The Duke's Privateer (Devilish Dukes Book 3)

by Amy Jarecki

  In the shadows across the room, movement from a statue of a sultan made her jolt. Goodness, he was no statue.

  “Danby?” she asked, shooting a panicked glance to the locked door.

  The duke himself removed his mask. “Miss Kent.”

  “What are you doing here?” She gulped against her urge to be utterly rude and exclude his due respect. But years of finishing school would not allow such a slight. “Your Grace.”

  “I was invited. By the prince. Same as you, I’d surmise.”

  “You know that’s not what I mean, sir.” As he moved forward, Eleanor shuffled away until her shoulder blades pressed against the door. “Did you not receive my letter?”

  “I received it. Yes, I did.” When only about a half of a foot separated them, the duke stopped and placed his hands on the door, pinning her in place. “Though, aside from a harmless book, you gave me no explanation as to why I’ve suddenly become so abhorrent.”

  Eleanor licked her lips. If she ducked under his arm, she’d still be trapped, locked inside with a man she didn’t trust. A man who made her grow weak at the knees with the shift of his eyes. “Given that you’ve been investigating Lion’s in your collusion with the prime minister, I thought my reasoning was eminently clear.”

  “Hmm.” Danby’s warm breath caressed her face, minty and hypnotic, blast him. “Do you know why you are here…with me?”

  Eleanor’s gaze meandered to his lips. “To help me avoid the hospitality of Newgate Prison?” she squeaked.

  “Among other things, yes.”

  “Why?” she asked, not really hearing his response. “Why have you chosen to ruin me?”

  “My dear lady, the task force was formed in the best interests of the kingdom’s purse. Contrary to what you think, I did not intend to set out to expose you.”

  “I find that difficult to believe. I piqued your interest in Brighton, and you did everything in your power to trap me.”

  “I did no such—”

  “Come, Duke. Your mother knew nothing of chinoiserie. And I’ll wager you never would have come and read to Papa had you not wanted to use him to spy on me.”

  “Partially correct. I’ll take the blame for concocting a chinoiserie ruse. But after I learned Lisle was still an invalid, I would have visited him even if you weren’t his daughter.”

  “So, there we have it.” Eleanor tried to duck under the duke’s arms, only to nearly knock the ridiculous wig from her head. Surely Georgiana had no idea the most notorious rake in London had been lying in wait in the Rose Satin Room. “But I still do not understand why we are locked in here together. I need not tell you it is highly improper. Highly! Every bit as inappropriate as hiding in my carriage.”

  “Forgive me.” Danby’s gaze trailed downward as he grasped her hand and lowered himself to one knee. “Miss Kent. Eleanor. If you were to marry me, my name would protect you from any further scrutiny.”

  “If?”

  “Do you have any idea the precariousness of your situation?”

  “I’m beginning to understand. But did you not just utter the ‘M’ word?”

  “Yes. And you have no choice but to accept.”

  “Is that right?” Eleanor tried to pull her hand away, but Danby held it firm. “Good heavens, you and Prinny have colluded to trap me in a marriage of convenience?”

  “Agreed is more apt. Besides, it was his idea.”

  “Wonderful.” It was like leaping from a pot of boiling oil into a fire. She licked her lips, her mind racing. “How do you benefit from this?”

  “Well, we seem to get on rather well. And I do need an heir.”

  “But after all that has happened, how can I trust you?” Obviously, he didn’t love her. This whole marriage concoction hadn’t even been his idea.

  “Me?” Danby stood, though he kept a tight grip on her hand. “You’re the last person to lecture me about trust.”

  “Oh? How many mistresses have you supported over the years?”

  “I fail to—”

  “Never mind. The fact is I cannot marry someone who flaunts his mistresses about town while I sit at home with a swelling belly.”

  “By Jupiter, I cannot have this conversation when your face is hidden.” Releasing her, he reached back, untied her mask, and cast it aside. “Why must you make this more difficult than it needs to be?”

  “Because once a person says, ‘I do,’ ’tis final. They are bound for eternity.”

