The Temptation of the Duke (Regency Romance)

by Jerrica Knight-Catania

  Just as the sky started to lighten to a softer shade of blue, a shadow appeared in the doorway of the dining room. Both Grace and Hannah looked up. The dowager duchess stood there, her nose proudly in the air, as always.

  “Am I going to have to stare at these lugubrious expressions through my entire meal?” she asked through pinched lips.

  Grace blinked up at her. “You didn’t hear?” she said, her voice coming out in barely a whisper. “Evan and Beeston are meeting at dawn.”

  Just saying the words set her heart to twisting and clenching and racing.

  “Oh, I heard.” Her mother-in-law glided to the buffet and began to carefully select her breakfast foods. “As a matter of fact, I’m going to watch. The carriage is being brought round in a few minutes.”

  Grace blinked several more times. Was the woman really so callous that she was so unaffected by the event? “Are you not concerned for them?” she asked.

  The dowager duchess sat down and placed her napkin upon her lap. Then she took a bite of toast and a sip of tea before finally answering. “Concern has no place on a field of honor,” she began. “They both think it is a worthy cause, and should they die defending Hannah, well then, that’s the choice they made, wasn’t it?”

  “Do you think it’s a worthy cause, Mother?” Hannah’s expression was so pleading, so searching for a sign of love or compassion from her mother that Grace wanted to cry.

  The dowager duchess sucked in a sharp breath through her nose. “If I may speak plainly?”

  Grace and Hannah nodded.

  “Beeston is an arse. I’ve always thought so, but I live and die by tradition, and I married you off to him because I saw a good family alliance.” She gave a slight lift of her eyebrows as she stared down at the table. “And it wasn’t as if you had a bevy of eligible gentlemen banging down the door.”

  Grace looked to Hannah, who sheepishly tucked her chin to her chest and averted eye contact with anyone.

  “But if he were to die during a duel, well…” The dowager shrugged as if she were talking about something as mundane as a garden party being postponed due to rain. “So be it.”

  “What about Evan?” Grace asked, slightly alarmed the woman had no concern for her own son and the legal implications of his actions. He could face execution, for God’s sake.

  The dowager waved a bony hand dismissively. “The Duke of Somerset is an excellent shot. Besides, he would hardly be charged in the case.” She looked to her daughter. “I didn’t hear you rushing to stop him last night when he issued the challenge. I have a feeling you’re just as eager to see Beeston six feet under as the rest of us are.”

  Beeston was an arse, that much was true, but Grace couldn’t quite fathom speaking of another human being in such a way, as if his life didn’t matter at all.

  When Hannah didn’t answer, the dowager duchess rose and announced, “It is getting late. Come. We don’t want to miss it.”

  ~*~

  There had been several times in Paris when Evan had wanted to call a man out for one thing or another, but he’d always held his tongue and sought more civil ways of solving his differences. With Beeston, though, he’d not been able to control his impulse. And he didn’t regret it, though should an apology come from the man before the time of the event, Evan would gladly retract his challenge.

  Not that he expected an apology from Beeston. The man was an unrepentant bastard—he’d known that when he’d called him out. And while Evan was exceedingly confident in his own aim, he knew the baron wasn’t below playing dirty. He’d surely make an unsporting attack if Evan left himself vulnerable. So it was very possible he might not return from the field today.

  His heart constricted. Was he being selfish? Was he really prepared to make Grace a widow so soon after their nuptials? He would gladly make Hannah a widow today—she’d be far better off—but Grace…

  He pushed off the stone wall as Lord Andrew strode toward him through the morning mist. They nodded in greeting, but said nothing as they fell into step beside one another, headed for Hyde Park.

  They were nearly there when Evan finally spoke. “Thank you,” was all he said.

  Lord Andrew turned to look at him with a roguish smile on his lips. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be at six o’clock in the morning.”

  It was difficult, but Evan managed a laugh. “I owe you for this.”

