two, they would call on friends and acquaintances, and the sidewalk would bebusier. Iris would have to be back home before then. But even if someone were to see her, she doubted they would recognize her dressed as a servant. No one paid any attention to maids, especially when they would likely assume she was out on an errand.
This would have been so much faster with a carriage!
It wasn’t a long walk to Berkeley Square, but she was nervous the whole way. Every time she passed someone, she kept her head down and skirted around them. In servants’ clothes, however, no one looked twice at her, and soon, she had arrived safely at the Duke of Eavestone’s townhouse.
Iris had never been to Eavestone House before, but she knew the address. Two years ago, she’d attended a ball at the Earl of Scrampton’s house across the square. Lady Scrampton, after several glasses of champagne, had pointed out the Duke’s house and stage-whispered that he was as terrifying in person as the scandal sheets insinuated.
Now, Iris hesitated before she knocked on the door. The Duke would not be expecting her, and from everything she’d heard, he could have a nasty temper. But she didn’t know what choice she had, and so, steeling herself, she knocked sharply on the ornate front door.
Several long moments passed before the door creaked open. An aging butler appeared on the threshold, frowning down at her.
“Can I help you?” he inquired.
