No Dukes Allowed

by Grace Burrowes

  “How?”

  “I gave her the means and money to leave the rot of London without looking back. To start over.” She frowned. “And I’ll not apologize for it.”

  Oliver exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry. Thank you. For being there for her when I wasn’t.”

  “Of course.”

  “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know, exactly. I did not require or expect her to take anything from her old life with her. Including me. In fact, I encouraged her not to.”

  “I think she’s here somewhere. Somewhere near Brighton.”

  Diana glanced up in surprise. “Why do you think that?”

  “She mentioned Brighton in her letter.” He paused, a look of anguish chasing itself across his features. “That letter also had a lock of baby hair in it. Madelene has a son.”

  “Yes.”

  “You knew that too?” It sounded raw.

  “Yes,” Diana murmured. “She’s sent me similar letters over the years.”

  “And you’ve never looked for her?”

  “If she wanted me to know where she is, she would have told me. I’ve respected that.”

  “You should have told me.”

  “It wasn’t my secret to tell.”

  “I need to find her.”

  “Perhaps it would be better if Madelene was the one who—”

  “I need you to help me.”

  “Oliver—”

  “Do you remember when we were twelve and Madelene was ten, and she followed us when we trekked up to the old ruins near Reeth without us knowing? And got lost somewhere on the way?”

  Diana bit her lip. “Yes.”

  “I remember feeling sick when we got back and realized what had happened. That my little sister was somewhere in those forests on her own. This is like that, only a hundred times worse.” He came back to her, catching her hand in his. “You helped me then, Dee. You helped me keep my head, and you helped me search, and in the end, we found her. And I’m asking for your help again.” Oliver took a ragged breath. “She’s my sister and I love her, and I haven’t seen her in a dozen years, and whatever she did or didn’t do changes none of that. And I have a nephew I haven’t met.” The words came out in an anguished jumble. “Please.”

  Diana tightened her hand in his. Because she couldn’t wrap her arms around him and lean her head against his chest and listen to the beautiful heart that beat inside this beautiful man. “Yes,” she said.

  “Yes?”

  “Yes, I’ll help you find her.”

  “Thank you.” Oliver slid his free arm around her shoulders and drew her close.

  Diana let him and pretended that everything might have been different. Pretended that in another time, in another place, she might slide her hand up the front of his lapel to his face so that her fingers might explore the angles of his jaw and the softness of his lips. Pretended that she might tangle those fingers in his thick, dark hair and pull his head down to hers—

  “Mrs. Thompson.” The voice cut through the shadows. “If you’re not careful, you’ll catch your death out here.”

  * * *

  Oliver felt every muscle in Diana’s body go rigid.

  She spun away from him, and Oliver was left gazing at a man standing in the center of the gravel path before them, the wavering torchlight casting uneven shadows across his features. Not that Oliver needed much light to recognize him. Even after all these years, Ludlow Thrup still had the same smug expression, the same arrogant set to his mouth, the same haughty cast of his eyes. He still possessed the good looks he had always taken an inordinate pride in, and combining that with the wealth and power of the dukedom he now held, Oliver could understand why such a man would believe that he was entitled to everything he desired. And everyone.

  I heard she won’t have him.

  Diana, it seemed, had not been swayed. A petty satisfaction gripped him.

  Oliver spoke first. “Your Grace, it’s been a long time.”

  Riddington’s dark eyes narrowed as he stared at Oliver, before they widened in recognition. “Graham,” he said and seemed to falter slightly.

  “Nothing gets past you, does it, Your Grace?”

  Riddington’s lips thinned. “I almost didn’t recognize you. You barely look like an Englishman anymore. It’s clear you’ve been living too long in whatever backward place you hared off to all those years ago.”

  “You’ve been, then?” Oliver inquired flatly.

  “Been?”

  “To India? China? Mongolia?”

  “Of course I haven’t.” The duke straightened his shoulders. “Those places are nothing but barbaric cesspools of disease and violence. Places Englishmen go to die. I’ve heard all the stories.”

  “It’s a pity you remain so sheltered, Your Grace, for it’s clear you’ve not, in fact, heard all the stories. You fail to mention the wealth of culture and beauty in each of those places. The rich history and knowledge that those lands and their people possess. It is both humbling and exhilarating to have had the privilege of being there. To have learned and experienced new and incredible things.”

  The duke was staring at him, an unpleasant expression on his face.

  “Any worthwhile endeavor has risks,” Oliver continued with a shrug. “A man must simply have the courage to face those risks.”

  “How dare you imply that—”

  “I’m not implying anything, Your Grace. I’m telling you that the world is shrinking. That the future and the men who will control it lie beyond this island.”

  “The future of this empire lies with men like me,” Riddington bit out. “I am a very influential man, with more power and wealth at my fingertips than you will ever have. If you doubt that, you only need to read any newspaper in London and every other city and town I travel to. I am mentioned almost daily. Something you wouldn’t be aware of, scraping out an existence in the jungles for as long as you have, Graham.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Though Mrs. Thompson can certainly enlighten you, can’t you, darling?” The duke bowed to Diana, his eyes lingering on her bodice before he straightened.

