“Which my convenient title has resolved.” Damien fingered an ornate silver brush set on the dressing table. “Any word of my brother while you made your inquiries?”
Graves’s expression tightened. “Nothing specific, Your Grace. Though there was mention of Lord Croft’s set causing trouble at certain establishments in the less reputable parts of town.”
Damien’s fingers curled around the silver brush, knuckles whitening. Three years. Three years of following Dominic from one opium den to another, through sanatoriums and relapses, across continents and back again. Three years of watching his bright, brilliant brother deteriorate into a hollow shell when the laudanum took hold, then struggle back to clarity during the agonizing weeks of withdrawal.
And for what? For Dominic to flee back to London, back to the men who had destroyed him, the moment Damien’s vigilance had faltered.
“Their lack of scruples is hardly surprising. The opium dens near the docks were raided by authorities yesterday morning, reopened by evening.” He rubbed his temple, exhaustion evident in his voice. “Someone with influence is protecting their operation. But mark my word,” he said quietly. “Lord Croft will pay for what he’s done.”
“And what of your new wife, Your Grace? Does she fit into these plans?”
Damien turned from the window, his mouth set in a grim line. “My brother’s struggles are a private family matter. While Society may gossip about past events, I prefer to handle Dominic’s recovery with discretion. Besides, if it becomes known I’m searching for Dominic, we’ll be inundated with false sightings and unwanted advice. I prefer to operate quietly.”He paused, recalling the determined set of Eleanor’s chin. “Though I suspect keeping secrets from my duchess may prove challenging.”
“And if she were to discover the truth about Master Dominic?” Graves asked carefully.
“If she’s as clever as she seems, she will understand immediately that the less she’s publicly connected to Dominic’s situation, the better for her charities’ reputations. Her altruistic work shouldn’t be tainted by association with my brother’s indiscretions.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Though any scandal attached to the Westmore name becomes hers as well now. Pleading ignorance may put her in a more sympathetic light—a victim of her scandalous husband and his family.”
“A complicated chess match, Your Grace.”
“Indeed. And I cannot afford to lose a single piece on the board, not with Dominic’s life at stake.”
He moved to the washstand, splashing cool water on his face. The journey had been long and the confrontation with Eleanor unexpectedly taxing.
“I’ve selected the midnight blue coat, Your Grace,” Graves said. “With the silver waistcoat. It seems Her Grace appreciates the finer things. You’ll want to make an impression.”
Damien chuckled. “I believe I’ve already made quite an impression, Graves. Though perhaps not the one I’d prefer.”
As his valet helped him dress for dinner, Damien’s thoughts returned to his brother. After a good night’s sleep, he’d search Dominic’s old favorite watering holes, including the Lyon’s Den, and call on his disreputable friends to determine his whereabouts. He may even pay Croft a visit if needed, although he’d rather not announce his return yet.
“You’re frowning again, Your Grace,” Graves observed as he presented a selection of cravat pins.
“My brother has placed me in an impossible position, Graves.” Damien selected a simple silver pin with a small sapphire that reminded him of Eleanor’s eyes. “Again.”
“Master Dominic has been unwell for a very long time, Your Grace.”
“And I have exhausted my patience, my fortune, and very nearly my sanity trying to save him.” The words emerged with more bitterness than he’d intended. “Only for him to throw himself back into danger the moment my back is turned.”
“If I may, Your Grace…” Graves hesitated.
“Speak freely.”
“Perhaps Master Dominic doesn’t wish to be saved.”
The simple statement struck Damien in his stomach. He had spent so long fighting for his brother’s recovery that he’d never truly considered the possibility that Dominic might be choosing his destruction.
“No,” he said firmly. “I refuse to accept that. Dominic was targeted by Croft’s set because of our family’s properties and influence. They deliberately cultivated his addiction to control him, then used that control to systematically steal from our estates. The missing funds, the forged documents authorizing sales—all of it traces back to Croft’s manipulation of my brother’s weakened state. They are the architects of his downfall, not Dominic himself. It’s only a matter of time before I prove it, which should be easier now that I’m here.”
Graves nodded, though his expression remained doubtful. “As you say, Your Grace.”
Damien checked his appearance in the mirror, satisfied that he looked every inch the returning duke. The midnight blue coat emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, while the silver waistcoat added a touch of formality appropriate for dining with his duchess.
His duchess. The thought still seemed surreal. Somewhere in this house, Eleanor was also preparing for their dinner, likely plotting how to convince him to leave London. Little did she know how impossible that request would be.
“I have a delicate line to walk, Graves,” he said, adjusting his cuffs. “I must maintain my cover as the depraved duke returned to claim his marital rights, while simultaneously investigating Croft’s operations without drawing attention to my true purpose.”
“That should not prove difficult to convince of others given Her Grace’s beauty, Your Grace.”
Damien’s reflection stared back at him, green eyes troubled despite his polished appearance. “Aye; however, Eleanor Westmore is a complication I did not anticipate.” He touched the sapphire pin at his throat. “Beauty I can resist. Intelligence I can respect from a distance. But together…”