Last Duke

by Andrea Kane

  “I’ll contact my solicitor at once, advise him to engage the finest barrister in all of England—and the boldest.” Pierce was already making plans aloud. “Then, directly after the holiday party at Benchley, I’ll leave for London and meet with them.” A corner of his mouth lifted in wry amusement. “Poor Hollingsby. I’ve hurled his orderly life into chaos these past weeks. And now he’ll have yet another unique legal proceeding to contend with on my behalf. Still, I rather suspect that, in his own way, he’ll enjoy challenging the odds and emerging triumphant, which I fully intend he should do. This is one victory I can hardly wait to savor.” Pierce met the vicar’s gaze. Keen insight blended with gratitude. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For speaking with Elizabeth. I think we both know how much your encouragement influenced her decision.”

  A shout of laughter interrupted their conversation.

  Turning his head, Pierce chuckled as he watched Daphne trying to unseat Russet from his position of safety atop her head. “Evidently, Russet has had enough human contact for one day.”

  “Your love for Daphne. You’ve accepted it, taken her into your heart.”

  Pierce’s brows rose at the vicar’s unexpected assessment. “That shouldn’t surprise you. Not after our chat last week.”

  “It doesn’t. But perhaps you need to reinforce that acceptance, not for my sake, but for your own,”

  “Why?”

  “Because love has many facets, some naturally and easily explored, others quite difficult. The beauty of the more resistant facets is that, once you’ve probed their depths, you have a lifetime to enjoy the brilliance you’ve unearthed.”

  “To which resistant facets are you referring?”

  Chambers cleared his throat. “When two people care for each other it’s only natural to want to share, not only your hearts and bodies, but your minds as well. Secrets, well meant or not, can do naught but drive a wedge between you. Remember Pierce, never confuse protection with exclusion. One nurtures, the other destroys.”

  “You’ve been talking to Daphne.”

  “She’s worried about you.”

  “I know.” Wearily, Pierce rubbed the back of his neck. “And she needn’t be. I merely have an aspect of my past yet to resolve. Somehow I must do it, and soon.”

  “But must you do it alone? Daphne loves you deeply, and she is far stronger than you might imagine. Let her share your unrest, Pierce.”

  With a troubled sigh, Pierce replied, “I appreciate your advice, Vicar. I, better than anyone, know just how strong Daphne is. But this is not a matter of strength, ’tis a matter of safety. And Daphne’s safety supersedes all else, even the trust that has grown between us.” Pierce swallowed, his voice growing rough with emotion. “You see, Vicar, I’ve come to realize that my wife means more to me than anything: my past, my turmoil, even my own life.”

  “I understand.” The clergyman nodded solemnly. “I also perceive that your current dilemma is not a minor one. Therefore, let me add one additional thought. Despite the short duration of our acquaintanceship, I hold you in the highest regard. I admire you and I respect you. In short, I consider you a friend. If ever you need a ready ear, I’d be pleased to provide one.”

  “That means a great deal.” With a quick glance at Daphne and the children, Pierce added, “Unfortunately, this is one impasse I must conquer on my own.”

  “Then may God help you do so.”

  Soberly, Pierce rejoined his wife, wishing yet again that he could do as the vicar suggested: share his dilemma with Daphne and tell her of the decision he faced. He’d evaded the issue for weeks, buried his conflicting emotions in the sweet haven of Daphne’s body. But he could avoid the matter no longer. A determination needed to be made.

  Would there be a future for the Tin Cup Bandit?

  His fists balling at his sides, Pierce was besieged by the usual clashing sentiments, and the nearly irresistible urge to share his anguish with his wife. Silently, he berated himself, reasserting his original vow not to involve Daphne in the reality of his dual identity. Were he ever unmasked, he would be tried, and possibly hanged, for his crimes. And if Daphne had any knowledge of his actions, she would be implicated as well. No. It was simply too dangerous.

  His mind was made up. The intricate crossroads he now confronted were his and his alone to traverse.

