The Duke Wears Nada

by Barbara Devlin

  “You may depend upon it.” Now he suckled the spot behind her ear, and she shivered.

  “Then, as we have nothing better to do, you can teach me to read the octant.” As she recalled, Lenore packed the device, a birthday present from their father, among Lucy’s belongings, but she had never learned how to use the mariner’s tool.

  “Are you serious?” He chuckled. “You must be joking, as that is not the instrument upon which I would tutor you, at this moment. In fact, mine is far more pleasurable and offers a vast deal of possibilities we have just begun to explore.”

  “Hmm, that is lovely and quite true.” Stretching upright, she turned in his arms and claimed a quick kiss. “But last night you said you would show me how to determine latitude, at sea. Please, Damian.”

  “All right, sweetheart.” He shook his head. “If that is your wish, fetch the device.”

  With a squeal, she turned and crossed the poop deck. At the companion ladder, Carsleigh almost knocked her to the boards.

  “Cap’n, the line has shifted.” The first lieutenant pointed to the mole. “The Granicus and the Heron are underway, while the Impregnable anchors in their wake.”

  “Blood hell, the Impregnable is out of position.” With his spyglass, Damian assessed the fleet. “Lucy, I want you to—”

  A single cannon shot echoed from the shore.

  “Sir, the Algerians launch their gunboats.” Carsleigh bared his teeth.

  “Beat to quarters.” As the drummer played the rhythm of “Heart of Oak,” the official march of the Royal Navy, Damian grabbed her by the arm and led her down to the quarterdeck. “Go to our cabin, and stay there.”

  “But I wish to be with you.” Suddenly frightened, she clung to him. “Please, Damian, I will not get in your way, but I am safer with you.”

  “Lucy, as the captain of this ship, I order you to go below.” He nudged her toward the tiny corridor, which led to his stateroom. “Now.”

  Despite the crew rushing in all directions, she perched on tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. “Aye, aye, Cap’n.”

  THE DUKE WEARS NADA

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  With his lady tucked, safe and sound, in his cabin, Damian gave his attention to the looming battle, as the HMS Queen Charlotte signaled the fight commenced with a lethal cannonade. Given the placement of the line, and the gap created by the Impregnable’s location, which conflicted with Exmouth’s plan, the smaller boats of the Algerian flotilla, fast little vessels armed with lethal munitions and a healthy compliment of sailors, exploited the vulnerability.

  “Hell and the Reaper, they surround the Impregnable.” Damian lowered his spyglass and glanced at Carsleigh. “Come about and ready the guns.”

  “Aye, sir.” Carsleigh barked orders to the bosun, and the Sagremor sailed into position.

  Salvo after salvo, some successful and others less so, hammered the British fleet, and the onshore battery pummeled the Queen Charlotte. When a gunboat set a course for the Sagremor, Damian directed the helmsman, to deliver a pounding broadside. “Fire!”

  Before his eyes, the craft disintegrated, and his heart pounded in his chest, the thrill of action simmered in his veins, and he rallied his men. “Reload, and fire at will.”

  “Cap’n, the Algerians are attempting to board the Charlotte.” Carsleigh lowered the bring-em-closer. “Should we alter course, sir?”

  “Aye.” Damian nodded once. “Helmsman, take us in, straight at them.”

  With that, Damian ran the length of the ship to station at the bowsprit. All around, fire burned in the canvass and on the boards of the English vessels, the random blasts lit the encroaching night sky, and the acrid stench of gunpowder weighed heavy in the air, as they pounded the Algerians.

  Suddenly, the Sagremor shuddered beneath his feet, and he stumbled backwards. For some reason he could not comprehend, he glanced at the corridor that led to his cabin, as if expecting Lucy to appear, at any second. “Bloody hell, we have been hit.”

  A tiny armada of Algerian gunboats attacked from a-stern, and the ship heeled hard a-starboard. Flames shot up from the hold, and the seamen worked to douse the blaze.

  “Sharply, men.” He regained his balance, just as another barrage struck the larboard side. “Reload.” To Carsleigh, Damian said, “Come up with the wind and bring us about.”

  “Aye, sir.” The first lieutenant repeated the orders, and the Master of Sail sent the crew into the rigging.

