Scandalizing the Duke

by Leslie V. Knowles

  Halfway there, a carriage pulled up beside her and Lucien leapt down. His firm hand clamped onto her elbow, abruptly altered her direction, and marched her to the carriage. "I thought we’d agreed that you were to stay away from the Daltons." He didn’t wait for her response, but bundled her into the carriage, then signaled the driver to move off before he'd fully settled onto the seat. His gaze pinned her, his eyes narrowed, and his words clipped. "Did Dalton see you? Did he hurt you—?” He broke off and took a deep breath. “What were you thinking?"

  "I had to see Lady Dalton myself. I made sure Lord Dalton would be gone. But then he came home early, and I had to hide until he left again. I couldn't let the other servants know her maid had assisted me.“ She caught her breath on a sob and blurted, "It was as bad as I feared. If Lady Dalton doesn’t escape him, he‘ll kill her as surely as he did Mrs. Franklin." Her eyes filled. "I suspect from her breathing that her ribs are damaged., and her arm is in a splint." The tears crested and ran down her cheeks. "And her face—“ She shuddered. “I must do something—I know the law says I can’t—but I must." She wiped her eyes, then demanded, "What will the courts do to me? Will I be sent to Newgate?"

  LUCIEN'S JAW TIGHTENED to imagine Charlotte held prisoner in filthy cages filled with both human and animal vermin. The idea that she might suffer such a fate while Dalton remained free to find more prey for his violence formed an icy resolve. "Not if I can bloody well help it."

  Charlotte's eyes widened at his language.

  “I’ll not beg your pardon,” he crossed his arms across his chest. “Strong emotions demand strong words.”

  The carriage stopped in the mews behind Wolverton House as he’d instructed when he’d plucked her from the street. It wouldn’t do for anyone to see them descend a closed carriage with no maid in attendance. Lucien alighted to help Charlotte down. Charlotte might be a family guest, but they were both unmarried. He hurried her into the house and into his study. On the way, he told Timmons to inform the ladies that Charlotte was safe and would attend them shortly.

  Lucien shut the door with finality and whirled Charlotte into his arms. "Don’t ever take such a chance again." Before she could protest, his mouth came down on hers with an angry kiss fueled by worry and relief. He lifted his head from hers and muttered, “If it weren’t bad enough you went to Dalton House, you told no one where you’d gone. Anything could have happened, and no one would’ve known.”

  “But it didn’t.” Charlotte’s voice quavered. “I was on the way home when you found me.”

  “It doesn’t signify,” he ground out. “You were supremely fortunate you suffered nothing more than a few hours in a closet.” His throat tightened and his voice nearly cracked. "You can’t imagine my relief I felt when I saw you on the street. You can’t imagine my fury when I saw you, alone at dusk, strolling along as though you'd done nothing more than take a walk in the park." He straightened and released his hold on her before pointing to the chair in front of his desk. "Sit down, Miss Longborough. We have a great deal more to talk about."

  Charlotte blinked at him. Her lashes formed spikes, damp from her earlier tears. When she turned them toward him, her gray eyes were luminous in the half-light of the early dusk. Her mouth soft and still pink from their kiss.

  Bloody hell.

  Lucien walked around and stood behind the desk. He needed to distance himself from her, the appeal of those eyes, and the flavor of her mouth.

  How in the name of all things holy could he want to throttle her as violently as Dalton and at the same time want to lay her down on the desk and ravish her like some raider of old? It made no sense. No more than the fact that he also wanted to hold her in his arms and soothe away the anguished sadness he saw in those luminous gray depths.

  "I'm sorry–"

  He cut her off with a gesture. "Do not say a word until I‘ve done with you." He strove for calm. He strove for reason. He studied the intricately carved moldings that marked the edge of the wall cornice and counted to twenty.

  "Now," he said at last, "As it is clear that you value others more than yourself," he signaled her to remain quiet when she took a breath to argue. "and that you will undoubtedly ignore common sense in your desire to rescue any and all things in need, I ask that you promise to do nothing more until a plan can be put in motion that will assist Lady Dalton without putting either of you in further danger."

