The Duke That I Marry

by Cathy Maxwell

  “I can see that my daughter is hopelessly naïve.”

  “Because I believe marriage vows are to be honored,” she flashed back. “He said he would be faithful. And I am not like you.”

  There was a long beat of silence between them, and then her mother asked coolly, “What does that mean?”

  For a moment, Willa wished she hadn’t broached the subject, and then she said, “I can’t pretend to be happy, that all is well . . . when it isn’t.”

  “You are in love,” her mother accused her.

  “Isn’t that how it is supposed to be?”

  “For a duchess? No. Not even for a rich man’s daughter. Why should you be more fortunate than the rest of us? Or believe you have higher expectations?”

  Willa faced her mother. “Because I want it all. And, to be honest, I was starting to believe I did.”

  “What is ‘all’?”

  “A husband who doesn’t disappear whenever I need him. Who cherishes me and acts as if he enjoys my company.” Matt had almost convinced her both of those things were true. Of course, this morning by the river, she’d had her first brush with the truth. “I want to believe that I matter to someone.” She’d wanted to matter to him.

  “You matter, Willa. You are a duchess. His duchess. A woman can ask for no more in life.”

  “I can. I don’t want to be a blank piece of paper.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I won’t settle. Not in love. Or in how I live my life.”

  “Your father and I have provided well for you.”

  “You have. But you have also kept me on a shelf, waiting for the right time to marry me off at a good advantage.”

  Her mother compressed her lips in a tight, hard line. The sound of the coach wheels over cobblestones filled the silence between them. They were not far from home. The horses had picked up their pace.

  And then, her mother reached for the speaker tube between passenger and driver. “Take us to the Duke of Camberly’s.” Her mother sat back in the seat.

  Willa’s hands clenched into fists. “You are returning me to him? Even though I don’t wish to go?”

  “You won’t discover if you truly matter to him hiding in your childhood bed,” her mother answered. “You must face him.”

  “I don’t know if I wish to. What do I say?”

  “What you just told me. You were very articulate.”

  “But it is harder speaking to him that way.”

  “Then you are lying to yourself. Willa, people don’t just hand over what you want. You take it. Not speaking to Camberly will lead you nowhere. I know.” Her mother was quiet a moment before saying, “You believe I don’t care what your father does—”

  “He is selfish, how can you tolerate him?”

  “Because I love him,” her mother answered. “Because in spite of what he does and who he is, I wish to think that someday, there will be something meaningful between us. And also because I have few other choices. You see, I hid from your father instead of speaking my truth. I can’t say that if I had done things differently, we might be different. He is a hard man, and a frightened one. He’s afraid of being poor, of aging, of being overlooked. But I’m at peace with that. I was the one who didn’t believe I had a right to make demands. I was silly.” She turned to look at the passing scenery. “Don’t you be silly, Willa. You’ve told Camberly how you feel. Now you owe it to yourself to hear him out.”

  The coach rolled to a stop. The ever-vigilant Marshall opened the house door to welcome her home.

  Willa reached for her mother’s hand. “What if I truly don’t matter to my husband?”

  “Then you are in no different a place than where you are right now, except he does care. I saw his face.”

  “But does he care enough to love me?”

  “Possibly. And I’m jealous. Now go on. A good night’s sleep will do wonders.”

  Sleep was always her mother’s answer to all the trials of life. There had been a time when Willa had wanted to scream when she heard her mother say it.

  Now, she kissed her mother’s cheek. “Thank you.”

  Her mother smiled, but then a thoughtful look crossed her face. “How did you know to search for Camberly?”

  “Lady Evanston told me that my husband wished me to go to that room. She said he had a surprise for me.”

  “Letty could have arranged all of this.”

  “It is possible,” Willa conceded. “She seemed very pleased with herself.”

  “Give him a chance to explain, Willa. Hear him out.”

  “I will.” It would be difficult . . . but she would try to listen to her husband, even if she didn’t believe him.

