As for her ever marrying someone else. No, it would never happen. Not now. She knew deep in her heart that she would never love again. She could never risk this pain.
And what of him? she thought with a sudden burst of terror. What if he married another woman? Her soul would surely shrivel up and die. But he must. If she were a kind person she would pray that he found someone to love. Someone to care for as much as she cared for him.
It would burn, but it was what must happen if he were to find happiness. Besides, he would need an heir. The thought once again pushed her over the edge and into a long cry.
Eventually, the crying slowed enough for her to fall into a fitful sleep. A slumber interrupted by dreams of passionate embraces and painful bouts of doubt and rejection. When she woke the next morning, she sighed with resignation as the memories rushed into her head. It was all true, every hurtful moment.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed herself up from the bed. Laying around crying was unacceptable. No, she needed to put on a brave face she realized. He must never know that she cried inside for him. He must not know of the pain he had caused. It wasn’t his fault. It was all hers.
A man couldn’t control who he fell in love with. And the fact that it wasn’t her could not be laid at his feet. She must move on. Learn to accept the reality of the situation.
She spent over an hour preparing herself. He must not know that she was upset. No, they must act as if nothing had ever happened.
Upon entering the dining room, she was shocked to see the Major at the head of the table. A rash of bacon and a hefty lot of eggs before him. He looked up from his paper and furrowed his brow as if trying to discover the secret of the sphynx.
“You’ve been crying,” Lady Denton exclaimed.
Emily’s insides froze as her cheeks grew warm. No, this wasn’t happening.
“Hay fever,” she said as she waved her hand in dismissal, hoping desperately that Lady Denton would allow the matter to drop.
“Hay fever?” Lady Denton asked. “We are in the heart of London. The nearest field of hay is halfway to King’s Dale and was harvested months ago.”
A sharp pain of embarrassment filled Emily making her want to start crying again.
The Major’s brow furrowed as he studied her, she forced herself to give him a quick smile, silently praying he would accept it and ignore her for the rest of his life.
“Did you sleep well?” Lady Denton asked the Duke. “I heard the footmen discussing standing some kind of guard duty. Have we been threatened? Do I need to worry?”
The Duke smiled gently, “No, I assure you, there is no need to worry.”
“But, then why do the footmen need to be up and about at night?”
The Duke glanced at Emily for a quick moment then let out a long breath. “Aunt Martha, please humor me. Too many years in an army camp. I feel more comfortable knowing someone is up and about.”
“But…”
“No, if we need additional staff, I believe we can afford it. Like I said, humor me on this one.”
Emily took a quick breath. “I agree with the Major, London is a dangerous city. I know I feel more comfortable knowing that there is someone walking about.”
The Duke gave her a quick look that she could not read. Did he think she was happy because she would no longer be called upon in the night?
Lady Denton’s brow furrowed as she looked at her companion then at her nephew. Emily could see the older woman’s mind working furiously. Please, she silently prayed, let the matter drop.
“So, the Hamilton’s gala,” The Duke said as he took a bite of toast. “I assume you will expect me to escort you both.”
Emily sighed internally, he had chosen the perfect subject to divert his aunt’s attention.
“Of course,” Lady Denton said, instantly forgetting the previous subject. “And don’t worry about completing the mourning period. You are a Duke and expected to break the rules.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” the Duke said as he glanced at Emily. “I know of quite a few people other than Dukes that break the rules and all expectations. You would be surprised.”
Emily’s heart froze. He was talking about her she realized as she watched his temple twitch. A feeling of hopelessness filled her. Would it be like this always? Why was he upset? Surely not his pride. He hadn’t wanted to marry her. He should have been happy with her response. Yet something told her that the Major would not easily forgive her.
This was impossible, she thought as her soul melted once again. How was she expected to interact with the man without breaking into a crying jag? How could she be around the man she loved without losing her sanity?
Chapter Eighteen
The Duke of Richmond sat at a corner table of Whites and stared down at his whiskey. Careful he thought to himself. There had been too many of these over the last few days. But it seemed to be the best way to make it through the night without waking half the household.
The only way that did not involve sweet Emily in his arms,
Like a man clawing up from the depths of the sea, he pulled himself out of thoughts about the sweet Emily and focused on the room around him. Soft conversations floated through the air. Men in the finest dress, rich and powerful, discussing the issues of the empire. Or, their mistress’s latest demands. So different than the army camps of Spain. Even the smell was different. Tobacco, roast beef, and wig powder he thought as he sank into the embrace of the one place where he need not fear running into Emily.
He grumbled under his breath and threw back the rest of his drink as memories of their night together refused to be put aside. The feel of her waist beneath his hand. The sweet aroma of lavender. Most of all, the way it felt to fill her. That velvety warmth that accepted him so willingly.
But there was more. Something about the woman refused to be forgotten. Oh, how he missed her smile. Her sweet laughter. The way she pushed back when she disagreed with him. Especially, when it came to his health. A bit overbearing at times, but strangely welcome. Now, it was all gone. They were but two people sharing a house.
Sighing, he motioned for another drink. The footman brought the carafe from a side table and refilled his glass.
