The Duchess in His Bed

by Heath Lorraine

  He returned his attention to his task. “As I told you, Gillie was about posh talk and knowing your liquors. Finn, the thief, was a young lad when he embarked on that career. Our mum got wind of it and took nearly an inch of flesh off his backside with her switch, so he became a horse slaughterer. He taught us about all the various equines. The different types, how to ride them, care for them. Then Beast . . . well.” He looked back up at her and grinned. “You’d be surprised by the things I know.”

  A click echoed around them. He removed the lock, slipped it into his pocket, and pulled the chain through the bars on the gate, setting it aside. He pushed himself to his feet, tucked her pins inside his jacket, and she mourned the fact that they were ruined to such an extent he couldn’t tuck them back into her hair, not that she wanted the pins so much as she wanted his fingers skimming over the strands. “You have another sister. I saw her at Lady Aslyn’s wedding, although I didn’t get a chance to speak with her.”

  “Fancy.”

  “What did she teach you?”

  “That children are irritating little buggers. I was fourteen when she was born. Not a lot she could teach me by the time she was old enough to provide lessons.” He took the lamp from her and offered his arm, which she gladly took. “Do you know where we’re going?”

  “Yes.” Lushing brought her after he purchased the plots, so she would know where they would be laid to rest. “Once we enter, we turn right at the first pathway.”

  “He seems to have prepared for things. Did he know he was going to die?” he asked as he escorted her into the cemetery.

  “No. He took a chill in the winter. It worsened into this horrible gurgling cough.” Influenza morphing into pneumonia, the physician had told her. Until eventually he hadn’t been able to draw in air.

  “I’m surprised he’s buried in a public cemetery rather than at his estate. There’s a mausoleum there, surely.”

  A very ornate one of stone. “He preferred the gardens here at Abingdon Park. He was never particularly close to his father. My husband’s mother died when he was around fifteen. He and his father had a terrible row shortly thereafter. As a result, his father forbid him to use his courtesy title, cut off his allowance, disowned him for all practical purposes, although he couldn’t stop him from eventually inheriting. Lushing was the legal heir, and the law protected his inheritance. Thank goodness for Kittridge. His father had passed a few years earlier, so he’d already inherited the title and properties that placed him in a position to provide a haven for Lushing—or Arthur Sheffield, as he was known at the time—until the titles and properties passed on to him. Or so I was told. I was only a child when all this started. Lushing was twelve years my senior.”

  “I can’t get a good look at things, but it seems peaceful here.”

  “It is. Like so many these days, Lushing was very much obsessed with the celebration of death. I find it all very morbid. This morning a photographer arrived to take a photo of Lushing laid out in the casket. Apparently, he’d arranged for it to be done some time back. I don’t understand the need to have an image of him dead.”

  “For some, who can’t afford photographers, it’s the last, perhaps the only, chance for the family to have the deceased immortalized.”

  “Cost was not a factor for him. Nor was it the only chance. He was photographed many times. I don’t fancy death mementos. Lord Kittridge asked if he could take some snippets of Lushing’s hair to have a watch fob made. I know it’s customary to use the hair for various pieces of jewelry, but I can’t bring myself to be so adorned. This way.” They turned down a path and followed it around a small pond, circled by willows, their branches hanging down like gossamer curtains. It was lovely during the day. At night it seemed more mystical. She could imagine sprites darting around. Tightening her hold on his arm, she relished the strength she found there.

  On a puff of laughter, she said, “He’ll no doubt roll over in his grave if he catches sight of the risqué clothing I’m wearing.”

  “On the contrary, I think he’d appreciate it.”

  She glanced over and up at him. He was such a reassuring presence. If any spirits decided to engage in some hauntings, he’d send them back to where they came from right quick. It was odd to feel so close to someone she’d known only a couple of days, but then, the intense intimacy they’d shared was no doubt responsible. How could a woman not draw comfort from a man who had feasted between her thighs? “Did you ever meet him? Did he come to your other club?”

  “If he did, he didn’t use his real name or title. Although I’m fairly good at ferreting out deception so I rather doubt it.”

  Swallowing became difficult as she wondered if he’d correctly ferret out her deception and motivations. If he discovered the truth, would he be angry or not care?

  “Here we are,” she said.

  He watched as she knelt at the foot of a mound of dirt covered in flowers.

  “I had no tears for him today. I wept them all last night,” she said quietly.

  Crouching beside her, he draped his forearm over his thigh. He was in an odd place, not so much the cemetery as offering comfort. He’d always been about the laughs, the fun, the pleasure when it came to women. She was causing him to delve beneath the surface and he wasn’t sure he liked it. Yet the alternative was not to be here for her, and he liked that notion even less. “I’d have thought he’d have a monstrous headstone.”

  “Oh he does. It’s a huge angel carved from stone that will watch over him, us. The vicar said it would be best to wait a year before putting it in place. Apparently, it takes the ground a while to settle after it’s been disturbed by a burial.”

  He didn’t care about the ground, but something else had caught his attention. “Us, you said.”

  “Yes, he purchased the plot next to him, on his left so I’m buried near his heart.”