  “I beg your pardon? Are you saying you would rather be dragged through the courts and see all that you have built come crashing down around your shoulders? What about your father? What about Margaret?”

  Eleanor staggered to a couch and sat. If she were to go to prison, what would become of Papa? What if they took the baby to the Foundling Hospital, or an orphanage, heaven forbid? What about her servants? Even Mr. Millward? So many people were counting on her, this decision could not be a selfish one. “I suppose we can maintain separate residences.”

  He moved beside her. “Hardly a suitable arrangement for a couple who are trying to conceive an heir.”

  She gulped. In truth, the idea of conceiving an heir with the duke wasn’t overwhelmingly abhorrent, though she wasn’t about to concede too easily. “After perusing Fanny Hill, I gather the act is rather fleeting. I suppose we could tolerate each other’s presence until I am with child.”

  Nearly swooning, Eleanor clapped a hand to her chest. Had she actually agreed to this charade? Was there any other choice?

  No.

  Though she’d never intended to wed anyone, mutual affection would have been nice. Even mutual trust. He’d betrayed her. And in his eyes, she was a vile smuggler.

  The door burst open and in strode the prince with Lady Jersey on his arm. “I take it all is settled?”

  Danby gave a nod while Eleanor pushed to her feet and curtseyed. “With all due respect, Your Highness, this was your plan?”

  Prinny rubbed his belly. “It was rather brilliant, was it not?”

  Lady Jersey chuckled as if she were skipping through a meadow of daisies. “Chin up, Eleanor. You have just been discovered alone with the most notorious and wealthiest rake in London and he has proposed—though I don’t understand why. I say, what is truly amusing is should you not accept his generous offer, the prime minister is planning to have you arrested on the morrow.”

  Eleanor’s stomach squelched. “So soon?”

  “Not to worry,” said the prince far too casually. “I have obtained a special license. The two of you will take your vows in the Chapel Royal at St. James’ Palace tomorrow afternoon.”

  Moving her palm to her forehead, Eleanor dared glance at Danby. Good heavens, the duke’s expression was stunned, eyes wide, mouth agape, as if he’d not been party to the wedding arrangements.

  “Your Highness,” he said, his voice controlled but more strained than Eleanor had ever heard it. “There are preparations to be made and discussed…ah…regarding servants and the like.”

  “Servants?” asked Eleanor. “You are not referring to my staff, surely.”

  Prinny took Lady Jersey by the hand. “My duty is done here. Let us leave the couple to their planning.”

  Eleanor waited until she was alone with Sher. “Are you certain about this?”

  “In some nonsensical way I feel I am responsible.”

  If only he had let matters be in the first place. “My father relies on Weston.”

  “Your butler? He’s the one I overheard colluding with your foundling footman.”

  “I’ll have you know, Weston has been encouraging me to retire. He is a decent and honest man. I trust him with my life.”

  “And the footman?”

  “Earnest is hard-working and loyal.”

  “In that case, Hartley prefers London. You may keep the butler, but the footman must absolutely go. Give him a good severance and references if you wish for him to land on his feet, but there will be no more smuggling. No more Lion’s. And Millward will go
on his way as well.”

  The blood drained from Eleanor’s face. Hidden below the floorboards was a certain lead lockbox she’d prefer to have no one know about. “Why not retain the importing business—the legitimate side? After all, Millward has been serving my father for decades as a tax-paying, respectable importer. In truth, the shop is owned by the viscountcy, not me.”

  “Millward is a criminal.”

  “I disagree. He’s a dutiful milksop who wouldn’t bend a rule if it hadn’t been for my…ah…direction.”

  “Fine, Millward stays as long as he keeps his nose clean.” Danby huffed. “After the wedding we will immediately depart for my estate in Yorkshire. I feel it is best to avoid the gossips for the time being.”

  “I cannot leave my father or Margaret.”

  “Understood. I’ll have my steward make arrangements for them to follow—a fortnight hence ought to do—with Miss Repast.”

