Falling for a Duke (Timeless Regency Collection Book 8)

by Rebecca Connolly

  Without preparation or music, there was only one song she could perform, and it was a poignant, stirring song of romance lost, one she had played for herself hundreds of times over the years, and one that most of her fellow Scots would know and love. Faintly, it occurred to her to wonder if David would.

  She began softly plucking at the strings, her fingers flying up and down the instrument by memory, and then she began to sing, wishing her voice were more accomplished and polished. It was well enough for the folk songs her father was so fond of, but for this . . .

  She forced her doubts and regrets back as she continued with the song, turning her attention to the words and their meaning, the music itself. She willed the song to carry itself to David’s heart, hoping against hope that he would not hear her mistakes, only the emotion within.

  Her fingers drummed easily along the strings, gliding and strumming with ease, as they had been trained to do. She grew lost in the song, steadied only by the feeling of the strings beneath her fingertips, hardly aware of singing the words at all, even as she heard them. She could see herself riding her horse through the Highlands, carried on by the strains of the music, and there was David beside her, just as they had been that morning, only his smile was full and unbridled, filled with love and warmth, and she returned it with a brilliant smile of her own.

  She craved that vision, that feeling between them. That love.

  Her heart leaped as she seized upon that word. Love. Did she love David? Was that what all this madness amounted to? Had she fallen in love with a duke, of all people?

  She smiled at the thrill that filled her, the wings that suddenly lifted her.

  Love.

  What a sweet and painful thing.

  Her fingers played the last few notes, and she bowed her head slightly as the notes echoed in the room, soon drowned out by applause.

  She smiled, then dared to look up at David, only to find him gone. She frowned but hid it as the applause continued. She rose from her seat, putting off requests for a second song, and moved around the group toward the back of the room as her cousin Drina went to the pianoforte.

  Good. They would be occupied for ages with her up there.

  Ceana started for the front door, then thought better of it and slipped out the door closest, leading to the front garden.

  Sure enough, striding away from the house was David.

  She started after him, lifting her skirts just enough to avoid their brushing the ground. “Your Grace?” she called.

  He stopped, and she saw him glance behind him, though he did not turn.

  Ceana swallowed, suddenly nervous. “Are you leaving already, Your Grace?”

  He lowered his head. “I fear I am, yes. It has been a long, tiring day, and I have a morning appointment with a determined rider. I shouldn’t like to keep her waiting.”

  She smiled but did not trust the tone in his voice—a forced lightness she did not care for at all. “But there is a lady here who has been very much looking forward to spending this evening with Your Grace.” Her voice broke, and she covered it with a laugh. “And she got all dressed up for the occasion so she might be pretty enough to do so.”

  David turned then, and the look in his eyes stole her breath and her thought and all sense of herself. “You were always pretty enough, just as you were. Tonight, you are exquisite. And that is not me flirting; that is the truth of the matter as I see it.”

  Ceana blushed from her head to her toes and gasped an odd, choking breath. “I . . .”

  He took two steps toward her. “You are a beautiful woman, Ceana Shaw, and I’ll tell anyone. I don’t care who knows it.”

  “Your Grace,” she whispered.

  David shook his head. “David. My name is David.”

  Ceana nodded, close to tears now. “And I’m still just Ceana Shaw.”

  She saw his throat work as he shook his head once more. “If only you knew what a fine thing that is.”

  “Why are you leaving?” she asked him. “Was my singing so offensive to your ears?”

  David smiled a sweet, fond smile. “Your singing was the loveliest, purest, most stirring thing I’ve ever heard. I barely knew myself when you finished, and I couldn’t know how I would behave if you . . .”

  “David?”

  He cleared his throat, straightening up. “Ceana Shaw, you have a power over me that I don’t believe you fully comprehend. And I’m afraid of it.”

  “Of me?” she asked weakly.

