The Duke's Lady (Historical Romance - The Ladies Series)

by Jernigan, Brenda

  The Duke’s Lady

  Brenda Jernigan

  Books by Brenda Jernigan

  The Ladies Series

  THE DUKE’S LADY

  THE EARL’S LADY

  THE WICKED LADY

  CHRISTMAS IN CAMELOT

  The Misfit Series

  DANCE ON THE WIND

  UNTIL SEPTEMBER

  WHISPERS ON THE WIND

  SEPPTEMBER STORM

  THE CHOICE

  BLACK MAGIC

  e-mail - bkj1608@juno.com

  webpage -www.brendajbooks.com

  Copyright © 1999 by Brenda K. Jernigan

  First published by Kensington

  2012 Published by Brenda Jernigan - at Smashwords

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

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  CONTACT - bkj1608@juno.com

  WEBPAGE - www.brendajbooks.com

  PROLOGUE

  Death would be better than this.

  The cold, blue water called to her.

  Escape . . .

  Escape now!

  Down, down, down, into the cold Atlantic Ocean she sank. The saltwater burned her back, making the pain twice as bad as it had been before.

  Tired ... so tired. How easy it would be to give up to the cold murky darkness. Somewhere in the foggy recesses of her mind, she heard Jean’s voice. “Never give up, petite, always be a fighter.” Moving arms laden with lead, she struggled, fighting her way up toward the light. It was so far away ... too far away. Her lungs felt as if they would burst before she could get air. Just as her head reached the surface, a blackness engulfed her, and Jewel knew no more pain.

  Chapter One

  September 30, 1813—Cornwall, England

  Some called him the Devil. . . .

  Some called him worse.

  Adam Trent smiled slightly as he drew his steed to a halt and stared at the sight before him. He had many reasons for his cold indifference, but none that he cared to share.

  The foggy mist had broken from around the massive gray rooftop as the last clouds cleared and the sun beamed down, taking away the castle’s cold, grim appearance. Briercliff stood high on the granite cliffs, overlooking the sea below. It was as if all his Cornish ancestors sat watching him . . . waiting . . . wondering. . . .

  Adam shook his head and drew his gaze away from his ancestral home. Unbuttoning his white linen shirt, he slipped the garment off and laid it across his saddle. He could almost picture his late grandfather scowling down at him, reminding him of his status in life. But his bred-in-the-bone independence took over, and as usual, the Duke of St. Ives ignored the vision and did as he pleased.

  The powerful, black stallion shifted beneath Adam’s thighs; he leaned low over Star and gave the beast its head. The wind whipped at Adam’s black hair, and the saltwater that sprayed high from beneath the horse’s pounding hooves felt cool on his bare chest. This morning he wanted to taste the brine on his lips and feel the sun bake into his already bronzed skin—the two things he’d missed most since returning to England. He glanced out to sea, and something on the horizon caught his attention. Reining in his horse, he stared, muscles tightening at the sight of the brig.

  He missed commanding his own vessel. When his grandfather died over a year ago, Adam had had little choice but to return to England and take over Briercliff. He wasn’t sure he liked being a duke, but he’d learned to live with his British birth. However, America still held his heart. Watching the ship’s billowing sails, he wondered if this had been the burning vessel he’d seen late yesterday. Evidently not, because she moved at a fast clip.

  Star pranced underneath him. Even the stallion sensed his restlessness. It wouldn’t be long before he had his affairs in order, so he could return home. Of course, he had one more thing that could hold him here.

  “Adam, ol’ chap. Adam!”

  Adam turned and saw his good friend, Jonathan Hird, waving to him as he nudged his horse down onto the beach.

  “If you hadn’t noticed, ol’ boy, the season has changed,” Jonathan remarked as he rode up alongside Adam.

  “Has turned a mite cold. But it feels damn good this morning.” Adam slipped on his white linen shirt, leaving it unbuttoned. “When did you arrive from London?”

  “Just before that hellish storm last night. I thought perhaps Briercliff had slipped into the sea. However, I find little damage. I suppose you’ve been making bargains with the Devil again?” Jonathan asked with a sly twinkle in his eyes.

  “Me?” Adam’s brow arched. “Make bargains with the Devil? You’ve been listening to the gossip-mongers again. I will admit, however, he has been known to make a deal or two with me.” He couldn’t help but smile. “Damn, Jonathan, it’s been too long. But I know you better than to say you missed the country life. Therefore, I’ll assume the clubs and gambling must have taken their toll, and you’re looking for rest and recuperation. So what brings you to Cornwall?”

  “Never could fool you,” Jonathan admitted. “Thought I’d better give the ladies a break from my charm and wit. Besides,” he added with an insouciant shrug, “without you there, it was much too easy. I need a little competition every now and then.”

  Suddenly, Jonathan turned serious, an action completely against his nature. “Actually, I’ve brought a missive from Hawk.” Jonathan reached into his coat and pulled out the note. “I had a hell of a time convincing the messenger I could be trusted.”

  Jonathan handed Adam the letter. Adam immediately recognized the seal and wasted little time breaking the wax and reading the message.

  “Bad news?”

