The Last Duke (The Valiant Love Regency Romance) (A Historical Romance Book)

by Deborah Wilson

  “Still, I wish to know why you were bothered.”

  “Why does it matter?” he asked.

  Why? That was a wonderful question.

  She crossed her arms. “The race with your father. I don’t understand why you grew cold at the mention of it. Benedict had told stories where your father was present earlier in the evening.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” When she opened her mouth to speak again, he said, “I won’t talk about it. Perhaps, if you’d approached me about it last night…”

  “I tried,” she said. “My brothers stopped me.”

  He shrugged. “Well, your chance came and went.”

  She groaned.

  “But I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “It removed the need for me sending a missive to your brother’s home and it being tossed into the fire before you even had the chance to glimpse it. I leave for the north today.”

  “Why? For how long?”

  “I don’t know how long I’ll be, but I can guarantee you that I’ll miss the Reddington Ball.”

  “You can’t! Every eligible lady of importance will attend the ball.” And Valiant had already been working with her sisters-in-law to plan the evening well. Each lady would spend a few minutes with Cartelle and dance with him. This would make mothers more likely to let their daughter near him.

  But without a grand display, Anthony could still struggle to find a wife even with the article’s urging.

  “You are doing this on purpose,” Valiant said. “So that I’ll lose.”

  He walked over to her slowly but didn’t speak until he was right in front of her again. “Trust me, Valiant. Wherever you are is exactly where I wish to be. Otherwise, how will I ever manage to woo you into my bed?”

  All the air left her lungs. “Woo me?”

  He nodded. “How else am I to keep you in my bed past one night?”

  Her heart took a leap.

  She stared into his eyes and noticed only small traces of his earlier desire. He was thinking about something else, something that troubled him.

  “Is it your mother?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I won’t be gone for long, no more than a week, I’m sure.”

  An entire week.

  “I’ll want that week back,” Valiant said.

  “Very well.” He took her chin and then leaned forward.

  Valiant stilled and told herself to turn away.

  Yet she was too curious. What power did Anthony have over her that could cause her body to awaken when it never did for Noah?

  His mouth touched hers softly and then pulled away. He still held her chin in his hand as he held her eyes. “I really don’t want to go.”

  Valiant’s body’s reaction was the equivalent to a kettle reaching its boiling point. “Don’t go.”

  He groaned. “I must.” He kissed her again. “Valiant, you enchant me.” His other hand was once again at her hip, pulling her close.

  She gripped his shoulder and, this time didn’t dare pull away. “Don’t go.” She wanted it. She wanted him.

  Now.

  He released a shaky moan and moved the hand on her chin to the back of her head. “Come with me.”

  The absurd comment made her laugh, but not by any means did it cool her hunger for him. “I can’t.”

  “You can.” He kissed her cheek and then her ear. “You’re a widow, free to make your own decisions.”

  As she began to think, she began to cool. “How many other women have you taken on trips?”

  He kissed her ear again. Shivers shot through her. “None.” He pulled back. “Will you come?”

  “No.” She wasn’t sure if she believed him but did know she didn’t wish to be like other women he’d met.

  “Then you force me to journey alone.” His expression looked bleak.

  Why did he only show emotion when they were alone? It only made her want him more.

  Perhaps, that was part of the ‘wooing,’ to make her feel special.

  “I pray you return whole.” She didn’t know what else to say.

  He lifted a brow. “Do you truly? You know that if I return, I plan to have you.”

  “But you won’t,” she said.

  His silver eyes danced with humor. “How can you be so confident when my kiss has swollen your lips?”

  She gasped and lifted her fingers to her lips.

  He was right. They were swollen.

  She lowered her hand and her gaze. “I’ll still pray for your safe return.”

  He used the hand on the back of her head to pull her close and placed a kiss on her forehead. Against her skin, he whispered, “You may very well be the only one who does.” Then he released his hold of her and started down the hall toward his room. “You may let yourself out unless you wish for the assistance of my inadequate butler.” He disappeared a moment later.

  Valiant glared at him. Was this how he dismissed all his women?

  She saw herself out.

  She tried to be annoyed, but worry filled her heart.

  She would pray for his safe return, even if that return could lead to her own downfall.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  1 1

  Anthony stood out on the road glaring against the cool wind at a workhouse at Mr. Humble, the workhouse owner.

  “One of your men showed me this photo. I’ve seen many faces, but I’ll never forget his or his words. Mr. Goody was here,” Mr. Humble said.

  “When?” It was the first lead Anthony had had in months. Others had claimed to have seen Lady Goody’s son in a hundred other places, but this was the first Anthony felt confident about.

  “It was last year.”

  Anthony noticed his presence had garnered a few stares from windows in the workhouse. The building was tall and wide and made with dark brick in a plain design. It had been built to employ and house those who could otherwise not afford a place of their own.

  Luton, the town in which he currently stood, was known for its hat making. It boasted the best and most creative that England had to offer with Mr. Humble in the center of it all. The was a rather popular town, not more than a day away from London. “What exactly did he say to you?”