  With several British vessels damaged and on fire, Admiral Pellew signaled the fleet to sail clear of the Algerian guns. Bruised but weatherly, the Sagremor limped to an advantageous location just beyond the reach of the shore battery and dropped anchor.

  Greer stood at attention. “Sir—”

  “Not now.” Damian grabbed a bucket of water and drenched a smoldering canvas that threatened to reignite. “Carsleigh, have Dr. Beauchamp look at that gash on your forehead.”

  Again, the bosun stepped forward. “But, Cap’n—”

  “Not now, Greer.” Damian drew his dagger from his coat pocket and cut a dangling rope, from which a piece of wood hung, before someone walked into it. “What is the damage?”

  “Sir, that is what I am trying to tell you.” Furrowing his brow, Greer shuffled his feet. “We took a direct hit a-stern, to your cabin.”

  The world drew to a halt, in that instant, and Damian’s ears rang with disbelief and fear. Raw terror. Without a word, he turned on a heel and ran to the quarterdeck.

  In the hall, a group of carpenters worked at the entry. Thus far, they managed to remove the knob and attempted to release the hinges.

  “The door is blocked from the inside, Cap’n.” Greer rubbed the back of his neck. “We cannot open it.”

  “Lucy.” Damian pounded on the wall. “Lucy, are you there?”

  “We called to her, sir.” The bosun frowned and shook his head. “But she has not answered.”

  “Tear the bloody door down, if you have to, but get it open, now.” He spied an axe and grabbed the handle. “Step aside, men.”

  Like a wild man, he swung the axe, breaking a single board, in two, and a tar cleared a small hole. When Damian peered into the cabin, he spotted a large whole in the larboard bulkhead and a pile of debris. Then he noted Lucy’s booted feet protruding from beneath the wreckage.

  “Greer, fetch Beauchamp.” Ignoring the chill in the pit of his belly, Damian reduced the oak panel to splinters and forced his way into his stateroom. To the sailors, he said, “Help me.”

  Together, they cleared the refuse, and when he glimpsed his sweet lady, bloody and ravaged, he bit his lip and fought the urge to move her. Kneeling, he brushed the hair from her face and cupped her cheek, which already showed signs of bruising.

  “Lucy, can you hear me?” Resting his palm above her nose, he sighed in relief when he detected the warmth of her breath. “It will be all right, I promise.”

  “Cap’n, let me look at her.” The doctor dropped to his knees and studied her mangled right arm. Bits and pieces of bone jutted from her torn flesh, and the limb presented an abnormal angle. “Sir, this must be amputated.”

  “No, Beauchamp.” Everything in Damian railed against the mere suggestion. “You cannot do that to her.”

  “With respect, you know what will happen if I delay treatment.” Beauchamp examined her from top to toe. “Other than a few scrapes and bruises, and the wicked bump on her forehead, Miss Teversham appears fit, but we should move her to sickbay, now. And you must permit me to operate.”

  “Can you not attempt to set it?” As the physician supported the injured limb, Damian eased her into his arms and lifted her from the floor. “Will you not at least try?”

  “Cap’n, would you have me wait until she is sick with a fever, weak, and in real danger before I take action?” Beauchamp sidled into the hall. “Sir, even if I remove the arm, at once, she could still die of an infection. You know this to be true, as you have seen it, enough.”

  As Damian and the
doctor carried Lucy, the seamen saluted and cleared a path to sickbay. When Damian set her on the large operating table, he gazed upon her cherished profile and pondered the plans he coveted, but nothing mattered without Lucy, and the seasoned physician was right.

  “I fear she will never forgive me for this.” Yet Damian understood the risks if he did not act on her behalf. “Take it off.”

  ~

  It was as though Lucy was lost in a haze, some magical place where she floated, weightless and without care. Strange vignettes, some violent, others quite titillating, assailed her senses. Voices filtered in and out of her consciousness, yet she understood not what they discussed. But one constant remained throughout the confusion, and in his presence she found reassurance, as Damian held her hand and whispered encouragement.

  “Good morning, sweetheart.” When he pressed his lips to hers, she realized he was not a dream, and she sighed and roused.

  “Good morning, my love.” Opening her eyes, she stretched and winced. “Oh, I am sore.”