  “Daphne, do ye think the Tin Cup Bandit can find yer new ’ouse as easily as ’e did yer old one?” Inadvertently, Timmy exploded into the very territory Pierce sought to escape. “Because if ’e can’t, ye won’t ever see him again.”

  “ ’e’s not gonna rob ’er again, stupid,” William replied in an exasperated tone. “ ’e never robs the same person twice. Besides, why would ’e rob ’er now? She’s married to Pierce. And Pierce uses ’is money on us, not jewels and silver.”

  Daphne cast a sidelong glance at her husband. “I don’t think it matters where the bandit strikes,” she concluded hastily. “So long as he continues to benefit those who need it.”

  “Amen,” the vicar agreed.

  Pierce felt his guts twist, the enormity of his quandary resurging full force.

  What was he going to do?

  Evading Daphne’s speculative gaze, Pierce stared out the window, reflecting back on the bandit’s inception and the motives that had incited it.

  First and most impelling had been his thirst for vengeance, his need to rectify all the injustice suffered by the poor and effected by the rich. That obsession had melded with the restlessness in his soul, a desperate need to make a difference, to give his wretched life some meaning, his hollow heart some purpose.

  From that restless outrage, the Tin Cup Bandit had been born.

  Then he’d thrived, fed by the wild exhilaration of his perilous, crusades, the growing certainty that he could challenge the odds and win. Again and again, he’d revel in the incredible thrill of conquest, especially in light of the fact that his opponents were the abhorred nobility.

  That had been then.

  This was now.

  And now there was Daphne.

  Daphne, who filled his heart with love, leaving no room for vengeance, obliterating all the restlessness from his soul. Along with her love came a peace far more profound than his reckless exhilaration, planting the seeds for a future he’d never envisioned as possible. Until now there had been nothing at stake. Suddenly there was everything.

  Which left only his need for justice.

  Well, wasn’t that need being assuaged as well, not only extensively, but legally and without compromising his safety, or Daphne’s?

  After all, as the newly instated Duke of Markham, he had all the money he needed. With every bank draft he wrote, every donation he made, wasn’t he effecting the very justice he sought by helping the helpless, ensuring a better life for the poor and hungry?

  The answer was an unequivocal yes.

  So what was holding him back? Why didn’t he just relegate the Tin Cup Bandit to the annals of history?

  Because there was one nagging reality that wouldn’t be silenced.

  I have a message for you. Pierce could still see Daphne’s face, hear her words the night she’d faced the bandit in her bedchamber. The children in the village school asked that, should you and I ever meet, I make certain you know you’re their hero. Which, given the vast potential of their loving hearts, is a most glowing tribute.

  Timmy, William, Prudence, and all the other Timmys and Williams believed in him, relied on the valiant forays of the Tin Cup Bandit.

  How could he forsake the children? He, who knew firsthand what it was like to have no one to rely upon, nothing to believe in. How could he take away the only person who’d ever offered them constancy and hope?

  He couldn’t.

  Pierce closed his eyes, a muscle working in his jaw.

  “Don’t be angry,” Daphne said softly.

  He blinked, stared dazedly at her. “What?”

  “Don’t be angry. They�
�re only children. In their minds, the bandit is a hero.”

  Vaguely, Pierce realized Daphne had interpreted his brooding silence as resurrected jealousy. “I’m not angry.”

  She stroked his jaw. “I love you.”

  Seizing her wrist, Pierce pressed his lips fiercely to her palm. “I know. And I’m not angry.” He glanced about, realizing Miss Redmund had resettled the children for their studies and the vicar was waiting tactfully at the door. “Evidently, I was engrossed in my thoughts.”

  “So it would seem.” Daphne situated Russet in the crook of her arm, thoughtfully surveying her husband’s troubled expression. “Shall we go?”

  Pierce nodded, staring beyond his wife to where the children were bent over their slates. “Yes,” he agreed in a hollow tone. “We’ve done all we can for today.”

  “Were I not escorting the most beautiful woman in the room, I would abandon this ridiculous ball in an instant,” Pierce muttered in Daphne’s ear.

