Falling for a Duke (Timeless Regency Collection Book 8)

by Rebecca Connolly

  Liam closed his eyes, fighting for composure. He swallowed once, twice.

  “Robert served well in the military, far away from his true love. A year passed and then another. Faithfully, he wrote her. Letters full of news and hope and reassurance. His love wrote him in return. He lived for her letters. He thought she did the same.”

  He stopped, giving himself a moment.

  She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and dabbed at her cheeks.

  “Shall I continue?” he asked.

  She nodded, still refusing to meet his eyes.

  “Then finally, Robert’s twenty-first birthday loomed. At last, he would be free from his father’s command and could claim his bride. He had watched the time of their separation go from years to months to mere weeks. He wrote to her, ecstatic, bidding her to come join him. And what did he receive in return?”

  Liam ran an agitated hand through his hair, pacing now. The memory burned, acrid and bitter.

  Eliza’s expression remained impassive, her unseeing gaze fixed on his boots.

  “He received silence. Not a word from his love,” he continued. “He wrote letter after letter, each more frantic than the last. Sick with worry, he even contemplated returning home. And then, the worst happened. Just three days after his twenty-first birthday, he received a letter from his beloved’s cousin, Nicholas, stating that his love had married another.”

  Eliza’s head snapped upright, eyes instantly drawn down, some unreadable emotion clouding her face. She sprang to life.

  “You speak nonsense.” She stood, glaring at him. “Are you sure you were not hit over the head at some point, Liam—”

  “Hah!” He silenced her with a slice of his hand. “No! I am no longer Liam Trebor to you! I must write my name in reverse and become Robert Mail, it seems. A lovely backwards idea but tossed off when faced with reality. Was the thought of being with me so abhorrent that you had to invent a fictitious husband?”

  “Liam, stop! This isn’t like you.”

  “War changes a man, Eliza.” He spun away from her, hating the hurt and confusion in her eyes. “Why, Eliza? Why did you do it?”

  “I h-had no choice.” Her voice an anguished cry.

  “No choice? How could you have no choice but to betray me?”

  She drew one ragged breath behind him. And then another.

  “Oh, Liam, I d-didn’t betray you.”

  A long pause. Then . . . a whisper of sound.

  “You betrayed me.”

  Five Years Earlier

  Eliza wiped a tear from her chin before it could drop onto the paper before her.

  How could her eyes still be shedding the blasted things? She ought to have cried herself out days ago. But, no. There were yet more.

  She merely had to get through this final letter to Liam. He would understand. He would know what to do.

  How had everything gone so wrong?

  She rubbed her temples, piecing together the events of the past several days, trying to understand what she could have done differently.

  Gah! How could she have been so stupid, so naive? It had all seemed innocuous enough.

  Cousin Nicholas had come for a visit with two other friends from London, Mr. Clayton and Mr. Wilmore. She had heard all the rumors about Nicholas and his friends—the gambling, the expensive clothing, the string of accusations from maidservants.

  She knew her uncle despaired of his only son. Nicholas had applied to his father several times over the past year to pay his debts, and Uncle had refused, stating that debtor’s prison would teach the boy responsibility, if nothing else would.

  So when Nicholas showed up with his friends, Uncle had firmly declined to house Mr. Clayton and Mr. Wilmore under his roof, claiming Eliza’s reputation. The men had grumbled but took themselves off to an inn.

  The three men had made merry about the town. Mr. Wilmore, in particular, was known for his wastrel ways. Eliza had carefully steered clear of them, mostly because she found their company obnoxious. But she also knew that if she were to marry Liam, she couldn’t have a wisp of scandal attached to her name.

  Uncle had escorted her to Lady Cottle’s annual garden party. It was usually a light-hearted affair with luncheon on the lawn and boating down the nearby river. Of course, Nicholas and his cronies had finagled an invitation and showed up inebriated.

  From there, everything ran into a blur for Eliza.

  She had gone down to the river with Miss Jane Smythe to watch the men race boats. But Eliza had lagged behind her friend, reading a recent letter from Liam.

