The Duke of Lies (The Untouchables Book 9) Page 13

  Why had the man recognized him? Had Verity described him or had he recalled Kit—rather, Rufus—from all those years ago? The latter had happened when he’d arrived in town several weeks ago now to take a room. The innkeeper had instantly identified him as the lost Duke of Blackburn. Kit had simply stared at the man while the denial died on his tongue. It had been a massive gamble to pretend to be the duke, for there’d been every chance that while the innkeeper had recognized him, everyone else would know he was an imposter.

  But when Kit hadn’t responded, the innkeeper had announced to the common room, which had contained at least a dozen people at the time, that the long-lost duke had returned. Everyone had turned their heads with marked interest, their scrutiny fixed on his person in a most uncomfortable and invasive fashion. Then one gentleman had shouted his agreement and raised his tankard in a toast. It was all Kit had needed to seize the chance to walk into Beaumont Tower with a purpose for being there, and to inhabit the birthright that would be forever beyond his reach.

  Kit followed the draper through a doorway into a small chamber decorated like a sitting room but with a long table akin to a dining table. Verity looked up from a color plate depicting a bookcase. “You’re back.”

  “I’m back. What are you looking at?”

  “Bookcases. For your office.”

  She was looking at furniture for his office? They’d found Rufus’s old desk in a storage room yesterday, and it was being installed in Kit’s new office today. He hated using the prick’s desk but saw no reason to buy one, particularly when he wouldn’t be using it for very long. He certainly wasn’t going to endorse purchasing a bookcase.

  “I don’t need a bookcase,” he said.

  Her brow pleated with confusion, making her look impossibly adorable. “You said you did.”

  He supposed he had. “I can build them, I mean.”

  “Can you, Your Grace?” the storekeeper asked. “How extraordinary.”

  Verity stood from the table. “He’s quite skilled with his hands.” Her gaze dipped to those appendages, which were currently covered in gloves that he longed to throw away so he could slide his bare fingertips along her jaw.

  She either read the direction of his mind or perhaps realized the double entendre of what she’d just said. Whatever the reason, a delightful blush highlighted her cheeks.

  The storekeeper hovered as Verity came around the table and moved to Kit’s side. “Do let us know if you require anything beyond bookcases.” He gave them a hopeful look.

  “We most certainly will,” Kit said with a smile. The touch of Verity’s fingers against his arm startled him. He turned his head and saw her watching him expectantly. It took him a moment to realize he should offer her his arm. Hell, he really wasn’t very good at this. Or parts of it, anyway. He was once again very grateful he hadn’t been summoned to London and hoped Simon would ensure that didn’t happen.

  He extended his elbow toward her, and she curled her hand around his forearm. Their flesh was separated by gloves and sleeves and just too many damn things, but he relished the connection.

  She bid the storekeeper good day, and Kit escorted her from the shop. It was a simple thing, the way she touched him, but it seemed another step forward in whatever was building between them.

  Was something building?

  He looked at her askance. Her profile was as stunning as she appeared straight on. The line of her nose was a graceful sweep and the jut of her chin both pert and strong, while the curve of her lips was soft and tempting. He doubted he’d ever have occasion to taste them, but a man could dream.

  As they walked to the chaise, she asked, “Did you learn what you needed to?”

  “I did. I’ll visit Cuddy on another day.”

  She withdrew her arm. “When?”

  Kit wanted to snatch her hand back to his but didn’t. Instead, he watched her climb into the vehicle. “I haven’t decided yet.” And when he did, he wasn’t sure he wanted to tell her. A man bold enough to steal from a ducal estate was either incredibly foolish or disturbingly dangerous.

  He sat beside her in the chaise and drove the horse into the street. “Thank you for coming with me today.”

  “Thank you for inviting me.”

  “Shall we go to a pub now?” he asked. “A nicer one, I mean.”

  “I think I’d like to get back to the castle. I promised Beau we’d visit the goats together. You’re more than welcome to join us.”

