Never Deny a Duke

by Hunter, Madeline

He had told her she should not put herself in harm’s way with her medicine. For several days after she tended to her friend, he had watched for signs that she was showing the same malady. To do that every time she walked out with that bag would be maddening. To perhaps lose her because—

  She should leave it to the physicians. The real ones.

  He strode out of the house and around toward the stable.

  * * *

  Davina sat on a bench outside the cottage. She did not have to remain here, of course. Mr. Drummond might need her, however. One never knew with these things.

  She noted the clouds gathering in the northern sky. The sun still showed at times. She judged she had been gone over three hours. It would be raining on her walk back if she stayed much longer. She would have to start out soon.

  She pictured her father sitting next to her, as he had the first time she held this vigil. She had not understood at the time why they stayed. He had much more experience, and knew the human heart better than she ever would. Only later had she realized the importance of that day, and what had happened, and how he had permitted it. There had been a few other times when they sat together outside a house, or in a sitting room.

  Mr. Drummond knew she was out here. He had not come to ask why. She hoped he did not think she dallied as a criticism, or out of suspicion. She had said she would wait so he could let her know if the tincture had helped at all.

  A muffled sound disturbed her thoughts. It became louder each moment. She turned her head to see a horse galloping down the closest swell in the land.

  She stood and waited for the rider to reach her. He stopped and swung off the horse and strode toward her. “Perhaps I should have been clearer, Davina. I do not want you doing this. You put yourself in danger and I won’t have it.”

  “I am in no danger here today.”

  “Roberts said this woman was deathly ill.”

  “She is. She has no disease of contagion, at least as far as is known. She has a cancer in her stomach.”

  He exhaled in relief, then realized how ignoble that was. “Forgive me. I was picturing you with someone who might make you sick too, and—”

  “I did not know what it was when I came. The next time, it may be someone who has the kind of illness you fear.”

  “There will be no next time.”

  She heard the door of the farmhouse open behind her. “We can talk about this later, can’t we? Mr. Drummond deserves that much from me. I can do little else.”

  Mr. Drummond took a few steps, then rubbed his eyes with one hand. “She is gone.”

  “Were you able to get her to swallow some of the tincture?”

  He nodded, head down so low his chin beat his chest.

  “Then at least she was not in pain at the end.”

  “Not in pain. That stopped for a spell. She even smiled. But then—”

  “Be glad she is in a better place, and do not allow yourself to feel guilty if you feel some relief.”

  “The tincture. I may have—I’m not sure I didn’t—”

  “I am sure you did fine. Could I have the bottle back, please? I don’t have much of it.”

  “Won’t be needing it now.” He returned to the house, then came out and handed her the bottle. “I should do what I can to lay her out, then walk to John’s and let them know.”

  “Why don’t you just go to them? I am sure his wife will come here and do what is needed.”

  He nodded dully, and started off.

  Davina bent down and put the bottle in her bag.

  “What is that?” Brentworth asked.

  “Tincture of opium. She was in great pain for a very long time. Months, probably.”

  “Was it wise to give it to him? It can be dangerous.”

  “It can be bought in any apothecary. If there were one nearby he would have had it on a shelf in his home, and his wife might not have suffered so much. I was very clear on the small dose to give to keep it safe.” She noticed that Mr. Drummond had left the farm door open. She walked over and shut it securely.

  When she walked back, Brentworth was looking at the figure of the farmer, now tiny in the distance. He turned his attention on her. “What have you done here, Davina?”

  “I did what my father would have done. What Dr. Chalmers would have done, and Sir Cornelius, and physicians since ancient times. I did no harm, and tried to help a woman die without too much pain.”

  He looked at Mr. Drummond again. “Do you think he—”

  “Perhaps it was a coincidence. Or an accident on the dose. Or what you are suspecting. I do not know him well enough to guess.” I do not know how brave he is.

  She looked at the dark clouds, now thick on the horizon. “It looks to rain soon. I should start back.”

  “You will ride with me. I won’t risk you out on these hills in a storm.” He picked up her bag and bound it to his saddle on the side. Then he lifted her on, to sit sideways, before swinging up behind her.

  “I don’t like this, Davina. I don’t want you going out to tend to ill farmers.”

  I forbid it. She waited for that to come next. It didn’t, but she could hear him thinking it.

  This was why women were not allowed to study medicine, or most things really. Not only because of the indelicate nature of the profession. All that risk, to their health, their bodies, their sensibilities, even their minds. I will not risk you. I cannot risk you. What a small life she would have if she lived without any risk.

  She rested her head against his chest, welcoming the embrace his arms made while he held the reins. “You said you did not expect me to be other than I am. Well, this is who I am, Brentworth.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  They filled the nights with warmth and erotic explorations that left Eric more contented than he had ever been. In the dark and the firelight, they were of one mind, one body and close to one soul.

  During the days, however, a row was brewing. Twice in the next week, Davina openly defied him. She carried her bag out of the house after hearing about some sick farmer. The second time, he sent a footman after her in the phaeton. “Wait for her and bring her home when she is done,” he instructed. “However, if upon arriving you learn that this person has a malady that can be passed to others, I want you to drag her out of there. No one will upbraid you if you must lay hands on her to do so.”