  “No. Of myself when I’m with you. Because as much as I feel more myself the farther from London I am, I fear I am never more myself than in your presence.”

  Ceana exhaled sharply, her mind spinning. He couldn’t mean . . .

  She laughed a shaking, breathless laugh. “I didn’t know that such a feeling existed until you put words to it, but I find that is exactly how I feel as well.”

  His eyes widened, and then he laughed with her. He swallowed and closed the distance between them. “Ceana Shaw, I believe I am going to kiss you now.”

  She grinned at him and cupped his wrists as he took her face in his hands. “I wish you would.”

  David stroked her cheeks. “Let it never be said that I kept a lady waiting.”

  Ceana scoffed softly. “Do you ever stop talking?”

  “Only when I have better things to do,” he whispered with a smile just before his lips touched hers.

  And oh, what a better thing to do it was.

  Guilt was an oppressive emotion, and once taken hold of a person, it was damn near impossible to get rid of. David was currently riddled with roughly twelve different kinds of guilt, all of them surrounding the person of Ceana Shaw.

  He’d not intended on kissing her the night before, but he had, and he could not regret doing so. He felt guilty about it, but no regret. How could he regret a glimpse of heaven? He had kissed her for what seemed hours, ages, eons of time, and yet he still wanted to kiss her now, at this moment.

  She wasn’t even here, and it was all he could think about.

  It was all he had thought of all night, what had kept him awake, made him smile like a loon, and then wince in pain as the guilt set in.

  He was in love with Ceana Shaw, madly and completely. He probably had been from that first day in the Highlands when he’d nearly trampled her.

  But she thought he was the Duke of Ashcombe. That was a fairly significant lie of omission he had been living with, and as he’d never found the time or reason to relieve her of that misapprehension, he was now in love with a woman who had no idea who he was.

  Except she did know him. The man he was, the heart of him, beyond titles and fortune and status. Ceana Shaw was the only person who had ever seen past everything else and knew him as he was.

  Here in this place, he had found himself. He’d thrown himself headlong into the work on the estate. He’d torn down fences, tended sheep, worked the farms, and established potential solutions to the problems here. Their success was yet to be determined, but it would work itself out.

  What would not work itself out was the situation with Ceana. That would eat away at him endlessly.

  How to tell her. When to tell her. What to do when she felt so utterly betrayed that she could no longer bear his presence.

  He had been almost silent this morning on their ride, but then, so had she. The revelations from the evening before had been heady and overwhelming, and yet being with her soothed every ache he endured.

  Except for the guilt.

  That guilt was why he sat out here in front of Dovenbard, staring at its perfect facade, his mind hazy and filled with chaos. He would have given anything to truly be one of the men working in the fields today, implementing the new plans he and the other landowners and agents had worked out.

  But he wasn’t one of them. He was the son of a duke, and he had hidden that fact from the woman he loved. He had little prestige and position when it came down to it, and Ceana Shaw had a precarious situation with her father and her inher
itance. If she was searching for title and influence, Lord David Chambers wasn’t exactly it. He had a fortune, to be sure, and a family name, but that was all.

  He wanted Dovenbard, that much he knew, but would it be enough if he couldn’t have her? What if his efforts with the tenants came to nothing? What if nothing he did made any difference, and he would have nothing to offer Ceana by his own merits?

  What if . . .?

  “I thought I’d find you here.”

  David closed his eyes at the pleasure and pain that Ceana’s voice elicited. “And where else would I be?”

  “Lord only knows.” She laughed merrily, and his stomach clenched in agony. “In the fields, with the sheep, jumping fences with your horse, who still needs a proper name I may remind you.”

  He nodded quickly, his eyes still closed. “Yes, I’ll work on that.”

  He heard Ceana pause, and then felt her hand on his shoulder. “David, what’s wrong?”

  Wrong? He laughed once, no hint of humor in the sound. “Is any of it enough?” he asked. “What I’ve done? What we’re doing? What if all of this falls apart in my hands?”