  “Thank you, I may do that.”

  They fell silent as he drove out of town along the road that led to the castle. He lived in a bloody castle. Sometimes, he couldn’t quite believe that. Hell, most of the time, he didn’t believe that. At thirteen, his eyes had grown wide when the tower had come into view that first time. And when he’d seen it again just a few weeks ago, he’d had that same stirring of anticipation and excitement. It was no wonder he was loath to leave.

  But the place was nothing compared to the people. How was he going to find the courage to go? The same way he had all those years ago when he’d chosen the sea. Back then, he hadn’t known what he was getting himself into. Now he did. He would be captain of his own ship again, answering to no one. Completely free.

  Except he began to see that being tethered to something—or to someone—might not be such a bad thing.

  “I thought we might take a picnic on the next sunny day,” Verity said.

  He glanced over to see her looking at him. Her dark eyes gleamed in the afternoon sun, and for the first time, he noticed a thin band of amber at the edge of the iris. Her black lashes were long and lush, curling against her pale flesh as she blinked. He jolted himself before he became lost like a sailor succumbing to a siren.

  He tried not to sound overeager in his response, but he was thrilled that she would invite him to spend time with her. “I would like that very much.”

  “With Beau, of course.”

  “Of course.” While he wanted to be alone with her again—as they’d been the other night—he couldn’t see having a picnic on a nice day without their son.

  Their son.

  No, he was hers. Beau would never be his, and he’d do well to remember that.

  Chapter 10

  As it happened, the next sunny day was the following one. Verity arranged for a basket of food to be ready at midday and asked Rufus to meet her and Beau in the lower courtyard near the well house.

  She stopped in the kitchen to pick up the basket and thanked the cook for what looked to be an excellent picnic. Hefting the basket with her right hand and carrying the blanket with her left, she strode out the door and stood at the edge of the rose garden near the well house at the top corner of the lower courtyard.

  After a minute, she set the basket on the ground to wait. Had the tutor lost track of time? And where was Rufus? Perhaps he was detained somewhere. Her gaze traveled toward Thomas’s tower in the opposite corner. He’d been very busy since his arrival, and she hadn’t seen him aside from when he’d joined them for dinner a few times.

  The minutes stretched, and she transferred the blanket to her other arm. The day was warm and bright, and she was looking forward to being outside. The door she’d come through suddenly burst open. Beau dashed out, his laughter immediately filling the courtyard.

  He was quickly followed by Rufus, who chased him along the edge of the garden to the center path. Beau didn’t slow as he rounded the corner, and his feet slipped on the cobblestones. He fell down, landing on his side.

  Verity dropped the blanket and ran toward him, but Rufus beat her by quite a bit. It was then that she realized he hadn’t been using his top speed to chase the boy. She’d seen that when he’d caught Racer that day at Mr. Maynard’s farm.

  Rufus picked Beau up and set him on his feet and squatted down in front of him. “All right?”

  Verity had expected Beau to cry, and his face had gone slightly pale. She lowered herself next to Rufus. “Did that scare you?” she asked, stroking Beau’s arm from
shoulder to elbow and back again.

  Beau nodded. Then a moment later, he ran to the top of the stairs leading to the courtyard. “Come on, Papa, catch me!”

  Rufus stood and offered his hand to Verity to help her rise. She wasn’t wearing gloves, and neither was he. It was the first time their flesh had touched, and it was like grabbing lightning. Or how she imagined it to be—electrifying and hot, and it left a lasting impression.

  “Please don’t chase him down the stairs. He already fell once.” She turned to Beau and called, “Please be careful.”

  “I am being careful, Mama. And don’t worry about the stairs. I ran down them to the kitchen passage and didn’t fall.”

  She looked over at Rufus. “Is that right?”

  His gaze drifted to the side, and he hesitated a moment. “Er, yes. We were playing knights and villains.”

  “Which one were you?”

  “It was my turn to be the knight.”