  “I suppose I’ll need a new lady’s maid—my maid’s mother has recently fallen ill. And I must retain a few servants to maintain Papa’s town house.”

  Danby flopped on the seat beside her, taking off his turban and raking his fingers through his hair. “Make whatever arrangements you can, given the short notice. I suppose anything that is part of the Lisle estate must remain—after all, your father is still viscount.”

  Eleanor let out a long breath. At least that sounds more reasonable. Honestly, none of her servants were criminals. She ought to be kneeling at the duke’s feet, gushing forth with her gratitude. She might be if he weren’t the scoundrel responsible for her present state of affairs. And to think, she was to be arrested.

  If I had known, I would have taken Papa and Margaret and set sail for Nassau days ago. As soon as the notion passed through Eleanor’s mind, she realized traveling with her father and a baby would put them at undue risk. No. She was trapped. She’d spent a decade evading the law, and now she would spend the rest of her life paying the price for her misdeeds.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The wedding was a quiet affair, aside from Mama’s sniffles of joy. When Sher broke the news at breakfast this morning, she had called for her smelling salts, aghast at not being informed sooner. Though by the time the dowager duchess finished her tea, she had already decided what she would wear this afternoon and she had concocted a plan to spread the news that her son had been so indescribably smitten by Viscount Lisle’s daughter that waiting one moment longer to marry her was completely out of the question.

  Furthermore, Mama was more than happy to remain in London where she preferred to reside, rather than what she referred to as an ancient, draughty castle in the wilds of northern England.

  Eleanor had arrived at the chapel on time, looking as beautiful as Sher had ever seen her, albeit with dark circles beneath her eyes as if she hadn’t a wink of sleep. In truth, Sher hadn’t slept either. Aside from having his life turned on its head, departing for a long stint at his country estate usually took days of planning, but his servants had managed to have a trunk packed and a team hitched and waiting outside the Chapel Royal while Sher pledged to eternally have and to hold Eleanor Kent in sickness and in health.

  With the vicar’s cue, he slipped the ring on her finger, kissed her forehead, and ushered his new bride into his carriage.

  And there they sat.

  For the life of him, Sher couldn’t think of anything to say. Worse, Eleanor was as rigid as a lamppost, pressed against the wall of the carriage as if she wanted to be as far away from him as possible.

  Was she happy?

  No.

  Did she still hate him?

  Yes.

  Was she looking forward to being out of the city for a time?

  Well, such a question just sounded trite.

  Yet, Eleanor had agreed to bear him an heir. Though the process had been discussed in a rather platonic, businesslike manner as if it were merely a transaction. Notwithstanding, Sher had never envisaged himself marrying, this certainly was not how such a union ought to begin.

  “How long is the journey?” she asked after they were well out of London.

  “Four very long days, give or take. Five if we encounter inclement weather.”

  “Four days is about as much as I can bear.”

  Sher pursed his lips. As much as she could bear being with him in such close confines, or as much as she could tolerate traveling in a carriage? “By my calculations, we’ll reach Stevenage just before dark. The town is small, but it does have an inn with a royal suite I think you will find quaint.”

  Her cheeks reddened as she gave a single nod. “As you wish.”

  The ensuing silence swelled through the carriage as Sher drummed his fingers. Bless it, why wasn’t she a tad more grateful? Yes, he’d initially feigned interest in the woman’s chinoiserie expertise to investigate her little importing operation…which happened to turn out to be a smuggling empire that boggled the mind.

  For all rights and purposes, he was the one who had been put out of sorts. That aside, how long would it take for Eleanor to forgive him?

  There’s bloody nothing to forgive. She’s the one who ought to be begging for forgiveness.

  This state of affairs was exactly why he had avoided marriage for so long. Now he was bound to a woman to whom he was unreasonably attracted, yet he had no idea if he’d ever be able to trust her. Worse, the anger radiating from her corner of the carriage was hot enough to boil potatoes.

  He pulled aside the curtains and watched the scenery for a time. Well, he wasn’t about to grovel. He was the Duke of Danby and no self-respecting duke groveled.