  He braced his hands on his desk and leaned forward. "From what you’ve told me, time may well be of the essence, though her injuries will require some delay for her to heal. I will think on the matter tonight, as I am sure, will you. I must investigate the practical possibilities before we decide on a plan of action."

  He gestured to the door to indicate he was finished with the subject for the moment. "Your sisters have been particularly worried about you, as have Anne and my stepmother. I do not believe, however, that hearing where you were or what you found would relieve their concerns."

  She stood as well. "You’re right. I’ll only tell them that I was visiting a friend on a private matter. I’m sorry to have worried everyone. It was my intention to be home within the hour." She moved to the door, then turned. "I know that I shouldn’t have gone, of course. But you should know I’m not sorry I went." She left the study and Lucien sat heavily into his chair.

  He didn’t doubt that Charlotte was as determined to remove Lady Dalton from her husband's abuses as ever. So how did they get Lady Dalton away from danger and keep the man from finding her? And how did they do it without bringing attention and scandal to the family and guests of Wolverton House?

  CHAPTER 22

  When the Daltons arrived at Jane's betrothal ball three weeks later, Charlotte's nerves skittered along her spine and made it difficult for her to breathe normally. Notes passed between the Littlemarsh maid and Margery had established that Lady Dalton would be attending the Pomphrey celebration, so the plan Charlotte and Lucien had made could be set into motion.

  The lady was still pale, and Charlotte noted a less obvious splint beneath her long gloves, but the livid bruises had faded. Only someone who'd seen them in full bloom would realize the faint marks that remained beneath her powder were not shadows cast by candlelight. The drape of Lady Dalton’s emerald green gown still set the gossips in the chaperone corner whispering, though it was not as low or daring as the red dress she'd worn to the opera. At her neck, a wide choker of emeralds, circled with diamonds, matched the earbobs and bracelet she wore. She’d been instructed to wear her finest jewels since they could, when broken apart, be sold as needed and provide Lady Dalton with the funds she would need in her new life.

  Jane and her fiancé took their places on the dancefloor to begin the ball, and Charlotte experienced a pang of conscience. She hoped their celebration would not be marred by her attempt to rescue Lady Dalton. She and Lucien had planned for as many contingencies as possible, including a note to be delivered to Lord Dalton once he realized his wife was missing. He might still cause a scene, but Lucien said Dalton wouldn’t endanger his reputation by allowing the situation to become public before attempting to gain her return.

  Anticipation and trepidation combined to blur the evening entertainments as she danced with several gentlemen of her acquaintance. She chatted, smiled, and generally behaved like one of the automation machines she had recently seen on display. Her actions were directed by habit while her mind swirled with what if's. At every turn, she found herself watching for the moment Lord Dalton would finally seek out the card room.

  "If you keep staring at them," Lucien murmured before taking a sip of champagne, "You will undo all our preparations."

  "Are you sure he’ll leave her alone for the card room? Though he’s danced with several other ladies, she’s danced only the first with her husband."

  "Ravencliffe asked her for the second set and was told that though she wouldn’t miss Jane's celebration, she didn’t yet feel up to further efforts. If Dalton follows his usual habit, he’ll go to the card ro
om after the supper dance."

  "If Lady Dalton is easily tired, might he take her home early? It would be rather unfeeling of him to stay late at cards when his wife is not dancing."

  Lucien gave her a sardonic look.

  "Of course he won't,” Charlotte answered herself with a rueful expression. "We are speaking of Lord Dalton."

  Charlotte thought it odd that time could move so slowly, and yet when Lucien came to claim her for the supper dance, the moment had come too swiftly. She wasn't ready, yet it must be in the next half hour that they put their plan into action. They must spirit Lady Dalton away to the carriage that waited in the mews without attracting attention. From there, Lady Dalton would take a ship bound for Canada.