  Neither one had such an illness. The first, she told him later, had fallen off a wagon and down a steep ditch and suffered dizziness. Rest would probably be enough for him. The second, he learned to some discomfort, had been a child accidentally burned when some fuel fell from the hearth.

  “What did you do for him?” he asked that night after some playful passion drenched with his relief.

  “Wet compresses to ease the pain and heat, mostly. His mother made a bath with some herbs and plants to soak the arm. Sometimes the old ways are more enlightened than a physician’s medicine, and that may have helped.”

  “Will he scar?”

  She turned on her side and looked at him. “Not badly. He is young, and as he grows the skin may well improve. The young are not fully formed yet, and that can make a difference.” She gave him a little jab with her finger. “You did not have to send that boy after me.”

  “His name is Rufus. He would be insulted to be called a boy. He will take you whenever you go out from now on.”

  “I will not let him interfere, so do not tell him to.”

  “I wouldn’t think of doing so.”

  But Rufus had his orders to interfere most seriously if necessary. Eventually, if this continued, he would have to. They wouldn’t all be burns and falls. The farmers and local people now knew the new duchess was a healer, so more calls would come too.

  It was time to return to London. There were plenty of physicians there, so Davina would not be needed. She could settle into being a duchess. Nor did he think there was anything more to be learned here regarding Davina’s claims.

  She stretched out on her stomach be
side him. He had built up the fire and nothing covered her body. He admired the lovely curve formed by her back as it dipped down before rising along the swell of her bottom.

  “I saw that part of one of the walls was down,” she said. “Did that happen today?”

  “It did. They are removing the stone much as it was put up, but in reverse. Roberts has wasted no time. Finally given leave to tear it down, he found some men and built a scaffold and set to it.” Eric had watched the first stones fall from a hill where he went riding.

  “Will you move the family apartments back there if you rebuild?”

  He had not told her about his initial plans because he was not sure he wanted to encourage her medical interests. He no longer was sure how he wanted to use the wing. “I don’t know yet. I have to choose an architect and speak with him and plan its chambers. I did promise Roberts there would be another chapel built, however.”

  “I hope you don’t move the apartments. I am fond of these chambers. I would not want to leave the memories behind and stay elsewhere when we visit.”

  The sentiment charmed him. He did not think he would want to move the apartments either, now that he thought about it.

  He rose and smoothed his hand down that curve. He pressed kisses along the same line. She closed her eyes and smiled, luxuriating in the sensation. She giggled when he kissed the nape of her neck, and started to turn into his embrace.

  “No. Stay there.” He kissed, then licked at the dimples at the small of her back and caressed her bottom more firmly. Her hips flexed gently in time with the pulse of her growing arousal. He slid his finger along the cleft until he touched her deeply between her thighs.

  Her lips parted and she breathed sweet moans. She parted her legs, and he caressed more fully. Hard now, impatient, his mind darkened to everything except the howling urges, he swung up behind her.

  She needed no help, no instruction. Her primitive essence knew what to do. Her bottom rose to him as she lifted on her knees. Gripping the sheets, hugging the mattress, she offered herself.

  He resisted the impulse to take her at once, even though every fiber of his body called for it. Instead, he savored the additional torture of waiting while her erotic position tantalized and teased. He stroked her and her breath caught. He kept caressing her swollen flesh, with this hand, with his cock, until each breath she gave carried a begging cry.

  Finally, he joined in a deliciously slow thrust that sent exquisite pleasure throbbing through him. He pressed her legs together to make it tighter yet and stroked in again, harder. He felt her reaching toward her orgasm and shed the ties that still bound him to his mind. He held her hips and, in a long, hard taking, drove them both over the brink of sanity.

  * * *

  Cold woke her before dawn. The fire had died and she lay uncovered and naked. She began to reach for the cloths when she saw she was not alone.

  He had stayed. Normally, he left while she slept or even before, when he had come to her. Now he lay sprawled where he had dropped after that last lesson. Arms crossed above his head, face half-buried in a pillow, he almost filled her bed with his strong, muscular form.

  She dallied in pulling up the covers. She moved so the dim light from the embers and one low lamp showed his body. She bent down to examine that scar.

  He had been lucky. The back of his knee had been spared. Above and below it, however, the skin showed long streaks of the waxy, hard texture common to bad burns.

  It could be worse. She did not find it unsightly, but many others would. Like most things, experience changed one’s view.

  She tugged at the covers and pulled them up. She made sure he was warm and snuggled in close beside him. She looked at his face, or what could be seen of it.

  They would return to London soon. Her mission had been compromised by this marriage, but she did not dwell on that now. She wondered instead if the joy she experienced with him would continue. There was no other word for the emotions she experienced. Definitely at night, where their deepest intimacy took place, but even during the day, when she shared a meal with him.

