A Duke by Default: Dangerous Dukes Vol 3

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘He won’t give an opinion. He says he’s done everything he can to make her comfortable and his recommendation is to wait and hope. The house was in uproar by all accounts, and Mrs. Aston was so overset she’s taken to her bed. The doctor was obliged to give her a sedative.’

  ‘Who is with my wife?’

  ‘Lady Calder was being sent for, Your Grace.’

  Marc glowered at the wall. ‘Thank God someone did something right.’

  ‘You will want to go to her, Marc.’

  ‘I should have foreseen this, Giles.’ Marc spoke quietly, his tone infinitely more threatening than if he had shouted and railed. ‘I was an idiot to leave her alone.’

  Giles raised his eyebrows. ‘How could you possibly have anticipated a burglary?’

  ‘This was no ordinary burglary, I’ll stake my fortune on that. Those scoundrels were after more than the family silver, Giles, and what they were after, if I’m not much mistaken, was my wife’s life.’

  ‘Marc, calm yourself, you are not thinking straight and cannot possibly know that for a certainty.’

  Taking control, Giles forced a healthy measure of brandy on his friend. Reviving as the fiery liquid burned a path to his stomach, Marc left the club and strode towards his travelling chaise, which Giles had ordered up. He took up the ribbons and drove away from St. James’s Street at a breakneck pace. They were soon back on the road to Matlock House, but Marc was too fearful of what he would find when he reached his destination to speak one word to Giles throughout the entire journey.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Marc concentrated all his attention on his team, pushing them to the limit, as he raced towards Matlock House. He was gripped by incandescent rage as he ruminated upon the events of the previous evening, roundly cursing his own stupidity. He should have anticipated the villains would take advantage of his absence to search for the Hogarth cartoons or, worse, attempt harm to his wife. He shouldn’t have left her so inadequately protected. What the devil had he been thinking?

  The answer was that he had not been. Harriet had distracted him with her forthright questions about subjects he wasn’t sure were ever put into words between husband and wife. Her offer to behave as his mistress had completely floored him, and he hadn’t known how to deal with it. He had feigned sleep as soon as their intimacies were over, but was acutely aware of her lithe form snuggled against his back. The temptation to pull her into his arms, hold her close for the entire night and whisper the endearments he sensed she wanted to hear had been hell on earth to resist.

  Marc had left Matlock House before daybreak with his sanity barely intact and without impressing upon his wife the need for vigilance. The fact she had almost died—and still could for all he knew—might be her fault for being such an enticing tease. Even so, the burden of blame was his to carry, and he added his failure to protect Harriet to his growing list of inadequacies.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Marc pulled the carriage to a shuddering halt at the door to Matlock House. The two stable lads Marc had employed ran to take the exhausted team. Marc jumped down, his caped driving coat billowing behind him as he strode towards the house.

  ‘I trust, Giles,’ he said, grinding his jaw in a futile attempt to curtail his anger, ‘that the perpetrators of this outrage know of a good hiding place.’

  ‘Fortunately for them, we have no idea who they are.’ Giles shuddered. ‘I shouldn’t like to be in their boots when you catch up with them.’

  ‘I can’t yet prove who they are or, more to the point, who sent them to harm Harriet, but I entertain few doubts. They will soon learn the folly of interfering in my affairs.’

  Charlotte came running down the steps, looking unusually subdued.

  ‘How is my wife?’ Marc asked, not pausing as he ascended the steps. Charlotte lifted her skirts and scurried to keep up with him.

  ‘There’s no change.’ Marc noticed Charlotte’s lower lip trembling. Her concern for Harriet went some way to improving Marc’s opinion of her. ‘Lady Calder is with her.’

  ‘I will deal with you later,’ Marc said icily, brushing past Swift when he appeared in the hallway, his face ashen.