  Mr. Wilmore ran past her, snatching the letter from her grasp.

  “What drivel have we here?” he taunted, holding the letter high up. “A love letter, perhaps?”

  “That is not yours, Mr. Wilmore,” she said in her primmest voice.

  He scanned its contents, a sly smile on his face. “Why, Miss Carter, it is a love letter.”

  Eliza’s cheeks flamed. “Please return my letter, Mr. Wilmore.”

  He shook his head. “Tsk, tsk. Wait until I show the others.”

  Her affection for Liam was no secret. Everyone knew they were promised, but that didn’t mean she wanted his letters to her bandied about town.

  With a chuckle, Mr. Wilmore raced toward the river.

  Angry, she chased after him, determined to retrieve her letter. Laughing, he darted into one of the boathouses. Without thinking, Eliza followed, stumbling into the dark interior.

  “Give me my letter!”

  A sound came from outside. Eliza whirled just in time to see the door slam shut. The outside latch tumbled down, followed by the sound of laughter and retreating feet.

  Bewildered, she pulled on the door. Locked.

  Panic blasted through her. She and Mr. Wilmore were locked in. Together.

  She placed both hands on the door, terror stricken, mentally sorting through her options.

  “Here.” Mr. Wilmore’s voice at her ear. “You can have your letter.” He dropped it to the ground before her. She bent and picked it up, turning back to face him.

  But his torment was not done. “I suppose I am owed something for returning it, don’t you think?”

  Before she could reply, he grabbed her about the waist and attempted to kiss her.

  Eliza put up a fierce fight. Bless Liam for showing her how to defend herself.

  Moments later, she had backed herself against a wall, a small oar in her hand, determined to protect her virtue. For his part, Mr. Wilmore retreated to the opposite of the boathouse, an amused sneer on his face.

  Eliza paused. What to do?

  They were locked inside. He had tried to kiss her. What else would he attempt?

  Should she yell for help? That could potentially bring hordes of people running to witness her compromising situation.

  But would that look worse than someone opening the door and finding her and Mr. Wilmore together, as if they had planned a tryst?

  Actually, the decision wasn’t hard, she supposed.

  Accidental entrapment was one thing. Appearing unfaithful to Liam was something else entirely.

  She screamed. “Help! Help me!”

  Mr. Wilmore flinched. “Hush, you little fool! You will bring everyone running.”

  That was precisely her aim. She screamed again.

  Voices soon arrived. The door opened and Eliza tumbled out, blinking in the bright light, registering that nearly the entire town was there to witness the debacle. She collapsed into her uncle’s arms, tears and nerves finally catching up with her.

  It was only hours later, once she was returned home and the shock had worn off, that she realized the horror of her situation. She had stumbled out of the boathouse looking ravished and debauched, no matter the reality of the situation.

  She was ruined.

  Mr. Wilmore’s reputation was such that hers could not recover from the association.

  Her uncle was incensed with Nicholas and his disregard for her honor.

  Eliz
a did have a small dowry, a legacy from her parents. Not a tremendous sum. It was nothing she countenanced in her potential alliance with Liam, but apparently it was enough to tempt Mr. Wilmore. Mr. Wilmore applied to her uncle, offering to marry her.

  Eliza felt nauseous at the thought.

  Marry a man such as that? Never.

  Liam would understand. He wouldn’t censure her for Mr. Wilmore’s rakish behavior. Liam would have a plan for them.

  She would write to him, and he would send for her. They would marry, and all this ugliness would be forgotten.

  “I betrayed you?” Liam froze with shock at Eliza’s accusation. “You led me to believe you preferred another man. How is that not a betrayal?”

  He wanted to hurt something, pound out his rage and frustration. How could she have married another, even a pretend marriage?

  Eliza lurched to her feet. “I thought you were different from other men, Liam! I thought you would understand that my actions that day were an accident.”

  “An accident? How could what transpired be an accident? You acted deliberately!”

  “How can you be so cruel?” she raged.