  The man was only a few inches shorter than Anthony, but the brim of the man’s crisp hat forced him to tilt his head high in order for their eyes to meet. “He wanted a hat.”

  Anthony lifted a brow. “He came to you for a hat? Pardon me when I say, he could have gone to anyone for that.”

  Mr. Humble straightened. “But he wanted my opinion. He paid me for that.”

  Anthony thought that interesting. Mr. Humble did design gentlemen’s hats that were frequently on the heads of many aristocrats in London. “He paid you?” That also got Anthony’s attention. Where had Mr. Goody gotten his money if he’d not seen his family for seven years? Perhaps, Mr. Humble was wrong about the man’s identity.

  Anthony looked around the busy street that sat beyond the short field that kept it separate from the workhouse. He’d asked to conduct the meeting outside so that he could see the people, search their faces for one of the missing.

  He did this often in London as well. It was yet another reason Anthony had adopted his blasé expression. It caused people to leave him alone so that he could concentrate on finding those he sought.

  He turned back to Mr. Humble. “Was he dressed well?”

  “Very well,” Humble said. “It was the only reason I agreed to meet with him, though he… made me uncomfortable.”

  “In what way?” Anthony pressed, praying this meeting would be the one to bring him closer to his goals.

  Finding Mr. Goody alive or dead.

  “He seemed obsessed with not just looking wealthy but looking like a gentleman.” Mr. Humble shook his head. “I tried to tell him that being a gentleman, for many, was a matter of honor and how one gained the respect of others. He did not agree with this.”

  It all sounded like something Mr. Goody would do. He’d never been able to find acce
ptance in the higher ranks of Society. His mother coming from the servant class had ruined any chance he’d had.

  A sponsor could have helped usher John Goody into the beau monde, but then Anthony recalled Mr. Goody’s attitude. He’d never been a pleasant man, which had probably turned many away from even thinking to do so.

  Anthony sighed. “Did you help him find a hat?”

  “I did. It was a very costly one, yet I warned him that a hat alone did not make a gentleman.” Something flashed in Humble’s eyes.

  Anthony moved closer. “What? What aren’t you telling me?”

  Mr. Humble swallowed. “I… understand this man is important to you.”

  “Not to me, his family,” Anthony said. “What is it you aren’t saying?”

  “Well.” Mr. Humble looked down at his boots and then puffed out his chest again. “There was something very… wrong with the boy. Something wasn’t right.”

  Anthony’s heart raced.

  “It was his obsession with being a gentleman,” Mr. Humble said. “He seemed to want nothing more and yet when an actual gentleman walked into the room, he all but snarled at them. It looked quite feral. That was when I suggested my most costly hat. I thought the high price would simply get him out of the store, but he bought it and only after I assured him that he looked grand did he leave.”

  The snarling wasn’t anything Anthony hadn’t seen the man do himself. John Goody had hated both the upper and lower class. He fit into neither world and therefore scorned them both.

  This was it. This was something he could share with Lady Goody. She’d likely be glad to know her son was alive and seeming to do well on his own.

  He’d not wait to deliver the news to her. “Thank you.”

  Mr. Humble returned inside, and Anthony went to his carriage.

  He relaxed against the cushions and nearly smiled.

  Valiant had inspired this road of inquiry when she’d mentioned Luton at their meeting a few days ago.

  And she was right. No gentleman was complete without a hat, but since most got theirs in London, there was no need to travel to Luton for it.

  Unless you were trying to stay away from the eyes of Society and those who would otherwise recognize you.

  Was John Goody hiding from his family?

  Anthony hadn’t thought to question the family, but now he thought he should. Maybe Lord Goody did know where his son was and was simply leaving his wife in the dark.

  He’d dined with the family a few times over the years. Lord Goody didn’t seem the kind to play this sort of trick on his wife. He was clearly in love with her and didn’t regret their union. He, like his son, hadn’t fit into Society, but for reasons that had nothing to do with blood and everything to do with the fact that the man had a deformity. He had a crippled leg and avoided balls where he couldn’t dance.

  His and Lady Goody’s story was quite romantic. Lord Goody always enjoyed his gardens. Now, he did so even more with his wife present.

  John Goody could have had a good life if he’d learned to accept himself as his father had, but no matter.

  The boy was alive.

  He’d tell his family.

  And he’d thank Valiant when he saw her.

  Thinking of just how he might go about thanking her warmed his blood.

  Kissing her had been like holding a dancing flame. He’d been consumed and heated to the point of melting.

  He’d noticed just how surprised she’d been at her body’s reaction to him.

  Why the surprise?

  Had there been no passion between her and Lord Beaumont?

  Wishful thinking.

  Of course, there had been passion. So perhaps Valiant had yet to meet another man who could stir it within her until Anthony.

  If that were the case, then he planned to continue wooing her until she finally gave in to her desires.

  * * *

  “Why the long face, Snow?” a deep voice asked from behind Valiant.

  She spun around and stilled even as her heart began to beat at an immeasurable speed. Combating emotions took over her as she stared up into Anthony’s eyes. Happiness. Fear. Something deeper. Caution. The happiness won out.

  The smile that split her face was nearly bruising. “You’re here.”