  “Not for a good long while yet, I should think.”

  She offered him a small smile. “I shall hope not.”

  The thought of losing her caused a tightness in his chest—

  As though she were his to lose, an inner voice castigated him. She was only for jollies, until she tired of him or he tired of her. Yet here he was in one of the least fun places in the world, and he wasn’t thinking about how he’d like to pleasure her again, but only how best to comfort her. He was grateful she’d wanted him to be with her as she made this little excursion. “How did you come to marry him?”

  Her laugh was as wispy as the tendrils of fog that were beginning to gather. “I’d known of him, of course. But only by name and reputation—the black sheep of Sheffield Hall, the family estate. When I was seventeen, I was presented to the Queen so I might have my first Season.”

  “That seems rather young.”

  “With your refined speech and well-tailored clothing, it’s easy to forget that you don’t come from my world and might be unfamiliar with the details of it. There isn’t a specific age requirement for being presented to the Queen. A girl need be merely viewed as mature and having reached a level of sophistication deemed sufficient by her parents. I have a friend who was presented at fourteen.” She hesitated before continuing. “In my case, my father was most anxious to see me married because his financial situation was dire. He was struggling to maintain the estate and feared if I didn’t marry soon, he’d have to sell the small property he’d set aside as my dowry. He made it quite clear that I needed to set my sights on someone who had the means to be generous. My cause was aided by the fact that the gossip rags referred to me as the most beautiful debutante of the Season.”

  Her focus on the grave, all he could see were the shadows of her profile. “That’s the reason you weren’t happy when I complimented your beauty.”

  Slowly she turned her head and her gaze came to rest on him. “I am more than my features, but when I was seventeen, they were all that mattered. As fate would have it, Arthur Sheffield’s father had died two years before, and now he was well ensconced as the Duke of L
ushing and had decided that it was long past the time that he took a wife. At twenty-nine, handsome and wealthy, he was declared the catch of the Season. Within minutes of arriving at my first ball, the hostess, the Duchess of Ainsley, brought him over for an introduction. He claimed my first waltz. Halfway through he confessed that he’d done it as a lark because he found it humorous that we were considered catches and thought our dancing together would cause tongues to wag. He also confessed to liking me very much and being surprised by it. He didn’t take anyone else out on the floor that night. So, naturally tongues did wag.”

  He didn’t want to consider that once her mourning period was over, she would be attending other balls, dancing with other men, having another lord confessing that he liked her very much. “And you were smitten.”

  “That’s rather a strong word for what I felt. I liked him well enough. He was kind and had a lovely smile. The following morning, he sent flowers. The next afternoon he took me for a ride through the park in his barouche. Soon after that my father had a word with him. Very soon after that, Lushing asked for my hand in marriage.”

  “And you accepted.”

  “I told him I needed to think about it. The Season had been underway for such a short time. It was only May. So much attention was being bestowed upon me by other lords that I was wearing out two pairs of slippers at every ball. I was having a grand time. I knew a good bit of the attention would end once a betrothal was announced. My father was furious. He packed up us girls and returned us to the country estate. I think he intended it as a sort of punishment, to take me away from all the fun, to make me rethink my answer, to remind me that the Season was not a game but had a purpose to it: to see me wed. Two weeks later he and Mother were dead.”

  He clearly heard the guilt she harbored reflected in her voice. “Their deaths were not your fault.”

  “If I’d said yes to Lushing, we’d have stayed in the city.”

  “But now you needed the wealthy duke more than ever.”

  “He arrived at the estate without my sending for him. My brother had stayed in London. I sent word to him about what had happened, so I suppose he told others before he returned home. Hours after he arrived, there was Lushing. Winslow was only nineteen, completely unprepared to take on the mantle of the earldom. Lushing saw to everything without being asked. He made all the funeral arrangements, spoke with the solicitor, the vicar, and the undertaker. I’d given him cause to doubt my devotion, yet he became my rock. My fondness for him grew. I told him if he was willing to wait until my mourning period was over, I would marry him. He waited. The following May, one year to the day after my parents died, we were wed.”

  “It sounds as though he was a good bloke.”

  Another tiny laugh from her. “I don’t know if Lushing has ever been referred to as a ‘bloke’ but yes, there was much goodness in him.” She turned her attention back to the grave. “He certainly deserved better than a wife who would go to your club three nights after he passed. I don’t know what I was thinking, what possessed me to do such a thing.”

  He was ever so glad she had, and didn’t want her regretting her decision or avoiding the club in the future. “Who is there for you at night?”

  “My sisters. Lushing didn’t object to their living with us. His residences were so much more organized, and I was quite skilled at managing them. It’s what I’d been trained to do. Winslow, as a bachelor, is rubbish at caring for the girls. He was especially so when he was only twenty. I like having them about, but they retire by nine, and then the house becomes so quiet.”

  “So you came to the Elysium in search of comfort as much as anything.” Not just the sex as she’d initially indicated.