  Ceana’s hand tensed on his shoulder. “You can't fix everything, David.”

  He shook his head jerkily. “I can do a great deal.”

  Ceana moved to crouch in front of him, taking his hands. “You have done! Give it time, David. Your tenants will prosper, and so will the estate. You’ve done all you can.”

  He met her eyes, seeking the answer. Steady eyes, he’d called them early in their acquaintance. He’d been more right than he could have imagined then. “Have I?” he asked.

  Ceana frowned. “You doubt it?”

  David turned their hands and rubbed his fingers over the back of one of her hands. “I’ve never known the feeling of a job well done,” he admitted in a low voice. “Nothing I did was ever enough, so all I know is disappointment and lacking. Failure.” He looked up to meet her gaze once more. “I can’t fail here, Ceana. I won’t.”

  Ceana stared at him for a long moment, then took his face in hand, forcing his gaze to be as steady as hers. “You won’t, David. You aren’t. You’ve already made great changes, and only time will tell if it will be enough, but that is not reflective of you. You have not failed, and I find it hard to believe you ever did—or ever could.”

  Her words were so impassioned, so sincere, and he loved her more for it. He loved her fervor and earnestness and the small, tender smile she wore. He loved the loose plait of hair that tumbled over one shoulder and the way she paid little attention to her appearance, yet always looked so lovely and alive.

  He loved her more than he’d ever dared hope to love anyone, and at this moment, that hurt more than anything else.

  He leaned forward and kissed her, taking her face in his hands and layering kiss after gentle kiss upon her full lips in gratitude for her sweetness, for her attempts to heal him.

  He stroked her cheek as he broke away, touching his brow to hers and sighing softly.

  Ceana smiled more fully at him. “David, with all that we said last night, there was one thing I failed to say.”

  Oh no.

  She laughed softly. “I’m in love with you.” She barked a short, delighted laugh. “As if that could ever be in question. I’ve defied all sense and explanation and found myself falling in love with a duke! Everything I thought I wanted and thought I knew has fallen away, and all I want in this entire world is to be with you.”

  Lord have mercy on his soul, it was far worse than anything he could have imagined. After such a sweet exclamation, she deserved to be showered with kisses, to be swung up in his arms and twirled among the mist of the Highlands with the music of her laughter dancing about them.

  David tilted his face and kissed Ceana hard, reaching to grip her hair and pull her as close to him as he could, practically plundering her mouth with his own in a desperate, mad attempt to cling to this wonderful, delirious moment.

  But he stopped after just a moment, his guilt choking the life out of him. It would be the last kiss he would have of her, and he could not draw it out any further.

  Ceana laughed, gasping and panting a little, her fingers drawing down to his jaw and rubbing against the faint stubble.

  David pulled back and away from her, rising to his feet and taking several steps away, putting his hands on his hips, lowering his head.

  “David?” Ceana’s voice sounded worried, wary, and too high in pitch.

  David screwed up his face and exhaled slowly. “I can’t do this anymore. It’s too much, too painful, too wrong.”

  “What is?” Ceana demanded.

  He raised his head, looking to the gray skies above them. “I love you too, Ceana Shaw—more than I dreamed I could ever love anyone—and because of that, you deserve to know the truth.”

  “The truth?” she repeated, and he heard her rising to her feet.

  He nodded, then turned around to face her. “I am not the Duke of Ashcombe,” he said bluntly. “I never have been, and I never will be. The Duke of Ashcombe is alive and well in London, and he is my father.”

  Ceana’s eyes widened, and she gasped faintly.

  “I am Lord David Chambers, his younger son.” He thought about bowing, but that seemed too trivial at a moment like this. “I couldn’t tell you when I found out about the mistake, not in front of your father and uncle. I couldn’t embarrass you that way, and I thought it would all come out eventually. And then . . .”

  “And then?” she pressed as she folded her arms, her eyes still wide.

