by Eva Devon
Portmund took a deep swallow of his own brandy, his lips shining in the firelight from the moisture before he began, “Your Grace, as you know, she, a well-bred young lady, went out on her own. She purposely submitted her person to the possibility of the most vile assault by traveling the open roads without a chaperone. She ruined her position in society. She gave up her maidenhead. . . To you? To a rogue on the road?” The older man closed his eyes and shuddered. “I do not wish to know. Please do not speak of your relationship with her if you had one. I wish to speak little of her. Only understand, she can no longer be trusted without intense care. Care which will keep her protected from herself and her wild ideas.”
Everything the earl said made terrible and horrifying sense. To many, Alfred’s actions did seem mad. She’d flung herself quite willingly out of the safety and circle of society. She’d gone alone onto country roads and stayed amidst the company of men without anyone to chaperone her. She’d desired to take a lover. She had done everything a young woman of her class should not. But mad?
Roth felt the muscle in his jaw tighten. “Surely, you cannot mean what you say.”
Portmund lowered his head in apparent sadness. “Indeed, I do, and have had a doctor in to examine her. The doctor has verified that she is, indeed, out of her wits. It shames me to admit this to you, Your Grace, and can only beg that you will speak of it to no one, but Lady Allegra is to be committed. We are currently deciding where she might best be treated, either in a private asylum or on one of our most Northern estates with private medical servants.”
I think in all this you’ve gotten your parents confused with her parents. Not everyone has loving ones. Aston’s words hit him again. Only this time, they weren’t a slap. They were a blow so hard Nicholas couldn’t breathe.
It had simply never occurred to Nicholas that such a fate would befall his Alfred when he had so righteously condemned her for running away. . . like a child. He’d thought her a child. He had condemned her from his place. His place as a man and duke where he could flout all society’s rules. Now, he was finally understanding that, for a woman, a single misstep could mean the declaration of madness.
How had he been such a fool? His Alfred had run away from home because she had been unable to live within the boundaries of what society had set out for her life. And no doubt, the husband that had been chosen for her, while kind, would have, indeed, killed her. If not her body, then her mind and spirit by murdering every natural thing about her.
He had played a vital role in her present circumstances and now, nothing would stop him from extracting her.
“Lord Portmund, you may not wish to hear me speak of my relationship with your daughter but I have to tell you that I did, indeed, compromise her. She came to me a virgin and I took advantage of that.”
Portmund shook his head woefully. “Your Grace, the position you were in was an impossible one. She presented herself as an unprotected female. She did not tell you who she was. In fact, as you say, she attempted to mislead you into thinking she was a boy. Of course you took advantage of her. It is the nature of all men.”
Was it? He supposed for many men it was their nature. He certainly knew that unprotected women in their society were constantly fraught with perils he’d, no doubt, never even considered.
“Even so,” Roth forced himself to remain polite. “I’d like to make her my duchess.”
“The gesture shows you to be a man of honor, but I cannot allow it.”
Who was the mad person? Allegra? Nicholas very much doubted it. In fact, as Portmund continued, Nicholas couldn’t help feeling the old bugger was half mad on the drink of righteousness himself. Or perhaps, he simply had to keep insisting his daughter was mad so he wouldn’t hate himself for tossing her away.
Portmund poured more brandy into his glass and took another long swallow. “She cannot be trusted. Given her current state, she will almost certainly bring your ducal name great shame, Your Grace. In so doing she would bring my family even more woe.”
The earl shook his head, his wig dancing about his shoulders. “No, we mustn’t risk it. She will retire to the country where she can be looked after.”
Nicholas stared. He wasn’t used to being told no. Mrs. Thackery had assured him that it was good for him. He was sure it was, on occasion, and he’d even accepted that brutal no from Allegra’s lips when he’d longed to force her to his will and his proposal of marriage.
He supposed it was possible that Allegra might even refuse him still, though he didn’t see how she could without risking a torturous future. But he was, at last, done with this present nonsense. He’d been told no one too many times.
“Portmund,” he said quietly, but clearly. “Let me make myself absolutely clear. You will allow me to see your daughter tonight. You will allow me to marry her if she consents. Don’t forget who I am. If you refuse me, I’ll drag your family through the worst scandal in a century and don’t think my name won’t survive. The Roth dukedom is as old as William the Conqueror. Do I make myself clear?”
Portmund’s face turned a dangerous, reddish color in the firelight. Apparently, earls were not particularly used to being countered either. “I do. And since you insist, I cannot deny you. But I will reiterate my disapproval—”
“Reiterate until you’re dead of exhaustion, but you will give your consent to the marriage. That is all that matters.”
Portmund opened his mouth several times, like a landed cod fish, then did the only thing he could. He nodded.
“Good,” Nicholas growled. “Now where the Devil is Alfred?”
