The Duke's Men [1] What the Duke Desires Read Online Free PDF

point in retiring before then—crowds of theatergoers
     thronged the streets most evenings. She enjoyed the noise and the bustle, which reminded
     her of the theaters where Maman had acted in Toulon.
    The streets were a bit quieter once she did go to bed and they generally stayed that
     way until midday, at least at their little end of Bow Street.
    So when a pounding on the door downstairs awakened her just past dawn, she nearly
     had heart failure. Who could be coming here so early? Oh dear, had something happened
     to delay Dom’s ship to Edinburgh?
    Hastily donning her dressing gown over her night rail, she hurried into the hall just
     in time to hear Skrimshaw grumbling to himself as he headed for the door downstairs.
     He’d scarcely gotten it open when a male voice snapped, “I demand to see Mr. Manton.”
    “I beg your pardon, sir,” Skrimshaw said, donning his butler role with great aplomb.
     “Mr. Manton does not see clients at this early hour.”
    “I’m not a client. I’m the Duke of Lyons,” the man countered, his tone iced with the
     sort of anger only the aristocracy could manage. “And he’ll see me if he knows what’s
     good for him.”
    The bold statement sent Lisette rushing forward in a panic.
    “Otherwise,” the duke went on, “I will be back with officers of the law to search
     every inch of this house for him and his—”
    “He’s not here,” she said as she flew down the stairs, heedless of how she was dressed.
     The last thing Manton Investigations needed was an officious duke barging in with
     a crowd of officers merely because he was up in the boughs over some foolish matter.
     The gossip alone would ruin them.
    But as she reached the bottom of the stairs and caught sight of the man, she skidded
     to a halt. Because the fellow looming in the doorway beyond Skrimshaw did not look like a duke.
    Oh, he wore the clothing of a duke—a top hat of expensive silk, a coat of exquisitely
     tailored cashmere, and a perfectly tied cravat. But every duke she’d seen depicted
     in the papers or in satirical prints was gray-haired and stooped.
    This duke was neither. Tall and broad-shouldered, he was the most striking man she’d
     ever seen. Not handsome, no. His features were too bold for that—his jaw too sharply
     chiseled, his eyes too deeply set—and his golden-brown hair was a touch too straight
     to be fashionable. But attractive, oh yes. It annoyed her that she noticed just how
     attractive.
    “Dom’s not here,” she said again.
    “Then tell me where he is.”
    The expectation that she would just march to histune raised her hackles. She was used to dealing with his sort—the worst thing she
     could do was let him bully her into revealing too much. After all, she still didn’t
     know what this was about. “He’s on a case out of town, Your Grace. That’s all I’m
     at liberty to say.”
    Eyes the color of finest jade sliced down, ripping away whatever flimsy pretensions
     she might have. In one savage glance he unveiled her age, family connections, and
     station in life, making her feel all that she was . . . and was not.
    Those all-seeing eyes snapped back to her. “And who are you? Manton’s mistress?”
    His words, spoken in a tone of studied contempt, had Skrimshaw turning positively
     scarlet, but before the servant could speak, she touched his arm. “I’ll handle this,
     Shaw.”
    Though the older man tensed, he knew her well enough to recognize the tone that presaged
     an epic set-down. Reluctantly, he stepped back.
    She met the duke’s gaze coldly. “How do you know I’m not Manton’s wife?”
    “Manton doesn’t have a wife.”
    Supercilious oaf. Or, as Maman would have called him . . . English . He might not look like a duke, but he certainly acted like one. “No, but he does
     have a sister.”
    That seemed to give the duke pause. Then he caught himself and cast her a haughty
     stare. “None that I know of.”
    That really sparked her temper. She