Page 31 of A Feud with the Duke

“We were just going to look at the Renaissance art which the Duke of Hastings had on display on the second floor,” Alice explained. “Would you care to join us?”

Harold looked into Alice’s eyes for as long as he dared, conscious of the proximity of the sharp-eyed, young Italian.

“Yes, please accompany us. My friend Rafe and I have a great deal of knowledge of the historic art of my country. I would love to explain its mysteries to you both. There are many mysteries to explain.”

The enigmatic comment drew Harold’s attention. He looked into dark eyes that remained fixed on his own.

There is more to this than a lecture about Renaissance art. What is he after?

“Oh, do come, Your Grace,” Alice said. “The more the merrier after all.”

Harold smiled and nodded. “Of course. Perhaps such an education will compensate for the wanton frivolity that seems to pervade these occasions.”

“It certainly will,” Alice agreed with a broad smile.

The three of them began to walk towards the staircase at the back of the room, which rose gracefully beneath hanging chandeliers. The banisters were extravagantly carved and the carpet was a deep red.

“Your brother seems to be looking this way,” Angelo said, “perhaps he too has a deep interest in Renaissance art?”

Harold realized that if the three of them ascended that grand staircase together, they would be in full view of the entire room.

And do I care? Let the uncouth ruffian see us together. If he makes a scene, I will call him out.

No, he wouldn’t. As soon as the thought entered his head, accompanied by a surge of righteous anger, he quashed it. As always, the memory of the consequences of that righteous anger returned to him unbidden, unlooked for and unwanted.

Anger almost ended my life once. I will not allow it to again. Nor will I be the reckless man that I was. That is for young men with no title. I am a Duke, wedded to title and land.

“On second thoughts. I will see the collection on another occasion,” Harold said. “Thank you for the offer, Angelo. Miss Hathway, a pleasure as always.”

Alice looked stricken, as did for some reason, Angelo. The Italian regained his composure rapidly, patting Alice’s hand, an act that ignited a hot flame of jealousy within Harold.

“Of course. I had hoped for some guidance though. This house is so vast. It is like a maze. There are so many ways to reach a particular point. The obvious route is not always the best to take.”

Harold’s eyes widened and he concealed his surprise behind a smile.

By heaven but the man is speaking to me in code. I’m a beggar if he isn’t suggesting I find the gallery by a less conspicuous route. This feels like the games of espionage I got embroiled in during the war.

“I regret that I know the house even less than you do. But, there are many servants to provide directions,” Harold replied.

Angelo bowed courteously and Alice followed his example, dropping into a curtsy but never looking away from Harold. The sight of her, almost kneeling before him, watching him from beneath her long eyelashes was almost enough to make him reach for her and crush her delicate body against his own.

Does she know what she is doing? Innocent? Perhaps in the way regarded as most important by her brother but certainly not completely innocent in the games men and women play. No woman capable of such a smoldering look can be wholly innocent.

He returned the bow and moved away into the crowd. It was not difficult to find conversation with which to cloak himself. He was far from the most popular man in London society but his rank was irresistible. People wanted to be seen talking to a Duke. Any Duke. It increased their prestige. They would gloss over which particular Duke had graced them with their company when relating the story over dinner though.

Harold had nothing but contempt for them and struggled to hide that as he listened to their inane conversations. He stared through them, seeing Alice, submissive before him and watching him with knowing eyes. In his thoughts, the crowd that surrounded them was gone. There was only her, genuflecting before her master, bowing her head but not enough that it broke the gaze they shared.

Making his way through the crowd, he saw Angelo and Alice ascend the staircase. Saying whatever he needed to in order to extricate himself from the company of a tedious Knight of the Realm and his even more tedious wife, Harold strode to where a servant stood, holding a tray of champagne flutes.

“The Duke’s art gallery,” Harold said in a low voice. “A crown if you indicate the servant’s route to that part of the house. I would rather not be observed or the place will be full of gawkers.”

He plucked a champagne flute from the tray as he spoke, turning away from the man so it would not be obvious that he was speaking to him. The servant whispered, almost without moving his lips.

“The door to your right leads to the drawing room. A small door in the far left corner of the room as you go in leads to a passage that itself connects to the Low Stairs, as it is called. It connects to all floors. It comes out halfway along the gallery.”

Harold tossed back the champagne.

By heaven but it is a long time since I felt so alive! Subterfuge and outwitting the enemy. I feel like I am eighteen again.

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