How To Distract a Duchess Read Online Free

he’s a canny man of business, is Mr. Beddington. Any pump the bloke puts his hand to is sure to be flowing with guineas sooner rather than later. Must be rich as Croesus by now, him or whoever he works for.”
    “And who says these things?”
    “Folk what keep an eye on the way of things hereabouts,” he said. “Folk in my line of work.”
    “I know I said no names, but I feel the need to know yours now, if you please.”
    He made a bow with a small flourish, the gesture casually graceful as if he were dressed for an audience with the Queen instead of stark naked before a duchess. “Thomas Doverspike, your servant, mum.”
    “And who is your current employer, Mr. Doverspike?”
    “I work for a small counting house off and on, doing odd jobs. But I don’t plan on staying there. No indeed. A Doverspike always has an eye out for the main chance, my old gaffer used to say. I figure a man of Mr. Beddington’s stripe could use a fellow with my talents. I’m a dab hand at most anything.”
    Artemisia didn’t doubt it. Odd jobs for a counting house probably made him a bill collector of sorts. After seeing his darker glances, she pitied anyone in debt to Mr. Doverspike’s employer.
    “So you think this Mr. Beddington is a friend of my father’s?”
    “More like his particular friend. A bloke don’t hear of one’s success without the other mentioned in the same breath. Stands to reason they’re on friendly terms.”
    “Nothing of the sort,” she said crisply, deciding a judicious slice of the truth might serve to deflect further questions. “Mr. Beddington just happens to be the trustee of my father’s estate during his incapacity. No more, no less.” She didn’t feel the need to add ‘and my late husband’s fortune as well.’ Wherever Mr. Doverspike was getting his information, it was much too on point for her comfort. “And what services did you intend to offer Mr. Beddington?”
    “Even gentlemen like Mr. Beddington need someone with connections on the low side of respectable, if you catch my meaning.” Mr. Doverspike’s smile flattened into a grimace. “Not that being your god of war ain’t a fine position, but there’s not much future in it, is there? I plan to make something of myself one day and a bloke like Beddington’s just the one to help me do it.”
    “Your ambition does you credit, I dare say. It’s quite unlikely, but if I see Mr. Beddington, I will mention you. At present, the post of Mars is all I can offer.” For a moment, Artemisia’s imagination ran amok with the idea of Mr. Doverspike’s less-than-respectable connections. He definitely had a wildness about him, a raw edge of danger.
    “My thanks, Your Grace.”
    Light shafted in shallow pools near the base of the tall windows that lined the south side of her studio, heralding the sun’s zenith. The morning was nearly spent and it was time to put aside her sketches. The consideration of light was only part of why she insisted her models arrive early and on time. The last thing she needed was her mother or younger sisters having a run in with one of her young gods. Artemisia might be a duchess, but that wouldn’t stop Constance Dalrymple from pitching a fit over what she perceived as Artemisia’s lack of decorum and downright fast behavior.
    Artemisia could hold her own in an argument, but she preferred to avoid one if she could. What her mother didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
    “That’s all for today,” she said, waving him away. “Pray, be more punctual on the morrow. See Cuthbert on the way out for your pay.”
    “As you wish, Your Grace.”
    There it was again, the bow that spoke more of courtly dancing than seedy companions. The contradiction between his country speech and his occasional cultivated gesture troubled her. She doubted anyone else would have marked the inconsistency, but art had honed her skills of observation to a fine point.
    His interest in Beddington wasn’t something to be easily dismissed