The Last Duke (Thornton 1)

A sharp intake of breath. “I think we’d best go inside the church and talk.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Seated in a pew beside her friend, Daphne poured out the whole story, leaving out only her very private, very unsettling physical reaction to the apparition who’d stood in her bedchamber the night before, stirring her in ways she didn’t fully understand, but very much wanted to.

“Daphne.” Chambers leaned forward. “You’re telling me you helped the man rob your house, and that you yourself placed the tin cup containing the ruby on Harwick’s pillow?”

“I couldn’t risk Father discovering the bandit in his bedchamber. You of all people understand that. Father would not only have turned him over to the authorities, but beaten him senseless as well. Please Vicar,” Daphne’s gaze was pleading, “don’t condemn me for doing what I must.”

“I’m not condemning you, Snowdrop.” The vicar took her hands in his. “But do you understand the risk you took? Had your father awakened, that fierce beating would have been yours.”

“I would have withstood it. I’ve withstood others.”

Lines of pain tightened the vicars mouth. “How well I know that.” A pause. “Your mother—is she all right?”

“Yes. Father is so obsessed with apprehending the bandit, he has little time to vent his rage on others.” Daphne’s expression grew thoughtful. “With the exception of Pierce Thornton.”

“Pierce Thornton? The gentleman you met at Newmarket? I don’t understand.”

“I’m not certain I do either. But, if you recall, I told you that Father’s behavior around Mr. Thornton was odd, that I sensed Mr. Thornton has some kind of hold over him.”

“I remember.”

“Well, as I was leaving the manor today, Father was raving about a meeting Mr. Thornton had demanded. A meeting to take place today. At Tragmore.”

“In light of the robbery it does seem odd that Harwick would agree to such a meeting,” the vicar admitted. “Still…”

“That’s just it. Father obviously didn’t want to agree to the meeting. I think he was just afraid to refuse Mr. Thornton. He referred to Mr. Thornton in a most scathing manner, and implied that he loathed doing any business with him at all.”

“Then why does he continue to do so?”

“Coercion, evidently. Mr. Thornton’s.”

“Harwick said that?”

“He implied it, yes.”

Chambers was quiet for a long moment. “An untitled, uncelebrated colleague whom your father dislikes and distrusts, yet continues to do business with. A man you clearly found likable and trustworthy.”

“Not only likable and trustworthy, but compassionate. I shan’t forget the way he rescued me from Father’s biting tongue.” Daphne shook her head emphatically. “It makes no sense. Father describes Mr. Thornton as greedy and selfish. The man I met at Newmarket was anything but. Still, even if my assessments were wrong, greed and selfishness are qualities Father generally applauds in his colleagues. Why not now?”

“I don’t know, Snowdrop. Does it matter?” A faraway look came into Daphne’s eyes. “Yes, Vicar, it matters. My instincts tell me it matters a lot.”

5

THE FRONT DOOR AT Tragmore—an interesting alternative to the parlor window.

Pierce stifled a sardonic grin, glancing about Tragmore’s polished hallway—the same hallway he’d crept through mere hours before, valuables tucked in his coat.

“The marquis will see you in his study,” announced the poker-faced butler.

“Will he? Very gracious of him,” Pierce replied, the essence of polished congeniality. “Lead the way.”

Moments later, he was ushered into a dimly lit, unoccupied room and abruptly left to his own devices.

I’m being shown my place, Pierce determined with wry amusement. Not only am I an undesirable, I’m an unwanted undesirable.

So be it.