  “You might have the right of it. While for Lushing and myself the act itself was never . . . might have been lacking, afterward provided me with some of my favorite memories. He would simply hold me, and we would speak in low voices about nonsensical matters: dreams we’d held as children, disappointments, moments that filled us with happiness. We’d recount our favorite aspects of journeys we’d taken, and we’d plan where we’d go next. He wouldn’t stay long. Half an hour or so. But I always felt we shared more intimacy during those minutes than at any other time. I was always bereft when he left, but never found the courage to ask him to stay. Marriage is an odd thing, Mr. Trewlove.”

  “Based on what you’ve revealed, I don’t think he would have found fault with you seeking solace away from the residence.”

  “I hope you’re right. I never wanted him to find me disappointing.” She glanced up, sighed. “I pray he’s at peace.”

  “Is there a reason he shouldn’t be?”

  She shook her head slowly, wistfully. “As you deduced, he was a good man, well liked. The residence was packed with mourners this afternoon. Yet all I wanted was to be alone.”

  “Shall I walk away for a bit?”

  Shifting slightly, she faced him. “No. Why is it that I draw such comfort from you, a man I’ve known for only a couple of days, and found little with those I’ve known for ages?”

  “Perhaps because we have no history to muddy the waters.”

  “It’s more than that. I can’t explain it. From the first moment I spied you, it was as though something within me recognized a kindred spirit.” Her laugh was brief but mocking, slicing into the air that was beginning to gray with fog. “Yet, we couldn’t be more different.”

  He didn’t put much stock in fanciful things like love at first sight but had to admit he was drawn to her, had been from the moment he’d spotted her entering his establishment, without even knowing precisely what she looked like or who she was. Reaching out, he stroked his finger along the length of her face before cupping her chin. He couldn’t deny something burned between them, but she had the right of it. They were far too different for anything to come of it, other than a jolly good time.

  “The fog is thickening. We can’t have you getting damp, catching a chill.”

  “No, of course not. Thank you for coming with me.”

  “I’m available anytime you need me.” The words were out before he considered the implication of them. Yet, he also realized they held truth, for now anyway. Until they parted ways, for surely a parting would come. His businesses were not the sort in which a wife would take pride or children would boast. Why the bloody hell were thoughts of family rushing through his head? Two of his brothers might have chosen marriage, but it was not for him. Too confining in its demands that one act in a respectable manner.

  Impatient with himself and the path his thoughts traveled, he pushed himself to his feet and then gently brought her up from her kneeling position. With the lantern in one hand, he placed the other on the small of her back and began guiding her out of a place that he’d at first found peaceful and now found unsettling. Death had a way of making a person think about life, about the manner in which one applied himself to the hours that he was granted breath. He was not now going to begin wishing a different road stretched out before him. As much as he hated to admit it, he was his father’s son, had always been so. At his core, his needs ruled.

  In the carriage, he sat beside her, his hand wrapped protectively around hers as it rested on his thigh. Such an intimate positioning, yet Selena hadn’t objected when he’d placed it there. Nor had she protested when he informed her driver that he was to deliver her to the residence and Aiden would make his own way back to his club after he’d seen her safely inside. He knew who she was. What did it matter that he discovered where she lived? He could ask around and learn where the Duke of Lushing resided when in London. She was rather certain Aiden understood boundaries existed for them, and he would not cross over them to call upon her at her residence. Their association was to be limited to the night shadows, their encounters to be initiated by her appearing at his club. She didn’t need to spell that out—and if she discovered she did, then she most certainly would.

  She needed to remain in charge of this relationship—except for the moments whe
n he was in control and bringing her pleasure.

  She drew comfort from his silence, from his not having a need to fill the confines with the deepness of his voice. He could convey so much with a mere touch, with little more than his presence. In spite of the manner in which he’d shattered her world the night before, he’d effectively pieced it all back together tonight.

  “Why gambling hells?” she eventually asked. “I know you enjoy numbers and figuring odds, but surely more thought than that went into the businesses you decided to open.”

  “There is a good deal of wealth to be made in vice. And it can be made quickly. I wanted to put myself in a position where my achievements were impressive enough that I could lord them over my sire.”

  She was surprised he’d mentioned his father after claiming to never speak of him, but then, it seemed a night for sharing revelations. “He knows of your successes?”

  “I make sure he does. I want him to be aware that I am a man to be reckoned with. Within my world I have more power than he has within his.”

  “Who is he?” she asked, hoping this time he might tell her. It would be nice to know the bloodline her child would inherit, if she were to get pregnant.

  “A lord of no consequence. I shouldn’t have mentioned him.”

  “Was it difficult growing up in your world?”

  “I had my brothers and Gillie. We always stuck together and stood up for each other. And my mum was wicked with a broom. If anyone came after us, she’d go after them. No one wanted to have to fend off Ettie Trewlove and her broom.”

  Smiling at that, she wished she’d known him as a boy.

  When they arrived at the residence, she wasn’t at all surprised when Aiden leaped out of the vehicle and then reached back to hand her down. Nor was she surprised when he escorted her up the steps to the massive arched doorway. He took the key she’d removed from her reticule and used it to unlock the door, shoving it open slightly before handing the brass back to her. She considered inviting him in, but how would she explain his presence to her sisters should they come upon them or her brother if he wasn’t at his residence but was instead lurking about in hers?