The Duke of Ruin (The Untouchables Book 8)

by Darcy Burke

  She looked back at him. “And this is nothing compared to the Great Hall.” Her eyes held a sparkle that had been absent the past two days. In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen them quite so animated.

  The reason for that became apparent as soon as they entered the drawing room to the right at the top of the stairs.

  “Diana!” A taller version of Diana rushed forward. Simon blinked. They could indeed be sisters.

  They wrapped each other in a fierce hug that lasted long enough for Simon to see the affection between them. He shifted his weight, feeling as though he were intruding.

  When they broke apart, they continued to hold hands. Diana looked radiant. Happy. She deserved to look like that every day for the rest of her life.

  “Romsey, allow me to introduce my cousin Verity, Her Grace, the Duchess of Blackburn.”

  He bowed. “It is my distinct pleasure.”

  “Verity, this is His Grace, the Duke of Romsey.”

  She curtsied. “Pleased to meet you, Duke.”

  “Please, call me Romsey,” he said.

  The duchess had the same nearly black hair as Diana and the same pale, lush skin. Her face was a touch longer, and her eyes had more of a tilt. They were also brown, a warm chestnut color, instead of Diana’s vivid blue.

  The duchess turned to Diana. “This is such a surprise.” Her gaze flicked toward Simon. “For so many reasons.”

  “Yes, I have many things to tell you,” Diana said.

  “Do you want to rest first?” the duchess asked with deep concern. “You’ve just completed such a long journey.”

  “I’m fine. I’d rather talk to you.” She smiled again, and it lit her whole face. “I’d love some tea, however.”

  “Of course, of course.” The duchess shook her head. “I’m so surprised to see you, I forgot my hospitality—we don’t get many visitors.” She let go of Diana’s hand and went to the bellpull.

  Simon edged closer to Diana. “I think I’ll go to my room,” he said softly while the duchess was occupied.

  “Why? Surely you want tea or something to eat?”

  “I’d rather let the two of you speak in privacy. I’ll see you at dinner later, I presume.” He turned toward the duchess with a bright smile. She’d just finished speaking with one of her retainers. “I’d like to retire for a bit. I’ve been promised Shakespeare’s chamber, if it’s available.”

  Diana laughed, and the duchess slid her a playful look. “Is that right?” Her lips curved up as her attention redirected to Simon. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint you. Let me take care of that directly.” She went back to the bellpull, and the same retainer returned a moment later.

  “You seem much improved now that we’re here,” Simon said to Diana, again keeping his voice low.

  “How can you tell? We only just arrived.”

  “You’re pleased to see your cousin—the tension has left your shoulders, and the tiny lines that reside between your eyes have vanished.”

  She didn’t immediately respond but stared at him intently. “I’m sorry about the last couple of days. Things did not turn out as I’d hoped.”

  “Nor for me either.” He’d wanted her to escape from this entire damnable situation as uninjured as possible. He still hoped the damage could be mitigated, but it was ultimately up to her what step she took next.

  The duchess swept toward them. “Romsey, this is my butler, Kirwin. He’ll see you to your chamber.”

  With a final look at Diana, Simon bowed again to his hostess. “Thank you for your kind hospitality.”

  “Thank you for delivering my cousin to me.”

  “We’ll go this way, Your Grace,” the butler gestured to the other door, which led to a corridor. “Your chamber is the second.”

  To Simon’s right, windows overlooked the courtyard below. To his left, they passed a door and approached a second—his room. “Is this the one?”

  “Indeed it is,” the butler said, moving abreast of him to open the door. “Your things will be delivered momentarily.”

  Simon moved into the chamber. He was instantly struck with how cold it was but knew they’d rectify that shortly. He took in the dark wood and the heavy, emerald-green bed hangings. As with most buildings this age, there was just one small window, which only emphasized the lack of light, even though the draperies had been pulled open. “Thank you, Kirwin. Might I trouble you for a tea tray?”

  “Her Grace already requested one. Will you require the services of a valet?”