  “Lucy, you are awake.” Her dashing duke leaned forward, and she struggled to focus. “And how are you?”

  “Where are my spectacles, as I cannot see you?” She yawned, squinted, and discovered she did not recline in their cabin. “What is this place?”

  “Here, darling. The frame was bent, but Colum fixed it, and the lenses are fine, with nary a scratch.” After situating her glasses, he smiled, and she noted the lines of strain that etched his handsome face. “Are you hungry? I can fetch some barley broth or, if you prefer, another slime-draught to help you sleep.”

  “In truth, I do not feel so well, and the latter does not inspire my appetite.” Strange pain throbbed in her right arm, and she reached and grabbed—nothing. Frightened for some reason she could not explain, she peered down and sobbed. “My arm. What happened to my arm?”

  “Sweetheart, you must stay calm, as you have been gravely ill.” When he offered comfort, she pushed him away. “Lay back, Lucy. You need to recover.”

  “I would have you tell me what happened.” Searching her mind, she fought to make sense of the images she could not quite comprehend, as everything assailed her, at once. Then it hit her. The battle. The explosion in the cabin. Then nothing. “We were hit.”

  “Yes, but the men have made repairs, and we are in fine fettle.” Damian moved from his chair to sit on the edge of her bunk. “You are in sickbay, where you have persisted since Beauchamp removed your limb.” He cupped her chin. “He had to do it, Lucy. I gave the order, because your arm was destroyed in the blast. As it stands, you fought a fever, and I feared I might lose you, forever.”

  “What of the skirmish?” Lost in a daze, she struggled but failed to sit upright, and he fluffed her pillow. “Did Lord Exmouth succeed in his charge?”

  “He did.” With a finger, he caressed her cheek, and she longed to doze, but she refused to yield to slumber, because she had so many questions. “He dispatched a letter to the Dey, the following afternoon, issuing terms for surrender, else we were to level the battery and the navy, but the Dey relented.”

  “How fortunate.” Her throat hurt, and she swallowed hard. “Were there many casualties? Is everyone on the Sagremor all right?”

  “Of the fleet, one hundred and twenty-eight were killed and six hundred and ninety were wounded.” As he stroked her hair, he frowned. “And we were fortunate, in that we lost no one, but we have sixteen injured, including you. Yet it is over, and even now we sail for home.”

  “We return to England?” Somehow, that did not console her. How would Lenore react? What would society think of Lucy, the one-armed debutante? And would Damian still want her? “And what then?”

  “How did I know you would ask that?” Grasping her hand, the only one she had left, he kissed the tips of her fingers. “We will marry and begin our life, together.”

  “So you still wish to wed me?” She sniffed and peered at the bandaged stump. “Like this?”

  “I have thought long and hard over this moment, because I knew you would surrender yourself on the altar of charity, while laboring under some misguided notion that I would not find you acceptable as my duchess, given your missing limb. And I suppose you endeavor to compose some grand speech about sacrifice, duty, and appearance, given my title, but you are mistaken in conclusions, because there is only one thing that matters.” Then he pressed her palm to his chest. “Do you feel that, my dear Lucy?”

  The steady, mesmerizing beat, unfailing in its steadfastness, held her in thrall. “Yes.”

  “Just as before, it beats for you.” Slowly, Damian bent and kissed her. “You have heart—so much heart, and you are strong. You will go on, because I will not permit you to hide, again. Instead, you will face the future at my side, as my duchess, and you will adjust to your new way of life. Yes, it will be difficult, at first, and I am sure tears will be shed, but I will not allow you to wallow in anguish and self-pity, because you are better than that.”

  It was then she broke.

  Crying a river, she mourned the loss of her arm and so much more, and her duke held her until she was spent. With his handkerchief, he dried her face, wiped her nose, and eased her to the pillow.

  “Why do you believe in me?” she asked, in a small voice.

  “Because you believe me.” With his teeth, he nipped the tip of her nose. “You always have, and if must needs, I shall spend the rest of my days in your wake, hauling all the aerial nets, books, baskets, jars, magnifying glasses, and other tools you require for your intellectual pursuits.”

  At last, sleep beckoned, such that she could not refuse its call, and she closed her eyes. “Is that a promise?”

  “You may depend upon it.”

