Defending the Duke Page 2

  She studied her employer, seeing the sweat beaded along his brow, though the mid-January winter day with its blustery wind had plunged temperatures to where water froze.

  “Yes, Mr. Cole.”

  Laurel retrieved the ledger under the counter and said, “If you’ll come with me, Mr. Farmon.”

  She led him through the closed curtain and back to the space used as an office. It was here Mr. Cole wrote up the orders he placed and where she kept all her records—by customer, by month, and by year.

  “How far back would you like to see?” she asked, keeping her voice even though her nerves were frayed.

  “Three years.”

  “Very well.”

  She went to the shelves and pulled what Farmon wished to view, setting out the books in different piles and explaining to him how she accounted for various things.

  When she turned to go, he said, “Stay.”

  It wasn’t an invitation.

  Laurel sat and watched as he flipped through different ledgers. He nodded to himself sometimes and clucked his tongue in disapproval twice. Every now and then, he would ask her a question and she was thankful she was able to answer it to his satisfaction.

  Finally, Farmon closed what he perused and studied her. She felt herself grow warm under his intense scrutiny.

  “You know numbers, I’ll give you that.”

  “Women can add, you know,” she snapped, once again regretting her flare of temper.

  His hand shot out and grasped her wrist. She froze. Her eyes met his and she saw he wanted to intimidate her. She swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to keep her fear locked away.

  “How would you like to run this store?” he casually asked.

  It would be a wonderful opportunity—if Julius Farmon wasn’t her employer.

  “What about Mr. Cole?” she countered.

  “I’m buying the chandlery from Cole,” he replied. “Since you’re familiar with everything and have a good system in place, you would be his natural replacement. I wouldn’t have to train anyone else.”

  Excitement mixed with disgust. Laurel didn’t want to work for this man but if she ran the shop, it would mean more money. If Hudson did leave, she would be able to care for Mama.

  Cautiously, she said, “I earn money both as a clerk and for keeping the books. What would my salary be if I managed the store?”

  Farmon smiled, his teeth yellow and crooked. She shivered, sensing evil within him.

  “The same.”

  His answer startled her. Maybe he hadn’t understood her question and so she decided to clarify things for him.

  “If I gained more responsibility by managing the place, I should be fairly compensated,” she pointed out.

  “You would run it. And continue to serve as both clerk and bookkeeper.”

  “Then why wouldn’t I receive more salary?” she asked, her voice rising in anger. “Because I am a woman?”

  “Your salary remains the same.” An odd glow entered his eyes. “But I do have a way you could earn more. If you’d like to take advantage of a . . . unique opportunity.”

  Her stomach twisted. “What would it involve?”

  “Making me happy.”

  She might be a young woman of eighteen but she’d grown up just the other side of poverty—and knew exactly what Farmon meant.

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” she said stiffly. She rose, hoping to throw off his fingers, but they still held her wrist firmly.

  Farmon also came to his feet. “You are exactly who I want to service me. You will accept my offer. You’ll run the store by day and keep me happy at night. Both will keep you plenty busy.”

  “No!” she said, jerking her arm away. “I am not that kind of woman.”

  He laughed. “Every woman in your position is that kind of woman, Miss Wright. Despite your haughty airs and skill with numbers, look at you. That threadbare gown. The drawn look to your cheeks. Being too thin from not eating enough. And I hear that pretty mother of yours is doing poorly. Surely, you want to make sure she’s taken care of properly?”

  His fingers slid to grip her forearm. His touch repulsed her. She took a step back, freeing herself.

  “I repeat. I am not that kind of woman, Mr. Farmon.”

  “You’re saving yourself for marriage?” he asked, a sly look in his eyes. “Too bad your mother didn’t.”

  “Leave my mother out of it,” she snapped. “She is the best person I know. You aren’t fit to even mention her name.”

  He took a threatening step toward her. “I’ve made my offer. The shop by day and me by night. I’ll even put you up somewhere so your so-called sainted mother won’t have to listen to your cries of ecstasy.” He paused. “It’s both, Miss Wright. Or no employment at all. My reach is far. I can make sure no one else hires you.”

