The Duke of Paris (Tales from the Grand Tour Book 1) Page 5

  Dorothy was grateful for the wall of children that separated them. She feared what her heart would make her do if she had a clear path to, perhaps, run into his arms. “What would you like to say, your grace?” she asked, as formal as he was.

  Marshall cleared his throat, glancing at the children. Several of them glanced questioningly at him, as though he might be carrying the tastiest treats of all in his pockets. He shifted his weight, smiled awkwardly at the children, then glanced sheepishly back at Dorothy. “Might we speak alone?”

  A shiver passed down Dorothy’s spine that had more to do with fear of what she might do to him, as opposed to what he might do to her. But sense told her that they were bound to have to speak about what had passed between them the night before, so she might as well get it over with now.

  “Veuillez m'excuser, mes enfants,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. She stepped through the children, touching their heads and shoulders as she went, as if their innocence could rub off on her and make the difficult conversation ahead easier.

  Marshall offered his arm as they ambled slowly away from the center of the McGoverns, but Dorothy didn’t take it. She wasn’t sure why, other than the fact that if any of her cousins saw her touching Marshall, they would know in an instant something had happened between the two of them. As it was, she caught curious looks from several of her older cousins, as if they found themselves suddenly wondering why they hadn’t taken much notice of a minor member of the family who had it within her power to captivate a duke.

  “If you wish to apologize to me,” she opened the conversation when she felt comfortably distant from the rest of her clan, “I can assure you, there’s no need.”

  “There is every need,” Marshall insisted, genuine and painful emotion in his expression and the angle of his body as he paused to face her. “I cannot tell you how sorry I am or how deeply I regret the depths to which my pursuit of pleasure caused me to sink to.” She was tempted to be offended until he held up his hands and said, “Not that I consider an intimate moment with you to be depths. Only—” He sighed. “I regret how it happened.”

  “The circumstances could have been better,” Dorothy agreed, forcing herself to stay strong, to resist the lure of temptation that continued to pulse within her, and to meet his eyes.

  “But that isn’t why I wish to speak to you,” he went on.

  She blinked. “It isn’t?”

  “No.” He let out a breath, glanced back to her cousins—who were once again pursuing their odd game of human croquet, using the schoolchildren as balls doing somersaults through their legs now—then faced her squarely. “Miss McGovern, I was hoping you would do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage.”

  Dorothy sucked in a breath as her whole world tilted off-balance. She blinked rapidly, staring up at him. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I want to marry you,” he repeated, slightly more anxious.

  Her heart swelled against her ribs to the point of breathless pain. Her mind refused to grasp what was happening. She couldn’t believe he’d actually asked. Sharp offense warred with pure joy in her heart. Was he asking her because he felt guilty? Because he found her captivating and knew after one encounter he loved her? Should she care? He wasn’t just offering her marriage, he was offering her the title of duchess, wealth, and security. Not just for her, but for Damien as well. She would insist on it. If she said yes.

  But she couldn’t say yes…could she?

  Those thoughts zipped through her in the time it took her to breathe in and out again.

  “Why?” she asked, far too bluntly.

  Marshall’s face colored. He shifted uncomfortably. “I think we both know why.”

  Anger gained the upper hand in her emotions. “You think that you owe this to me because you ruined me? How romantic.”

  He winced, and the flames of her anger died down a bit, letting guilt take their place. He was doing the right thing, after all.

  “I cannot deny that obligation does play a role in my proposal,” he said, too stiffly formal. “But I would not ask if I did not think we could make a go of it.”

  Dorothy arched one eyebrow. “You have not improved in the romance department with that line, your grace.”

  “I know,” he sighed, his shoulders dropping and his whole demeanor becoming more informal. “I will confess to you freely and openly that I am mired in confusion right now, not just about this situation, but about my entire life. I need someone beside me who can—”

  He stopped. Dorothy flinched as she realized she’d been swaying closer to him, captivated by the intensity of his emotions. She’d seen a hint of the man beneath the seducer the night before, and seeing that man again was irresistible.

