Page 8 of Stolen By the Cruel Duke
Iris took a small sip and nearly choked. The whiskey was strong and burned her throat on the way down. Eyes stinging, she forced herself to take another sip. After a moment, she was able to appreciate the aftertaste as a warmth spread throughout her body, making her relax slightly.
“I don’t know exactly why my father wants me to spy on you,” she said after a moment. “Although he seems to think you have plans to ruin him.”
The Duke made a noncommittal sound.
“Regardless, I don’t trust him. And I don’t want to spy on you. In fact, I believe we could have our own arrangement. One that would make my father onlythinkI’m on his side.”
She reached into her reticule and produced a piece of paper. From what she’d gathered after listening in on their argument earlier, this was the contract the Duke had refused.
“I took this from my father’s office,” she explained. “But I need to return it before he notices its absence. I see here that my father offered you a stake in his mining business. Why did you refuse?”
“Because that land is mine,” the Duke replied at once. “And I won’t settle for a tiny fraction of what is my birthright.”
“Well, my father doesn’t have this much,” Iris said, pointing at the figure he had written. “At least, I very much doubt he does, considering how much he has been cutting back in recent years. But I think you and I could come to an agreement.”
The Duke made a small, impatient sound. “Such as?”
“You accept a smaller sum—not a stake in the mines, but a lump sum that will make him think you’ve agreed to his terms but that won’t bankrupt my family and drain my sister’s dowries. And in exchange for accepting less than you wanted, and for helping my sisters and me, I will help you take down my father once and for all.”
A deafening silence followed this pronouncement. If Iris had hoped to shock the Duke, she had certainly succeeded. He was staring at her with undisguised interest, and she flushed under the intensity of his gaze.
“Let me get this right,” he began slowly. “You would act as a double agent against your own father? Why?”
“Why not? He is selling me off to a man the entire tonfears without any consideration for my feelings. Why should I help someone who would do that to me?”
The Duke shrugged. “He is still your father.”
“You and I both know he is a bad man.”
It took a great deal of strength for Iris to say this. Even after everything her father had done to her, it still felt disloyal to speak of him this way to a stranger.
“I don’t know exactly what happened between you two, but I sense that you have as much reason as I do to want to stop him from hurting people.”
The Duke didn’t respond at once. Crossing the room, he poured himself another drink, which he sipped more slowly.
“And what if you are here on his behalf right now?” he asked finally, turning to face her.
“You’ll just have to trust me,” she said with a half-smile.
He didn’t return the smile. “Ah, but I don’t trust you,” he pointed out, swirling the whiskey in his glass.
“And I don’t trust you,” Iris snapped. “But what choice do we have?”
“Well, I have a very easy one,” he offered. “I could refuse you now, allow you to be ruined, allow your sisters to be married off, and not even think twice about it. I owe your family nothing, and you are not my responsibility. Tell me, Miss Crampton, why should I risk everything to help you?”
Iris wasn’t sure what sense of desperation possessed her to do it. All she knew was that suddenly, she was crossing the room to where the Duke stood and placing a soft hand over his. His skin was warm, and up close, she could smell his woody, masculine scent. She could also see a small scar on his left cheekbone, a thin white line like a cat’s scratch, which she had never seen before.
“How did you get this?” she asked, distracted by the sight, and without thinking she reached up to touch the scar.
Before she could do so, the Duke had seized her wrist. For several tense heartbeats, they stared at each other, his hand tight around her wrist. His eyes blazed, and Iris felt as if all the wind was knocked out of her.
Finally, he let go, and she shrank back. But the Duke didn’t look angry. If anything, he looked shaken.
“You’ll help me,” she whispered, “because I think, deep down, underneath all the stories about you and rumors about your villainy, you just might be a decent man who goes after men who take advantage of others. Or was I mistaken in noticing a pattern?”
The Duke of Eavestone was gazing at her, his attention rapt. His pale blue eyes seemed impenetrable, but the harder she looked, the more she realized they weren’t as cold as she’d originally thought. There was warmth in them. Under many, many layers.
Then he blinked, and the moment was broken.
