If she could go through with blackmailing a peer of the realm.

  She hated it had come to this. That Farmon drove her to do something she never would have done if she hadn’t lost her job. If Mama hadn’t died. Drawing on the little courage she had, Laurel left the room. She descended the stairs, wavering for a moment with dizziness. She hadn’t eaten in two days and the smell of the morning meal their landlady provided as an extra for the tenants who paid for it wafted through the air. Clutching the banister, she closed her eyes, steadying herself. After a moment, she’d recovered and continued down the staircase.

  Laurel left the boardinghouse and headed for Mayfair, the winter wind biting her cheeks and numbing her fingers. She knew the area to be the most fashionable part of town. Somewhere, a servant or hansom cab driver would be able to tell her exactly which house belonged to the Duke of Everton. She would show him the letter the previous duke had written and threaten to reveal the existence of his bastard children unless this duke gave her ample payment. Then she would give him the letter and disappear. His reputation—and the dead duke’s—would remain intact.

  She only hoped her plan succeeded.

  *

  Jeremy St. Clair, Duke of Everton, listened carefully to Matthew Proctor. His former tutor, who’d escorted Jeremy on his Grand Tour years before, had become estate manager of Eversleigh, the Everton country seat, and now functioned as Jeremy’s man of business.

  While most of the ton didn’t bother to dirty their hands with matters of business, he thrived on it. His father, the previous duke, had squandered most of the St. Clair fortune. Jeremy had learned upon his father’s death how little was actually left. It had taken several years but he was blessed with a keen business acumen and patience. He’d restored the family’s wealth and hired Matthew to manage much of it on a daily basis. Still, he liked having his hand in all matters and made critical decisions when necessary.

  “I think it is a wise investment, Matthew,” he said when his friend finished speaking. “Go ahead.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” Matthew rose. “I’ll see you next week with my new report.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Jeremy replied as he rose and the two men shook hands.

  As Matthew left the large study, he was replaced by Jeremy’s favorite person in the world.

  His duchess.

  He’d wed Catherine four years ago but he’d been in love with her long before that. Circumstances beyond their control had separated them for several years. Jeremy had even married and had a daughter. After his wife passed, Catherine Crawford came back into his life—and everything from that moment on had been right. He loved her with a passion that could not be put into words. Catherine and their children were everything to him.

  She crossed the room, as graceful as any duchess ever had been. His wife was beautiful and gifted.

  Most of all, she was his. And he was hers.

  His arms went about her. “Have I told you today that I love you, Duchess?”

  It was a game they’d played since their marriage and he never tired of telling her those words.

  Catherine’s eyes lit up. “I believe you did, Duke. Once when you woke me from a very deep sleep. Again, after you made love to me. Twice as we breakfasted. And when—”

  He silenced her with a lingering kiss. He felt her melting into him and his arms tightened around her as he deepened the kiss. Her fingers kneaded his shoulders.

  “Did you lock the door?” he murmured against her mouth.

  “No. Because it’s almost time for tea.”

  “Tea can wait,” he growled, kissing her again. He’d thought his hunger for her would end but it had only grown stronger over the years.

  Catherine broke the kiss. “We have guests coming. Luke and Caroline.”

  “They can wait.”

  She laughed. “No, they can’t.”

  “Then we can be late,” he suggested, kissing the tip of her beautiful nose.

  “No, we can’t.”

  “They’re newlyweds,” he protested. “They’re probably doing what we’re doing right now and will be late themselves.”

  Her throaty chuckle made him want to gobble her up.

  “A compromise,” he offered. “Shall we continue this after teatime, Duchess?”

  She kissed him soundly. “Oh, I do like the idea of that, Duke.”

  Jeremy released her but took her hand, entwining their fingers, the need to touch her too great. He led her upstairs to the drawing room.

  “Can we at least kiss until they arrive?” he pleaded, bringing her hand to his lips and pressing a tender kiss upon her fingers.