  Verity frowned and shifted a glance toward Beau. “I don’t like thinking of my boy as a villain.”

  “It’s pretend,” Rufus said. “But if it makes you feel better, he only chooses to be the villain because he likes to be chased.”

  “Can’t the villain chase the knight?”

  He mouth tipped into a crooked smile, and her stomach did a flip. It was as if lightning had struck again. “It’s pretend. We can do whatever we like.” He looked back toward the basket and the blanket on the ground. “I’ll get the things for the picnic.” He turned and started along the path.

  “I can grab the blanket,” she offered.

  He waved a hand. “I’ve got it.”

  Verity went to Beau instead. She took his hand, and they descended into the courtyard, then veered right toward the gateway to the stable yard. “Perhaps I should play knights and villains.” She wondered why they hadn’t done that before and felt bad. It was a stark reminder of how much he’d missed not having a father.

  “But you’re a girl.” Beau sounded scandalized.

  Rufus met them as they approached the gate. “What’s wrong with your mother being a girl?”

  “She wants to play knights and villains.” He made a face that clearly showed what he thought of that idea.

  Verity was caught between laughter and disappointment.

  “It would be better if she joined us,” Rufus said, drawing Beau’s sharp attention. “A knight needs a fair maiden to rescue.”

  “Then I am definitely going to be the villain. I don’t wanna rescue a girl.” He frowned, then sent his mother an apologetic glance. “Except I do want to save you, Mama.”

  Verity surrendered to the laughter. “Thank you.”

  “But Papa should be the one to save you. That’s what dukes do, right?”

  “That’s what husbands do,” Rufus corrected, “whether they are a duke or not.”

  Verity nearly tripped as they crossed the stable yard. She was almost completely convinced that this man wasn’t her husband, and this was just about all the proof she needed. Rufus—the real Rufus—wouldn’t have saved her from a damn thing.

  Rufus. She looked at his profile and tried to conjure an image of the man she’d married. She thought his chin had been smaller, weaker, but she wasn’t sure she knew anymore. When she thought of her husband, this man, whoever he was, filled her mind. And he did so with increasing frequency.

  It was a very confusing and alarming thing to go from despising and fearing someone to admiring and liking them.

  He’s not the same person, she reminded herself.

  Then who was he?

  Curiosity burned her chest, but she couldn’t ask him now, not in front of Beau. Did that mean she planned to tell him she didn’t believe he was Rufus? She wasn’t sure she wanted to. To admit that, to bring it out into the open, would bring an end to Beau’s joy. She looked down at her son, who’d taken Rufus’s hand while Rufus juggled the blanket and basket in his other grip. No, she couldn’t do that.

  She let go of Beau’s hand and stopped. “Here, let me take the blanket.”

  “I can manage,” Rufus insisted as he too paused.

  She went around Beau and took the blanket from Rufus with a smile. Then she returned to her spot.

  Beau slipped his hand in hers again and swung his arms as he clasped both parents. “I like having a mama and a papa.” The glee in his voice was palpable, and Verity feared her heart might burst. “Where are we having our picnic?” he asked.

  “I thought we would go to the pond,” Rufus said.

  “Oh yes, let’s!” Beau agreed.

  Verity didn’t allow Beau to go to the pond without her. That was where Augustus’s son Godwin had drowned during the house party where she’d met Rufus. Her gaze slid to the man who claimed to be Rufus. He’d been charming at that party. But this man was different.

  The path pitched downward as they neared the pond. A pair of ducks glided across the surface, and Beau instantly took off toward the water.

  “Careful!” Verity called, increasing her pace. “He doesn’t swim.”

  Rufus took off running and set the basket in the grass before catching up to Beau and sweeping him up into his arms and spinning him around. Beau’s laughter filled the air as Verity neared the basket. She laid the blanket out over the grass with a smile, then transferred the basket to a corner. “Who’s hungry?”