  Once supper was done, Charlotte slipped through the crowd as they made their way back into the ballroom. She quickly reached the retiring room where she had secreted an inconspicuous bundle during her visit with Jane and her mother the day before. Now if Lord Dalton would go into the card room so Lady Dalton could come to the retiring room.

  The door opened and Lady Dalton came in, her face stark white, her eyes wide with anxiety. "Miss Longborough?" she whispered.

  "Over here." Charlotte stepped from behind the privacy screen. "Let me help you change."

  Lady Dalton’s hands were cold even through her gloves when Charlotte clasped them in reassurance. They didn’t speak as Charlotte quickly undid Lady Dalton's gown and removed her matching slippers. Lady Dalton's hands trembled as she reached to undo the clasp of her choker. Within minutes she stuffed the fine gown into a plain linen bag along with her shoes and jewels.

  The dark gray traveling dress Charlotte drew over Lady Dalton's torso and fitted into place was of moderate quality. Neither fine nor coarse and with a high neck and long, plain sleeves the dress was plain and serviceable. Cotton stockings replaced silk, and sturdy walking shoes matched the genteel, but middle-class status that would make Lady Dalton less conspicuous when she arrived at her destination. In truth, she would easily pass as the lady's companion her manufactured references claimed her to be.

  Lady Dalton removed the pins from her hair and, with Charlotte's help, quickly braided it into a single long rope that she then wrapped into a plain figure eight at the back of her neck. Charlotte bundled the hairbrush into the bag along with the remaining pins.

  Lady Dalton turned to her and whispered, "Do you think this will work?"

  Charlotte stopped tying the strings of the bag and placed her hand on Lady Dalton's arm. "It will if we hurry. His Grace has arranged everything, but we must have you well away before your husband notices you are gone."

  "Thank you, my dear." Lady Dalton’s eyes glistened. "Even if this should fail, I will never forget your kindness."

  Charlotte's own eyes stung, remembering the woman she hadn't been able to help. But they had no time for tears or sentimentality. "There is a bonnet and cloak in the carriage along with a portmanteau with funds, identification papers– You are now Laurel Bennett— and personal necessities." Charlotte said as she handed Lady Dalton the cloth bag. "A trunk with additional clothing has been sent on board the ship and is waiting in your cabin. Margery is there as well and will travel with you."

  She went to the door and peeked out. People danced and flirted with one another, Lucien stood by the card room doorway chatting with Lord Pomphrey. She didn’t see Lord Dalton.

  Charlotte beckoned Lady Dalton to follow and led the way to the back stairs and down into the servant's entrance. Maids and footmen scurried back and forth clearing away the supper things and setting out sweet meats, fruits, and pastries for the guests to enjoy throughout the rest of the evening. Other than a few glances, they paid little attention to the lady and her companion who left by the back door.

  The carriage waited behind the garden wall, and as the driver assisted Lady Dalton inside, Charlotte told her, "I pray you God speed and a good life." Then she turned and hurried back to the ballroom before anyone commented on her absence.

  "THEN SHE IS SAFELY away?" Charlotte asked Lucien when he joined her in the library long after she and his family returned home.

  Lucien described Dalton's white-faced fury when he received the note delivered by the footman as he quit the card room before the final dance of the night. It had been Charlotte's idea to have Lady Dalton write a note that she had returned home early and would send the carriage back for him. Clearly, he had been angry that she would act independently, but he would be home before he knew his wife had left him forever.

  "The ship left port an hour ago, and she and the maid were both aboard."

  Lucien went to the side table and poured her a sherry and himself a brandy. When she took her glass, he held his up and tapped it against hers. "To a job well done." He took a sip, then gave her a stern look. "and may an occasion such as this never arise again. Rash actions rarely turn out so well."

  Charlotte sipped her sherry and savored the exhilaration of their success. "Thank you for making the arrangements. You made it possible for me to save her life." She studied the amber liquid in her glass, then said, "As much as I wanted to help Lady Dalton, I know I wouldn’t have succeeded on my own. You cannot know how much that lifts the burden of guilt I've carried for half my life."

