The Duke's Men [1] What the Duke Desires Read Online Free Page A

make her own way in this world, no matter what it took. She wasn’t
     going through this kind of betrayal ever again.

1

Covent Garden, London
April 1828
    T HERE WASN’T A single letter from Tristan in the whole lot.
    As the misty morning brightened to a less gloomy gray, Lisette tossed the mail onto
     the desk in Dom’s study. Typical. When she’d left Paris, Tristan had promised to write
     her once a week. But though he’d started out well, two months had now passed without
     so much as a line from him.
    She was torn between worry over what had stopped the flow of letters, and a desire
     to string her feckless brother up by his toes and let him see what it was like to be left hanging.
    “Are you sure you don’t want to accompany me to Edinburgh on this case?” Dom asked.
     “You could take notes for me.”
    Lisette looked over to see her half brother lounging in the doorway. At thirty-one
     he was leaner and harder than when they were young, and he now had a scar across his
     cheek that he wouldn’t talk about, whichcame from God knew where. But he was still in her camp.
    Most of the time. She scowled. Sometimes he could be as bad as Tristan.
    Ever since Dom had fetched her here from France six months ago, she’d worked hard
     to turn his rented town house into a home. Just because it also served as the office
     for Manton’s Investigations didn’t mean it had to feel cold and impersonal. But what
     had her efforts got her? Nothing but another man to govern her behavior.
    Sitting back in the chair, she lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t need me to take notes—you
     remember everything word for word.”
    “But you’re better at descriptions than I am. You notice things about people that
     I don’t.”
    She rolled her eyes. “I will only go if you let me do more than describe things and
     make you tea.”
    He eyed her warily. “Like what?”
    “Interview witnesses. Follow suspects. Carry a pistol.”
    To his credit, he didn’t laugh. Tristan would have laughed. And then tried, again , to find her a suitable husband from among his swaggering soldier friends in Paris,
     who acted as if a half-English bastard like her should be grateful for every crumb
     of their attention.
    Instead, Dom eyed her consideringly as he came into the room. “Do you even know how
     to use a pistol?”
    “Yes. Vidocq showed me.” Only once, before Tristan put a stop to the lessons, but
     Dom needn’t know that.
    He was already cursing Eugène Vidocq, the former head of the French secret police.
     “I can’t believe our brother allowed you anywhere near that scoundrel.”
    She shrugged. “We needed the money. And Vidocq needed someone at the Sûreté Nationale
     whom he could trust to organize all his index cards containing descriptions of criminals.
     It was a good position.”
    And to her surprise, she’d enjoyed it. After Maman’s death three years ago, when Lisette
     had moved to Paris to live with Tristan, she’d craved useful work to take her mind
     off her grief. Vidocq had offered it to her. She’d learned about investigating crimes
     from him. Vidocq had even proposed hiring her as an agent for the Sûreté, as he’d
     done with other women, but Tristan had refused to allow it.
    She snorted. Tristan thought it perfectly fine for him to be an agent for the Sûreté all these years, but his sister was to be kept wrapped
     in cotton until she found a husband. Which got more unlikely by the year. She was
     already twenty-six, for pity’s sake!
    “What is your answer, Dom?” she prodded her half brother. “If I go with you, will
     you let me do more than take notes?”
    “Not this time, but perhaps one day—”
    “That’s what Tristan always said.” She sniffed. “Meanwhile, he was plotting behind
     my back to get me married, and when that didn’t work, he packed me off to London with
     you.”
    “For which I’m profoundly grateful,” Dom said with a faint smile.
    “Don’t try to distract me with