  “Not yet.” Adam frowned. “But something’s afoot. Hawk thinks a meeting of importance will take place soon, but has no idea when. I’m to do a little investigating in London.” Adam looked up. “I appreciate your promptness, Jon. I know you don’t want to be involved, so I’ll try to keep you out of our war.”

  Dismounting, they let their horses roam free. “There are times, Adam, when I think you’re damn crazy.” Jonathan shook his head with disbelief.

  They walked over and sat down on a group of ash-gray rocks that lined the Cornwall coast. Both men stared out at the foamy whitecaps in the choppy, dark blue sea.

  Jonathan sensed an aloofness about Adam, and wondered if he’d ever know him completely. It struck Jonathan how well matched Briercliff was for Adam . . . distant, and forbidding. But Jonathan liked his friend no matter what his mood. They were alike, yet so different. Even with his own height at six feet, Adam still towered over him by at least three inches. Where Jonathan had sandy brown hair, Adam’s raven black hair and slate-colored eyes gave him a rakish air, or so Jonathan had heard many a young woman comment.

  He had learned from their long friendship to always watch Adam’s eyes. They were the Devil’s eyes and could be as dark as midnight when he was angr
y, turning from light gray to pitch black.

  “I heard you were in a bit of a tiff this morning. Is anything wrong?” Jonathan plunged straight into the problem.

  “Wrong? I take it you’ve spoken to Giles?”

  “Your butler is informative.” Jonathan grinned.

  A sigh escaped Adam’s lips. “The estate runs efficiently; I have no money problems. What could possibly be wrong?” Cynicism marred his features as he glanced out to sea and quietly said, “It’s time I returned home.”

  “This is your home!” Jonathan threw up his hands. “I’d hoped you’d remain at Briercliff this time.”

  “In an odd way I like the castle, but this place can run itself just as it has for the last eighty years without me. I’ve a few minor details to attend to before my affairs will be in order. I only need to find the right solicitor; then I can return to Four Oaks. That’s where I belong, and I’ve been away from the plantation much too long. Elizabeth assures me everything is fine, but spring will be coming soon, and with it, new crops will have to be planted. I don’t want the burden on her shoulders.” The war with Great Britain had been going on a little over a year, and so far had not affected New Orleans. Adam wondered how much longer that fact would hold true.

  “It’s been ages since I’ve seen your twin. How is the fair Elizabeth?”

  “As sassy as ever. She’s changed so much you probably wouldn’t recognize her.” Adam grew quiet as he turned to his friend. “Lately, Jon, I’ve had the strangest feeling I can’t seem to shake.” He raked a hand through his hair. He felt dead inside—as if a part of him were missing. Restlessly, he sought something, yet he didn’t know precisely what.

  “Ol’ boy, I think you’ve been in Cornwall much too long.” Jonathan’s mirth showed. “There are no women on this godforsaken coast. You’re simply bored.”

  Adam’s eyes snapped up. He thought of the countless female faces with names he couldn’t even remember, and his laugh came out harsh. He stopped a moment, feeling that restlessness once again, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe there is someone special out there. But I doubt it. Thus far, I’ve found only tiresome females who are scheming for the wealthiest titled gentlemen. Have I made my point?”

  “Quite nicely, I might add. Obviously, I’ve hit one of those touchy spots of yours,” Jonathan observed none too subtly.

  A sharp whinny drew Adam’s attention. He jerked his head in Star’s direction. The muscular stallion pawed the air and pranced around in a circle, snorting. What in the bloody hell had him so agitated? Adam slid off the rock and took off running. “Come on, Jon. Something has that beast worked up.”

  “Easy, boy,” Adam said, soothing the high-strung stallion. Adam grabbed the bridle and tried to calm the horse by stroking its neck. “Back up so we can see what you’ve found.”

  He stared at the damp beach. “My God . . .

  Quickly kneeling down, Adam placed his hand on the clammy body sprawled face-down in the sand. “Bloody hell!”

  “Is he alive?” Jonathan asked right beside him.

  Adam pulled the slimy seaweed away from the listless form. The weed had done its job by holding the lad firmly to a piece of burnt wood. His ragged, bloodstained shirt was in tatters. Long white lash marks were visible through the shredded material.

  Placing two fingers on the youth’s wrist, Adam checked for a pulse. “He’s still breathing, but only just.” Shifting his weight to the other knee, Adam frowned. “He’s a tough one to have survived a severe beating and the ocean, too. Let’s get him off the beach.”

  Jonathan went to round up the horses while Adam, still on his knees, reached to turn the youth over. The lad had a slight build and medium-length chopped black hair. Whoever had cut his locks must have been in a hurry, Adam thought, observing the uneven cut, but at the moment that was the least of his worries. Would the boy last through the night? Very gently, Adam rolled him over.

  “Damnation!” Adam jerked his hand back as if he’d been burned. A pair of creamy white breasts peeked through the torn shirt. This was no boy!

  Having returned with the horses, Jonathan peered over Adam’s shoulder and said, “By Jove, it’s a woman.”