  Fury filled her. “My answer is no. I’ll never work for you or pleasure you. You’re a loathsome, disgusting fool.”

  Laurel wheeled and before she could take a step, he was on her. Spinning her around. Shoving her against the wall. Pressing his body against hers. Forcing his tongue into her mouth. Nausea rose in her as violent shudders caused her to tremble uncontrollably. With all the strength she could manage, she boxed his ears and thrust her knee into his bollocks at the same time, just as Hudson had taught her to do. Farmon cried out and stumbled from her, murder in his eyes.

  “You’ll regret what you’ve done, you little bitch. I’ll see you and your family evicted. Your sick mother dead in a ditch. That brother of yours transported to Australia. No one crosses Julius Farmon. No one!”

  Laurel fled, her heart pounding violently. She ran down the corridor and threw the curtains aside, crashing into Mr. Cole.

  He caught her before she fell. Sympathy filled his eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Laurel.” He thought a moment. “Take whatever cash is in the till. Go,” he urged.

  She grabbed the box and opened it, scooping out what she could and dumping it into her reticule, which sat next to the till. She hated to leave Mr. Cole but was afraid if she didn’t, something awful would happen to her. As it was, she’d made a target of her family with her refusal to become Julius Farmon’s mistress.

  She left the store, blindly running, trying to put distance between her and that horrible monster.

  But Farmon knew where she lived. Nothing happened in this neighborhood without him knowing about it. How long could she avoid him?

  Finally, she slowed and took in her surroundings. She was only a few blocks from their tenement. She picked up her pace and reached home. What was she going to tell her mother and Hudson? Where would they go? How would they live?

  She walked up the three flights of stairs and unlocked the door, her hands shaking, and locked it again before leaning against the door for support. She took several long, deep breaths, trying to clear her mind. She would figure a way out of the mess she’d created. She had all afternoon and evening to think about it before Hudson arrived home, tired and hungry. She had a brain, one as good as any man’s. She could do this.

  Gradually, her racing heart slowed and Laurel stepped away from the door. She crossed the tiny room and stood before the closed bedroom door, the only other room. Her mother had been bedridden since the heart attack. She’d grown weaker and weaker and eaten less and less. Laurel feared her mother would waste away. Every night when she arrived home, Laurel feared she would find Dinah dead in her bed.

  She pushed open the door without knocking, knowing if her mother slept that she wouldn’t hear the knock anyway. Her eyes adjusted to the dim room and she went and sat on the edge of the bed. Her mother’s labored breathing gave her pause.

  “Mama?” she asked softly.

  Dinah Wright’s eyes fluttered open. She smiled and for a moment, Laurel could see the great beauty Mama must have been years ago before poverty etched the lines into her worn face.

  “Hello, baby,” her mother rasped. “How . . . was . . . your day?”

  Tea
rs filled Laurel’s eyes, thinking how Farmon’s offer had angered and humiliated her. “It was fine, Mama. How was yours?”

  She couldn’t tell her mother that she’d been propositioned to become their landlord’s mistress, much less that she’d lost her job because she’d refused Farmon’s advances. Her head spun with worry, wondering how they would manage. Farmon’s words regarding her mother also bothered Laurel. She wanted to ask what he’d meant but her mother had long ago firmly closed the door to discussing the past. With the way Dinah Wright looked, Laurel didn’t have the heart to pursue the matter.

  “I’m so tired,” Mama said, new lines creasing her brow.

  “Can I warm some broth for you?”

  “No. Just sit with me, Laurel.”

  She slipped her hands around one of her mother’s cold ones, hoping to warm it.

  “You’re so beautiful,” her mother said.

  “No, you’re the beautiful one, Mama.”

  “You look like . . . him.”