  Throwing his outer clothing into the arms of a waiting maid, Marc paused only to rest a reassuring hand on James’s shoulder before taking the stairs two at a time and striding across the landing. He reached the door to his wife’s chamber and finally hesitated, fighting to regain his composure before turning the handle and entering the room. The curtains had been pulled two-thirds of the way across the mullioned windows and the light was dim—but not so dim that Marc couldn’t see Lady Calder sitting beside the inert form of his wife, reading aloud to her. Marc’s taut muscles relaxed. If she was being read to, then she must have come to her senses. His aunt looked up and smiled, putting the book aside.

  ‘Is she awake?’ Marc asked, a glimmer of hope breaking through his debilitating fear.

  ‘No, Marcus, not yet.’

  The glimmer was replaced by a sweep of stultifying isolation. ‘But you were reading to her.’

  ‘I have heard it said that people who are unconscious can often hear what’s going on around them, even if they can’t actually communicate. I thought hearing a familiar voice might persuade her to open her eyes.’ Lady Calder looked pale and strained. ‘I couldn’t think of anything else to try.’

  Marc hid his disappointment behind a fierce expression and steeled himself to look at Harriet. Her face was deathly pale, the gash on her temple had been opened up and the beginnings of a bruise had already flowered around the wound. Her breathing was light and even, but her eyes remained tightly closed.

  ‘How could I have failed her so?’ he wondered aloud as he brushed a wayward strand of hair tenderly away from her face.

  ‘You are not responsible for what occurred.’

  ‘She is my wife. I should have taken better care of her.’

  ‘The doctor is optimistic about her chances for recovery. She has a slight fever, but as soon as it breaks, I am confident that she will be restored to us.’ Lady Calder stood up, and Marc noticed the tired lines etched around her eyes. ‘Since you are here, you might as well make yourself useful and sit with her while I rest for a while. Talk to her, Marc, and don’t give up hope. She has a hard head and a strong will. If anyone can pull through, it’s Harri.’

  Marc opened the door for her. ‘Thank you for taking such good care of her—of all the family—but you look exhausted. Rest for as long as you need to. I shall not leave her side.’

  Lady Calder treated him to an intense look. ‘I am aware of that.’

  Alone with his wife, Marc removed his coat and took her hand in his. It was icy cold to the touch, but her forehead was burning hot. She obviously did have a fever and he wondered what was being done to relieve it. Only moments ago she had been lying passively, but now she was thrashing about, mumbling incoherently. Was that a good sign? Marc had no idea and wished he had thought to ask Lady Calder if Harri had said anything that made sense.

  He immersed a cloth in a bowl of cold water as he had seen his aunt do moments before, and applied the cold compress to his wife’s forehead. Her thrashing ceased almost immediately. Marc reclaimed her hand and feasted his eyes upon the sight of her lovely face, already regretting what might have been.

  ‘Wake up, Harri,’ he whispered softly, leaning towards her and placing his lips against her ear. ‘We have so many plans to make for our future. I need you, sweetheart. I can’t fulfil my obligations without you.’

  Taking a leaf from Lady Calder’s book, Marc chose to believe she could her him and he continued to talk to her as the hours passed and the shadows from the half-open curtains lengthened across the room. He told her everything—especially what a fraud he felt.

  ‘It should have been Jonathan, not me. Jonathan would have been ideal as a duke, and I would have been perfectly content to remain Mr. Rothwell. The dowager duchess and I have never seen eye to eye, but she’s right about one thing. It�
��s my fault Jonathan died, and she has every right to dislike me.’ Marc ran a hand through his hair. ‘Perhaps now you understand why I can’t allow anyone to get too close. I allowed you in, just a little, and see how that’s finished up.’

  Someone brought him a tray of refreshments but it went untouched. He left the room only when the doctor called and needed to change the dressings on her temple and thigh. Marc took the opportunity to change out of his travel-stained clothing in the attic room utilised by Harriet’s brothers and listened, grim-faced, as Giles told him what he had discovered about the burglary.

  ‘Very little was stolen, Marc. Your wife’s appearance must have put them off.’

  Marc clenched his jaw. ‘I doubt that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later. What is missing?’

  ‘Nothing of much value, except for the statue of a mermaid that your uncle gave to your wife.’