  Not ever.

  The maid Sher had sent from the tavern below the inn, drew the brush through Eleanor’s waist-length hair. “I wish I had tresses as vibrant as yours, Your Grace.”

  Goodness, Eleanor would need to grow accustomed to being a duchess. Only this morning she’d awakened as a common, gently bred woman.

  She studied the girl’s reflection in the mirror. A few dark wisps peeked from under the maid’s linen cap. “I don’t know. From what I can see, your hair is beautiful.”

  “Thank you, ma’am, but it is dull and brown.”

  “Nonsense.” Eleanor stood and gestured to the stool. “Sit.”

  “Oh, no. I couldn’t. Not with you being a duchess. It wouldn’t be proper.”

  “I beg your pardon? Since I am a duchess, then you must do my bidding, and I want you to sit and remove your cap.”

  The girl immediately plopped down. “Yes’m.”

  Eleanor didn’t know why she was being so adamant. Perhaps doting on the maid took her mind away from her plight. She removed the cap and the pins from the girl’s chignon. “My, your hair is even longer than mine,” she said, wielding the brush.

  “The tips brush the back of my knees.”

  “Truly?” Eleanor slid her hand beneath the silky tresses and raised them enough to catch the candlelight. “Just as I thought, the color reminds me of burnished mahogany. It is lovely.”

  A knock came at the door before Danby opened it. “Am I interrupting?”

  The lass snatched her cap and pins from the table as she sprang to her feet.

  “Not at all,” Eleanor coolly replied.

  “I-I was just leaving,” said the maid as she gave a hasty curtsey and dashed out the door.

  Sher’s gaze fell to the brush in Eleanor’s hand. “I hired her to attend you, not the other way around.”

  “And she did a fine job of it. I was merely making a point.”

  “Hmm. Two whole sentences. I do believe that’s the most I’ve heard you say since we left the chapel.” He sauntered across the floor, making Eleanor’s stomach flip upside down.

  This was it. The wedding night. Her palms perspired so, the brush slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor.

  Danby stooped to retrieve it, then bade her to turn. “I’ve always admired your hair, but I didn’t realize it was so long,” he said, his voice gentler now. He leaned toward
her and inhaled. “It is…captivating.”

  Eleanor tensed and inclined her head away. Would he kiss her? How was she expected to respond? Yes, they had kissed before and it had been quite remarkable, but she hadn’t been married to the man.

  Neither had she known the depth of his betrayal the last time she had been in his arms. Everything between them had changed. And though they were supposed to be closer, they couldn’t be further apart.

  Eleanor cringed with an unintentional hiss.

  “I see how it is.” Frowning, his eyes filled with disappointment, Danby stepped back and handed her the brush. “Wedding night or nay, I will not and will never bed a woman who is unwilling.”

  She clutched the handle to her chest as she watched him press out the door without so much as a backward glance. What had she done to incite his ire? Truly, she’d been nervous—even despondent. Who wouldn’t be chilly when given an ultimatum to marry a betraying snoop or go to prison?

  Perhaps it was the hiss?

  Or the way she’d tilted away from him?

  In truth, it was a relief he’d left her alone.

  After all, Eleanor hadn’t had much time to grow accustomed to the idea of being a duchess, let alone a wife.

  She tossed the brush onto the table. At long last, she’d been trapped—ensnared by a notorious rake.

  A snake.

  Her head swimming with warring thoughts, she moved to the bed and sat. Weston had given her fair warning. From the outset she should have refused to oversee the remodeling of the duke’s bedchamber. Especially after his mother had clearly not wanted the work done. She should have refused to go riding with him in Hyde Park. She shouldn’t have allowed him to read to Papa. By all means, she should have screamed at the top of her lungs when he accosted her in the carriage after Evesham’s ball.

  Her shoulders slumped. Bless it, if Danby hadn’t begun reading to Papa, he might still be staring blankly into space at all times. Moreover, Eleanor wouldn’t have found Margaret. Lord knew, now that the child had come into her life, she couldn’t imagine living without the wee one.