  “I thought you’d never ask.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and they lost themselves in one another.

  After some minutes, he sensed the door opening and eased Catherine from him, turning his head and seeing his brother and sister-in-law had arrived. From the look of Caroline’s swollen lips, they’d done their share of kissing in the carriage on the way over.

  “Good afternoon,” he said pleasantly and kissed Caroline’s cheek before giving his brother a bear hug.

  “We’re the newlyweds,” Luke teased. “You’d think we’d have cornered the market regarding kissing.”

  “Rachel and Evan have tried to keep up with us,” Jeremy said, referring to their sister and her husband. “You might be able to surpass them but my duchess and I are years of kisses ahead of you.”

  They all laughed and seated themselves. Luke handed Catherine a box.

  “I stopped at Evie’s Tearoom for a few treats,” he said. “Caroline had business with Mr. Walton. I made good use of my time and visited Mrs. Baker and Mrs. Stinch. When they learned we were headed to see you, they insisted on sending along something.”

  Catherine opened the box. “Oh, you brought scones. How lovely.”

  Luke took his wife’s hand and kissed it, then rubbed it against his cheek. “Caroline is still mad for their scones. It was the only thing she could keep down for a few months.”

  Catherine smiled at her sister-in-law. “I’ve had the same problem. Especially with the twins. You are glowing, though, Caroline.”

  Luke smiled. “She is radiant, isn’t she?”

  “I don’t always feel radiant,” Caroline grumbled good-naturedly. “My ankles are thickening as fast as my waist. I’m more than ready for June to arrive.”

  “So am I,” declared Luke. “Our first baby. Of many.”

  Jeremy smiled. His brother had always been wild about children. For a few years, Jeremy had wondered if Luke would ever come to his senses and settle down. He’d been one of London’s most famous rogues, bedding women left and right. Thank goodness, Caroline had come into his life. Luke was positively batty for his wife.

  As he should be.

  “Do I have time to pop up to the nursery before tea?” Luke asked.

  Catherine nodded. “You better make the time. The children would be positively crushed if their Uncle Luke didn’t visit them.”

  “I’ll be right back,” he promised and left the drawing room.

  Caroline patted her belly. “I can’t wait for Luke to see this little one. I’ve never known a man who adores children as much as he does. I think I fell in love with him as I watched Delia make him her own personal pony. He wrestled with Timothy. Read to Jenny.” She smiled at the memory. “He will be a wonderful father.”

  Cor entered the room at that moment and Jeremy rushed to her. His grandmother had raised him and his siblings since each of the three had lost their mothers in childbirth. Now seventy-six, Cor was moving a little more slowly than in past years but her mind was still as sharp as a razor and her tongue could slice a man to pieces with little effort.

  “How is my favorite grandmother doing?” he asked, taking her arm and leading her to a seat.

  “Better now that I can visit with these two lovely ladies,” Cor replied. “How are you feeling, Caroline, dear?”

  The women began talking and Jeremy’s mind wandered. The teacart arrived and Catherine busied herself pouring out tea.

  “Shall I go drag Luke from the nursery?” he asked. “If I don’t, Caroline might gobble up all of the scones and he’ll have none.”

  “Go ahead, Duke,” his wife encouraged, her eyes bright.

  He knew she was thinking of what they’d be doing after teatime and winked at her.

  “I’ll be back shortly,” he promised.

  As Jeremy left the drawing room and closed the door, he went to the staircase and found Barton ascending it. He’d never seen the butler ruffled in all his years of service.

  Until now.

  “Barton? What’s wrong?”

  “Your Grace . . .” The man’s voice faded. He shook his head. “I always feared this day would come.”

  “You’re worrying me, Barton. Spit it out.”

  “It’s the young lady, Your Grace.”

  “What young lady?” he demanded.

  “The young lady that wishes to see you.”

  “Do you have her card?”

  Barton grimaced. “She’s not that kind of young lady, Your Grace.”

