Duke of My Heart by Bowen Kelly

Author:Bowen, Kelly [Bowen, Kelly]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2016-01-25T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Captain Black had been able to provide very few details other than what he had already given them, and what Ivory already knew. Helmsdale House, perched in a bucolic country setting outside the sprawl of London, had been sold nearly a decade ago to cover the gambling debts of a dissolute aristocrat. For those who needed to know, it was owned now by a man who went solely by the name of King. There were whispers that he had once been the youngest son of an aristocratic family, but had been cast out and disowned, rumors of murder and betrayal muddying the waters. Ivory had never put much stock in those rumors—she had never been able to verify any of it, but she knew very well just how ruthless King could be in his insatiable pursuit of wealth and power.

Yet she had never heard of a girl’s being part of the offerings before. This was something new. Though not that shocking.

Black had departed quickly, and Ivory and Alderidge had returned to the duke’s cabin aboard the Odyssey. The duke had barely said two words, only staring intensely into a glass of brandy that he refilled more than once. His silence, more than anything, was unnerving. She almost wanted the bull in the china shop back, crashing around and demanding to ride to his sister’s rescue. She let her attention roam around the small cabin, her gaze falling on two piles of letters that had been left on the table, bound by string. From where she sat, she could see Alderidge’s name written across the front of the topmost letter, in the same handwriting that she had seen on the messages.

“Are these letters from your sister?” she asked with some surprise. There were hundreds of letters between the two piles.

The duke grunted, which Ivory took to be a yes.

“She is a very prolific writer,” Ivory prodded. She needed to get Alderidge talking again. Tentatively Ivory reached for the nearest pile. When the duke didn’t move, she picked it up. “Is there any mention of anything—”

“There isn’t any mention of anything of import in any of those letters,” Alderidge said, without looking up. “No mention of a man whom she would trust until he betrayed her in the most heinous of manners. No mention of anything that would have had me turning my ship around and sailing back to England as fast as the winds could carry me. Nothing but anecdotes of garden parties and balls, musical soirees, the latest color of gown that is all the rage amongst her friends. Stories of her favorite cat that stalks the kitchens and her favorite gelding in the mews. Ramblings about her favorite flowers, her favorite scent, her favorite cake.” He stopped. “Visions and conjecture of what it would be like if she could travel with me to India.”

Ivory bit her lip, seeing an image of a young girl pouring her heart out to a brother who was a world away. “She wrote what she couldn’t tell you in person.

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