  And then? Well, Willa knew she’d have a decision to make. A hard one.

  At a nod from her mother, Lloyd opened the coach door and Willa climbed out. Thoughtfully, she walked to where Marshall waited. She told him good night and made her way up the stairs.

  Annie was waiting up for her. The maid had been sitting in the desk chair by the lamp doing some handwork. At the sight of Willa, Annie set her work aside and jumped to her feet. “How was your evening, Your Grace?” she asked hopefully.

  “Trying.”

  “Is His Grace with you?”

  “He’ll be along shortly.” Willa looked to the bed. It looked empty without him, as would her life.

  She felt her throat start to close and the burn of tears. She blinked them back. It was never good to cry in front of Annie. She always wished to right every wrong, and this was between Willa and Matt.

  Nor was Willa ready for a confrontation with him. It might be best to wait for the morning. As Annie pulled the pins from her hair, Willa decided she would prefer being in bed and pretending sleep. Let Matt make the first move. After all, she was the wronged party.

  Consequently, Willa had little patience with the rituals of brushing out her hair and braiding it. He could arrive home at any moment.

  She knew Annie’s mind buzzed with questions. Thankfully, the maid knew enough not to ask.

  This night, Willa chose her heaviest nightdress to wear—another sign to Matt that, although she’d decided to return to their home, she was not pleased. “Thank you, Annie. You have been most helpful.”

  “I try to do my best, Miss Willa. Do you wish to keep the light burning for His Grace?”

  “No.” Darkness was good.

  “Yes, Your Grace. Have sweet dreams.”

  Yes, Willa would dream about a man who loved her and her alone.

  The sourness of her thoughts disturbed her . . . because, she realized, she did love Matt, and him alone. No matter what happened.

  That was her last thought before surprising herself by falling asleep, but not for long.

  One moment she’d laid her head upon the pillow; in the next, someone stuffed a ball of material in her mouth and tied a scarf around her head to prevent her from crying out. Confused, her eyes opened in surprise to realize the room was still dark. That was her last thought before a pillowcase was tossed over her head.

  Rough hands grabbed her by the arms, pulled her from the bed, and bound her with ropes.

  Willa found herself hoisted up on a man’s shoulder and being carried from her room.

  Chapter 12

  Watching the Reverly coach pulling away, Matt felt as if he was in a madman’s play.

  In less than an hour, his life had been upended. Willa’s accusations stung . . . because there had been an element of truth to them.

  And he believed he was on the verge of losing someone who could be very special to him.

  Letty had appealed to the part of him that wanted to be heroic. He’d pictured himself as saving her from a horrid marriage.

  Instead, watching his wife being driven away, he now pictured himself as an adulterer. An ugly word. Certainly not a heroic one.

  As the son of a man who had given up his birthright for the woman he loved, as the brother of sisters who were happily married to good, hon
est men, Matt felt shame.

  He had slept with another man’s wife, and he’d justified doing so in his mind because Letty hadn’t loved her husband.

  Standing among the glittering company of the ton, Matt felt a fraud. This was not the man he wanted to be. Worse, his weakness had enabled Hardesty to manipulate him.

  He pulled the note Letty had given him from his pocket. Hardesty had plotted the meeting. He wouldn’t have put it past the man to have arranged for Willa to come upon them.

  Matt needed more answers, and the best person to give them to him was Letty. He returned to the ballroom to seek her out. He also wanted to seek out the Minotaur footman who had delivered the note to him, and ask a few questions.

  Letty was nowhere to be found. He searched all the rooms, however, it was as if she had vanished.

  He was stumped.

  “You look so lonely, Your Grace,” Lady Evanston’s voice said behind him. There was a hint of invitation in her tone.

  He confronted his hostess, a smile fixed firmly on his face. “I’m not.”

