Duke in Darkness (Wickedly Wed Book 1)

by Nicola Davidson

  Truth be told, he wasn’t even sure he had the vigor to move. After the meeting at Whitehall, then his confession to Lilian about the night of the battle, he’d felt drained beyond words. But he’d slept for hours, without brandy or laudanum or anything else, and now his body seemed quite out of sorts. Almost confused. How could he have had such a good sleep and still be tired? It had been so embarrassing saying to Lili that he wanted to just lie in bed rather than fuck her, when any other morning he knew his cock would be harder than stone having her ample backside pressed against it, and the plump curves of her breasts a hairsbreadth from his fingers. But much like last night, she’d been so kind. Compassionate. Even better, she had shared something personal of her own, about her mother.

  As much as he disliked hearing the pain in her voice, he’d needed that from her. To see beneath the ton lady mask to the real woman with her own burdens to bear. Now they could march forward together. Help each other. Have a real marriage, not just one of convenience.

  A knock sounded on the door, and before he could tell Hobbs to make himself scarce, his valet strode into the bedchamber with a chirpy, “Good morning.”

  Gabriel scowled. “Shhhh. You’ll wake her.”

  Hobbs halted, his expression utterly comical as he took in the sight before him. A fully dressed duke, in bed, curled around his sleeping wife. Then his weathered face broke into a beaming smile. “Humblest apologies,” he whispered, sotto voce. “Should I return with breakfast on a tray for two?”

  “I don’t wish to eat with you. The way you crunch toast…is an insult to ears.”

  “Good God, Your Grace. That almost sounded like humor. Breakfast, then?”

  “Before you go…would you get some balm?”

  His valet’s gaze sharpened. “Is your foot hurting?”

  “A little. But if I rub some balm in…before it gets worse, might be able…to hold off an attack.”

  “Gabriel?” said Lilian sleepily. Then she sat bolt upright. “Er, Hobbs. Good morning.”

  “Your Grace,” said Hobbs, bowing. “I was just about to fetch some balm for his foot.”

  “Can I watch? I should like to know how to assist, if the need arose.”

  Surprised and warmed at the offer, Gabriel nodded. “But first, I need to er…” he gestured to the screen in the corner of the room that hid his chamber pot.

  Lilian’s cheeks went pink. “I also need to, er…please wait for me, I shall return.”

  Gabriel watched in amusement as she near-leaped out of bed and scampered away to her own bedchamber. Once he’d taken care of that pressing need, he returned and perched on the side of his bed. His foot was definitely beginning to stiffen up now, enough to make him grit his teeth. The damned thing was so temperamental, some days he could move relatively freely with tolerable discomfort, other days, it hurt like hell. And it truly didn’t like the cold or damp.

  “I’m back,” said Lilian as she returned, carrying her dressing table seat and setting it down beside the bed.

  Hobbs looked uncertain. “Are you sure you wish to see this, Your Grace?”

  Her gaze narrowed. “It’s just a foot, Hobbs. I’m sure my delicate sensibilities will survive.”

  Gabriel stifled a smile. Indeed, sometimes his kitten had claws. “Brace yourself for the scent…of the balm, though. I don’t even want to know…what Hobbs puts in it.”

  “I wouldn’t tell you anyway,” sniffed his valet as he pulled a small glass pot containing the mystery green concoction from his jacket pocket, and opened it. “Ancient family recipe.”

  “Oh my word,” said Lilian, as she began to cough.

  “I know,” said Gabriel sympathetically. “Once it has killed…your sense of smell, you’ll be fine.”

  “It’s like…it’s like the Thames on a bad day met a quart of chamomile tea and had a camphor baby. Dare I ask what makes it that green color? Is it plantain?”

  “Indeed, madam,” said Hobbs, resting Gabriel’s foot on his knee, then scooping out a little of the ointment with two fingertips. “Now, first I spread this on the bottom of His Grace’s foot. You don’t need to use a lot, it goes quite far. Then I begin to massage it in. Gently to start, always gently to start, just with my fingertips. When the skin feels warmer and softer, I press harder, but around the scarring, not directly on it. Like this, see?”