  “Yes, well, you’ll have to repay me in scotch or something mundane. I’m afraid my wife would kill me before I even made it to the field should I issue a challenge of any sort.”

  Evan nodded. “Grace would rather I not be here, but…”

  When it was obvious he wasn’t going to finish his sentence, Andrew said, “You’re an honorable man, Somerset. You don’t have to prove it.”

  Evan shrugged and breathed deeply of the damp, English air. “Perhaps not. But my sister…damn it, why did my mother ever agree to her marriage to Beeston?”

  “Is that what this is about?” Lord Andrew seemed a bit surprised at this revelation.

  “He’s a bastard, and he barged into my home last night, shouting things about my sister that any man would have called him out for. I was only doing the honorable thing.”

  “Well, if it’s something you must do, I am here to support you, my friend.”

  Evan gave his neighbor a half-smile. It was good to have a friend. To be honest, he’d felt rather devoid of them since returning to England.

  When they arrived at the copse somewhere in the middle of Hyde Park, Evan was surprised to find a small crowd had already gathered. How they knew of the duel was beyond him, but he could surmise word had traveled fast through the servant channels. At the edge of the road was a town coach with his own crest on it, and inside sat his wife, his sister and, of all people, his mother. Damn, what were they doing here? He strode purposefully toward the carriage and flung open the door. They’d all seen him coming, but not a one of them made a single move.

  “Go home,” he said without preamble. “This is no place for well-bred ladies.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing I wasn’t well bred,” Grace countered cheekily, and Evan was surprised to see his mother’s lips turn up into something of a smile.

  “You’ll not argue with me, Grace,” he growled back. “Go. Home.”

  “Beeston’s here,” his mother said.

  Evan was forced to turn from the carriage and look upon his opponent. Beeston seemed rather more confident than he’d expected, with his puffed up chest and determined strides across the lawn. He was here to win this battle. Not that Evan wasn’t, but Beeston contained a more ruthless character that would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

  His second followed behind—another ruthless blighter named Tisbury. Evan had had the misfortune of meeting him several times at the club.

  “Go home,” Evan said again, keeping his gaze trained on his adversary. He didn’t trust the man not to shoot him in the back when he wasn’t looking.

  “We’re not going anywhere, Somerset,” his mother said. “Now get on with it.”

  Evan sucked in a deep, calming breath. If it were only Hannah, she’d be gone already. But Grace and the dowager duchess were far more rebellious and stubborn. They weren’t going anywhere. “Fine,” he said through clenched teeth. “But don’t get out of the carriage.”

  He started to walk away, toward Beeston and their seconds, who stood in a huddle in the middle of the field.

  “Evan, wait!” his sister called out from behind him. Her dark head peeked out of the carriage door, and her deep brown eyes pleaded silently for him to stop and listen to her.

  “What is it, Bunny?” he asked, trying, but not succeeding, to take the edge out of his tone.

  “You don’t have to do this,” she said. “Really, you don’t. Whatever Beeston said about me…” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Please.”

  Fury boiled up within him. He wanted to turn on her, rail at her about honor and dignity and manners, character
istics which her damned husband did not possess. His nostrils flared as he tried to control his anger and frustration over the way she could stand there and say that it didn’t matter. Of course it mattered. She mattered. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here.

  “Get back in the carriage,” he said, unwilling to entertain her any further. “Now.”

  Hannah did as she was told—she most often did—and tucked herself back into the coach. Evan resumed his walk to the center of the field to join his nemesis and their seconds.

  “Your weapons, gentlemen,” Lord Andrew said, holding out his hand.

  Both Evan and Beeston handed the pistols over for Lord Andrew to inspect. Tisbury did a check as well, and then they set to discussing how far they’d take the duel.

  “First blood, first fall or…death?” Lord Andrew asked, his tone grave.

  Evan was tempted to say death. He’d wanted to kill the bastard ever since he met him. But he didn’t like the idea of turning up toes today, either.

  “First fall,” he finally said at the same time Beeston said, “First blood.” The coward.

