The Rake to Rescue Her

by Julia Justiss

  ‘Troubling words, but he was younger then, hot-headed as young men often are. Are you sure he still bears such enmity?’

  ‘He is his father’s son. In the coldness of his absolute will, Graveston spent almost a year setting up the trap to force me to wed. Blankford would be fully capable of nurturing his hatred for five years. He wants to deny me access to James to punish me, of course. But why would he have any interest in nurturing the son of the woman he holds responsible for the death of his mother and the break with his father? I cannot trust his intentions.’

  ‘You really believe he might harm the boy? I have to say, that seems...excessive.’

  ‘So was Graveston’s poisoning my dog and threatening to ruin my father,’ she flashed back. ‘For men of their stamp, the lives of others are of no importance. Only their will matters.’

  Alastair still thought it highly unlikely the new Duke, however arrogant and wilful, would go so far as to harm a child. But quite obviously, Diana believed it. And that was enough for him.

  ‘I sold the pearls, the most valuable of the jewels I possess, to obtain funds to hire the best solicitor I can find,’ she continued. ‘One who can build a case for retaining custody of James that will prevail against the Duke’s claim in a Court of Chancery.’

  ‘Preparing such a case is likely to be a lengthy endeavour—which will cost you far more than the value of a string of pearls. I already have an excellent solicitor on retainer. Why not let him look into it? As you already admitted, if you contest the Duke on this, he’ll likely do everything legally possible to delay or tie up whatever you’re entitled to as dower, so you need to conserve the assets you have with you. Unless you have substantial cash reserves on hand?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have sold the necklace if that were so,’ she admitted.

  ‘Then let me find out what I can,’ he urged.

  She frowned. ‘As much as I appreciate your offer, I...I really ought not to accept it. The battle will likely be ugly as well as expensive. The Duke will not forgive anyone who takes my part, and I don’t want you dragged into it.’

  ‘I’m not a callow collegian any more, Diana. I can hold my own. Besides, you need to utilise every resource you can muster to protect your son.’

  ‘To protect James,’ she repeated with a sigh. ‘Very well, let your solicitor look into it. I’ve been a poor enough mother thus far, I cannot afford to turn away help, hard as it is to accept.’

  ‘You, a poor mother? That, I can’t imagine.’

  She laughed shortly. ‘Do you remember the paints? The books? The music? Everything that might affect me was utilised by the Duke to try to force a reaction or keep me under control. A child was just one more tool. The only way to protect him was to be indifferent to him...whatever the Duke said or threatened.’

  Her voice faded. ‘To my shame, as the years went on, I didn’t have to struggle so hard to be indifferent. Not nearly as hard as I should have. Every time I looked at James, I saw...his father.’

  ‘Truly? I knew the first time I saw him that he must be your son. He has your eyes.’

  Startled, Diana looked back up at him. ‘You think he has...something of me?’

  ‘Absolutely! Have you never noticed?’

  She shook her head. ‘I am trying to do better, now that I can. But after years forcing down and bottling up and restraining emotion, I...I’m afraid I’ll never find my way back to loving him.’

  Alastair thought of how he doted upon his nephew, how easy and affectionate the relationship was between Robbie and Jane. A pang of compassion shook him, that the honest, open, loving Diana he’d known could have been brought to shut out her own son.

  The late Duke of Graveston had much to answer for.

  ‘Just let him love you,’ he said, thinking of how Robbie had inveigled himself into Alastair’s heart. ‘In time, you will find yourself responding.’

  Diana smiled sadly. ‘I hope so. Now I really must go. How long do you think it will take for your solicitor to have an answer? If Feral—Graveston’s man—left Bath today, he could reach the Court by week’s end. Which means Graveston could make some new demand within a fortnight, if not sooner.’

  ‘I could summon Reynolds, but it would be faster for me to call upon him in London. If I leave tomorrow, I should be able to return with some word in six or seven days, so you have time to prepare before the Duke can make another move.’

  She nodded. ‘I would like that.’ Swallowing hard, she said softly, ‘How can I thank you? Or ever repay you?’

  ‘Protecting a child is payment enough. As for thanks...’ He gave her a wicked grin. ‘When I return from London, I’m sure I can think of something.’

  She managed a wan smile. While normally he would have tried to persuade her to stay longer, now that he was aware of the worry consuming her over the safety of her son, he made no attempt to seduce as he helped her track down and slip on her garments. When she was clothed again, her hair tidied as best they could manage and the concealing cloak in place, he pulled her close. To his delight, after a moment of hesitation, she clung to him.

  Though he didn’t regret his offer to go to London, it meant probably a week or more until he would see her again. Already he felt bereft, and with her pressed against him, his body protested the abstinence about to be forced upon it.

  ‘Try not to worry too much,’ he told her as he released her at last.

  ‘I’ll try. I’ll try with James, too.’