  From her stool next to the bed, Lilian leaned in to watch Hobbs massage his damaged flesh, her expression not disgust, but a rather adorable frown of concentration. “Ah, yes. Ideally, how long should his foot be rubbed for?”

  “It all depends on how it is behaving. On a good day, perhaps a quarter hour.”

  Gabriel sucked in a pained breath as Hobbs dug his thumbs into a particularly sore spot. “On a bad day, a few minutes at most. Damned annoying thing. Shoes don’t help, either.”

  “Then we must remedy that,” said Lilian, glancing up at him. “Today. Hobbs, after breakfast, would you see that the carriage is ready at ten o’clock? I am going to ensure Exton has shoes he can walk in more comfortably. I’m sure Mr. Hoby will know what to do.”

  Hobbs bowed as he wiped his hands on a linen cloth. “Of course, Your Grace. I shall ready His Grace for an outing. He’ll be downstairs in an hour, fresh as a daisy.”

  “Excellent,” said Lilian, and his wife and his valet nodded at each other in perfect understanding. “I shall have Dawn do the same. Thank you for the massage demonstration.”

  Eyebrows raised, Gabriel stared at her as Hobbs departed the chamber. “Now you have planned my morning…and given my valet his orders…any other instructions, madam wife?”

  Lilian blushed. “No more instructions, but a humble request. I would like my husband to kiss me.”

  “Would you now?”

  “Very much,” she whispered, batting her lashes. “Please?”

  Gabriel’s lips twitched. “You are a minx.”

  Then he leaned down and captured her lips in a kiss, a light brush to start that soon deepened into a raw, brutal conquering of her mouth, one that made her moan and clutch at his hands to steady herself.

  “Oh,” she said softly. “The way you kiss me. I like that just as much as waking up beside you in bed.”

  “Then you should do so again. Tomorrow morning.”

  Lili’s face lit up. “Are you sure? I won’t disturb you?”

  “I seem…” Gabriel exhaled slowly. “To sleep better with you. Before…I didn’t sleep at all unless I passed out. Hobbs has scraped me from the floor…countless times.”

  “Well then. It’s settled,” she replied happily. “I’ll go and get dressed.”

  After a rather chilly morning, it had turned into a bright, sunny day, the kind that teased Londoners into thinking summer might actually be around the corner.

  Lilian was glad of it, as the ducal carriage came to a halt on the corner of Piccadilly and St. James’s Street, directly outside Hoby’s bootmakers. For the shopping, and more importantly, the being seen that she and Gabriel were about to do, it would be far easier without the added inconvenience of rain or blustery wind. They could stroll for a short while, take the air and enjoy the sunshine, rather than have to hurry and put further pressure on Gabriel’s foot. But if a clerk so much as looked at her husband sideways, he would rue the day. She was fully prepared to once again unleash her roar.

  “We’re here,” said Gabriel, grimacing as he glanced out the window. “I hope George Hoby is in an amiable mood. He can be…eccentric.”

  “Yes,” she replied, pursing her lips. “Xavier says the same. Although I suppose that is what happens when you are the best at what you do, and count all the royal dukes and Wellington among your loyal customers. If, however, he is rude to you, I will beat him with my reticule.”

  He smiled. “Heaven help the man. Let’s be on our way, then.”

  They climbed out of the carriage, and strolled into the large shop. Lilian was immediately struck by the scent of fine leather and polish—an infinitely more appealing smel
l than that dreadful balm—and sniffed appreciatively. Shop men bustled about, as fitting for London’s most sought-after bootmaker, taking measurements, writing up invoices, and showing customers their wares. From here she could see pairs of Hessian boots with their distinctive tassel, formal black leather shoes with silver buckles, and more casual black shoes with almost no heel at all.

  “Can I help you sir? Madam?” said a slender and pleasant-voiced clerk.

  Lilian turned and smiled as she handed over one of her engraved cards. “The Duke and Duchess of Exton to see Mr. Hoby if he is available.”

  “Of course, Your Grace,” said the man, bowing low. “One moment.”

  Shortly afterward, an older, neatly dressed gentleman marched toward them. “Ah, Colonel Jordan-Ives. Excuse me, Exton. Thought you had abandoned me for a far inferior supplier.”