  Laurel went still. Her mother had never spoken of their father. Never. When she and Hudson were young, they had asked why other children had a father when they didn’t. Her mother refused to speak about it, telling them they had her and each other and that was what mattered. As she matured, Laurel came to believe that her and Hudson’s father hadn’t wanted them. Or her mother. She didn’t know the circumstances of her and Hudson’s birth, only that their mother had raised them with an abundance of love and no help from the man who’d impregnated her. Despite Mama’s silence, Laurel had often wondered who her father might be. If he’d forced himself on Dinah. Or if he’d already had a wife. Sometimes, she pretended that he’d been the great love of her mother’s life but he’d been killed tragically. She wondered if her mother had given herself freely to him, only to never see him again. It was a mystery she’d thought would never be solved.

  Until now.

  “What did he look like, Mama?” she asked softly.

  Mama sighed. “Like you. And Hudson. Hair black as midnight. Dark brows. And those eyes.”

  Laurel knew how unique her eyes were because she saw them in Hudson every day. Both twins possessed eyes which were a brilliant emerald color. Though she’d seen a few others with green eyes over the years, none resembled the dazzling green the twins possessed.

  “What was his name, Mama?”

  “Not Wright.” Her mother grimaced. “I called myself that when I found I was with child. Hoping others would think I’d wed and that my baby would be legitimate.”

  Mama had told them Hudson was her maiden name and that’s why she’d called her boy that. This was the first Laurel had heard, though, about her mother taking a name that wasn’t hers.

  “Who was he, Mama?” Laurel asked. A part of her believed if she didn’t learn now, Mama might never reveal his identity.

  Dinah’s hand went to her chest and she groaned. “It hurts. So much.”

  “Your heart?”

  Mama nodded.

  She stood. “I’ll fetch the doctor.” Though what she would pay him with, she didn’t know.

  “No. No doctor. It wouldn’t do any good. This is the end, my sweet child. Don’t go throw good money after bad.”

  Laurel dropped to her knees, tears spilling down her cheeks as she gripped her mother’s hands.

  “He’s dead. I read about it. I’m glad.”

  She held her breath, afraid to urge her mother on. Afraid to finally hear the truth she’d longed to know.

  “He hurt me.” Her mother’s voice trembled. “I didn’t want him. He came with his mistress but he wanted me instead. He took me in a back room while she was being fitted for a new gown.”

  A wave of pain flooded her. “I’m sorry, Mama.”

  Dinah smiled weakly. “It wasn’t your fault, my sweet. It was a few minutes that I’ve tried to forget but it gave me you and Hudson. I wouldn’t trade my two darlings for anything in this world.”

  Her mother’s eyes closed. Laurel thought about what she’d learned. Her mother had worked for the same modiste from the time she was fourteen. If only she’d known, she might have gone to Madame and asked her if she knew anything about that long-ago day.

  Dinah’s eyes opened again, this time wild with pain. She jerked her hands from Laurel’s and pressed them against her chest as she sat up, gasping.

  “Mama!” Laurel cried. “No!”

  She watched her mother collapse again into the pillow and grow still.

  “Mama? Oh, Mama. No, no, no . . .”

  Dinah Wright was gone—and Laurel still had no idea who her father had been.

  Chapter Two

  February 1816

  Laurel handed Hudson their last apple. “Take it,” she ordered.

  He started to argue and thought better of it. Ever since Mama’s death, things had gone from bad to worse. A man had showed up, demanding triple the rent they were used to paying. She knew Farmon had sent him and it was only the beginning of the harassment. When Laurel told the man she would need more time, he’d slapped her hard. Bruising had occurred around her eye and her face swelled on the side the blow landed. He’d laughed and told her he would return tomorrow and that she better have payment in full.

  Or else.

  Thank goodness Hudson hadn’t been home at the time. Her brother’s temper flared even more swiftly than Laurel’s did. He would have killed the man for touching her. She’d lied and told her twin that she’d slipped on the ice, causing the injuries to her face. As it was, Hudson wanted to murder Julius Farmon. After their mother’s burial, Laurel had confessed to her brother that she had no job to return to—and why. Her brother had cursed loud and long, telling her exactly what he would do to the man. She’d convinced him to stay far away from Farmon, explaining how Farmon had threatened to fabricate charges to be brought against Hudson so that he would branded a criminal and be transported halfway around the world. All the poor in London knew being sent to Australia was a fate worse than death. Only that knowledge had kept Hudson from finding Farmon and beating him senseless.