  Simon thought of Graff, his valet, whom he’d left behind—as he always did when he traveled, and this time in particular in the interest of privacy. He was an accomplished valet, but his absence only served to remind Simon that he didn’t really need one. He’d gone without for a year after Miriam had died. His prior valet had left his employ, as several of his retainers had done, and Simon hadn’t bothered to hire one until Nick had finally talked him into it.

  He realized Kirwin was awaiting a response. “No, thank you.”

  Kirwin arched a thick gray brow but merely nodded. “Will there be anything else?”

  “Not that I can think of.”

  “Very good. You have only to ring if you require something.” He gestured toward the pull between a door and the fireplace on the wall opposite the door. “Ah, here’s your luggage.”

  A footman had arrived at the door, and Kirwin took the bag and nodded for the other retainer to go. The butler took the bag to the doorway at the back of the room. “This is your dressing chamber. There’s a passage to a set of stairs if you’d like to go down that way. Your tea tray will come up from there, as will a boy to start your fire.”

  Kirwin emerged from the dressing room a moment later. “I nearly forgot to mention dinner will be at six.” He offered Simon a bow before taking his leave.

  Simon went into the dressing room, where his bag sat near a small table. There was an armoire and a chair and another narrow window.

  A soft rap was followed by a lad poking his head in. He carried a basket of fire-starting implements, and Simon nodded for him to go about his work. Crossing to that narrow window, he gazed down at another garden like the one in the courtyard on their way in. This one was larger but just as manicured. Dormant rose bushes marched along one side.

  The door to the passage downstairs was ajar, and from the side of his eye, he caught the arrival of his tea tray. Rushing to open the door wider for the maid, he waved toward the bedroom. “In there is fine. Thank you.”

  “Just so, Your Grace. Would you like me to pour for you?”

  “No, thank you, I’ll manage.” He was quite used to taking care of himself. To that end, he removed his coat and cravat, then pulled his boots off, wiggling his toes when he was finished.

  The maid left, offering a curtsey on her way out. A moment later, the boy followed, executing a perfect bow. Pushing himself up from the chair, Simon meandered back to the bedroom. He felt disjointed now that they were here. Likely because he’d no idea what was going to happen next.

  He should’ve embraced this sensation—he lived his life without knowing what he was going to do next. He’d gone from looking forward to a wonderful, specific future to sadness and regret. And in an effort to avoid those things, he took each day as it came and tried to just live in each moment. No future, no past. No ties to anything.

  Which was probably why he felt disjointed, he realized. For the first time in two years, he felt tied to something. To someone.

  To Diana.

  Oh, it was a temporary thing, but he cared about what happened to her. And he suspected he always would.

  He poured himself some tea and nibbled from the food on the tray. He really had no idea what she planned to do. She’d been so upset and then adamant that she couldn’t endanger him by disappearing. I can’t let you do that, she’d said. It was perhaps the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever said to him.

  But he’d meant what he’d said. He dealt with the stain of his wife’s dea
th every day. Living with the scandal of Diana’s disappearance wouldn’t be any different.

  Except it would. People, namely her father, would blame him. Simon would have to say he’d brought her here and that he didn’t know where she’d gone after. Then it would fall on Diana’s cousin to cover things up. Hell, he wasn’t going to do that to the duchess.

  Which meant Diana had to “disappear” somewhere around Manchester—after they’d seen Sir Fletcher and his nasty wife. That also meant the duchess and her staff would have to lie about Diana being here.

  Bloody hell, this was a disaster.

  Stop and think, he told himself. You’ve managed disasters before.

  The hell he had. He’d burrowed himself into a ball and hidden from the world. Even now, though he tried to reengage with people, with Society, he held a part of himself back. He always would. That part of him was dead. He couldn’t offer something that no longer existed.

  He removed his waistcoat and threw it over the chair near the fireplace. The room was slightly warmer now that the fire was going, but still cold enough to cause him to shiver. The bed, with its heavy hangings and thick blankets, beckoned him. He peeled his stockings and breeches away and climbed beneath the coverlet.