  That was not true. There was another word. One she dared not use because then she would have too much to lose, and to mourn, if it passed. And yet, in this darkest hour, she could not deny that her feelings had deepened so much that now, as she watched him sleep, she almost wept from how they moved her.

  He stirred. His eyes barely opened. He turned. With one arm he gathered her up and brought her close to him, then fell asleep again.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The young woman’s name was Bridget, and she was well along in her pregnancy. Word had come asking Davina to visit, because there had been some bleeding and Bridget feared for the baby.

  “Your first?” she asked while she gently pressed her fingertips on Bridget’s belly.

  “It is. We are very happy to be blessed.”

  “Have you been pregnant before?”

  “I said it was my first. Oh, you mean and lost it. No.”

  Davina kept chatting, all the while pressing. She could feel the baby. Finally, she also felt a definite kick.

  “Oh!” Bridget cried out, then laughed. “He must not like you doing that.”

  “It was a good kick, wasn’t it?” She sat back. “Who is the midwife?”

  “Mrs. Malcolm. She goes to all the ones who need help. She’s far enough that she may not make it here. My family is half a mile, though, and we have set up a big bell to ring if we need my mother.”

  “I want you to ring it even if you do not think you need her. I am confident all is well with the child and that the small amount of bleeding is not a worry. It would be best, however, if you have another woman with you.”

  Bridget struggled to her feet. “I feel better with you saying that. About it not being a worry. You must have some beer before you go, and I’ve a biscuit for you too.”

  Davina accepted the refreshments even though she was not hungry or especially thirsty. Bridget smiled broadly after putting both down on the table and watching Davina partake.

  “Who would think I’d be having a duchess eat my baking? I had no idea duchesses were as nice as you are.”

  “The ones I know are very nice.”

  Bridget sat at the table. “I hear they are taking down that burned-out shell. Is it true? Was it your doing?”

  “It was not my doing, but it is true.”

  “Terrible thing, that fire. I was a girl then. All the talk it was. And for that poor woman to die in it.” She shook her head. “They say she was lovely. Beautiful. So sad.”

  The biscuit suddenly tasted dry in her mouth. Davina drank some ale. “I did not know it was a woman.”

  Bridget nodded. “A visitor. She and the duke—of course, he wasn’t the duke then, but the marquess of something—had been there a fortnight, then suddenly that fire. You could see it for miles. Not the flames, but the whole sky over that way was bright with red and orange. It looked like hell had opened, my mother said. Those who came out of it said it felt like hell too.” She reached for her tin and placed another biscuit in front of Davina. “It is so good to hear what remains is finally being removed. Like a scar on the land, it is.”

  Davina made heroic efforts with the second biscuit, but a thick sadness filled her from her ribs to her throat. When she could do so graciously, she took her leave and climbed into the phaeton beside Rufus. She said not a word all the way back. Her mind raced in circles, seeking a way out of the implications of what Bridget had told her.

  She and the duke had been there a fortnight. A woman had died, but not any woman. Not a servant, as she had assumed. A lovely woman. A beautiful one.

  No wonder he hated that house and that property. His lover had died there.

  * * *

  Davina was nowhere to be found. Eric had seen her return from today’s mission of mercy, but after that, she disappeared. He finally looked in the garden, although the day’s sharp wind hardly encouraged time there.

  The ov
ergrowth of shrubbery and intrusion of grasses meant most of it could not be viewed from the terrace. He plunged in, peering for her among the branches. Spying her blond crown, he changed directions.

  He did not find Davina, but instead Roberts. Arms folded and brow furrowed, the steward eyed the wilderness swallowing the space like an invading army.

  “Unsightly. A gardener could do wonders with it in a few seasons, though,” he said.

  It was in terrible condition, Eric had to admit. More negligence on his part. He had starved the house of funds, as if hoping it would waste away and disappear. “You should hire a gardener, then. Add it to the accounts.”

  Roberts looked around. “It is big. Two would be better. If you will be visiting regularly, you’ll want a nice garden.”

  “What makes you think I will be visiting regularly?”

  Roberts shrugged. “The duchess is a Scot by blood and heart. She’s grown partial to the people in these parts too. I think it’s her idea to come here frequently.”

  “Did she tell you that?”

  “Not in so many words. She just stopped to chat when she saw me. Told me to do something to make this garden usable. In future years there would be many visitors, she said. I suppose she meant parties and such.”

  She meant the visitors to her pharmacy and the inmates of her infirmary. “Where did she go after she spoke with you?”

  “Toward the back.” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder.

  Eric headed that way. He still did not find her, but he noticed a back portal stood ajar. He stepped through and the wilderness fell away.

  No one had planted trees and shrubs on this side of the wall, so it was just grass intermingled with a few wildflowers still valiantly sending out blooms. A rough fence cordoned off a large section where the few horses at the house grazed. To the right, up a little hill, was the old graveyard amid a few trees.

  He spied a sliver of blue and gold among the stones there and aimed for it. He found Davina, arms folded, eyeing the markers much as Roberts had been examining the wilderness.

  He realized which grave arrested her attention.

  She noticed him. Her gaze returned to the grave. He walked to her.