*
Two days of continued imprisonment in her room had induced a sort of panic in Allegra that she’d never known before. She’d paced the length and width now at least four thousand times. She’d stopped counting when she got to four thousand and one. She’s spent several hours staring out of the window contemplating how she might descend. Unfortunately, her room happened to be the highest in the townhouse aside from the attic rooms of the servants. The beautifully formed pavement below awaited her if she were to attempt the jump and she was aware enough of the concept of mass and force that she knew she wouldn’t be getting up again from such a leap.
To add to dire matters, the nearest trees were across the road in the park. Why were there no trees beside the house? When one read novels there was always a convenient tree in which to hie down.
She had even knotted all the bedclothes together, interspersed with some frocks, but she’d quickly realized that such a plan was dubious. She wasn’t convinced the knots would support her and, frankly, she was hoping to come out of her escape alive. There was also the fact that her window was at the front of the house and dangling from the linens wasn’t exactly an inconspicuous means of liberation.
The servants couldn’t be bribed. She’d screamed. She’d banged. For one hour yesterday. At last, her mother had given her a dose of opium. Said application had dulled her wits beyond toleration for several wasted hours. She had stopped banging and screaming. Fortuitously, her mother had been pleased enough with her submissive behavior to refrain from administering more medicine.
In fact, Allegra had given up all discourse. Even with the young footman who brought her meals.
Hope was quickly evaporating.
The door was thick and the lock was sound. She didn’t know how to pick it.
From what she understood, her parents were going to keep her locked here for a very short while whilst they determined where to store her for the rest of her life.
The resounding terror at her predicament had left her unable to do anything but force herself to consume what fare they brought so she’d have the strength to escape when the opportunity presented itself and it had to. Aside from preserving her strength, her brain had tortured her endlessly with visions of her future life locked up and alone and away from Nicholas forever.
Footsteps thudded down the hall.
Allegra tensed. Finally, after hours of contemplation, she�
�d come to one decision.
Violence was the only option.
She slipped one of the heavy, silver candelabras about her room into her hand, blew out all the lit candles about her boudoir, and slipped up beside the door.
The lock turned and the door began to open.
She held her breath, her heartbeat crashing in her ears as, for the first time in her whole life, she readied herself to do someone bodily harm.
A figure stepped into the room and she brought the candelabra down.
Before she could strike, the figure twisted and leapt out of the way.
Said figure was surprisingly swift for its size.
She quickly realized it was not the footman or her father.
In fact, as her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room, she knew those set of broad shoulders could belong to only one man.
“Nicholas?” she gasped.
“Yes, Alfred.”
That deep, intoxicating voice caressed her like the most wonderful of caresses.
Given the horror of the last few days, her voice shook as she exclaimed, “My God, what are you doing here?”
“Well, thank goodness to your surprisingly poor attack, I’m living.”
A laugh bubbled out of her. It clamored strangely to her ears. But then the laughter continued. It shook her whole body and it quickly grew wild and stringent. Why couldn’t she stop laughing? It made no sense. Why couldn’t she stop herself?
“Shhh, shhh, Alfred.” Nicholas pulled her against his chest and cradled her. He easily slipped the candelabra from her hand and let it fall to the floor. “You’re safe now.”
She shook her head wildly, her laughter dying as abruptly as it had started. “No. No, I’m not. My father—”
“Your Grace, I tried to explain to you she’s mad,” her father’s voice cut in from the hall.
Nicholas kicked the door shut with his foot, silencing the man on the other side. “To think I sent you home to that bastard.”
She clutched Nicholas’ shirt, hardly believing he was there. She drank in his masculine scent and held on for dear life. “I’m afraid I’m dreaming. I’m afraid you’ll disappear and then . . . And then. . .”
Her breath started to catch in her throat.
“Alfred, I’m not going anywhere unless you are going, too.”
She buried her face in his shirt and simply allowed herself to feel safe. There wasn’t any question about it. Now that Nicholas was here, nothing could harm her. Just his very presence calmed her, giving her back her own sense of will.
She rubbed her cheek against the fine linen along his chest then she jolted. My God, she was acting like a hysteric. “Do forgive me. I’m behaving most missishly.”
“The only person who needs forgiveness here is me,” he said, his voice a rough rumble against her hair. “Can you?”
Nicholas rubbed his big, strong hands up and down her back. “Can you forgive me?”
“Right now, as long as you get me out of this room and house, I’ll forgive you anything.” She bit down on her lower lip. Pain blossomed and she gazed up at Nicholas as she realized that she wasn’t the only one who needed saving.
“My maid. Rose,” she said frantically. “She’s been dismissed. Without a reference. She might be dead for all I know. And because she helped me.”
“We will find her,” he declared simply.
She nodded, desperate to convince herself. “We must.”
“The moment we leave here, I will set my men to locating her.”
She drew in a relieved breath. If anyone could find Rose, somehow she knew it would be the man holding her in his capable arms.
He lifted one of those strong hands to her chin and tilted her head back. “I’m so sorry, my darling, but do you think you can overcome your vow and marry me. It is the only way to protect you from your father’s authority at present. A duchess’ cage is much nicer than the one your father was preparing for you.”