  He kissed the tip of her nose, still reluctant to let her go. ‘I’ll miss you,’ he admitted.

  ‘Then come back quickly.’

  With that, she walked from the room.

  * * *

  Alastair followed her through the bedchamber to the stairs, listening to the soft footfalls as she descended and the murmur of voices in the entry below where Marston, as previously arranged, waited to engage a chair to carry her safely home.

  Once the last echoes faded, he returned to the sitting room, threw himself in a chair, poured another glass of wine, and reviewed what he’d just committed himself to doing.

  It did not represent him easing the reins restraining his feelings, he assured the cautious voice in his head. Any man of honour would step in to assure the safety of a child.

  It did indicate, however, that sometime over the course of their renewed association, he had come to accept as true the explanation she’d given him for breaking their engagement to marry the Duke.

  Drawing back from considering the full implications of that transformation, he turned his mind instead to considering what Diana had told him about her relationship with the new Duke and her fears for her son’s safety.

  Though he still thought Diana’s long, bitter association with her husband and his heir caused her to exaggerate the son’s ruthlessness and enmity, he had to admit he was curious how well she’d been provided for. If there truly were no settlements outlining the exact arrangements for her support if widowed, it represented a grievous failure of his responsibilities on the part of her father.

  But it was also true that the professor had been a completely unworldly man, a scholar absorbed in his studies. If he had come to view the Duke as a friend and colleague, he might well have been satisfied with just a verbal assurance that his daughter would be well taken care of in the event of her husband’s demise. Particularly as, in the absence of some formal agreement, she would have the dower to a very wealthy estate.

  He’d have to confer with his solicitor on this matter, but he didn’t see how the new Duke could deny rights guaranteed under English law. He had to admit, though, that being entitled to something and effectively claiming it could be quite different matters, especially if a personage with the power and resources of a duke set his mind to making it as time-consuming and difficult as possible.

  But all of that was for his
legal counsel to discover. What warmed him now, as much as the satisfaction of his well-pleasured body, was the fact that he’d managed to persuade Diana to confide in him.

  Since encountering her again, he’d been accumulating evidence in mites and snippets of what her married life had been: her at first rejected account of her marriage, the episodes described by Lady Randolph, the information he’d teased out of her about the removal of her paints and books. But aside from that single moment upon awakening yesterday, when she’d looked at him with awe and tenderness, she’d maintained emotionally aloof.

  Regrettable as it was that she’d found herself in such a vulnerable position, Alastair had to admit he was almost—glad of it. Without such an imminent threat to her son, she might have continued keeping him at arm’s length indefinitely.

  Instead, with some persistence, tonight he’d managed to breach the wall of impassivity she’d erected to disguise her thoughts and feelings, giving him the clearest-yet glimpse into her life. It wrung his heart to realise how difficult it had been for her to force herself to reach out to him, emphasising even further how isolated and alone she’d become.

  Still, the concern, independence and initiative she’d exhibited in seeking to shelter her child not only called out his strongest protective instincts, they also gave him enticing glimpses of the girl he’d once known, now more mature, stronger and seasoned by the loss and suffering she’d survived.

  Having disarmed her defences to the point of eliciting those revelations, he was more determined than ever to complete the job. To release the Diana still not free of the mask, persuade her it was now safe to step out of isolation and encourage her to claim the life that awaited her.

  Only after he’d arranged for her and her son’s protection and coaxed her out of the shadows, would he turn his attention to their possible future. And decide whether to try winning her anew, or let her go before it was too late for him to walk away.

  Chapter Eleven

  Several days after Alastair’s departure, Diana restlessly paced her parlour. Rain had kept her from a walk with James this morning, and with the resulting mud and wet, it was probably best not to attempt to walk this afternoon.

  She was finding it harder and harder to force down her worry, bottle up concern over the future, and present an impassive face to the staff. Even sessions before the mirror were failing her.

  Would talking with Alastair again help? She’d felt calmer after returning from their last rendezvous. She told herself it was not missing him that further complicated her tangle of thoughts.

  He certainly had been effective at stirring up her feelings. Which meant it would be better to avoid him, once he ended their bargain. Since she’d started seeing him, dribs and drabs of emotion had been leaching out, each leak further weakening the dykes she’d erected to contain them.

  Perhaps one day she would be able to ease those restraints, release the anguish and the memories in slow, manageable bits and at length, be free of them.

  But now was not that time.

  She’d thought if she relaxed just enough to permit Alastair to reach her physically, she’d be able to distract him with passion and escape more intense scrutiny.

  Instead, after only two meetings, he’d managed to unearth her most shameful secret and her deepest worry.

  In her defence, only the imperative to do whatever she could to protect James had pushed her to reveal the situation. In the wake of that confession, she’d careened from horror that she’d divulged the dilemma to him, shame over admitting her failings with her son, and relief that she would not have to contest the Duke alone. Embracing Alastair without reservation before she left him, she’d felt...safe. That concerned her.