  Rufus set Beau down and sat with alacrity, patting the spot next to him. Beau immediately dropped onto the blanket, and they both watched as she laid out the food.

  After swallowing a bite of cold roasted duck, which seemed rather rude given their company on the pond, Rufus inclined his head toward the water. “I think I’ll get a small boat for us to row about. Which means I should build a dock.”

  “Can I help?” Beau asked before wolfing a too-large bite of bread.

  “Not so much at once,” Verity said, eyeing her son.

  He gave her a sheepish look, then took a much smaller bite with far less…vigor.

  “Will you teach me to build the dock, Papa? I want to build things like you.”

  “I think that will be an excellent thing for you to learn. Along with swimming.”

  “Can you teach him that?” Verity asked. “I would feel better about the boat if he could swim.”

  “I can,” Rufus said.

  Beau turned his body toward Rufus. “Are you a good swimmer, Papa? You must be if you were on the ocean.”

  “Would you believe many sailors don’t know how to swim?” Rufus nodded when both Beau and Verity shook their heads.

  “That seems rather dangerous. And foolhardy,” Verity said before nibbling on her duck. She wasn’t enjoying it very much. She felt as though the pair on the pond were staring at her in silent judgment. She noticed Rufus had stopped eating his.

  “It can be, which is why I encourage everyone to learn, whether they are on a ship or not,” Rufus said. “You never know when the skill will be needed.”

  Beau turned his head to Verity. “Do you know how to swim?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t.”

  Beau’s face lit. “Then Papa can teach us both!” He shoved a piece of duck into his mouth, clearly oblivious to the proximity of the very species he was devouring. Which was just as well. Given his love of animals, Verity wondered if he would some day refuse to eat the beef or the fish or the duck that arrived on his plate.

  A butterfly flitted past, and Beau jumped up to chase it.

  Verity inclined her head toward Rufus’s plate. “You don’t like duck anymore?”

  He winced as he shot a glance toward the pond. “It seems…wrong.”

  “I thought the same thing.” Their eyes met, and they laughed. It was an astonishing moment she’d never imagined would happen.

  When they stopped laughing, Rufus gestured toward Beau’s plate. “It didn’t seem to bother him.”

  “No, but I’m not sure he made the connection.”

  “He should. He needs to understand where food comes from.”


  “Yes, he should.” Again she was reminded of all the things Beau could learn from this man. “I’m glad you returned.” She hadn’t meant to say it, but it was true.

  He took a drink of ale, seeming mildly uncomfortable.

  She looked down and brushed at a blade of grass on her skirt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make things awkward.”

  “You didn’t. I’m…glad you’re glad.”

  Beau wandered back. “Can you teach me to swim now, Papa?”

  Rufus wiped his palms on his thighs. “We need proper bathing costumes, particularly your mother.” His gaze strayed to her, and she heated beneath his quick but pointed regard. Suddenly, she recalled Beau’s question about them kissing and wished they could do it right now.

  That realization ought to have shocked and shamed her, but it only fanned her desire. Desire? She desired him? Suddenly, a dip in the pond sounded like a perfect diversion.

  She smiled at Beau. “We could wade in the water, I think.”

  Beau beamed as he dropped onto the grass and pulled off his shoes. His stockings were quick to follow.

  “Wait for me!” Rufus pulled off his boots as quickly as possible and then his stockings, baring his feet.

  Verity tried not to look, but it was hopeless. Her gaze locked on his long toes and the sprinkling of dark hair marching up his calves. They should not have been attractive to her—as far as body parts were concerned, they were rather mundane—but she had to tear her gaze away.

  Thankfully, he seemed not to notice, as he was intent on rushing to the water with Beau, which she very much appreciated. He was an incredibly attentive father.

  Except he wasn’t Beau’s father.

  Her chest burned, and she began to grow irritated with herself. Did it matter? He was a far better father than Rufus ever would have been.

  The sounds of splashing and male laughter provoked her to smile as she began to pack up the basket.