  David’s shoulders sagged. “And then I couldn’t bear to tell you. It is the only time in my life where I will admit to being a coward. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. And yet here we are.”

  Ceana swallowed and nodded once. “Here we are.”

  Her icy composure shook him, and he went numb from head to toe. He tried for a weak smile. “I understand if you never want to see me again. I have betrayed your trust and let you believe things that were not true. I should have corrected you from the very beginning—I see that now—but I could never have imagined falling so completely in love with you. I never believed I would really find love anywhere, let alone here in the Highlands. But I did, Ceana Shaw. I found purpose and I found love.”

  She didn’t move, but he saw her eyes swimming in tears.

  He would never last in the face of her tears. “I won’t make you any promises, considering I’m only the son of a duke, and not even the important one. But if you were mine . . .” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat with some difficulty. “You would be the value that I would place on my life, Ceana. Loving you has already brought value to it. And for that I thank you, from the bottom of my heart—which, as it happens, is yours.”

  Ceana bit down on her lip, but said nothing.

  Nothing.

  David swallowed and fixed a faint, polite smile on his lips. “And now I will take my leave of you, Miss Shaw, and leave you to live your life in its fullest measure.” He bowed perfectly to her, then averted his eyes as he turned to walk to the house, taking care to go the long way around.

  Ceana cried all the tears she thought herself capable of and then some, and that had only taken her halfway home. The rest of the way she felt the tracks of her tears as though they had been etched upon her skin, and her breathing hitched on every inhale.

  Somehow, Ceana stumbled into the house and found herself standing before the portrait of her mother in the gallery.

  Her mother, whom she had never known and of whom her father rarely spoke, shared a remarkable resemblance with Ceana, apart from Ceana’s coloring. Where she was fair, her mother was dark, but in all other respects, they might have been the same person.

  She used to sneak in here as a child, staring with wonder upon the familiar yet unknown face, wondering . . . hoping . . .

  “Oh, Mama,” Ceana cried, finding tears at her disposal once more. “What do I do? What am I supposed to do?”

&nbs
p; “Your mother would tell you to follow your heart, lass,” her father’s voice said from the far side of the room.

  “Would she?” Ceana asked, biting on her lip. “I don’t know what my heart says.”

  “Well, she never did tell me what to do when that happens,” he admitted with a gentle chuckle as he approached. “But then, we didn’t have much time together.”

  Ceana looked at him as he sat on one of the benches in the gallery. He looked up at the picture of his late wife, smiling to himself. “Ellen and I were married for practicality and to benefit our families. It was a good match—everybody said so—but what they didna know, lass, was that we were friends.”

  He patted the seat next to him, and Ceana moved to sit beside him, letting him take her hand.

  “Your mother was very warm,” he went on, his voice taking a tender turn Ceana had never heard before. “Soft-spoken, surprisingly witty. Her smile could light up the entire room. And she calmed my tempers faster than any other person on the planet. If we’d had just a few more years of marriage, I’d have loved her as madly as any man alive has loved. As it was, I was terribly fond of her, and I mourned her greatly.” He swallowed hard. “Still do. Perhaps I loved her after all, and more so for her absence.”

  “Oh, Papa,” Ceana whimpered, squeezing his hand tightly.

  He turned to smile at her. “But this is no’ about me, lass. It’s about you, and I promised her you would marry for love. As such, I have something to give you now.”

  He reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a ring. He turned Ceana’s hand and dropped the ring in her palm.

  “Is this . . .?” Ceana breathed, hardly daring to hope.

  Her father nodded. “Your mother’s ring. She asked me to give it to you when the time was right—when a man worthy enough came along for you—and I think that time is now.”

  Ceana closed her hand around the ring and dipped her chin, the tears flowing again.

  “Lass, if you’ll be needing a horse, take mine. She’s faster.”

  Her head jerked up. “W-why would I need a horse?”