  By now, Luke descended the stairs from the nursery above. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Barton is tongue-tied,” Jeremy complained. “About some young lady.” He faced the butler. “What does she want? And who is she, a woman without a calling card, and apparently no chaperone accompanying her?”

  “I need to speak with you on an urgent matter, Your Grace,” a voice said.

  Jeremy glanced to the stairs and saw the young woman in question marching up them. She reached the top and his heart began pounding rapidly as she approached.

  “We have business to discuss,” she said crisply.

  He hadn’t a doubt in his mind as he took in her appearance but it was Luke who found his voice first.

  “My God—you’re a St. Clair!”

  Chapter Three

  Laurel hadn’t known how to address a duke until she heard the butler speak to the tall, dark-haired man. And then another man just as tall and broad and dark-haired appeared as she moved up the staircase. She’d been afraid if she continued waiting downstairs that the servant would return and either say the duke wasn’t in—or he’d refused to see her. She thought she better take the initiative and seek out Everton.

  Before she was thrown out.

  He could still do that, she knew. Desperation had pushed her to this peer’s doorstep and up his staircase into the sanctity of his home. The next few moments would be critical, though.

  “I need to speak with you on an urgent matter, Your Grace,” Laurel said, pleased that her voice was firm and even. “We have business to discuss.”

  The butler had already eyed her oddly when he’d opened the door but now both these powerful men looked at her in astonishment. Her confidence began to falter. Then one of them spoke.

  “My God—you’re a St. Clair!”

  Her chin raised a notch as she studied them and they her. She immediately knew why the man knew who she was. Both he and the duke he stood next to possessed the same, vivid emerald eyes that she and Hudson did. It was as if she wore a banner proclaiming she was a bastard daughter of the family. No wonder the butler had seemed flustered when she appeared at the duke’s door. He had known exactly where she came from, if not her name.

  The slightly older one, the duke, looked to the butler. “Thank you, Barton,” he said, dismissing the man. Obviously, he didn’t want a servant to overhear their conversation. The butler nodded and slipped away.

  The duke turned to her. “I am Jeremy St. Clair, Duke of Everton.” He indicated the man on his left. “This is my brother, Luke, Earl of Mayfield.”

  Laurel didn’t know how to react. The duke waited for something which she didn’t know to do. Finally, he reached for her hand and clasped it, bowing to her. Releasing it, the earl did the same. She found herself flustered. Looking into these men’s faces was like seeing a different, older version of Hudson. It rattled her—and she couldn’t afford to lose her wits. Not when she was about to propose blackmail.

  But how exactly was she to bring up such a sordid matter?

  “Our grandmother is in the drawing room down the hall, along with our wives, taking tea. Would you care to join us?” the duke asked pleasantly, as if bastards dropped by on a weekly basis.

  “Very well,” she said curtly, trying to hide the nerves that were causing her legs to go wobbly.

  The duke offered his arm. “May I escort you there?” he asked politely.

  “Of course,” Laurel replied.

  She lifted her hand, not exactly sure where she was supposed to put it. The duke placed it on his forearm and led her down the hall, the earl trailing after them. They arrived at a door and the earl hurried to open it and ushered them in.

  As they entered, she saw the room was enormous. Ten families could live within it. Thick rugs covered the floors. Plush furniture placed in groupings for conversation filled the spaces. Artwork on the walls showed lush landscapes. Laughter came from the far side and she observed three women engaged in conversation. When they drew near, all talking ceased. The younger two women, both in their twenties, smiled tentatively at her.

  But it was the older woman, the duke’s grandmother, who commanded Laurel’s attention.

  Her grandmother . . .

  “You’re a St. Clair,” she proclaimed. “What’s your name, Child?”

  “Miss Wright,” she managed to get out.

  “I suppose my son was your father.”

  She stiffened her spine. “I don’t know, my lady. I never knew anything about him. I only recently discovered his name to be Everton and that he was a duke.”

  Curiosity filled the old woman’s face. “How did you learn of him? Did your mother finally tell you?”