  Dumbfounded, Adam could only stare at the once-delicate face that hinted at past beauty. Even in her god-awful condition, there was something about her that gripped his attention. At the moment, she appeared ethereal, and he had to blink several times to shake away the feeling that he was dreaming. He clamped his lips tight as strange, unfamiliar emotions stirred deep within his gut.

  Adam moved in a trance-like state, forgetting his friend’s presence for the moment. His fingertips brushed the girl’s cheek and found her hot with fever. Her lips were cracked and swollen, but he could well imagine their normally full, soft touch. My God, the damage that had been done! A crescent of beautiful, black-fringed lashes only heightened his desire to see her eyes. The urge to shake her and make her come to life overpowered him, and he couldn’t drag his gaze from this waif of a girl who stubbornly clung to life by a gossamer thread.

  Then another woman’s face flashed through his mind, and a sudden pain twisted his heart as he remembered another time eerily like the present.

  Adam had only been nine when he’d found her lying in the surf much like this. He recalled the helpless feeling of a young child desperate to save her. With only the muscles of a boy, he’d not been strong enough to carry her to safety. He had screamed and cried until he grew hoarse, but no one had come. In the end, he could only hold his mother and tell her how much he loved her. Something had died within him that day.

  Adam pulled off his shirt and wrapped it around the girl. She weighed no more than a feather, he thought while he held her in his arms. This time he had the strength of a man and needed no one. By God, it wouldn’t happen again!

  “Here, let me hold her while you mount,” Jonathan said.

  Adam glanced at his friend, having forgotten he was there. But he was loath to relinquish her.

  “For God’s sake, Adam. I’ll give her back. You can’t possibly mount the horse with her in your arms.”

  Adam knew Jonathan was right as he handed the child-woman to his friend while he himself mounted his horse. When he took her back, a soft moan escaped her lips, and tore through him like a burning knife. She lay lifeless, cradled in his arms. He carefully brushed a wet lock from her cheek, wishing he could ease her pain. He felt a strong urge to lightly brush his lips across her forehead, and tell her everything would be all right. But instead, he murmured, “I won’t let you die, my sweet ... On that you have my promise.”

  Glancing up, he noticed Jonathan already in the saddle, smiling that lopsided grin of his. Adam gathered the reins. “Let’s make haste, and wipe that damned smile off your face!”

  As they made their way up the rocky path, Adam prayed it wouldn’t be too late to save her. Abruptly he ceased, realizing he hadn’t prayed for anything in a long time. He shook off the confused feelings and concentrated on maneuvering the horse through the rocks.

  Reaching the top of the cliff, he urged Star into a gallop, covering the distance to Briercliff in record time.

  Jonathan stabled the horses while Adam climbed the castle’s steep stone steps at a run. He pounded on the double oak doors. With the girl held securely in his arms, he swept past an openmouthed butler as soon as the doors swung open.

  “Annie! Annie!” He heard the impatience in his voice. Damn it, where was she?

  A plump little Scot scurried into the hallway. “Why ye be makin’ such a ruckus? Just look at ye soakin’—oh, my lord, what have ye here?” Annie’s eyes traveled to the bundle held in his arms. “What a wee thin’ ye be carryin’.” She placed her hand on the girl’s forehead. “Why, she’s burnin’ up with fever, Your Grace! Who is the wee lass and where did ye find her?”

  “I’ll explain later,” Adam said curtly. He took the stairs two at a time while Annie scurried to keep up with him.

  “Which room?” he s
houted over his shoulder.

  “The yellow one.”

  As they entered the designated bedroom, Annie rushed over to the high four-poster bed and pulled out a small wooden footstool. Stepping up, she threw back the covers. “Wait!” Annie halted him as he started to lay the girl down. “Don’t be puttin’ her down yet. Poor thing’s soakin’ wet.” Annie frowned. “And I might be addin’, so are ye. I’ll fetch some towels to dry ye both.”

  Hurrying to the adjoining dressing rooms, Annie brought back a handful of soft towels and began drying the girl off the best she could while Adam held her. “These clothes will have to be disposed of.”

  “I quite agree.” Adam reached for the first button of the girl’s blouse.

  Annie smacked his hand. “Ye’ll no be stayin’ in here. ’Tis no place for a mon.” She raised her brow and placed both hands on her hips, reminding him she was more like a grandmother than a housekeeper.

  “For Christ’s sake, I’ve glimpsed her body already.” He felt uneasy about leaving. What if she died? Yet he knew Annie was very capable.

  Adam stared hard at Annie. Finally he sighed, knowing how stubborn she could be. “All right, Annie. I’ll change my clothes and be in my study should you need me.” Bending down, he laid the girl on the bed, feeling a strange reluctance to leave her in someone else’s hands—even Annie’s.

  After Adam left, Annie cut the remains of what had been a shirt with a pair of shears, pulling the scraps of material from the long, angry welts. This seemed easier and far less painful for the wee one.

  When she removed what was left of the lass’s chemise, something fell from the clothing and landed on her foot. She bent down and picked up a folded oilcloth that resembled a belt. Unwrapping the thick material, she found a faded brown parchment with ragged edges, indicating it had been torn in half. Carefully, she opened the paper and stared at the scraggly lines of a drawing. A big black X had been marked in the left hand comer.