  Daphne’s lips twitched as her husband whirled her about Benchley’s crowded ballroom. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended.”

  “Neither. Both statements are true. I loathe these pretentious gatherings, and you are so exquisite I very nearly locked our guest room door and rapidly divested you of the gown you so painstakingly donned.”

  This time Daphne couldn’t suppress her laughter. “You shock me, Your Grace.”

  “Somehow I doubt that,” Pierce retorted dryly. “You know me too well.”

  “Yes, I do.” She smiled up at him. “And I know you came to Benchley for my sake. Thank you.” She gazed around at the festive holiday decorations. “I normally dislike these parties as much as you do. But it’s almost Christmas. And for the first time in my life I truly know what Christmas spirit means. I’m so happy. Perhaps it sounds foolish, but I somehow wanted to glory in that joy, to share it with the world, just this once.”

  Pierce brought her gloved hand to his lips. “It doesn’t sound foolish. And the glow on your cheeks makes the whole disagreeable event worthwhile.”

  “All of it? Even the two-hour tour Lord Benchley insisted on conducting to demonstrate his latest renovations?” Daphne teased.

  Pierce rolled his eyes. “The pompous ass. As if he’s the first man to effectively use a fireplace to heat his bedchamber.”

  “Also the first to install seven water closets and three bathrooms in the main house, all with gilded washstands, basins, and ewers and all for only himself and Lady Benchley,” Daphne added with a sad shake of her head. “Such a waste.”

  “Try telling that to the viscount. Or his insipid wife, for that matter. Why, the trinkets she’s wearing tonight could feed an entire village for a year.”

  “I didn’t notice.” Daphne frowned, gazing into the hall where the viscountess was loudly berating an obviously terrified serving girl. “But I can’t bear the cruel manner in which she treats her servants. That poor child out there is probably still in her teens. Not to mention that the tray she’s carrying weighs more than she does.”

  Pierce spun Daphne about so he could view the scene firsthand. What he saw was a gaunt, terrified young girl nodding vigorously as she endured the viscountess’s tirade.

  “Now get to the kitchen and fetch a tray of champagne for the guests, the noblewoman ordered. And no dawdling! Or you shan’t receive a penny of the added wages you’ve begged me for.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Knees trembling, the girl turned on her heel and bolted, juggling piles of soiled dishes as she ran.

  “That witch,” Daphne murmured. “Has she not a shred of compassion?”

  “Evidently not.”

  “So Markham.” The Viscount Benchley chose that moment to approach them. “How are you enjoying your first official ball as a member of the peerage?”

  Pierce bit back his candid retort. “I’m enjoying this rare opportunity to dance with my wife,” he said instead.

  “I don’t blame you.” Benchley’s lecherous gaze swept Daphne from head to toe. “Your bride is breathtaking. ’Tis hard to believe she is Tragmore’s young daughter.”

  “I’ve grown up, my lord,” Daphne said, feeling the impending storm that emanated from her husband. “I’m a married woman now.”

  “So you are.” He stroked the ends of his mustache. “How is your father? Has he recovered from that notorious bandit’s invasion?”

  “Father is quite resilient. He’s very much himself again.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” Benchley displayed the ballroom with a grand sweep of his arm. “Myself, I have nothing to fear from that bandit scoundrel. My house is impenetrable. I’ve seen to that. Why every lock has been personally installed by the finest locksmiths in England, the grounds protected by the keenest guards to be found anywhere.” He laughed harshly. “I’d like to see that rogue just try to gain entry to Benchley. He would quickly learn the meaning of the word defeat. Why the very thought of him robbing reputable people and turning our money over to worthless urchins and filthy gutter rats who will do naught but squander the funds on liquor and women.” Hastily, he broke off. “Forgive me, Daphne. I did not mean to go on so in your presence.” He bowed. “Continue to enjoy your evening.”

  Pierce’s jaw was so tightly clenched, Daphne feared it might snap, She felt him make and inadvertent move in the viscount’s direction. “Pierce, don’t. He isn’t worth it. He’s a witless, arrogant fool.”