  Gabriel shot her an amused glance, before inclining his head to the master bootmaker. “Never, Hoby.”

  “What can I do for you today?”

  Lilian cleared her throat. “I shall explain so not to cause His Grace’s scar to ache. My husband requires new shoes. Several pairs. But they will need to be a little different from most.”

  Mr. Hoby raised an eyebrow. “My shoes are always different from most, madam.”

  “Oh, of course,” she demurred, suppressing a laugh. Xavier’s eye-rolling, nasal-voiced impressions had nearly captured the breathtaking arrogance of the man, but not quite. “However, I am speaking of a need to accommodate Exton’s war injuries. Specifically damage to the sole of his foot. Perhaps some extra padding so walking is more comfortable.”

  The bootmaker’s gaze softened slightly, and he turned to Gabriel. “I always enjoy a challenge. Not often it’s the sole injured, eh? Do come and sit over here, Exton. With your permission, may I remove your boot and take some measurements?”

  Gabriel nodded hesitantly. “Must warn you. It’s…not pretty.”

  Mr. Hoby snorted as he assisted Gabriel into a chair and expertly removed his Hessians. “Good heavens, sir. I have crafted the finest boots and most exquisite shoes for the ugliest feet in Christendom. Delicate sensibilities have no place in this business. Nor should they.”

  Pressing her fingers to her lips, Lilian fought valiantly against a fit of giggles. Only a mock-warning glance from her husband kept her silent. But clearly the bootmaker was a true master of his trade, as he whipped out a tape measure, pencil and paper. His jaw tightened when he saw the underside of Gabriel’s foot, but he thankfully made no comment, instead muttering something about cotton padding and silk and beaten leather.

  Then he stood up. “Now, Your Grace. As appropriate for your elevated station, I presume you’ll require all new boots, formal and informal shoes?”

  “Yes,” said Gabriel, looking a little stunned.

  “Then I shall send a runner to Grosvenor Square when they are ready, and my invoice shortly afterward. Good day to you both.”

  Lilian blinked as the man marched away as quickly as he’d arrived. “I think,” she choked out with mirth, “that we have been dismissed.”

  He nodded solemnly. “Onto our next stop, then.”

  “Where do you want to go?” she asked as they walked back out onto the footpath, and climbed into the waiting carriage.

  “I thought perhaps…Ludgate Hill.”

  Oh.

  “Any particular address?” she said lightly.

  “The jeweler,” he said seriously. “Today has been…good. Hoby treated me like any other man. And with you to help with the lengthy explanations…I’m ready to go back.”

  Lilian smiled and grasped his hand. “Of course. By the by, my reticule beating offer still stands.”

  They sat in companionable silence during the journey to Ludgate Hill, but she could see his shoulders tensing as they neared their destination. Truth be told, she was a little nervous. Her previous visit was not something she wanted disclosed. She had meant it with the best of intentions, but it might make him angry that she had interfered.

  Despite the usual crush of carriages and carts on the streets, it didn’t take as long as expected to get to Rundell, Bridge and Rundell, and soon they were outside the cream stone building.

  Gabriel gave her a faint smile. “Try to refrain from fisticuffs. I daresay they are as unwelcome…in high-end jewelry shops, as ballrooms.”

  “Really, Exton,” she replied with a disdainful sniff. “I am a lady. A reticule beating or heel to the instep is far more refined. Or perhaps a sharp knee to a location guaranteed to hurt.”

  His eyes widened. “Remind me to stay…in your good graces.”

  “A happier place to be,” she replied pertly, as she pushed open the shop door and the bell tinkled faintly. Good gracious, Gabriel became even more attractive when he laughed. Still decidedly pirate-like, but relaxed, the lines of strain and fatigue around his eyes eased.

  “Your Grace!”

  Turning, she smiled at Philip Rundell as he approached from behind the shop counter. “Mr. Rundell.”

  “My word, it’s been an age. What a treat to see you again.”

  “Thank you. I don’t believe you have met my husband, the Duke of Exton.”