  But he’d stopped because a commotion had arisen from the heart of the McGovern cousins. The human croquet game was forgotten as more and more of the cousins gathered around Cousin Evangeline. Evangeline held a what looked like a small magazine far enough in front of her so that everyone gathering around her could see.

  “It happened at our chateau,” Evangeline said. “I recognize the wallpaper.”

  “And only last night,” Cousin Hattie added with a gasp.

  “I swear I know that dress,” Cousin Roselyn said, tugging the magazine from Evangeline’s hands.

  Dorothy glanced from the swarm of her cousins to Marshall and back again, her brow knit in confusion. She was more inclined to press Marshall on and to hear what he said. At least, until Damien joined the crowd around the magazine. He snatched it from Roselyn’s hands. His eyes went wide and the color drained from his face as he stared at it. Then he snapped up to look at Dorothy, panic in his eyes.

  “Doro,” he called. “You need to see this. Now.”

  Chapter 5

  The diversion was enough to make Marshall forget that Dorothy hadn’t answered his proposal. The way she picked up her skirts and dashed across the grass to the cluster of her cousins and her brother was enough to ignite every protective instinct in him. He followed her with a wide, commanding stride. Her cousins parted to let him catch up with her and turn to see what all the fuss was about.

  Dorothy gasped and his stomach dropped to his feet as they clapped eyes on the magazine at the same time. It was Les Ragots, the gossip rag.

  “It’s perfectly scandalous,” one of the female cousins said, turning to share her pink-cheeked, wide-eyed grin with the others.

  “What is so scandalous?” Miss Sewett barked, marching toward Damien, looking as though she would take the magazine from him.

  “It’s nothing, Miss Sewett.” Damien thrust the magazine into Marshall’s hands with a furious look, then turned to intercept Miss Sewett. “Just a silly gossip rag,” he went on, grasping Miss Sewett’s shoulders and turning her away before marching her off toward the river.

  “I want to see it,” one of the younger male cousins said, attempting to wedge his way to Marshall.

  “I don’t think so,” Marshall said as though issuing a command to an army. “Why don’t you all rejoin the children. It looks as though they’re about to race boats in the river.”

  His ploy would have stood no chance at all of working if Lady Evangeline hadn’t caught the seriousness in his expression and raised an eyebrow. “Yes,” she said slowly, glancing from Marshall to Dorothy. “I think it would be best if we raced boats. I know that none of you can beat me.”

  There was a moment of hesitation in which the mass of the McGoverns seemed torn between racing boats on the river or getting to the bottom of the gossip that had scandalized anyone who looked at it. In the end, Lady Evangeline walked away, and bit by bit, her cousins followed her. That left Marshall and Dorothy standing side by side, staring in horror at the photograph printed in Les Ragots.

  “What are we going to do?” Dorothy whispered.

  Marshall didn’t answer at first. He glared at the picture in the magazine. It was smudged and blurry, but also unmistakably pornographic. And it was him and Dorothy from the night
before. Someone had captured a photograph of the two of them stretched out across the sofa, Dorothy’s breast hanging free, his trousers sagging around his thighs, and no question at all what they were in the middle of doing, based on his position between her legs. It didn’t need to be a crisp, clear picture for anyone reading the magazine to guess what was happening.

  The curious bit was that both his and Dorothy’s faces were blacked out. The relief of that strange fact was instantly crushed by the short article underneath the picture.

  “Scandal at the Château de—!” the article began, hinting at the location but leaving just enough in doubt to titillate the reader. “A well-known duke was caught enjoying the company of an unsuitable lady. This publication has it on good authority that this Duke of Paris has been plowing his way through many fields of late, but the lady in question is one who would surprise even our most jaded readers. The Duke of Paris is encouraged to send five thousand francs to the offices of this publication. If the amount is not received by Friday, the photograph will be republished with the faces made plain.”