  Her lower lip curled. “That is unfortunate. However, if you ever do feel you need company, think of me.” As she moved past him, she reached for his gloved hand and pressed a folded note into it. She didn’t pause but kept walking.

  The paper was the same sort that Hardesty had used. Lady Evanston had written, See me upstairs, first floor, third door, right after midnight. The handwriting was different.

  He went after her. Before she could go too far, he caught her arm.

  She acted pleased that he’d given chase, until he said, “Where did you write this note?”

  “What note?” she asked brightly, and looked around as if checking to see if someone overheard them. Matt was having none of it.

  “This paper, where did you find it?”

  Lady Evanston’s frown said that wasn’t what she’d expected him to say. Nor did she appear pleased he was waving her invitation around in such a public forum.

  He kept his voice quiet and carefully neutral. “I need to know, and if you don’t tell me, then I shall ask your husband.”

  Her chin lifted. “Richard doesn’t care.”

  “I am not concerned if he cares or not. I want to know where you keep this paper.”

  “In the study.”

  “Take me to it.”

  The light of interest returned to her eye as if she was imagining he was playing some lover’s game. “What is in it for me, Your Grace?”

  Matt wanted to answer that doing so would mean he didn’t throttle her, but that would have been an empty threat. One couldn’t throttle ladies in their own ballrooms, more’s the pity. “We shall see, won’t we?” he answered with his own touch of flirtation.

  She couldn’t do enough for him then. “Meet me at the hall door, by the card room. Five minutes.”

  “And the study is where?”

  Lady Evanston made an impatient sound. “Down the side hall. Five minutes,” she repeated, and charged off into the crowd.

  Matt had no intention of following. The study was obviously the name for the sitting room where he’d met Letty. Anyone could have gone there to write notes.

  Hardesty was at this party.

  He studied the faces in the crowd. Would Hardesty be as old as his grandfather? Or much younger?

  What did a blackmailer look like? What was the face of a thief?

  And he was playing a fool’s game, he realized.

  In time, Hardesty would let him know what he wanted. All Matt had to do was stay vigilant.

  “Your Grace, we are so happy to have a moment of your time,” a matronly woman in a red velvet turban said. She was accompanied by several other ladies of her same generation.

  “I’m happy to be present for you,” Matt said, perfunctorily. His mind was on determining his next step.

  “I’m Lady Ralston and these are my friends Dame Honora and Mrs. Simpkins. We are presiding members of the Mayfair Literary Society.”

  “How nice for you,” Matt said.

  “We are hoping you would agree to read for us from your book Love Fulfilled at our next meeting. We are proud to have a copy.”

  Matt swallowed a sound of frustration. This was the second time today that his very bad poetry had been mentioned. He did his best to tell them no in a polite way and made his escape. He knew if they cornered Minerva, he might have to honor their request—but he was not going to agree easily.

  He was also beginning to realize how fruitless it was for him to search for Hardesty, a person he knew nothing about. He could quiz the servants, but he would have to go through all the footmen, since he had no idea which Minotaur had delivered the note.

  Ready to leave the Evanston rout, he searched out his grandmother. Minerva was surrounded by friends. When he suggested they leave, she informed him she was enjoying herself.

  “Then may I leave?” Matt was not in the mood to wait. He needed to talk to Willa.

  “Go on, go on,” Minerva said. “But send back the coach. I promised Lady Cahill a ride home.”

  “You may have it. I’ll walk.” The distance was not far. “Also, if presiding members of the Mayfair Literary Society approach you, tell them I don’t do readings.”

  “I will,” was the breezy reply.

  Given permission to go, Matt didn’t say his good-byes to his host and hostess. Diana Evanston was presumably in the study waiting for him, and Matt had no desire to look her husband in the eye. He set his hat on his head and left the house.

  The night air was cool. The considerable traffic on the street grew sparser the closer he traveled to home. Matt wasn’t one for the affectation of a walking stick. He passed several gentlemen carrying theirs. They twirled them, and several saluted him with them. A few acted as if they wished to engage him in conversation. Matt kept walking, his mind working on what he would say to Willa. What he wanted to say.