  The jeweler bowed low. “Tis an honor and privilege to make your acquaintance, Your Grace. May I offer my condolences on the loss of your cousins, and commend you on your long service to king and country. How may I serve you today?”

  Gabriel stared at Mr. Rundell for the longest moment. “I want to purchase some pieces. For my wife. Sapphires and diamonds.”

  “Lovely, lovely. Allow me to fetch some chairs, then I shall make notes and drawings for your approval. One moment!”

  As Mr. Rundell hurried back to the counter, Gabriel leaned down. “I don’t see a certain clerk.”

  “Probably because he’s out the back sweeping and polishing and sniffling over his soft hands becoming blistered,” she said without thinking.

  “That’s a rather specific guess.”

  Lilian lifted her chin, but couldn’t halt the guilty blush that scorched across her cheekbones. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You know exactly what I mean,” he growled. “Confess.”

  “I may have, ah, visited with Xavier,” she replied, gulping. “And informed Mr. Rundell of his employee’s actions.”

  “Perhaps I haven’t told you…but I value one thing above all else.”

  Nearly trembling, Lilian made herself ask, “What is that?”

  “Loyalty,” Gabriel replied, shocking her with the tenderness in his gaze as he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.

  “You have mine,” she whispered. “And my affection.”

  His grip tightened possessively, his gaze hot. “My duchess. So sweet and yet…quite the avenging angel, yes?”

  Her heart soared, and she could barely form the words in reply. “Poppycock, Colonel. I’m a harmless little kitten. With claws.”

  Her husband liked her. He truly liked her.

  Nothing could ruin her happiness now.

  Nothing.

  Chapter 18

  “Please do hold still, Your Grace. Unless you wish your hair to resemble a hedgehog?”

  Gabriel stifled a grin as he met his valet’s unamused glare in the bedchamber mirror. “I don’t know, the Hedgehog Cut…might become the style of 1815.”

  Hobbs paused, visibly swallowing. “You made a jest. An actual jest.”

  “Are you going to cry? Didn’t think it was that bad.”

  “You saved countless lives on the continent with your terrible humor. I saw it myself. Terrified men soothed and their hands steadied, men able to laugh instead of scream. A way to release pressure. It’s hard to explain to civilians. They think it uncaring, or that perhaps the soldiers do not take war seriously, when the opposite is true. I feared…I feared you might never find your way back from the dark.”

  Frozen in place, Gabriel could only stare. Then he said hoarsely, “I feared the same. But so often the g
uiding lights…are people. Those who stay. Those who listen. Those who speak up. Those who comfort.”

  “Angels come in many guises.”

  “Indeed. Sometimes as crotchety Nanny types…who confiscate weapons.”

  “And water down gin,” Hobbs blurted, his cheeks reddening. “I swear I won’t do that to your best brandy, though.”

  “You kept me alive in Kent.”

  “You kept me alive in France.”

  Gabriel’s eyes burned. Any more of this, and he’d be weeping like a dandy over a book of sonnets. “Quite.”

  “Indeed.”

  He cleared his throat. “So. How are things progressing with Aggie?”

  Hobbs brightened, clearly equally relieved to change the subject, and began trimming Gabriel’s hair again. “Very well. It’s just like old times, except better. There is one thing frustrating me no end, though.”

  “What is that?”

  “She is not at all enthusiastic about the prospect of marriage. Doesn’t even like discussing it. Says she has her own funds, and is past childbearing years, so is quite happy for us to be close friends who…er, you know, rather than be properly wed.”

  Torn between sympathy and laughter at his valet’s unexpectedly stuffy view, Gabriel nodded solemnly. Aggie’s stance made perfect sense, really. An older widow with her own money had infinitely more freedom than most wives. And if she’d endured an unpleasant first marriage, it stood to reason that she might not be eager to try it a second time. Some men were good husbands who stayed faithful, kept their fists to themselves, and worked hard to provide for their families. Some men were not. “Pestering her about it won’t help. If you were a woman…would you risk another Captain Taylor?”

  “I am not another Captain Taylor,” said Hobbs, scowling. “I am valet to a duke. Even-tempered, quite respectable, and much better paid.”

  “Wait. I pay you?”