  He’d find a way to ensure Diana disappeared without putting the duchess and her household in the way of trouble. He, on the other hand, was likely doomed. Diana had made an excellent point—everyone would assume he’d killed her. And this time, he might not escape prosecution. This time, he might even hang.

  Perhaps that was the ending he deserved.

  Chapter 10

  Fairly bursting with anxious energy, Diana paced in front of the windows overlooking the garden and lawn at the back of the castle while she waited for the maid to arrange the tray of tea and food. Finally, she left, and Verity, whom Diana hadn’t seen in almost two years, poured her cup precisely the way she liked it—a bit of cream and a large spoon of sugar when her mother wasn’t around.

  Verity sat in a wing-backed chair, looking up at Diana. “Are you going to sit or hover?”

  Diana sank onto the settee perpendicular to Verity’s chair. “It’s been a trying week.”

  “I can only imagine.” Verity sipped her tea and, setting it down, picked up a cake. “I’ll endeavor to hold my tongue so you can disclose the entire tale. It looks to be fascinating.”

  That was one word to describe it. Many others crowded Diana’s mind: desperate, exciting, disastrous, astonishing to name just a few. Life changing was perhaps the best.

  “Just a moment.” Diana was rather famished, so she wolfed down a cake in a manner she never would have done at home. Taking a sip of tea, she set her cup down and began to speak.

  “As you know I was engaged to the Duke of Kilve.”

  “Yes. But you arrived with the Duke of Romsey.” Verity flinched and held up her hand. “My apologies. I did say I wouldn’t interrupt.”

  Diana smiled. “You said you’d try. I know better.” People found the two of them reserved or perhaps even aloof in Diana’s case, but together, they were animated and talkative, as if they couldn’t possibly say everything they wanted to. Perhaps they saved it up for when they saw each other, despite the fact that they corresponded regularly. It certainly felt like that to Diana. With her cousin, she could be absolutely herself, in a way she couldn’t with anyone else.

  Verity laughed softly, her eyes glowing with warmth. “It’s so good to have you here.”

  “It’s good to be here.” And it was. Oh, how she wished that staying here—away from her parents, away from the pressures they placed upon her, away from Society, away from scandal—was a choice she could make.

  “So tell me about Romsey.” Verity picked up another cake and winked at Diana. “If I keep eating, I can’t talk.”

  “The story is more than just Romsey,” Diana answered. But he was a central part of it. Without him, things would have gone very differently. He’d promised Kilve he would look after Diana and protect her from scandal to the best of his ability. She’d believed in his promise, but now, after what had happened in Brereton, scandal would find them.

  Diana worked to start back at the beginning. “The Duke of Kilve is in love with someone else and is going to marry her instead.”

  Verity’s jaw dropped. “What? The scoundrel!”

  “Try not to blame him—it was my idea to marry, not his. And I believe I caught him at a rather vulnerable time.”

  Twisting her lips into an unsatisfied grimace, Verity grunted softly. “I will still blame him. A little.” She took a breath. “So how did Romsey become involved?”

  “They are friends, and he delivered the news to me.”

  “Kilve didn’t even have the grace to face you himself?”

  “Apparently, Lady Pendleton—the woman he’s to marry—had an accident, and he was anxious to reach her. And before you say anything against her, don’t. I’ve met her, and I actually like her very much.” Truly, Diana wanted them to be happy. They certainly deserved to be. “Looking back, it seems obvious to me now that she and Kilve were in love. And they have been for quite some time. In truth, it’s a rather sad story.”

  Verity shook her head. “I’ll trust you—perhaps you can tell me the details another time, if you wish. So Romsey took on the unenviable task of messenger.”

  “Yes, but also savior. He offered to help me in any manner I required, in order to mitigate the scandal.”

  Verity’s eyes narrowed. “And why did he do this?” Like Diana, she’d no reason to trust a man. Her father and Diana’s were brothers and very alike. Their example hadn’t exactly recommended the males of their species. Furthermore, Verity had married a cold autocrat who saw her as little more than a broodmare.