Good God. There it was. Nicholas was, of course, right. And she’d have to marry him. She wasn’t yet to her majority and so her father could do with her whatever he wished. . .That was, unless she had a husband.
She wouldn’t be locked away. She wouldn’t.
“Yes Nicholas,” she replied. “I’ll marry you.”
In the shadows, she could barely make out his strong jaw and beautiful face, but she knew his eyes were searching over her own visage.
“No one will ever do anything like this to you again, Allegra,” he said in the darkness. “No one.”
His words were filled with passion and her whole body seemed to shiver at his vow. Only. . . Could she believe him? Worse, did she want to leave such an undertaking to anyone’s power but her own?
Still, she was no fool. If anything, her adventures had proven to her just how much this was a man’s world and how little true power she had in it.
It made her heart ache that she was naught more than a tennis ball hammered back and forth across a court by the will of men. One moment, she was in her father’s power, the next she was being rescued by Nicholas.
Oh, Nicholas couldn’t be compared to other men. He was good and strong and would never intentionally hurt her. . . Yet, she needed to find a way to have strength and power on her own.
This wasn’t the moment for it.
The fear of the last two days made her long to be comforted by someone who cared for her. Never in her life had she felt so alone. Even now, here, with her savior, she felt alone.
It was, she realized sadly, the plight of being a woman. She had no idea how to change that cold feeling. Especially when Nicholas was so warm. For one brief moment, she wished she were a fool. For if she could have just been a fool or even any average lady, it never would have occurred to her to wish for some power of her own. A life of her own. She would have been overjoyed to have her knight in silver armor charging in to save her whenever she needed.
But she was not a foolish woman and more than anything, even in Nicholas’ arms, she wished that she had somehow been able to save herself. At this precise moment, she felt like a failure. A failure to herself and a failure to Juliana.
“Let us go,” she said.
Wordlessly, he took her hand in his and opened the door.
Under the stunned eyes of her father, her mother, and the servants, she and Nicholas strode down the hall and out into the night.
And there was no escaping it.
She was going from one man’s keeping into another’s. Something that would have given so many girls the greatest joy filled her heart with self-disappointment.
There seemed to be little question. She was going to be his wife. So, how would she ever be Nicholas’ equal now?
Chapter 16
Large houses couldn’t cause Allegra to gape. She’d seen her share. The Duke of Roth’s London home was no exception in its hugeness. Towering above the street, with a small park of its own, the thing fairly glittered like an aspiring palace, even in the dead of night.
The servants, as good servants were, had been absolutely stoic in the face of His Grace returning home with a scraggly looking female in tow. Her gown was one of her least elaborate. Just a simple linen affair and her hair was short and wild about her face. She’d known it. After all, captivity and the threat of a madhouse did little for one’s grooming.
In the foyer that was as large as the first floor of her father’s entire London residence, Nicholas had lingered, whispering to his butler. The butler, a man with remarkably bushy, silver brows and furrowed forehead nodded firmly, turned and whisked quickly to some hidden passage.
Still, even as Nicholas had taken her upstairs, she hadn’t been particularly impressed. Dukes were special creatures and the world treated them accordingly and bestowed upon them houses and wealth.
However, three hours later she was stunned. Stunned to such a degree that she hadn’t refused the third glass of wine that the Duke of Aston had poured into her beautifully cut crystal glass.
She was married.
Married.
Wed.
Linked in a conjugal bond for eternity.
Well the conjugal bit really wouldn’t be so bad. Nicholas was a remarkable lover.
Still, as she swallowed the bubbling liquid, she stared at the two dukes who had overseen her wedding like it had been a firing squad before the sleepy-eyed Bishop of London.
They were grinning at each other.
“She’s a charmer. Indeed, she is!” Aston quipped.
“She is right here,” Allegra said before taking a good swig.
“Do beg your pardon.” Aston gave her a ridiculously elaborate bow. “But you see, this fellow here was lolling about on a polished wood floor this morning, pining over you. And now look at him? Grinning ear to ear.”
“Pining?” She had trouble imagine Nicholas doing anything so plebeian as pining.
“I was terribly worse for wear if you must know,” Nicholas admitted.
“He’d had quite an adventure with a few friends the night before.”
“Oh, indeed?” She felt her grip tighten on her glass. She knew Nicholas had quite a full life before they’d met. A life full of all sorts. “Friends?”
What kind of friends? She wanted to demand that information in a completely out of countenance fashion. She just managed to stop herself before she sounded preposterously married and fishing wifely at the same time. And in less than an hour since the official I dos.
Aston pounded Nicholas on the back. “Look at that marvelous jealousy. And you were worried she didn’t care.”
“I’m not jealous!”
“If you’re not, you should move away from the fire,” Aston replied, “Your cheeks have turned a delicious shade of indignant pink.”
“Please refrain from commenting on the color of my duchess’ cheeks.”
My duchess! How strange those words sounded to her ears.
“Well, your duchess is clearly in denial about her green-eyed monster.” Aston nodded, as if confirming his own diagnosis. “Did you see her eyes bulge when I declared you out with friends?”