  THE DUKE WEARS NADA

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It was late when Damian jolted awake and alert, spurred by some disturbing dream. Rubbing his eyes, he sat upright, jarred his fogged brain, realized he remained in sickbay, where he stationed in the fortnight since Lucy fell ill with a fever, and then raked his fingers through his hair. Moonlight cast a silvery blue glow on the polished boards, as it cut through the starboard window, and an eerie sensation traipsed his spine.

  Stretching tall, he yawned. When he glanced at the small bunk in which his lady rested, he discovered her missing. “Lucy.”

  In a flash, he lurched from his chair, glanced left and then right, and rushed along the corridor. In the center of sickbay, he tiptoed past the injured crewmen, until he came to the end of the hall, but he could not find her. Panicked, his heart hammered in his chest, as he moved below deck and peered amid the maze of hammocks, but he did not locate her.

  Given her low tolerance for laudanum, owing to Sheldon’s handiwork, he shuddered when he envisioned her above decks, and he rushed to the waist but did not spy her, so he sprinted to the quarterdeck. One of the men perched in the rigging, and he whistled and pointed a-stern. Damian charged up the companion ladder, and when he reached the poop deck, his blood ran cold, and he froze in his steps.

  “Lucy, dearest.” He swallowed hard and checked his tone, so as not to alarm her. “Come away from the railing, as you are weak and may injure yourself.”

  “No.” Lifting her chin, she clutched her throat. “And stay where you are, because I have some things to say to you, and I will brook no interference.”

  “All right.” He splayed his hands, and when she glanced at the ocean, he signaled two men of the watch, who were stationed in the tops. “I am listening, darling. Tell me whatever you wish, and let us return to sickbay, as your feet are bare, and I would not have your condition worsen.”

  “I will go when I am ready and not before.” She humphed, and that was the first sign of his Lucy, the spirited daughter of a general, he had glimpsed since the amputation. “But I never realized how naïve I was until Sheldon stole me away, and introduced me to a side of life I never really knew existed. What returned from the ordeal was but a shadow of my former self.” The wind blew, and she brushed the hai
r from her face. “I never knew fear, pain, or hunger, although I knew of such conditions, but I never truly understood the misery so many suffer on a regular basis. When I came home, the terrors of my captivity imprisoned me, such that I knew not how to live in my new reality, and I did not recognize myself. Instead, I locked myself in my room, avoided society, refused to participate in the Season, and shut out those closest to me, who would have provided succor. While I engaged in my former, favored activities, in truth I was merely playing out the various pursuits, like an actress on a stage. Mine were but empty exchanges in an attempt to find some semblance of normalcy, yet my behavior made things worse, because I was living a lie. I became trapped in a ruse that fooled everyone but me and, I suspect, you.”

  “You are correct, but I was loathe to pressure you into admitting it.” And he bled for her in those months, because she seemed so lost, inasmuch as she had been since the battle. “But you are better, now. And you have me.”

  “I know that, too.” When she leaned against the stern railing, he considered the distance between them, relied on his men to sound the alarm, and prepared to go after her. “And I owe you an apology, because I doubted the constancy of your affection, when you never wavered in your devotion, but I was afraid to believe in anything, after everything had been ripped from me. Can you forgive me?”

  “Of course, love. It is already done.” He flicked his fingers and took a step in her direction. “Now, let us go below, before you catch a chill, as you have been very ill, and you wear naught but your nightgown and no slippers.”

  “But I am all right, in more ways than one, because I see through the err of my assumptions, and I should have known you would never reject me, no matter the depth of my ruin. I should have known that your love was stronger than Sheldon’s evil deeds.” When she rotated and gave him her back, he encroached on her, such that he could save her, if she stumbled and fell overboard in her diminished condition. “And I am so grateful to Blake and Lenore, because they were right, and I shall be forever indebted to them.” Slowly, so as not to startle her, he slipped his arms about her waist, and he sighed in relief when she rested against him. “Oh, Damian, in this moment, never have I felt more alive and excited about the future, and I have you to thank for that. When I lost my limb, I thought my life was ended, that I had, at last, reached a point from which there was no return, but now I see that fate has simply led me down a different path, with you, and I am ashamed that I ignored the possibilities and yet exhilarated to participate in whatever happens next.”