  It had been wise to elicit the aid of anyone willing to help her in her battle with the Duke—that much she owed to James. But to assume that Alastair Ransleigh or anyone else would stand by her was foolish. Not only foolish, it put James’s safety at risk to depend upon support that could disappear as unexpectedly as the whim to offer it.

  Alastair hadn’t denied it when she’d stated that he’d only be around a short time. He’d pledged to have a solicitor spell out the legal parameters of the threat she faced. She could not expect him, nor had he offered, to involve himself beyond that point. She must prepare herself to enter the struggle and deal with its consequences alone.

  She began to consider what she would do if the solicitor returned an unfavourable assessment of her ability to retain custody of James.

  Allowing him to go to Graveston was out of the question. She would flee England before she’d permit that. With the war finally over, they might be able to settle in some small rural village in France. Her French was impeccable—Papa had seen to that; she could give lessons in English, piano, watercolours.

  Except how was she to obtain a position without references? The amounts she could obtain from selling her few remaining jewels would support them for a time, but even in the depressed economy of a war-ravaged area, they wouldn’t be able to live on them for ever.

  She had no other assets besides that small store of jewellery, inherited from her father’s mother. Not grand enough that the Duke had permitted her to wear any of it, nor valuable enough for him to bother selling the pieces, she’d been able to secrete them away. She’d left all of the ornate and valuable jewels presented to her by the Duke at Graveston Court, wanting nothing that reminded her of her life as Graveston’s Duchess.

  What would she do if they exhausted her small store of assets?

  Coming up with no answers, exasperated with pacing, she decided to go visit James. She felt a slight smile curving her lips. As Alastair had predicted, her son was always glad to see her.

  ‘Let him love you,’ Alastair had advised. She’d been trying that, not forcing her emotions, simply chatting with him, asking about his interests and responding to his answers.

  He particularly loved getting outdoors, but that wasn’t wise today. Suddenly, she remembered something else she might try. The morning after Alastair had given her back the pearls, a package arrived containing the box of watercolours and the sketchbook she’d told him to return. Not knowing from which establishment he’d obtained them, she had kept them.

  On impulse, she gathered the supplies from her wardrobe and continued to the nursery.

  As she entered, James was listlessly pushing a soldier around on the floor before the hearth, a picture of boredom. When he turned to see her, his small face lit up and he jumped to his feet. At that expression of gladness, Diana felt herself warm.

  ‘Mama! Can we go to the park? It’s not raining any more.’

  ‘That’s true, but I fear it is still very wet.’ Giving the nursemaid a nod, she walked over to seat herself at the table before the fire, setting down the package. James hurried over to perch on the bench beside her. ‘Just think how cross Minnie would be if she had to soak out of your breeches all the dirt you would surely get on them, jumping in and out of puddles.’

  His face fell. ‘I promise I won’t go in puddles.’

  He looked so earnest, she had to laugh. ‘I know you would try to be good, but heavens, how could anyone resist discovering how deep the puddles are, or seeing how high the water splashes when one jumps in them? I know I cannot, and Annie would be even crosser than Minnie if she had to press the mud out of my skirts. No, I’ve brought something else for us.’

  His crestfallen look dissolved in curiosity. ‘In that package? May I open it?’

  ‘You may.’

  He made quick work of the wrappings, unlatched the box and drew out a brush. ‘How soft it is!’ he exclaimed, drawing the bristles across his hand. ‘It’s awfully little for scrubbing, though.’

  ‘It’s not for scrubbing. It’s for painting. Those little dishes contain watercolours. Minnie, would you pour some water in that bowl and get James som
ething he can use as a smock? A nightshirt will do.’

  Though it had been years since she’d prepared paints, she fell back into the familiar pattern immediately, blending into the dishes some of the paint with water from the bowl brought by the nursery maid. By the time the girl had James’s nightshirt over his head to protect his clothing, Diana had half-a-dozen colours prepared for his inspection.

  ‘Which colours do you like the best?’

  ‘Red and blue,’ he pointed out promptly. ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘We decide what we want to paint.’

  James looked around quickly. ‘My soldier!’

  ‘Good choice. Let’s sit him on the table so we can see him better. First, we’ll make an outline of his body, then fill in with the colours.’

  She showed James how to dip his brush in the paint, then stroke the brush across the sketchpad. She expected that after a few minutes of meticulous work he would get bored with the process, but he did not, continuing with rapt attention under her direction and suggestions until he’d completed a creditable soldier in a bright-red coat and blue trousers.

  ‘That’s very good!’ she said approvingly, surprised that it was true. Even more surprised that, with his head bent and a rapt expression on his face, James reminded her of her father, recording in deft brushstrokes the details of one of the plants he’d discovered.

  Another wash of heat warmed her within. Perhaps Alastair was right. Perhaps there was more of her—and her father—in the boy than she’d thought.