How to Tame Your Duke(49)

He took refuge, as he usually did, in silence.

"Don't blame yourself, young man," said Olympia. "Had I put out the  least hint, you would have smoked her out at once. In any case, we are  now offered an auspicious opportunity."

As always, Olympia's benign face revealed nothing of his inner thoughts.  But Ashland had learned his trade at the duke's broad feet; Ashland  heard the words auspicious opportunity and knew what they meant.

"No," he said. "You will not risk Emilie."

Olympia's well-tailored shoulders straightened an infinitesimal degree.  He returned Ashland's gaze without blinking. "Emilie, my dear, would you  be so good as to allow me a few minutes' private conversation with our  friend the Duke of Ashland?"

"I would not."

"I thought not." His gaze continued to lock with Ashland's, dark and  cool. "You will therefore forgive my candor when I inquire of the duke  what, exactly, gives him the honor of acting so decisively on your  behalf?"

"I will answer with equal candor, sir. Your niece is my affianced wife."

Emilie shot from her chair. "That's not true!"

"Isn't it?" Olympia looked at her at last, and this time his eyes  crinkled slightly at the corners. "It hardly seems a matter to admit  doubt. Either you're engaged, or you're not."

"I am bound in honor to her. I will marry her."

"Nonsense," Emilie said. "No such obligation exists between us. Especially not now, with everything changed."

"I disagree. Nothing essential has changed." He spoke to Olympia. "In the first place, I have compromised her innocence."

"Tut-tut," Olympia said.

"In the second place, there is a possibility she carries my child."

"Quite shocking. Is this true, my dear? Is it possible?"

"I . . ." Emilie's mouth opened and closed. Her white face was becoming  rapidly overrun with a fetching pink blush. She cast a helpless look at  Ashland, and back at her uncle. "It makes no difference. I will not  marry him. I will not marry a man . . ."

"You will not walk this earth, carrying my child . . ."

". . . out of some archaic sense of duty, not to say outdated notion of . . ."

". . . without bearing the protection of my name as well . . ."

". . . will undoubtedly regret such an irrevocable step . . ."

". . . to say nothing of the protection of my body . . ."

". . . when I have resources of my own should . . ."

"QUIET!" Olympia rose from his chair and placed his hands on his desk.  "Whether or not the two of you reach the altar before tearing each other  apart is beside the point."

"It is?" said Emilie, finger still raised.

"It is?" said Ashland. He rose to meet Olympia's towering regard.

"Quite immaterial, really. You need only be engaged," said Olympia.  "Publicly engaged. The Duke of Ashland and the lost Princess Emilie of  Holstein-Schweinwald-Huhnhof, a terribly romantic affair. A ball would  be just the thing to celebrate the announcement, don't you think?"

As the last words left his mouth, an odd buzzing sound issued from the  corner of Olympia's desk. The duke's eyebrows lifted. "You'll excuse  me." He leaned over to lift an object shaped rather like an elongated  bell to his ear.                       
       
           



       

The buzz still seemed to echo in Ashland's ear. He folded his arms back  over his chest, girding himself, while Olympia exchanged a few low words  into the odd contraption in his hand. Emilie said nothing, but he could  feel her vibrating nearby, her ardent young body straining with  emotion. Let me handle this, he wanted to say. This is my world. Be  easy. Let me take care of you.

The receiver clicked back into its box. "I beg your pardon. Miss  Dingleby has been informed of developments and will be with us directly.  Now. The engagement ball. Three weeks, I believe, will be sufficient  preparation. The season hasn't begun, but I daresay we can coax a few  celebratory souls into the capital for the occasion. Emilie will stay  here with me, of course. We will divest her of her disguise at once.  Have you a house in town, Ashland?"

"Not at present."

"I believe there are a few suitable properties available for lease at  the moment. You will of course call as many staff as possible down from  Yorkshire; we don't want any new hires running about the house."

Ashland stepped forward and placed his left index finger in the center  of Olympia's immaculate leather blotter. "As I have said before, you  will not risk Emilie."

"My dear fellow, she will be in no danger at all in my house. I shall personally ensure her safety."

"In the first place, I stay where Emilie stays."

"Quite improper."

"I don't bloody care. In the second place . . ."

A knock cracked through the air.

"Come in," said Olympia.

Ashland heard the door open behind him, heard a sharp clack of heels on  wood, followed by the silence of the rug. Olympia's gaze flickered to  the newcomer. "Ah! Miss Dingleby."

"Am I interrupting?"

"Indeed you are," said Olympia. "Anything to report?"

Her voice was warm and businesslike, as Ashland might have expected.  Olympia's female operatives always ran to type. "My errand this morning  was fruitless, I fear. But Emilie's room upstairs has been secured. I  shall put my own cot in there tonight. I've posted Hans on the lookout  outside, meanwhile, should anyone have followed them down from  Yorkshire."

"No one did," said Ashland, without turning.

"Are you quite sure?" asked the woman behind him.

He turned. "I hope you aren't questioning my competence, Miss . . ." He raked her angular form up and down. "Dinglebat, was it?"

Miss Dingleby smiled benignly. "You did require several weeks to discover our Emilie's disguise."

"If you had done your job properly, madam, she should not have been forced into hiding in the first place."

"I beg your pardon. Have you any idea what sort of enemy we're up against, Your Grace?"

"I've infiltrated the most murderous cults in . . ."

"Stop it, the lot of you!" cried Emilie.

Ashland turned. Emilie stood akimbo, her face flushed pink, her blue  eyes searing them both behind the sheen of her spectacles. Her false  whiskers seemed to stand out from her jaw. "Stop talking and making  plans for me, as if I'm nothing but a pawn on a chessboard, to be moved  about at will! You!" She pointed at Olympia. "You've planned every step  of this, haven't you, knowing full well I'd fall under Ashland's spell,  drawing him into a . . . a possibly mortal danger that has nothing at  all to do with him! Risking his life, just as you did in India, when you  nearly killed him! I won't let you do it again!"

Ashland opened his mouth to say something, but there were no words. No  words at all to riposte this extraordinary woman, this fire-fueled  princess who stood there and fought for him, for him, with all the fury  in her regal golden-haired body.

"And you!" Emilie turned and stabbed her avenging finger in Ashland's  direction. "You will not risk yourself in a public engagement to me! You  will not sleep in this house with me!"

Speech returned in an instant. He took her shoulder. "By God, I will!"

"You won't!" She stared up at his ruined face without flinching. "For one thing, you have a wife already! Or had you forgotten?"

Ashland's hand fell away.

"Because I haven't forgotten," she said. "And I doubt that London  society has. You've no business engaging yourself to anyone, publicly or  not. Lavish Park Lane ball to lure mad anarchists, or not."

He couldn't breathe. The pain in his chest was too great. He took a step  back, and his foot seemed to sink forever into the weave of the carpet  beneath, holding him fast. "You're correct, of course. I have no right,  at present."                       
       
           



       

Her face began to soften. "Ashland . . ."

Behind him, Olympia coughed a delicate cough. "Ah yes. Your unfortunate  previous marriage. As to that, I believe I have a solution."

"There is no solution," said Ashland, without turning. The blue of  Emilie's desperate eyes held him fast. "Not even you could effect a  divorce so quickly. Even if you could, the haste of the engagement would  be the scandal of the century."

"Ah." There was a rustle of papers, and a creak of floorboards beneath  the rug. "After your recent visit, I took the liberty of making  inquiries through my own channels. I received this reply within hours,  just this morning."