“Leave it,” the Duke grumbled to the man.
The footman didn’t blink before leaving the carafe on the middle of the table. That was the thing about Whites, they were too hidebound to find fault with their members. If you belonged to the club then you couldn’t be wrong.
Taking a deep breath, he leaned back and thought about Emily. When had she become Emily in his mind? he wondered. No longer Miss Winslow. Never again would he think of her that way. How could he?
A sudden thought made him cringe inside. What would her father think? He owed so much to the man. Not only had he saved his life, but he had saved his command. The man’s actions that day had rescued them all from death, or worse, failure. What would he think of his daughter being used and then cast aside? His commander had rescued his daughter only to ruin her.
The thought sent a shiver of shame down the Duke’s spine. Yes, it was she that had refused him, but still, the results were unacceptable. The woman couldn’t be allowed to destroy her life.
If she wouldn’t marry him, perhaps there was someone else. A man willing to accept a fallen woman. If no one in society knew the truth it might be easier. Or, as she had said, there were ways to deceive a man. Was that the answer?”
Should he work to marry her off to another? Aunt Martha had spoken of increasing the dowry. He could make it so large that many men would forgive her anything. Especially, if no one else knew the truth.
Yes, perhaps that was the way to go.
As he took a long sip of his whiskey, he shook his head. The thought of Emily marrying another made his stomach clench. Another man possessing her felt so wrong. But it was probably for the best. After all, she didn’t want him, and he couldn’t really blame her. So obviously, the answer was to find her someone else.
Yes, Se
rgeant Winslow would be pleased with that result. It was the least he could do for the man.
Having come to a resolution in his mind, the Duke sighed as he poured another whiskey. The house would feel empty without her. A quiet mausoleum filled with nothingness. And Aunt Martha would be lost without her companion. But it was the only way.
For the first time, he realized how lucky his friends had been. To find someone to share their lives with. Someone to fill the quiet moments, to help a man take on the world. A partner. Yes, perhaps they had not been the fools he had thought.
Once again, a deep sadness filled him as he stared at the amber liquid in the tumbler in his hand. Perhaps he should visit Madam De Paul’s. A night of wild abandon at one of the better brothels might make him forget. Might allow him to put aside this pain deep in his gut.
Something told him, however, even the prettiest courtesan wouldn’t make him forget.
He was fighting with himself as to whether it was worth the effort when he was surprised to see Riverstone enter the club. The Duke sat forward as he watched the young Lord make his way across the room. His mind jumped back to the way Riverstone had talked with Emily the night of Bedford’s dinner. Her happy smile and sweet laugh. And how the man had subtly approached the subject of her availability.
Was the man in need of money? He would make an excellent choice for Emily. Intelligent, working for the government, her knowledge of politics would be invaluable to him. Honorable, yes, he would be a good choice.
“Your Grace,” Lord Riverstone said. “May I join you?”
The Duke’s heart squeezed for a moment, was the man here to discuss Miss Winslow? Fighting back an urge to shoo the man away, he nodded to the chair across from him then motioned to the footman for another glass.
“If you are here about Miss Winslow,” the Duke began, “I must inform you that she is still in mourning and in all honesty has not mentioned you.”
The young Baron blanched for a moment.
Good, that should put you in your place, the Duke thought as he realized that perhaps those had not been the words to use if he hoped to marry her off. That thought was followed almost immediately by a sense of guilt for not doing what he must. But it felt impossible. Passing Emily to another man.
“No, Your Grace,” Riverstone said, “I … Uh … I wished to discuss the situation in Spain. The supply issues you were looking into.”
The Duke cringed inside with shame. He had completely forgotten about the issues. He had been so consumed with his own pain and sense of failure that he had put aside the more important problem of fixing the supply problems. He had put his misery ahead of his men’s welfare.
A sick feeling of regret filled him as he took a deep breath and nodded for the man to go on.
The young Baron smiled with a self-satisfied grin. My God, the Duke thought. The man has discovered something.
“As you know,” Riverstone said, “we were having problems linking the shoddy goods to an inspector. The paperwork was a complete mishmash of confusion. So … I thought about the manufacturers, themselves. After all, they had to have known they were selling poor products.”
“I was told that particular avenue had been investigated,” The Duke said with a frown. “That it was impossible to link a manufacturer to a particular shipment. Again, a shoddy paperwork trail.”
Lord Riverstone smiled as he nodded. “Yes, it appeared to be a dead-end, but then I went back over the shipments and found something we could trace.”
The Duke held his breath as he sat up and studied the man. A vibration of happiness radiated off the young Baron.
“Bayonets,” the lord said as if that answered all of the problems. “More specifically, bayonets that don’t affix to the barrel of the rifle because of mis-sizing.”
The Duke frowned as he raised an eyebrow, silently asking for more.
“There is only one manufacturer of bayonets for the Army.”
“Yes,” the Duke said, “Anderson’s in Sheffield. But bayonets are issued to a soldier here in Britain. Usually shortly after enlistment. He will keep his bayonet for his entire career. If there were failures, the Army would know immediately. Besides, why would the Army order a shipment for Spain?”