  Diana stared back at him, expressionless.

  Oliver resisted the urge to wipe that smug, satisfied smirk off the duke’s face with a well-placed right hook.

  Riddington brought his fingers up to brush a stray curl from Diana’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t be out here in the cold and in the dark, Mrs. Thompson. It would be my pleasure to see you back inside and attend to your every comfort.”

  “Thank you, but no,” Diana replied, edging away. “I was retiring early.”

  “Then allow me to escort you. You’re staying at Ainsworth House, correct?”

  “That is not necessary, Your Grace.”

  “Come, Mrs. Thompson, I—”

  “She said it was not necessary,” Oliver cut him off.

  A dark look passed over Riddington’s face before it cleared. “Of course. I will call upon you tomorrow, then, Mrs. Thompson.”

  “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I won’t be available.”

  “Mrs. Thompson, I do think that you should reconsider very carefully.” The duke leaned toward Diana. “And remember who I am.”

  “Otherwise?” Oliver prompted.

  “I beg your pardon?” Riddington’s jaw was set.

  “If Mrs. Thompson doesn’t reconsider?” Oliver asked, deliberately and gently brushing at an ivory-colored moth fluttering near the sleeve of his coat. “You sounded like you were making a threat,” he continued. “Though I’m sure I was mistaken.”

  “I’m sure you were.” The duke’s words were tight. He turned his back on Oliver and picked up Diana’s unproffered hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Another time, then, Mrs. Thompson. When we are not so… encumbered.”

  Diana said nothing, only pulled her hand from his and buried it in her skirts.

  “Good evening, Your Grace.” Oliver shifted, once again offering his arm to Diana.

  She moved to
take it without hesitation.

  The duke glanced at Diana’s hand on Oliver’s arm. He looked as though he might say something further, but instead, he merely sniffed, turned his back on both of them, and stalked away in the direction of the house. Oliver forced himself to relax. Riddington would not ruin this night.

  Beside him, Diana remained silent.

  “Dee? Are you all right?”

  She sighed. “I’m fine. And I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.”

  “I know. I’ve been gone too long to have earned that honor. My lance and armor are rusty, and my noble steed is most surely out of condition.”

  Diana laughed, the greatest reward she could have given him. “He’s not worth it,” she said.

  “Agreed. But knocking him on his pompous backside would have been exceedingly gratifying.”

  “Maybe next time.” Her fingers slid more securely around his arm.

  He covered her hand with his free one, as if that gesture could keep her with him beyond this night. “I didn’t think Riddington could get any more detestable than he was in school, but it appears as though I was mistaken.”

  “He despises you.”

  “He despises everyone. The things that most people admire in a man—or a woman, for that matter—have only ever threatened Riddington. All the way through Oxford, he loathed anyone with courage and athleticism, and hated those who possessed creativity and industriousness. Simply because their abilities were greater than his. He is a small man with a small mind who can’t understand that title and fortune cannot ever compensate for talent and character.”

  Diana made a funny sound. “He must have abhorred your academic success.”

  “He abhorred the fact that I was a nobody and that no matter what he bribed or threatened me with, I wouldn’t cheat for him. I refused to sacrifice my honor and integrity for him. Worse, I never apologized for it when he failed. I think Riddington hated me most of all.”

  “Mmm.” It was a pensive sound.

  “If a man like that still hates me, I suppose I’ve done something right in my life,” Oliver said, trying to lighten the saturnine turn that the conversation had taken. “But enough about detestable dukes. This night is about you and me.”

  He glanced down at her just as she looked up, her eyes luminous and her lips slightly parted. And he found himself ambushed by a desperate impulse to kiss her. To catch her mouth with his and run his tongue over those lush, seductive lips. To draw her into his arms and slide his hands over those lush, seductive curves.

  He looked away instantly, horrified at the desire and arousal flooding through him. These feelings were unacceptable. They were not part of any plan for any part of his life and, in fact, threatened to obliterate his neatly ordered responsibilities and duties, the way artillery fire annihilated neatly ordered infantry squares.

  “Thank you. For what you said. For what you did. For your… friendship. No matter how rusty your armor might be.”

  “Always,” Oliver replied, trying to regain his bearings.

  Friendship. Something he’d always taken for granted with Diana. Yet, friendship did not adequately explain the possessiveness that seemed to be getting stronger with every minute. Friendship did not address the way his blood raced when he touched her. Nor did it explain his overwhelming urge to kiss her.

  But friendship was all he could have with Diana Thompson. Because he was a man of honor who had made promises. Without honor, a man had nothing.

  “Come, Dee,” he said, his cheer sounding forced even to his own ears. “Let me see you safely home before we come across a dragon that requires you to ride to my rescue. I might not recover from the indignity.”

  Diana laughed again.

  And Oliver reminded himself that he was an honorable man.

  Chapter Four

  * * *

  Diana spread the letters out across the surface of the desk.

  In the late afternoon, the house was quiet, both Belinda and Eugenia gone for the day, and only the sound of a whitethroat singing outside the open window broke the silence. Which suited her just fine. At the moment, she did not want to explain why she had left the ball early. Why she had slept late after tossing and turning all night.