  "Perhaps I do." Lucien responded. Surprisingly, when he'd received the message from the captain of the ship confirming that Mrs. Laurel Bennett was on board, he'd had a similar lifting of guilt. "Making things right for Lady Dalton doesn’t rectify the flaw in a law meant to establish order in society, but it does satisfy my sense of right and wrong."

  He swirled the brandy in his glass, releasing its rich aroma before taking a final, fortifying sip. His thoughts swirled along with the liquid. After a moment he said, "When I was sixteen, I did something for which I have long been ashamed. Saving Lady Dalton doesn’t undo my youthful rash behavior or the consequences," He raised an eyebrow and smiled. "But I believe it would have made my father proud."

  "Whatever you did, it couldn’t have been too terrible," Charlotte told him. "I don’t believe you’re capable of doing anything that would cause disastrous consequences."

  His spark of pleasure faltered. Her gaze held warmth and admiration that he didn’t deserve. Lady Dalton's rescue not withstanding, he was no hero. "It caused my father's death." He said bleakly, "and nearly that of my whole family."

  Charlotte's teasing expression faded. "Whatever did you do?"

  CHAPTER 23

  Lucien walked to the side table and refilled his glass while he sorted his thoughts. He wasn’t sure why he'd admitted that to her, but it was a relief to say aloud what he'd kept inside for more than a decade. Still, he didn’t make eye contact when he turned back.

  "I was twelve when my father brought my half-brother home. Tristan was two years my junior. A scrawny, filthy gutter-rat who’d been conceived the year after my mother died and before he met my stepmother." Lucien shook his head and his lip curled in derision. "He told me it made no difference that he’d not married Tristan’s mother, we were both his sons. And he insisted I accept my half-brother just as fully as I did my legitimate half-sisters.” His lips tightened with the memory. “I was mortified to discover he’d fathered a child on my nurse. Nor did I believe him when he claimed he hadn’t known of her condition when she left his employment.”

  He swirled the brandy, but didn’t drink. "In my resentment, I saw everything he did for his other son as a slight against me. I was mortified to be associated with Tristan, who was an ungrateful street-wise ruffian from Seven Dials. Yet I fought the bullies at school who ridiculed my father for expecting people to accept a bastard in their midst. I nurtured my resentment long after I should have accepted matters.” He paused, ashamed of his arrogant immaturity, and the actions he was about to confess. "One day I found a set of my father’s old journals in an obscure corner of the library. Angry for being chastised because of my latest rebellion, I scoured them for anything about my mother, the nurse, or Tristan. Eventually, I fou
nd something my father had written that put Tristan's paternity in question." Lucien remembered the exhilarated triumph he’d enjoyed at the discovery before he downed the contents of the class and set it aside, then looked at Charlotte, his lips set in grim acknowledgement. "It wasn't enough that he was a bastard, I needed him to be someone else's bastard.” He shook his head in disgust. “I knew he wasn't. We looked too much alike."

  Charlotte nodded. "It would have made your life easier, and your father might have remained on his pedestal."

  Aunt Ridley had said much the same thing.

  "I left the journal where Tristan would see it. I knew he’d read it, that he still distrusted his good fortune, and that his pride wouldn’t allow him to stay if he didn’t belong. As I hoped, he was gone the next morning, taking little more than the clothes that he wore."

  Lucien took a deep breath and caught the faint whisper of wildflowers that he would always associate with Charlotte Longborough. The clean, fresh scent was at odds with the sordid truths he revealed.

  “My father went after him as soon as he realized Tristan was gone. He searched all hours, and in all weather, during the week it took to find him. He investigated every vermin infested hovel where street urchins gathered, he searched every vice house and gaming hell. When he finally found Tristan and brought him home, Tristan was ill with a fever. My father and sisters caught the fever from him. Tristan and the girls recovered, but Papa died." He met Charlotte's gaze. "I killed him."