  Simon was, however, different. “Because he possesses a kind heart.” And was perhaps looking for absolution.

  “I should say so,” Verity murmured. “He possessed no ulterior motive whatsoever?”

  “Not that I can tell.” Diana shook her head firmly, certain of him—at least about this. “No.”

  “Remarkable. However did you end up here?”

  “My choices were few,” Diana said. “I could do nothing and suffer Father’s wrath.”

  Verity winced. “You thought running off with Romsey would help you avoid his anger?”

  “No, but it gave me time to think about what to do. Romsey suggested I could disappear, that I could start my life over in some village using a different name.”

  “An intriguing idea, but you’d have to turn your back on who you are. We wouldn’t be able to see each other.”

  “Perhaps not right away. But after my father gave up looking for me, I could find my way to Blackburn and we—”

  “If you think my father or your father wouldn’t hear of that, you’re deluding yourself.” Verity’s tone had gone cold, making Diana shiver. She was, terrifyingly, correct.

  “I know,” Diana said softly. “It was sophistry.”

  Verity reached over and touched Diana’s arm. “You were in a horrible situation. It’s just too bad the duke—Romsey, I mean—didn’t offer to marry you. That would’ve truly made him a savior.”

  “He suggested it, actually.” Diana picked up her teacup and took a long, fortifying sip.

  Verity stared at her, clearly waiting for the why it hadn’t happened.

  “You aren’t aware of his reputation?” Diana asked, putting her cup back on the table in front of them. Of course she wasn’t. Verity disliked gossip as much as Diana, and, living so far from London and actively ignoring information that might filter its way to Beaumont Tower, it was entirely possible she knew nothing of the Duke of Ruin.

  “He is rumored to have killed his wife,” Diana said dispassionately, still refusing to believe it even though Simon said nothing to defend himself. “Since he doesn’t remember what happened, he doesn’t deny it.”

  Verity’s eyes rounded. “My goodness. I see why you didn’t want to marry him. Is it all rig
ht for him to stay here?” She glanced toward the door he’d exited earlier.

  “Of course it is!” Diana pitched forward slightly in agitation. “The problem isn’t that stupid rumor—at least not to me. It’s that my father finds him wholly unsuitable. I met him at a house party two months ago, and Father didn’t even want me to speak with him. Marrying him would have made him as furious as if I’d simply cried off with Kilve.”

  “But you didn’t cry off.”

  “No, but I would have if my father was a reasonable person. Since he’s not, I fled. With Simon.”

  There was a beat of silence as one of Verity’s dark brows arched into the semblance of a question mark. “Simon?”

  Diana felt the heat rise up her neck and worked to ignore it, praying her cousin would do the same. “R-Romsey. We became a bit, er, f-familiar during our journey.”

  “That’s to be expected, I suppose.” Verity eyed her warily. “How familiar?”

  “We needn’t marry, if that’s what you’re intimating,” Diana said with a bit of exasperation.

  “I’m on your side in this, Diana, whatever happens. You will always have a home here.”

  Diana supposed that was an option she hadn’t really considered. Because she didn’t think her father would allow it. He saw her as a valuable commodity, and after the scandal died down, he would try to make the best match possible. But that had been before Brereton. Before this scandal. With Simon. This one wouldn’t die down. She’d be ruined forever. Perhaps she could just live here…

  “But your plan is to start over with a new life,” Verity said. “I will support that too.”

  “Unfortunately, I don’t think that plan will work any longer.” Diana squeezed her hands together on her lap. “If I disappear, Simon will be blamed.” She needed to back up a bit to explain. “Though we posed as a married couple and traveled under an alias, someone recognized us in Brereton. My running off with Romsey—the Duke of Ruin is what they call him—will shortly be the scandal on everyone’s lips.”

  “So people will know that you were together, and if you go missing, he will be seen to be at fault.” Her face creased into a deep frown. “I see the problem clearly.”