Lady Lucy's Lover by M.C. Beaton Page A

Highness for quite half an hour.
    The Duke of Habard waited patiently in the traffic jamming Fleet Street. Not for him the impatience of the flogging whip or loud oath.
    Sooner or later, the press of carriages and brewers’ drays would start to move. He found himself thinking of Lady Standish. She came so suddenly and vividly to his mind that he half turned his head, expecting to see her.
    The slight form of a heavily veiled woman was turning into Fetter Lane. There was something in the walk… in the turn of the head…
    The Duke frowned. The figure scurried quickly along and then turned into the dark court which led to the offices of Mr. Barrington.
    The traffic began to move, and, almost against his will, he swung off Fleet Street, into Fetter Lane and the court that led to Number Six. His gaze ranged over the handful of unsavory characters who were lounging about and he was glad he had brought Harry, the burliest of his grooms, along instead of his small tiger. He did not fear for himself but for the welfare of his horses.
    But he found himself reluctant to climb down and ascend the stairs to Mr. Barrington’s office. He had been thinking so intensely of Lady Standish that surely it followed that he imagined the veiled woman to be she. Then if it did turn out to be Lady Standish, surely it was entirely her own affair whether she wished to apply to Barrington for help. But such a lamb in the clutches of such a wolf! Then again, whatever she did was her husband’s affair, not his. At last, he came to the conclusion that unless he found out what exactly was going on in that office upstairs, he would not be able to enjoy the rest of the day.
    The staircase leading to Mr. Barrington’s office was dark and dirty and smelled abominably. Near the top were two burly individuals, leaning on either side of the wall.
    The Duke tossed the nearest one a guinea and said in a low voice. “Be off with you and drink my health. I have private business with Mr. Barrington.”
    The fellow hesitated and looked at his companion, who shrugged. They were paid sixpence an hour to “defend” Mr. Barrington, but so far there had been no cause for their services. And there was only a slip of a girl in with the old man. The man with the guinea winked. “We’ll just step out for a minute, guv,” he muttered, and, jerking his head to his friend to follow him, he ambled off down the stairs.
    The Duke waited until they had gone and then moved silently up to the door. Voices came faintly from within but he could not make out what they were saying.
    He turned the handle very gently and gave the door a little push, hoping it would not creak.
    Now Lucy’s voice came clearly to his ears. “I do not understand, Mr. Barrington,” she was saying. “I have here fifty thousand pounds in order to pay those bills of my husband’s. None of them is yet overdue and yet you dare to demand some extortionate amount of interest.”
    â€œYour husband was well aware of the arrangement,” replied Mr. Barrington, sounding highly amused. “He signed these papers, agreeing to the stipulated amount of discount.”
    â€œMy lord is careless,” said Lucy, “and I do not believe for a moment that he knew what he was signing. I will take you to court.”
    â€œI do not believe that,” came Mr. Barrington’s voice. The amusement had gone and he sounded irritated. “The court would uphold my claim.”
    â€œBut it would expose your sharp practices to the eyes of the newspapers and public,” said Lucy. For a moment the Duke could hardly believe this was the porcelain-miniature Lady Standish.
    There came the sound of a chair shifting. “Look here, my little lady,” said Mr. Barrington and his voice was no longer jovial but tinged with menace. “You are threatening me and
I don’t like threats. I see you are veiled and I should guess that you came here