  Lord Andrew nodded. “First fall it is. Beeston, you determine the paces.”

  “Twenty.”

  “Fair enough.” Lord Andrew gestured for them to stand back to back, and once they were settled, gave the signal to begin walking at his count.

  Evan’s blood coursed through his veins, and his heart beat erratically, faster and faster with every step. He could hardly hear the warbling of the doves or the rustle in the trees over the whooshing in his own ears.

  “Eighteen…nineteen…twenty!”

  Evan turned only to see a blur of green silk and chestnut hair running hell for high water across the field. And then the gunshot that sent that blur careening to the ground filled his ears.

  Twenty-One

  Grace looked on, horrified, as shrieks and screams and bellows went off around her. In an uncharacteristic moment, the dowager duchess gasped and, with actual worry etched into her features, flung herself from the carriage and ran toward her daughter, who lay writhing in the middle of the field.

  When she finally got her wits about her, Grace did the same, running to her sister-in-law, who had so foolishly sprinted across the field. She was trying to stop them, Grace was certain. Hannah was gentle and meek; it must have been eating at her to have her brother and husband fighting over her like this. But it had all happened so quickly, Grace and the dowager hadn’t even had time to hold her back.

  And now, to have been shot by her own husband… Where on earth would this leave the two them?

  Beeston was babbling all sorts of pleas and apologies when Grace arrived at the scene. She’d never seen him look so humbled or repentant—he almost wasn’t ugly for a moment. “I didn’t see her there!” he cried, desperate. “I didn’t see you, Hannah, I swear. Oh, my God! What have I done?”

  The dowager duchess was clearly not as impressed with his vulnerability as Grace was. “Pull yourself together, man,” she demanded. “You are lucky—the bullet seems to have only hit her leg. It is likely she’ll recover, though she may favor the opposite leg from now on.”

  While the dowager put Beeston in his place, Evan knelt beside his sister, whispering softly to her that everything would be all right.

  Grace followed suit and took Hannah’s hand in hers. “Squeeze,” she said. “As hard as you need to.”

  Hannah did as she was told and nearly broke every bone in Grace’s hand while Evan tended to her wound as best he could. He unwound his perfect cravat and then wrapped it around her calf to stop the bleeding. And then he bent down and picked her up. She was awake, but pale from the pain.

  “You’re going to be all right,” he assured her again with a gentle whisper against her forehead. “And I’ll make sure you never have to see Beeston again.”

  Hannah put a hand to her brother’s chest and spoke in barely a whisper, forcing Grace to strain to hear, even though she walked right next to them. “Please, Evan. You must end this. He is my husband, like it or not. What happened was an accident, and it was my own fault—”

  “But it wasn—”

  “Shhh.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “I won’t hear another word about it.”

  This was going to kill Evan, just as surely as a bullet would have. This had been his chance to make things right for Hannah—to get rid of the man who was making her life so very miserable. But her sister-in-law was right. Beeston was her husband. And what happened was her fault. She never should have left the carriage. But Evan would never accept that—he needed something to feel guilty about. She silently feared he would never be rid of the demons that chased him.

  Grace lagged behind as they walked through the dewy grass to the town coach. Evan placed Hannah inside and then followed before beckoning Grace to join him. There wasn’t any room for the dowager, but she didn’t seem to mind.

  “I’ll go with Beeston,” she said, grabbing the still frantic man by the arm. “We’ve something to discuss, anyway.”

  It seemed unlikely her mother-in-law had never told Beeston what she really thought of him, especially considering how forward she’d been with Chloe and Grace upon their first meeting. Yet something told her the dowager reserved such harsh criticism for her own children and any women she deemed beneath her. Most men seemed to be immune to her harshness.

  Grace sat on the edge of the carriage seat next to Evan and reached across the middle to take Hannah’s hand. She was enduring the pain so bravely, she’d barely made a whimper, though her sharp inhalations and the occasional tear that eked from her tightly closed eyes told her she was indeed in a great deal of pain.

