The Heiress In His Bed. Tamara Lejeune

      “Perhaps he doesn’t know about Lyons,” said Dickon hopefully. “Maybe we could tell him it don’t exist.”

      Viola walked up and down the room restlessly, following her own thoughts. “These old lawyers are too soft to be of any use,” she complained. “I need a ruthless man. For my sake, let him be entirely without scruples. Let him be cold, hard, and hungry. Dirty, too, if at all possible. Have we got anybody like that in our pay?” she asked her brother doubtfully.

      Dickon thought for a moment while chewing. “There’s Dev.”

      Viola stopped pacing. “Dev?” she repeated cautiously.

      “Dev,” he clarified. “Devize. I don’t know if he’s hungry, but I’ve heard him called all those other things. In fact, I’ve heard him called a lot worse.”

      “Well, don’t tease me,” said Viola, taking a chair. “Tell me all about this paragon.”

      “Not much to tell.” Dickon shrugged. “Dev’s our man in London. He’s a stockjobber. He manages our money.”

      Viola groaned in disgust. “Dickon, this is war,” she protested. “One doesn’t bring a blunt instrument to a war. I need a man so sharp he cuts himself getting out of bed.”

      “What sort of an idiot cuts himself getting out of bed?” Dickon wanted to know.

      “The point is, a stockjobber knows nothing of the law. Bamph will have many clever lawyers on the case.”

      “What do you want a lawyer for?” Dickon retorted. “Everyone knows the law hates women. The law won’t help you cheat your husband. A wife is a man’s property, you know, and a wife’s property belongs to her husband. That’s the law.”

      “You’re right,” Viola conceded. “But what do you suppose Mr Devize can do about it?”

      Dickon shrugged. “Something underhanded and clever, I should imagine.”

      “Oh, undoubtedly! But would he willing to, say, bend the law?”

      “He’ll do better than that—he’ll break it,” Dickon said proudly. “I told you he was a stockjobber, didn’t I? The authorities keep trying to put him in gaol, but they can never prove anything. The law can’t touch him, you see. He’s too clever.”

      “Really?” said Viola, suitably impressed.

      “It takes a toll, however,” Dickon said sadly. “It takes a toll. When I met Dev, he was fat and brown. I thought him a handsome fellow. However, he’s grown so pale of late, I hardly know him. A shadow of his former! Skin like library paste!”

      “I don’t care what he looks like,” Viola interrupted. “Do you trust him? If I’m going to embark on a campaign of unlawful deception with this person, I must be assured of his integrity.”

      “Integrity!” Dickon spluttered. “I’ll have you know his father’s a baron!”

      “Mr Devize, your stockjobber, is a gentleman?” she said incredulously.

      “I just told you his father’s a peer of the realm.”

      Viola sighed. “A gentleman won’t help me, Dickon! A gentleman is bound by a code of honor. Your Mr Devize would be far more likely to help Bamph.”

      “Not Dev,” Dickon insisted. “You wrong him, Viola. He ain’t bound by a code of honor. He hates Society, and Society hates him. They say he’s sold his soul to the devil, but that’s probably just superstitious nonsense. I think they’re all afraid of him.”

      Viola was intrigued. She had a low opinion of her brother’s intelligence in general, but he did occasionally stumble across a good idea. “Very well. Send for him,” she decided. “If he can help me, I’ll make it worth his while. Will he care to bring his wife and children with him to Fanshawe, do you think?”

      Dickon shook his head. “It’s no good. He won’t come. I’ve invited him to Fanshawe heaps of times, but he’s always too busy to leave London. As for a wife, he can’t afford one.”

      She smiled incredulously. “Can’t afford a wife? What? In spite of all his shady, unlawful dealings? Where does his money go?”

      “It goes to us, of course,” Dickon answered. “Well, I suppose he takes what he needs to live on, and I don’t begrudge him that. He told me once, he does it for the excitement, although what he finds exciting about speculating on the Royal Exchange, I can’t tell you. To each his own. He gets all the excitement, and we get all the profits. Everyone’s happy, except, of course, the poor fools who get in his way, but that’s their lookout.”

      “Dickon,” Viola said sternly, “if Mr Devize is dependent on us for his livelihood, he is ours to command. Command him to come to Yorkshire at once.”

      Dickon stirred uncomfortably.

      “Would it be an act of courage?” Viola asked, amused. “Are you afraid of him?”

      “No! But you don’t understand, Viola,” he protested. “Dev can’t leave London.”

      “Why not?”

      “Dev is a man of genius,” he explained indignantly, “and genius is as delicate as the wing of a butterfly. There is a process, a method, to his success. It’s very intricate—there’s mathematics involved. I’d tell you all about it, but you wouldn’t understand. But we interfere with the man’s process at our own peril.”

      “I see,” Viola sniffed. “Well, if your delicate genius is too important to come to us, you’ll just have to go to him, won’t you? You can leave tomorrow.”

      “Go to London!” he exclaimed. “At the height of the Season? Viola, if I went to London now, I’d be hunted down like an animal. I’m not just your elder brother, you know. I’m the only unmarried duke left in Great Britain! I’d be in constant danger. There would be invitations!”

      Viola’s dark eyes could be damp and imploring when it suited her purposes, as she now demonstrated. “This is my marriage settlement, Dickon. If it isn’t done properly, I shall be little more than my husband’s chattel. Do you want your only sister to be treated like chattel?”

      Dickon thought about it. “I suppose not,” he said reluctantly. “But why can’t you go?”

      “I shall be in York ordering my wedding clothes,” she explained.

      “Buy your wedding clothes in London,” he urged. “Don’t make me go to London on my own, I implore you! The women there are so fierce. I get such headaches.”

      Viola held firm. “York would be hurt and insulted if I bought my wedding clothes in London. Besides, if I go to London now, Lord Bamph will think I’m obeying his ridiculous summons. He must learn that Lady Viola Gambol is not at his beck and call.”

      “But I am, I suppose!” the duke said resentfully.

      Viola started for the door. “I’m depending on you, Dickon,” she said, pausing in the doorway. “Don’t bungle it.”

      “When did I ever bungle anything?” he said indignantly.

      In the wake of her departure, the duke looked down at his plate. “This is dreadful, Jem,” he exclaimed unhappily. “Something must be done!”

      “Her ladyship does seem a wee bit upset, Your Grace,” the footman agreed.

      “What?” The duke blinked in momentary confusion. “I’m talking about the ham, Jem. Remember the ham? I think it’s turned. You’d better take it away.”

      “Certainly, Your Grace. Shall I bring out another?”

      The duke looked at him incredulously. “Of course, dear fellow,” he said. “I wouldn’t have mentioned it otherwise.”

      Chapter