The Duke Effect (The Rogue Files #7) - Sophie Jordan Page 0,12

through his consciousness—but it was his now. The responsibility weighed heavily on him—a yoke about his neck from which he would never be free.

When it came to relieving the duchess of her malaise, he’d known instantly the man to see. There was only one person who could help the duchess. Dr. Langley, the man he’d corresponded with for years whilst abroad. Pain alleviation was his specialty. Or rather, it had been. Because the man was apparently dead now.

The knots in his stomach squeezed tighter.

The good doctor been dead for some time, which didn’t make sense. Not one little bit.

Con had first heard of Langley when he read an article on pain mitigation in a medical journal. He’d found the topic fascinating so he had written to the author: a Dr. Langley of Brambledon, England. That one letter had spawned a long-standing communication. A fascinating string of communication, mostly discussing matters of medicine and treatment for the ill or injured.

Strange as it seemed, he had come to look forward to those letters, appreciating the man’s wit and anecdotes. He’d even referred others with medical concerns to Dr. Langley . . . to a dead man, evidently, as he had been deceased for the last five years.

“How is it the man is dead, but I have been communicating with him long after his death? Am I to believe I have been corresponding with a ghost?”

The girl winced and stared at him in mute misery. Her fire was gone. The fire he had witnessed burning so brightly at the pond—in the pond—was gone. Her color ran high then, her cheeks bright as apples, doubtlessly fed by her outrage. Although he did not think her temper alone had caused her flushed cheeks.

He suspected she was the sort of female who eschewed bonnets when she traipsed about the countryside. Bold lasses who climbed trees for no explainable reason and dropped into ponds undoubtedly spent a great deal of time traipsing and exposing their faces to the reticent English sun.

Presently, regret was writ all over her expressive face. It was extraordinary, really. He doubted there was ever an emotion she did not flaunt; hot words she did not bite back, an impulse she did not reject. Unlike himself.

All his life he had kept everything carefully tucked away. Emotion was not to be displayed. Reserve was the order of his life, taught to him first living with the Birchwoods, and then in the army.

Her sudden pallor mystified him. “Do my questions distress you?” he asked at her continued silence.

She moistened her lips. “I—”

The drawing room doors opened then. A well-heeled gentleman and lady entered the room arm in arm, both looking mildly intrigued as they glanced back and forth between Constantine and the girl.

He instantly knew the girl was related to the lady. They both possessed the same fine eyes and fair hair. The girl, however, was younger . . . shorter and curvier. She would fill a man’s hands.

As soon as the thought entered his mind, he cast it out. However beguiling her curves, she’d already proven herself a termagant and not at all to his tastes.

He preferred more mature women, sophisticated ladies prepared to enter into mutually satisfying liaisons devoid of unnecessary emotion. Women capable of conducting an affair in a dignified manner.

He did not believe in doing anything rashly, which made his sudden departure from Town and his sudden arrival here all the more uncharacteristic of him.

A couple years past, the good doctor had written to him informing him of his change of address. The man had not given any explanation and Con had not inquired. He’d thought perhaps he’d gone to live with a relation at this Haverston Hall. The doctor, he had assumed, was not a young man, after all.

Upon arriving in Brambledon, he’d learned that Haverston Hall was the home of the Duke of Warrington. A curious thing, but he had not let that give him pause. He had stopped at the pond to freshen up. He was covered in dust. He’d eschewed the train and ridden hard from London, after all. As he was here to ask a favor of Dr. Langley, he wanted to present himself well.

He’d toyed with the idea of writing a letter first, but thought it would be more compelling to present his case in person. He had also assumed, likely erroneously, that he would be more difficult to decline in person.

Perhaps Constantine would have his answers at last.

He eyed the formidable-looking gentleman and assumed him