Riverstone smiled again. “The local contingent. Wellesley stood up several regiments of Portuguese and Spanish auxiliary. And we supplied them of course. Can’t have our allies using inferior products, now can we?”
The Duke nodded. He had heard of Wellesley’s plan to use locals in the fight against the French. These were in addition to the regular Portuguese and Spanish armies. These men would report up through the British chain of command.
His brow furrowed for a moment. “And what have you learned?”
Again, young Riverstone smiled like a cat who was about to pounce. “Three shipments were sent to the front. The first two arrived and were issued without incident. However, the third shipment arrived with bayonets of inferior quality, to say the least. Dull, poorly cast metal, the wrong size and so brittle they snapped off at the mounting ring when the men tried to use them.”
The Duke shivered. He could easily imagine a company of soldiers preparing for battle. The Sergeant Major barking out an order to fix bayonets only to have the bloody things break off in the soldier’s hand just as the French were charging. It would devastate morale, not to mention how disadvantaged they would be if Frenchy overran their position.
God, it would be devastating. A cold shiver ran down his back as he thought about moments where such an occurrence would have resulted in the loss of his command.
“What did Anderson’s say? What was their excuse?”
“I haven’t approached them yet, Your Grace. I thought you might wish to accompany me.”
The Duke smiled. Yes, this was perfect, an excuse to leave London and an opportunity to address the issue that had been burning a hole in his gut for months. A sense of anticipation and power coursed through his veins. Much like looking down the barrel of his rifle at a distant enemy knowing that a simple squeeze of the trigger would end the man’s life. Anderson’s was now in his sights and if he found they had knowingly sent defective products to his compatriots, he wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.
He walked a little straighter with a bounce in his step as he made his way home. Madam De Paul’s long forgotten. Finally, he thought. Someone to attack. An enemy that could be identified and dealt with. Not some nefarious unknown.
Nor a woman whose rejection he must accept without a fight.
No, here was something he could wrap his hands around and strangle to death.
As he handed Jarvis his hat and gloves, he asked him to send Jones to him and to tell the stableman to have his horse ready in the morning. He would be leaving for several days.
“You are leaving Your Grace?” Miss Winslow asked as she stepped out of the parlor with two newspapers in her hand.
He froze, his coat halfway off, as their eyes met for the longest of moments. My God, she was so beautiful, he thought as he once again remembered their night together.
Her cheeks grew pink as she quickly looked down. Could she read his thoughts? he wondered. Was that why she blushed? She knew that he was remembering being buried inside of her. And it was such a pretty blush.
“Yes,” he told her as he caught Jarvis waiting patiently for him to remove his overcoat. Gingerly, he slipped his injured arm from the heavy garment and handed it to Jarvis. Then, carefully placing his hand in his jacket’s pocket he smiled gently as he turned his attention to Emily. “Lord Riverstone and I are off to Sheffield for a few days.”
A strange look passed behind her eyes. Was she wondering about Lord Riverstone? he wondered as a bolt of pure jealousy filled him. Was that what that look was for? Was she already planning a path to salvation?
“Is this in regards to the issues in Spain?” she asked with a curious tilt of her head.
He nodded as he realized he wished he could discuss it with her. What would she t
hink? What perspective could she bring to the issue? He didn’t doubt for a moment that she had an opinion of every major manufacturer in the country and any scandals associated with said company. In fact, even her experience as a weaver in a factory might provide unique insight. At the very least, she would see something he hadn’t thought of surely. But no, such a conversation was no longer allowed because of their unspoken agreement. They were two people sharing a house, nothing more, he reminded himself with an internal curse.
She sighed, then squared her shoulders and said, “If there is anything I can help with, Your Grace, please let me know.”
His heart shifted as he realized just how much her words had meant to him. She didn’t despise him so much that she wished to avoid him at all costs.
He caught a hint of hope in her eyes. It had taken a lot of courage on her part to offer such assistance. There would always be their shared moment together sitting between them like a large monster that no one could ever acknowledge.
“Yes, Miss Winslow, perhaps you might help,” he said. “I would enjoy hearing your thoughts on the matter,” he added and was rewarded with an immediate smile. Then, without looking away from Emily, he told his butler to have the cook send them some cold meats and cheese into the dining room.
Her eyes grew big and for the first time in days, she lost that look of misery that had haunted him. God, it hurt to realize that this would be all they ever shared. A few moments discussing outside issues. Examining the political ramifications. Nothing more. Nothing intimate. Nothing of just theirs.
Chapter Nineteen
The next morning, Emily hurried down the stairs, determined to see the Major one last time before he left.
Last evening had been so wonderful on so many levels. They had talked for hours. Discussing every aspect of Lord Riverstone’s report. The different manufactures and all of the political ramifications.
There had been a moment when the conversation paused and an awkwardness filled the room. She had remembered what it had felt like to be held in his arms. To share passion with him. A longing filled her. A longing so deep that she was tempted to ask him to take her to bed again.
A Duke's Decision (The Duke''s Club Book 4) Page 12