  “My mother is dead,” she said flatly. “I discovered a note in her belongings after she passed.”

  “Might I see this note?” the duke asked.

  “Let Miss Wright sit first and take a cup of tea,” the beautiful woman with abundant auburn hair said, giving Laurel a warm smile. “She looks as if she could use one. I am Catherine St. Clair, Miss Wright, the Duchess of Everton. Won’t you please join us?”

  Laurel knees were quaking now. Sitting sounded like a very good idea. Suddenly, nausea and dizziness filled her as these strangers all stared at her. She started to speak and then felt herself go limp. The last thing she heard was someone shouting to catch her.

  When she came to, she was lying on a settee. The duchess and the other woman, whom she assumed was the earl’s wife, hovered nearby. She could tell the younger woman was with child.

  “She’s coming around,” the duchess said and knelt beside her. “Miss Wright, are you better now? Were you overwarm?”

  “Yes,” she said, sitting up, her head woozy.

  The duke pressed a cup into his wife’s hands and she held it out to Laurel. “Here. Drink this. It’s strong and sweet.”

  Laurel did as she was told, the hot brew coursing down her throat, warming her as it traveled to her belly.

  “Duke, do bring her a biscuit. I fear she’s still a tad lightheaded,” the duchess commanded.

  Her husband retrieved a biscuit and brought it over. The duchess offered it and Laurel nibbled at it, trying not to eat it too quickly.

  The duchess studied her. It was as if she could see down to Laurel’s soul.

  “You’re hungry, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  The earl quickly filled a plate and rushed it to her. The five anxiously watched as Laurel ate everything. Food had never tasted so good.

  “More tea,” the duchess said and soon another cup was given to her.

  Laurel sipped it, feeling terribly guilty about what she was going to do to these lovely people.

  Finally, she finished the tea and handed the cup to the duchess, who placed it on a nearby table.

  “Do you feel like talking with us?” the duke asked gently.

  “Yes.” Laurel tried to rein in her galloping thoughts, wondering where she should begin.

  The five all took seats near her, concern apparent on every face. Before she could speak, the old woman, who’d taken the place on the settee next to her, took her hand.

  “You are my granddaughter. My son’s child. I am sorry it has taken so long to meet you.”

  “May we see the note?” the duke asked again.

  When she hesitated, he said, “We’ve no doubt you’re a St. Clair, Miss Wright. One look at your hair, eyes, and cheekbones and it’s obvious to us all. I know my father’s handwriting. Would you mind sharing the note with us?”

  “What if I hand it over and you tear it up?” she boldly asked.

  The duke looked taken aback. “I would never damage something that was yours, Miss Wright.” His mouth set and she knew he was angry with her because she’d seen the same look cross Hudson’s face many a time.

  Reluctantly, she removed the reticule still attached to her wrist and opened it, retrieving the note and handing it to the duke. As he read it, his eyes grew hard. He passed it to his brother, who looked just as grim. The earl gave it to his grandmother, who read it aloud.

  Hearing the words spoken in front of these people cut Laurel to the quick.

  “I shouldn’t have come,” she said quickly. “I’m a by-blow. I have no right—”

  The duke came to his feet and then knelt before her. Taking her hand, he said, “You have every right to be here, Miss Wright. You are a St. Clair—and St. Clairs take care of one another. I apologize for my father’s crass behavior. That he took advantage of your mother and refused to claim responsibility. I know her death and discovering this letter has affected you deeply but I want you to know, we are here for you. Me. Luke. Catherine. Caroline.” He paused, smiling at the woman seated next to her. “And Cor, most of all.”

  The duke rose. “You see, our father was a bitter man. A wastrel. He drank too much and gambled away most of the St. Clair fortune and unentailed properties. It surprises none of us that he acted in such a reprehensible manner.” He paused. “But you have family, Miss Wright. Two brothers and a sister. Rachel isn’t here today. She is Marchioness of Merrick.”