  ‘She won’t wish to part with that.’ Marc would buy her twenty silver statues when…if she recovered, but he knew that particular one held special meaning for her and he was damned if she would be parted from it. ‘We must make a point of getting it back. What else have you learned?’

  ‘Well, it’s interesting, but the window breaking when the thieves gained entry wasn’t what woke your wife.’

  Marc looked up from fastening his clean breeches and flexed a brow. ‘Presumably because they didn’t gain entry through the window.’

  ‘Well, yes, but how the devil did you know?’

  ‘I guessed it, because the purpose of the break-in wasn’t to steal items but to attack Harri. Whoever broke it knew the layout of the house and that her chamber was closest to the top of the stairs, and they deliberately made a noise so she would be the first to hear them. They must have known enough of her character to appreciate she would immediately investigate without thought for her own safety.’

  ‘We think they broke in through the side-door, which doesn’t have a strong bolt. They locked it again behind them, but we found mud from their boots on the floor that they forgot to clear away. They then broke the drawing room window, presumably to make it look as though that had been their point of entry. But Swift and I discovered most of the glass had fallen on the flower bed beneath the window, so it could only have been broken from within. They must have dislodged the remaining panes and trampled on them in the drawing room, having first opened the door to the vestibule with the deliberate intention of waking your wife.’

  ‘It would certainly have done that. She’s a light sleeper.’ As a rule.

  ‘Again, Marc, I have to ask why? Why would anyone wish Harriet harm?’

  ‘Whom do we suppose was behind the burglary?’

  ‘Why, Jessup and Sanderson, I suppose.’

  ‘Exactly. And if Jessup’s motivation is the Hogarth sketches, then what’s in it for Sanderson? He has a good living at Endersby. What would make him jeopardise that?’

  ‘For monetary gain, perhaps?’

  ‘Or because of his loyalty to my aunt. His mother is her companion and has been for many years. Sanderson would have grown up hearing all the dowager’s grievances from a biased source. He also bears a grudge against the Astons because your Charlotte rebuffed his advances.’ Marc screwed his features into a mask of distaste. ‘Rather full of his own importance, is our Sanderson.’

  Giles grimaced. ‘So it seems.’

  ‘I have been wondering why my aunt gave up her objections to my marriage so easily.’ Marc pulled on a clean shirt and draped an untied neckcloth around his shoulders. ‘I should have suspected her motives, knowing how opposed she was to what she looked upon as a mésalliance.” He shook his head. “I underestimated her. I know from bitter experience what degree of spite she’s capable of but didn’t imagine that even she would stoop to such murderous machinations.’

  ‘So, you think the intention was to murder Harri to prevent her from giving you an heir?’ Giles gulped. ‘Heavens, do you think the dowager duchess knew of the plan and approved it?’

  Marc scowled. ‘I hope for her sake she did not, but I wouldn’t put anything past her.’

  ‘What shall you do?’

  ‘Nothing until my wife is recovered.’ Marc faced his friend, struggling to keep his fears under proper control. Nothing could be achieved by giving way to emotion. ‘If she recovers.’

  Marc returned to Harriet’s side and seldom left it for the next two days. Nor did the subdued puppy, who had to be carried outside by James at regular intervals to relieve himself. Freddie whined when he returned each time and Harriet’s condition was unchanged. Then he curled up in a ball on her feet and refused to move. Marc felt like following his example.

  With no appetite, Marc was barely persuaded to eat. He snatched a moment or two when the doctor called to wash and change his attire, not even taking the time to shave. If he was weary, he lay beside his wife—her hand always firmly clasped within his own—but he didn’t sleep. Instead, he attempted to infuse some of his indomitable will into her inert form, and continued to talk to her. He talked more than he had in his entire life. He talked until his jaw ached and he felt a strange sense of release for having put everything into words, even if there was no one conscious to hear them.

  ‘I know you want more from this marriage than I’m able to offer you, Harri. I know you have a tender heart and want to feel love and be loved in return. But I just can’t do it. I can’t make that commitment to you. Do you not see? Some sort of curse attaches to me. Every time I allow myself to love a person, then misfortune befalls them. I was right to be cautious in your case and yet my precautions were not sufficient. I willed myself to be indifferent, but harm still came knocking at your door. It’s all my fault, and I can’t live with the guilt.