  He turned the corner onto his street. Lamps burned by his front door. He prayed Willa was home. Since she’d left with her mother, she might not be.

  And that would be the test, wouldn’t it? If Willa chose to return to his home, then there was a strong chance for them. If she hadn’t—?

  Then he’d find her. And he would make her listen to him—

  A thickset man stepped out from the shadows. He wore a heavy coat on such a pleasant autumn evening and a hat pulled low over his eyes.

  “The Duke of Camberly?”

  Matt stopped. Since he was taller than most men, few ever picked fights with him. He also knew how to hold his own. “What do you want?”

  “Mr. Hardesty sent me,” the man said. He slurred his words the way those born around the docks spoke.

  Curling his gloved hands into fists, Matt asked carefully, “What does Hardesty want?”

  The man reached inside his coat.

  Matt half expected him to hand over another folded note. He thought about overpowering the man and dragging his carcass to his house. There, he’d do what he must to squeeze information about Hardesty out of him.

  But the man surprised him. Instead of a note, he held his fingers out as if they had ahold of something. Matt couldn’t make it out in the dark.

  “Go on, take it,” the man said.

  Matt held out his gloved hand. The man dropped a thick curl of rich brown hair into his palm. “Your wife wants you to come with me. If you don’t, she will be sorry.”

  “What have you done?”

  “This way to find out, Your Grace.”

  “I’m not going with you anywhere until I know she is all right.” Because if she wasn’t, Matt was going to murder the man.

  “Oh, she is fine—for now. Lovely thing she is, Your Grace. A tasty bit. Mr. Hardesty has buyers for her. He hoped you would listen to reason but if not, there won’t be any slack for us.”

  Matt closed his hand over the curl. He wanted to pound the man into the ground. “How did you take her?”

  The blackguard grinned. He was missing two front tee
th. Matt had an urge to knock the rest of his teeth down his throat. “We nabbed her from her bed, right there in your big house. We are so good, no one even knows she is gone, except you and me. Are you coming, Your Grace? Or is she mine?”

  So Willa had come home to him. She’d been waiting for him.

  Or the man was lying.

  “You tell Hardesty he’s a bastard.”

  “You can tell him yourself, Your Grace. But first, you must come with me.”

  “Lead the way.” Matt could be walking into a trap . . . but his every instinct said the man was speaking the truth. Hardesty had Willa.

  He followed the brute back behind the houses to an alley. Two small horses were tied up there. “Take your pick, Your Grace.” He was growing cocky. Matt would relish the moment when he changed the tables on them.

  His horse groaned when he climbed on top of it. The saddle was too small, and Matt had to let down the stirrups.

  “Be careful with my animal,” the man ordered. “I value that horse.”

  “As much as you value my wife’s life?” Matt didn’t hide his disdain.

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass what becomes of her, Your Grace. I’m paid to do a job, and I do it.”

  On those words, Hardesty’s man put his heel to horse, and off he went. If Matt believed Willa was in their clutches, then he’d best follow.

  He followed.

  Willa’s assailants had bound her arms, wrists, and legs, and had carried her out of her house as if she was little more than a rug. She’d tried to struggle, but she’d been overpowered.

  No one had stopped them. No cry had gone up. They’d taken the servants’ entrance and then carried her through the back garden. She’d heard the back gate open right before they’d thrown her onto the floor of what seemed to be a post chaise.

  Then they had cut a piece of her hair.

  “Ross, you know where to meet me?” one of them had asked. He sounded like one of the dockworkers.

  The other man had answered, “Aye, Donel, I know.” Willa had listened for clues. She now knew Ross was Irish. Donel was their leader. They had known the layout of the house.

  There came the snap of reins, and the chaise began moving with her on the floor inside.