  He was controlling his expression, but as his gaze fell to her lips, his eyes softened. “Did you miss me?”

  Yes. “I thought you didn’t plan to make it to the ball.” The Reddington Ball had been taking place for at least an hour and, in that hour, Valiant had cursed ever meeting Anthony every time he thought to enter her thoughts.

  “My business didn’t take as long as I thought it would,” he said. “Thanks to you.”

  “Me? What did I do?” As she listened, she realized that her heart was still racing, and she was barely able to concentrate on his words, much less her own breathing. That was just how happy she was to see him.

  When her mind tried to warn her heart that she was being foolish, she just told herself that Anthony was nothing more than her friend.

  A kissing friend who wanted more.

  But just a friend.

  One who had come to her rescue in front of others just a week ago.

  She sighed.

  “I found him,” Anthony said. “Well, not him, but information that proved him to be alive.”

  “Who?” she asked.

  His brows drew together, and his heavy lashes over gray eyes lowered. “You’ve not been listening to me.”

  She hadn’t. “Tell me again.”

  His mouth twitched. “I found Mr. John Goody. You might recall that your lady’s rag said I killed him a few years ago.”

  “Oh!” She placed her hands on her thumping heart. “You found him.”

  “He was in Luton a year ago,” he said. “Apparently, he came out of hiding to purchase a hat.” He frowned. “He has been living without consequence while I’ve been accused of his murder.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Anthony.” Now she regretted not listening when he’d first told her. How many others had he told this to? Perhaps Benedict, but she didn’t see a man like him confessing it to anyone else.

  He’d shared it with her. She’d not let him regret it. “What will you do now?”

  “Now?” Anthony asked. “I’ll have my men search the country about Luton. Hopefully, someone else might have seen him, found where he resides. If I can bring him to London—”

  “You can clear your name,” she finished. Then she straightened. “When did you start your hunt for Mr. Goody?”

  “Seven years ago.” Without lifting his head, he looked over hers. “Oh, look. Your protectors approach.”

  Valiant turned around and saw Hero and Asher heading in her direction. She groaned aloud.

  Anthony chuckled at her back.

  “Lord Cartelle,” Asher said. “My sister informed me that you’d not be attending the Reddington Ball.”

  “I had reasons to return as soon as I could,” Anthony said with a casual tone.

  Valiant’s mouth went dry. Was he talking about her? Was she the reason? Likely not. He’d likely taken the information about Mr. Goody to his family.

  She was being silly. Anthony wasn’t her friend. He was trying to woo her into his bed. Telling her of his innocence would help in that effort. How could she forget that?

  Suddenly, Everly and Brinley were there, taking positions by their husbands.

  “You’re here,” Everly said to Anthony. “Good. Then there is still time.”

  “Time?” Anthony asked.

  “We’ve a plan,” Brinley said.

  Yes. The plan. Valiant looked over at the maestro. She’d spoken to the man days ago about her plans but had canceled them that evening when she’d found him rehearsing in the music room. Now, everything was once again in order.

  She turned to Anthony. “The waltz is about to begin. You’ll dance with Lady Ayers.”

  Anthony held her eyes, and she read his question as plainly as if h
e’d spoken.

  Why was he not dancing with Valiant?

  Thankfully, he didn’t say the words aloud—in front of her brothers—but turned to Everly and grinned. “May I have this dance, my lady?”

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  1 2

  “It’s working,” Beatrix said as they watched Everly escort Anthony around the room after their dance. Valiant could have done it herself, but Everly was a duchess. Since Valiant had been in mourning for a year, Everly knew more about the circumstances of the beau monde.

  Which daughters were married or engaged.

  Which fathers to make the best impression on.

  And Everly was a patroness of Almack’s, which meant if she approved of Anthony, then others would on her word.

  Valiant, as a countess, held her own command, but a few days ago, Beatrix had suggested she let Everly sponsor him.

  Anthony had already defended her publicly. To be seen with him too often would make women wonder if perhaps there was a match between them.

  And that was not allowed.

  Valiant would find him a wife but would have to do so from a distance.

  She watched as the elderly Lady Colbatch approached Anthony—slowly, with the assistance of her cane—followed by a younger lady who was quite beautiful.

  “Who is that?” Valiant asked.

  “Miss Lottie Milton,” Beatrix said. “I recall her sister came out the year I did. She’s Lady Colbatch’s oldest granddaughter though.” She smiled. “I believe her to be twenty-three. Only two years younger than what the duke requested. Perhaps, he’ll make an exception for her.”

  Valiant studied Lottie Milton. Her hair was red but very pale. It was too far to see her eye color, but her visage was pretty.

  Anthony suddenly grabbed Lady Colbatch’s free arm as he leaned over to listen to her words and though the hold seemed casual, Valiant was almost sure he was trying to hold her up.

  Valiant smiled secretly. He truly was a gentleman.

  Lady Colbatch was said to be in her late eighties yet managed to get about town and attend the balls almost as easily as anyone else.

  Eventually, Lady Colbatch introduced Miss Lottie Milton and even from across the room, Valiant did not miss the blatant interest in the woman’s eyes.