  ‘I didn’t want to be the Duke of Broadstairs, but you already know that. The real heir is dead because of me, and I don’t blame my aunt for hating me as a result. I can’t give the title away and so must do what Jonathan would have done, ensure the estate flourishes and pass it on intact to our first born son. I owe that much to my uncle and to Jonathan. It’s my duty and I won’t flinch from it, even if it makes me miserable.

  ‘I know you can hear me, Harri. Give me a sign, blink your eyes, let me know you understand.’ Marc paused, more in hope than expectation, but Harriet’s breathing didn’t change, her eyes didn’t miraculously open, and she remained locked in a world where he couldn’t reach her.

  Lady Calder entered the room and smiled at Marc. ‘No change, I see,’ she said, placing a hand on Harriet’s forehead. ‘Can I persuade you to take some rest, Marcus?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Don’t torture yourself so, my dear. You will be no good to her when she wakes up if you can’t keep your eyes open.’

  ‘If she wakes up.’ Marc shook his head. ‘I’m starting to think it will never happen. It’s been too long.’

  ‘Don’t give up hope.’ Lady Calder’s hand was still on Harriet’s forehead. ‘I believe the fever has broken. Her brow is cool to the touch for the first time and have you noticed that she appears less restless?’

  Marc hadn’t. How could he have missed something so obvious? Hope blossomed, along with cautious optimism. Lady Calder stayed for an hour, chatting to Marc about inconsequential matters. When she quit the room again, Marc continued his interrupted conversation with his wife.

  ‘I cannot risk loving you, Harri, but I can certainly awake your passions. You are a very diligent pupil. I rejoice in your ability to shed your inhibitions and follow your feelings. I intend for us to have many children to show for your lack of reserve. All of the girls will look like you, my love.’ He leaned close and whispered into her ear, the bristles on his unshaven chin tickling the soft flesh beneath it as he willed her to pay him heed. ‘Although I shouldn’t object if one or two of them were a little less stubborn.’

  ‘You haven’t shaved.’

  Marc looked about him, annoyed at this interruption from a croaking, unfami
liar voice. How could anyone have entered the room without him knowing? No one had. He must be more tired than he thought and was starting to hallucinate. It took several glances in Harriet’s direction before he realised her eyes had fluttered open.

  It was she who had spoken.

  ‘Harri, have you really come back to me?’ Euphoria swept through him as his hand reached out to gently caress her face. ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Did you just smile at me?’

  ‘You earned it. Now, tell me how you feel. Where does it hurt?’

  ‘I feel strange.’ She reached out to touch the dressing on her temple, wincing as her fingers made contact with it. ‘What happened to me? How long have I been like this?’

  ‘You don’t remember?’

  ‘No.’ She frowned. ‘There was something…an oddity, there were burglars, I think. And something took me by surprise and hurt me.’ She reached beneath the covers and touched the dressing on her thigh.

  ‘You were stabbed,’ he said, his voice taut with emotion. ‘But it isn’t serious. We were more concerned about the injury to your head when you struck it on the newel post and reopened your wound. You have been unconscious for three days.’ He shook a finger beneath her nose. ‘This is getting to be a habit. You gave us all a terrible scare.’

  Marc pulled Freddie into his arms. He had become so ecstatic when he heard Harriet’s voice that she’d been in danger of being trampled to death by puppy paws.

  ‘Three days!’ She struggled to sit up but Marc wouldn’t allow it. ‘I can’t stay here. Three days, indeed. I have to see to the cider.’

  ‘Harri, behave!’ Marc expelled an indulgent sigh, gladder than he would have imagined possible to be bandying words with his headstrong wife again. ‘You’ve been seriously unwell and must rest until your strength is restored. Ben has matters under control in the mill.’

  ‘Hmm.’ A brief flush of colour had touched her cheeks when she attempted to sit up. It drained away again almost immediately and Marc could see that even that small effort had exhausted her. ‘What brings you here, Marc? I thought you to be in London.’