  “We’re leaving.”

  Her expression soft with compassion, Daphne nodded. “Very well. I, too, have had enough.”

  “Coming here was a mistake. I don’t belong here. I don’t want to belong here.”

  “Neither of us does,” Daphne replied, covering Pierce’s hand with her own. “We belong to each other.” Slowly, she extricated herself from his hold. “I apologize for insisting we attend. It was stupid of me to suppose we could infuse joy into the hearts of the heartless. I’ll feign a headache. Then we can pack. We’ll be home before dawn.”

  “Snow flame.” Despite his fury, Pierce felt a twinge of remorse. “I never want to shatter your dreams.”

  Daphne smiled. “You couldn’t. You are my dreams. I’ll merely alter my plans and glory in the Christmas spirit at Markham, which is where I’m happiest anyway, rather than at some vapid party. And rather than display my exuberance in front of the world who, for the most part, are thoroughly unworthy, I’ll share my joy with the worthiest man I know, my husband.”

  Gathering up her skirts, she made her way from the ballroom, warmed by the love she’d seen darken her husband’s forest green eyes. She truly was the luckiest woman on earth.

  A vicious growl and a loud crash transformed Daphne’s golden haze into ugly reality. Halting in her tracks, she saw the same young serving girl, this time poised just outside the pantry, a pile of broken glass swimming in spilled champagne at her feet. Her hands were pressed to her mouth, and, at first, Daphne assumed she was distressed over the accident. An instant later, she realized otherwise, simultaneously identifying the source of the growl she’d just heard.

  A black dog with bared teeth was advancing on the maid, crouched low to the ground as if to pounce. Lunging forward, he seized the hem of her gown, tearing it between his teeth until she shrieked with fear.

  “You stupid chit!”

  The viscountess emerged from an anteroom at that moment, seeing naught but the mess in her hallway and the embarrassment of the accompanying din. “See what you’ve done, you senseless dolt! I knew I shouldn’t have succumbed to your pleas to keep you on. I should have discharged you long ago. You’re not only frail and simple, you’re clumsy and inept as well.”

  The dog, hearing his mistress’s infuriated tone, wasted no time, but relinquished his jaw-full of material and bolted into the pantry.

  “But, ma’am—” The girl made a futile gesture toward the deserted pantry door, realizing even as she did so that it was too late. The culprit was gone. With utter resignation, her arms fell to her sides and she
awaited her punishment.

  So did Daphne, hovering, unseen, in a small alcove down the hall, holding her breath for the castigation she anticipated.

  It was far worse than she feared.

  “Pack your things at once. I want you off my estate this instant.”

  The girl’s head came up. “Off the estate? But, my lady—”

  “Not another word. My mind is made up.” The viscountess stepped distastefully around the servant and the glittering puddle at her feet. “I’m going to summon a footman so he can arrange to have this mess cleaned up. By the time I return, I expect you to be gone.”

  Daphne could see the girl’s fingers nervously rubbing the folds of her gown.

  “What about my wages, ma’am?” She seemed to drag the question from some reluctant place deep inside her.

  “Your wages?” The viscountess drew herself up. “Not only will I not pay you, I have half a mind to strike you. You’re fortunate that I’m a lady and therefore will restrain myself.”

  “I worked a full week, Lady Benchley.”

  Courageously, the maid maintained her stance, but her voice quavered, and Daphne ached for her humiliation.

  “The meals you were fed were lavish compensation for your pathetic attempts at work. Now be gone before I have you thrown from my home.” Sweeping up her skirts, Lady Benchley marched off.

  For a long moment the girl did nothing, merely stood, unmoving, where she was. She was too far off for Daphne to discern her expression, but her trembling shoulders left little doubt she was crying.

  An instant later she recovered, dashing tears from her cheeks as she walked toward the servants’ quarters.

  Without hesitation, Daphne went after her, propelled by a myriad of emotions too vast to contain.

  Halfway down the corridor, the girl turned, disappearing into one of the tiny bedchambers.

  Unthinking, Daphne followed. “Are you all right?” she blurted.