  “No!” Dorothy exclaimed, clutching her chest. “This cannot be happening.”

  “What sort of publication is this anyhow?” Marshall asked in a rage. He leafed quickly through Les Ragots’ few pages, finding nothing but dirt, scandal, and opportunities for blackmail. “I’ll find this place and set fire to it before I give in to their demands.”

  “But the photograph,” Dorothy said in a strangled voice. “The faces.”

  “What is going on here?”

  Both Dorothy and Marshall jumped, whipping to face Asher as he strode closer. He was the lone McGovern cousin who had not discreetly removed himself to the riverside, and he looked as though he were ready to take up the sword of an avenging angel to make things right if Dorothy was in harm’s way.

  “What is that magazine that everyone was so enthralled by moments ago?” Asher came to a stop in front of Marshall and held out a hand.

  Marshall stared at his hand for a moment but held the magazine closer to his chest instead of handing it over, as Asher seemed to want him to do. “This doesn’t concern you,” he said.

  Asher’s expression darkened. “I have reason to believe it does concern me,” he said in a low voice.

  “With all due respect, Asher, in this situation, I disagree,” Marshall said, pulling himself to his full height and trying to assume an air that was commanding while still indicating they were friends.

  Asher held out his hand once more, his face as hard as stone, his eyes boring into Marshall’s.

  “Give it to him,” Dorothy whispered. “There might be something he can do to help.”

  Marshall let out a quick breath and turned to her, frustrated that his authority was in question. One look at her doleful expression, the pink of her cheeks, and the shame in her eyes, knowing that he had been the one who put it there, and his resolve crumbled. He handed the magazine to Asher, his gut churning.

  Asher took one look at it and his expression lit with fury. His eyes went wide as he read the article under the photograph, then narrowed dangerously as he glanced back up at Marshall. “You absolute bastard,” he hissed. “You disgusting piece of slime.”

  “It…it wasn’t entirely his fault,” Dorothy said, wincing and twisting her hands in front of her.

  “It damn well was his fault,” Asher roared.

  “How dare you raise your voice to my brother?”

  Marshall wasn’t sure if he wanted to grimace or cheer as Sebastian charged up the hillside from where the others were busy helping the children float toy boats in the river. At least he would have another ally.

  “Your brother is a devil and a despicable villain who has done unspeakable things to my innocent cousin,” Asher growled, looking as though he would rather shout but eyeing the rest of the cousins as if he didn’t want them to know what was happening.

  “Marshall may be indulging himself in the wake of our father’s death,” Sebastian argued, marching to stand by Marshall’s side, “but he is no villain.”

  “He wouldn’t be the first one in the family to kiss and run.”

  This time, Dorothy joined Marshall in wincing as her brother strode back into the fray, coming to stand by Dorothy’s side so that he could glare at Sebastian.

  “I take it the two of you know each other,” Marshall said lamely, already knowing the two must have had a past.

  Damien rounded on him. “I saw that photograph. I know what you did to my sister. You will pay for your horrific indiscretion.”

  “Marshall wasn’t entirely to blame,” Dorothy repeated her earlier statement, quieter than before, her face redder by the moment.

  “The gentleman is always to blame,” Damien told her. He whipped back to Marshall. “What do you intend to do to make things right?”

  “Yes, I was wondering the same thing,” Asher said, shifting to stand by Damien’s side, mimicking his crossed arms and his glare.

  “I have just offered my hand in marriage to your sister,” Marshall growled, irritated that the odds felt stacked against him.

  “That is the very least you could do,” Damien said with a huff. “If word of this gets out, not even a duchess’s title will save her from public humiliation.”

  “Really, Damien.” Dorothy raised her voice beyond the cowed whisper it had become, staring flatly at her brother. “You were the one who encouraged me to throw myself at Lord Reith.”