  “We’ll be home soon, and the doctor will be waiting,” Evan said in hushed tones. “Lord Andrew went ahead to call for him.”

  Hannah nodded.

  Evan’s face, which had maintained a strong expression, fell as soon as his sister couldn’t see him anymore. Grace’s heart broke for him. He’d spent so many years trying to avoid who he was—trying to escape the life he was destined for—and now that he’d come back and was trying to do the honorable thing, this happened.

  Grace placed a hand on his knee and squeezed. He snatched up her hand in his much larger one and held on as if his life depended on it. His pale eyes brimmed with tears, but he blinked them away as quickly as they’d come.

  There was nothing she could say—not now, in this particular moment, with Hannah near and in so much pain. But hopefully she would be able to ease his pain once they were alone.

  The carriage pulled up to Somerset House and Evan practically leaped from his seat to pull his sister out and get her into the house. Grace followed behind, praying all the while for her sister-in-law to be all right.

  They waited in the parlor—Evan, the dowager duchess, Beeston and Grace—until finally, after what seemed like hours but was more like three quarters of one, the doctor strode purposefully into the room, his valise in hand. The smile on his face set Grace at ease immediately.

  “She’s going to be fine,” he said, eliciting a collective exhalation from the entire room. “She won’t be able to walk for a while, and when she does, it will most likely be with a limp. Her dressings need to be changed several times a day until the wound closes, but the bullet is out, and she’s resting now.”

  Evan stood to make his way to the doctor, but Beeston beat him to it. He was pale and nervous, but clearly eager to gain assurance that she truly was all right.

  “So, she’s not going to die?” he asked, his voice shaking with nerves.

  The doctor gave a little chuckle. “No, she’s not,” he said.

  Beeston clutched at his heart. “It was an accident, doctor, I swear.”

  “I’m certain it was,” the man replied. “But let this be a lesson to you both. Conflicts are much better solved over tea.”

  It was odd to hear a commoner speak to two members of the Peerage with such authority, but Grace was glad for it. The shocked expression on her husband’s
face almost made her want to giggle. Almost.

  “Evan,” she said quietly once he’d returned from seeing the doctor out. “How about a walk…through the garden?”

  He seemed torn. Most likely he wanted to go see Hannah, make certain with his own eyes she was all right. But Grace saw in Beeston’s panicked eyes the need to be with her—alone.

  “Come,” she said to her husband. “We will see her later on, once she’s had a chance to rest.”

  Evan glanced at Beeston, then back at Grace, and finally gave her a grave nod. She took him by the hand and led him through the house to the back doors that led to the manicured garden. The sun was bright today, and a gentle breeze rustled through the trees, much like the day they met not so long ago.

  A smile came to her face. She’d been so very embarrassed at having been discovered in that scandalous position. But now, not even two months later, she’d been in far more indecorous positions, and in the nude, no less.

  She looked at Evan. He wasn’t smiling at all. As a matter of fact, his frown was deeper than she’d ever seen it. Hopefully, she could fix that. “She’s going to be fine, you know?” she said as they crunched along the graveled path.

  He nodded.

  Grace stopped and forced him to look at her. “This wasn’t your fault.”

  Evan closed his eyes and took a breath. “I know,” he said, much to her surprise. “I might have prevented it by not calling out Beeston, but he never, ever should have called her a…that word,” he finished, clearly being mindful of Grace’s feminine sensitivities, which rather made her laugh, considering the things they’d done in their bedroom. A silly word couldn’t offend her now. “And no one would have expected my docile sister to go tearing across the field like that.” He dropped his head and shook it back and forth. “She was running toward me. Trying to stop me.”

  It was true. She’d most certainly been running in his direction.

  Grace put a hand to his cheek; the stubble tickled her palm. “But you don’t blame yourself?” she asked, hopeful.

  He shook his head as he stared into her eyes. “No, my love.” He took a step closer and placed his hand over hers, bringing it to his chest. “I’m a changed man.”