  She would not have been able to look either woman in the eye and remark in a blasé manner about what a lovely coincidence it had been to run into Oliver Graham, and what a pleasant conversation they had had, and how splendidly he seemed to be doing. Not without both women seeing right through such inanity.

  Diana rearranged the third and fourth letters so that they reflected the dates chronologically. She needed to do better. With Oliver back in England, she would need to set aside her emotions. He did not belong to her, but he was still her friend. And she would have to learn to settle for that.

  A soft breeze drifted in, bringing with it the scent of roses and lifting the edge of the letter closest to Diana. She picked up the folded paper, turning it over. It was the second-to-last letter she had received from Madelene, and the only letter that did not have a Brighton postmark, but instead, a mileage mark. Which, in theory, should tell Diana exactly how many miles that that letter had traveled to London. Which, in theory, should allow Diana to take an educated guess at the town or village close to Brighton that it had been posted from. Except, mileage marks could be notoriously inaccurate, and even if it was somewhat precise, that left a wide swath of possibilities that surrounded Brighton.

  She frowned and sat back, gazing at the collection of little glass goats arranged on a table by the window. A dozen pairs of beady, glossy eyes stared back at her, offering her no answers. But at least this was a start. She’d give these letters to Oliver. At the very least, he would want to read them and see for himself that Madelene had—

  “What did he say?”

  Diana jumped and nearly upset the inkpot near her elbow. “Saints, Hannah, you need to knock.”

  “I came in the back through the kitchens.” Hannah strode into the room, her eyes darting into the corners as though she thought someone might be lurking behind the curtains. She was wearing a plain gray cloak over her yellow dress, even though the day was warm. “What did Oliver say last night before you encountered Riddington?” she repeated as she paced back and forth. “Did he talk about me last night? Did he say anything about me or a wedding or—”

  “No.” Diana moved the inkpot to a place of safety in the center of the desk. “And how did you know we encountered Riddington?”

  Hannah blinked at her, looking a little abashed. She paused long enough to thrust what looked like a crumpled newspaper in Diana’s direction. It landed on the corner of the desk, and Diana made no move to pick it up.

  “The social pages,” Hannah mumbled.

  “The fictitious gossip pages, you mean.” Diana refused to read them, but for as long as Diana had known her, Hannah had always had a weakness for the frivolity. There was rarely a column she missed.

  “Whatever you want to call them, they say that you and the duke were seen together, out in front of Montmartin House last night.”

  “With Oliver.” She snatched up the paper, crumpling it in her hand, and tossed it in the direction of the dustbin. She missed. “Oliver was there too.”

  “Oliver didn’t get a mention. But they’ve speculated that you are now… intimately acquainted with His Grace.”

  A familiar revulsion gripped her. “Again? Based on what?”

  “Ambiguous comments by the duke, of course.”

  “Perhaps I should have let Oliver knock him on his pompous backside.”

  Hannah picked up one of the glass goats. “What’s he doing in Brighton? Oliver, I mean.”

  Diana forced the contemptible Duke of Riddington from her mind and slid the letters in front of her into a neat pile. She turned them over, reluctant to speak of Madelene or Oliver’s search for her. Which was foolish, because Hannah would eventually be Oliver’s wife and would know everything then. But it seemed as though perhaps this, being
a close family matter, was something that Oliver should impart, how and when he wished.

  “A visit, I suppose, until he heads to Hertfordshire to assume his post at the college,” Diana told her instead, consoling herself that it wasn’t actually a lie, just not the complete truth.

  “Right. Hertfordshire.”

  “Where you will live with him once you are married,” Diana said slowly and in the most matter-of-fact voice she could manage. She wasn’t sure whose benefit that was for.

  Hannah nearly dropped the goat before she recovered and set it back on the table with exaggerated care.

  “What’s going on, Hannah?” Diana asked, impatience and concern rising in equal measure.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing,” Diana repeated. “That’s what you said when I asked last time. And the time before that. And the time before that. You’ve been avoiding me for months—”

  “I’m sorry. That’s not what I intended—”

  Diana held her hand up. “I’m not angry. Just worried. Whatever is going on with you, you can tell me.”

  Hannah pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers, looking wretched.

  A terrible thought struck Diana. “Are you ill?”

  “What?” Hannah’s head came up, her eyes wide. “No. Of course not.”

  Relief washed through her. “Then whatever it is, just tell me. Perhaps I can help.”

  “You can’t.”

  “It’s clear that this has something to do with Oliver.”

  “Yes. And no.” Her words were barely audible, but at least they resembled an answer.

  “Oliver hasn’t changed,” Diana tried. “He’s still decent and honorable.” And handsome and strong and loyal and kind… She stopped before she made a fool of herself.

  The pretty redhead’s fingers twisted and untwisted around the edge of her cloak. “That is what I am afraid of.”

  “He’ll make a wonderful husband.” It was hard to force the words past the mass of awful, unwanted jealousy that lodged in the back of her throat. She would be happy for them if it killed her.

  “Yes,” Hannah said slowly. “He will make a wonderful husband. But to the right woman.”