  “I—” Damien’s mouth flapped for a moment. He glanced from Dorothy to Marshall, then gulped. “I meant to charm and flatter him, win his heart. Not—”

  “You set your sister up to nab my brother?” Sebastian asked, his brow shooting up incredulously.

  “And why not?” Damien shot back.

  Sebastian didn’t have an answer for that. He blinked, then let out a huff and dropped his shoulders. “I guess it would be a good match.”

  “It would be a brilliant match,” Asher said, still angry even as the rest of them were beginning to show signs of cooling. “If it were come by naturally.”

  Marshall wanted to reply that everything about the incident in question had been as right and natural as the sun rising in the east, but, for a change, good judgement kept him silent.

  “I think we’re all missing the point here,” Sebastian said at last, when an awkward silence descended on them.

  “Oh? And what point is that?” Asher demanded, his voice and expression sour.

  Sebastian took the magazine from him before he could stop it. With a tight sigh, Sebastian narrowed his eyes and studied the photograph. “This is a little too familiar,” he said.

  “What do you mean, familiar?” Marshall asked, an uneasy feeling growing within him.

  Sebastian glanced up at him, and Marshall instantly knew what he was talking about. Sebastian went on to say, “Blackmail photography. Catching someone in an intimate and damning position and using it to extort money. This photograph bears all the same marks of…others.” He swallowed hard and handed the magazine to Marshall.

  Scowling, Marshall looked at the photo with new eyes. Sebastian was right. Years ago, when Sebastian had been forced into the public eye and eventually fled to France, he’d shown Marshall the photographs that had been used to blackmail him. The one of him and Dorothy in the magazine seemed to be taken at a similar angle with a similar composition to the ones showing Sebastian in equally carnal positions with other men. The blackmailer’s note asking for money to make the whole thing go away was similar as well.

  “You don’t think it could be the same man, do you?” he asked his brother.

  Sebastian blew out a breath and shoved a hand through his hair. “It’s always possible. As far as I know, Fordyce was never caught.”

  “Would someone please explain what the devil the two of you are talking about?” Asher hissed, glaring at Marshall and Sebastian.

  “I think I know,” Damien said slowly. All eyes turned to him, but his gaze was fixed on Sebastian. “
It was blackmail that pushed you out of England, wasn’t it? Photographs of an intimate nature, taken without your awareness, that ultimately ruined you?”

  Sebastian nodded to him, red-faced and awkward.

  Damien’s frown deepened. “I heard through friends that Reese Howsden and Frederick Herrington tracked that man down, destroyed his equipment, and forced him to, well, disappear.”

  Bits and pieces of gossip that Marshall had heard over the years suddenly fit together in his mind. “Do you think that man could be in Paris now?”

  “No,” Dorothy answered, surprising them all. When the men all looked to her, she shrugged and went on with, “This photograph was taken at the Château de Saint-Sottises last night. Whoever took it must have been someone we all crossed paths with at some point.”

  “There are quite a few guests staying at the palace,” Sebastian pointed out.

  “Yes, and most of them are relatives of ours,” Dorothy went on. “Because we are such a tight group, we would have noticed anyone that shouldn’t have been there.”

  “It could have been one of the servants,” Asher pointed out. “The man who blackmailed you before could have taken up a job in service at the palace.”

  Marshall considered the possibility, but Sebastian shook his head. “Fordyce is middle-aged and paunchy. Footmen in palaces like Saint-Sottises are almost always young and handsome.” His face turned another shade of red and he glanced to Damien as he spoke.

  “It’s true,” Damien admitted with a slightly sheepish look. “I’ve definitely noticed the fact since we arrived.” The look he and Sebastian exchanged was enough to cause Marshall to clear his throat.

  “This Fordyce person is certainly not the only man to come up with the idea of using intimate photographs to extort money,” he said. “Anyone could be behind this.”

  “Not anyone,” Dorothy corrected him, her brow pinched tight in thought. “Someone who was at the palace last night. Someone who either needs money or has some other reason to rain humiliation down on us.” She glanced questioningly up at Marshall.