St. Raven by Jo Beverley Read Free Book Online Page B

illegal and dangerous.
    Was he mad, after all? It
had
been a full moon last night!
    A knock on the door.
    Cressida jumped to her feet as the duke walked in. He
looked
normal in riding dress of dark jacket, buckskin breeches, and top boots. No, not normal. The breeches seemed smeared with dirt, and his lip was swollen.
    “Great Juno! Have you been
fighting
!”
    “What would give you that idea?” But he smiled— then pulled out a handkerchief already spotted with blood and dabbed at his lip. “You look much restored, nymph.”
    Lunatic.
    Duke.
    Cressida was at a loss.
    “I breakfasted. No one seemed to know where you were or when you would return.”
    He glanced at her plate. “That is not breakfast. I’ll be back in a moment, and then we can talk.”
    She stared at the door. He was eccentric at the least, and now she had to deal with him. She sat down again and nibbled the last of her buttered roll. If she could persuade him to help, he could be a gift from heaven. She could be home soon, untouched but victorious—if she could harness a duke to her will.
    He returned with a large tray and put a platter of ham and eggs in the middle of the table, then added a plate of bread along with butter and marmalade, then a bowl of plums. Last came a coffeepot, cup, and jug of cream. Clearly men, big men who rode out early to involve themselves in fights, needed huge meals.
    He put the tray aside and sat opposite her. “You look shocked. Because I need sustenance?”
    “Because you’re a duke and carry your own tray.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous.” He helped himself to three eggs and a lot of ham. “Please, take some of this if you want it.”
    Cressida repressed a shudder, but she did pour herself more chocolate.
    “While I eat, tell me your story. It seems to be my day for knight-errantry.”
    “You’ve found another damsel in distress?”
    His lips twitched. “After a fashion.”
    Mad. Truly mad. “This house must be becoming rather crowded.”
    “Oh, I stashed her in one of my other residences. Now, your story, Miss Whoever-you-are.” He tucked into his meal.
    Cressida dithered, but she needed help, so she formed a version of the truth. “Lord Crofton has stolen something from my family, Your Grace, and it is in Stokeley Manor. I need to get in there to recover it.”
    He swallowed, contemplating her. “If he’s stolen it, go to the authorities.”
    “He’s a peer. I don’t think I’d be attended to.”
    “Worth trying, wouldn’t you say, before prostituting yourself with him?”
    It stung, but he was right. “Very well. He won it at cards.”
    “Cheated?”
    That hadn’t occurred to her before. Reluctantly, she shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
    “Then it’s his, fair and square.”
    “No, it isn’t!”
    He poured himself coffee and added cream. “Why don’t you tell me the truth? We’ll get there anyway eventually.”
    Cressida shot to her feet. “You have no right to demand anything from me, sir! I am free to leave here anytime I wish.”
    “I’m afraid not.” He cut another piece of ham.
    “You can’t keep me prisoner.”
    He just raised his brows and put the ham into his mouth.
    Cressida eyed the heavy silver chocolate pot, but hitting him with it would not achieve her purpose. She forced herself to stay calm.
Only one thing matters
, she reminded herself.
Only one thing
. She squeezed her clasped hands once, tightly, then relaxed, and sat down again.
    “My name is Cressida Mandeville, Your Grace. My father is Sir Arthur Mandeville.” She watched for some sign of recognition, but didn’t see any. Hardly surprising. Even in the London season the Mandevilles had moved in a different orbit from the Duke of St. Raven.
    “He is recently home after twenty-three years in India.”
    “A nabob.” He used the common term, which also implied wealth.
    “Yes.”
    “You lived in India with him?”
    “I was born there, but my mother was troubled by the climate, so we both returned