  “I can’t lose you,” she’d told him. “Not after losing Mama.”

  Knowing the danger they both faced, they’d moved their few possessions and taken a room in a boardinghouse miles away, hoping to hide from Farmon. Hudson continued to work his two jobs but Laurel hadn’t been able to find employment. She’d left without references and with Farmon buying out Mr. Cole, she had no idea where her former employer might have gone. She wouldn’t chance returning to the old neighborhood to ask anyone because she didn’t want informers to detain her.

  “I’ll see you tonight,” her twin said. He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “I’m sure you’ll find something today, Laurel.”

  With that, he left the room.

  She waited a few minutes, making sure he was gone, and then went to the bed. Reaching her hand under the thin mattress, she withdrew a folded piece of parchment, the seal on it broken long ago. She sat on the bed, the only piece of furniture in the tiny room, and opened it. She’d read the brief letter so many times, the brutal lines were emblazoned in her mind.

  Do not contact me again or you will regret it. It is your word against mine. I am a duke, a peer of the realm. You are a slut toiling in a shop. No one cares what you say and would never believe you over me.

  My solicitor will be waiting for you tomorrow afternoon three blocks to the west of the dress shop. Make sure what he gives you lasts. No more will be forthcoming.

  Everton

  Her heart told her the terse message came from her father. No, the man who had violated her mother. Laurel supposed once Dinah found herself with child, she must have tried to get in touch with her attacker, telling him of her circumstances and asking for monetary help. Though she must have received some compensation, based upon the contents of the letter, it was obvious this Duke of Everton chose not to take responsibility for forcing himself on a young girl. Laurel had never given any thought to the men and woman of the ton. They move
d in a world of their own making, their lives never touching someone like her. Now, though, since she’d found this letter Mama had hidden for so many years, resentment filtered through her, eating away, knowing this lord had ravished her mother and never given a second thought to the offspring he’d created, much less claimed responsibility. She wouldn’t have expected a duke to give them his name but the aristocrat could at least have seen they were fed and clothed properly.

  Desperation now forced her to act in an unsavory manner. She couldn’t find work. She wanted Hudson to have the chance to attend university. Though her mother had raised her to know right from wrong, hatred burned brightly inside Laurel for Everton and all those like him who took advantage of the less fortunate and tossed them away as if they were rubbish. Her mother had said the man who had hurt her was dead but there would be a new Everton. Most likely, her father’s son had taken his place in the House of Lords and assumed the title of duke.

  Her half-brother . . .

  A duke would have money. Lots of it.

  And Laurel planned to blackmail him into giving her enough to ensure her and Hudson’s survival.

  With a bit of money, Hudson could sit for the upcoming exams. Win a place at Oxford or Cambridge. They could leave London and take a room near the university. Her twin could attend classes. She would find work and keep house for them. The money she would ask Everton for would be a pittance to a man in his position—but it would help change the course of the twins’ lives. By leaving London, it would also guarantee that Farmon would never find them. He’d never be able to accuse either of them of wrongdoing. Once Hudson graduated, they could go anywhere in England. York. Canterbury. Leeds. They could make a new life for themselves—with just a little money from Everton to tide them over until they could stand on their own two feet again. It wouldn’t do for two bastards to make themselves known to Polite Society. Surely, a duke would part with a few pounds in order to avoid such a scandal.

  Laurel was counting on it.

  She folded the letter and slipped it into her reticule. Smoothed her skirts and pulled on Mama’s cloak, which was over two decades old. It didn’t matter that she didn’t cut a fashionable figure. What counted was that she would carry out her scheme without Hudson being any the wiser. She would get the money from this duke and they would escape the city and begin a new life.