  “Me? I thought you had married another. You bade Nicholas return all my letters to you, the ones I had written right around my twenty-first birthday. More specifically, the letters where I asked you to join me and be my wife. He said you never wanted to see me again.”

  “Nicholas?” Her eyes widened in outrage.

  “Yes. Nicholas! I wanted to die at that point. No. It was worse than death. Your death would have been catastrophic, but to think that I had lost your love”—he drew in a shuddering breath—“that was unimaginable agony.

  “I instantly wrote you back, pleading for a better reply, but every letter was returned unopened. I refused to sit in Gibraltar another moment, cosseted by my father’s old school chums. I was now of age and could choose my own destiny. I sold my commission and purchased another in a regiment stationed in Spain. I was desperate to get myself killed. The Battle of Talavera was not about my particular bravery. I just didn’t care if I lived or died, and so I took stupid risks in my attempt to save others. It took several years, but I finally decided I wanted to live, if nothing more than to prove your betrayal wrong.”

  There.

  He had said his piece. Let her offer her paltry explanations. Let her laugh and scorn him.

  He whirled back to face the fireplace, his throat too clogged with emotion to speak. His harsh breathing resounded through the room.

  Eliza gave an unladylike huff behind him. It was a decidedly Eliza sound. “I don’t understand what Nicholas had to do with this. I wrote to you for help,” she said. “It was an accident, what happened. I was foolishly trapped in a compromising situation and had been ruined—”

  “Pardon?”

  “I had been ruined, Liam.”

  Liam slowly turned around, brows drawn down. Ruined? What was she referring to? She wasn’t speaking of her sham marriage but of something else?

  “I was desperately alone. I was innocent and needed someone to support me.” Her voice so anguished. “But instead of comfort, you sent my letter back with a note. You said you could not abide to think of me so soiled, that a d-duke could not have such a scandal attached to his wife.”

  All the air suddenly vanished from the room.

  No! He had never—

  He would never—

  Eliza’s devastated eyes held his.

  “You told me to cease all contact with you. Th-that you wanted to forget you had ever known me.” Her lips trembled, but her eyes held furious accusation.

  Liam’s mind raced, trying to make heads or tails of what she said.

  “After I received your letter, I didn’t believe you. How could you have changed so much? Such cruelty was not the Liam I knew. I wrote you again and again without another word from you. After three months, the letters were returned to me with another note admonishing me in stern language to cease all correspondence. It h-had your seal, Liam. How could you be so cruel—” Her voice broke. She swallowed and then continued on a whispered. “I finally believed you. I was so disgraced by that point; I had few options.

  “I did not want a marriage of convenience, but there are ways to have the advantages of marriage without an actual marriage. The number of women widowed in the war is not insignificant. I had money from my parent’s estate set aside as a dowry.

  “I went to Uncle with a plan. I proposed a sham marriage. If he would allow it, I would take my funds and a married name and start a new life far away from home. Uncle supported me in my decision. He traveled with me here, helping me set up my household and telling all and sundry about my husband, Sergeant Robert Mail. I kept the Liam I had known as my husband.” She wiped her cheeks again. “You had died to me, you see. I did not know the person you had become, and so it was easier to pretend that you no longer lived in actuality. Robert Mail became Liam Trebor in my mind.”

  Liam’s shoulders deflated. He sank into the settee beside her, hands trembling.

  Did he believe her? How could he not? Her words made some sense.

  But—

  “I never wrote such letters to you. I never said those things. I never would have abandoned you.” He stared at his hands, unsure what to do. “I heard nothing from you. Nicholas told me you had married someone else. He returned all the letters I had written to you, saying I needed to stop making a fool of myself over another man’s wife. I only tracked you down now to free myself from the memory of you. I had to know why you had done what you did. I couldn’t move on.”

  He felt her shift beside him.

  “I never received those letters, Liam, the ones you say Nicholas returned. I haven’t had any contact with Nicholas in well over five years.”

  He lifted his head, meeting her eyes.

  “I never received your letters, either. Nothing. Not a word.” He shook his head. “I would have come running from the farthest corner of the earth to spare you even a moment’s pain. You were ruined?” Anger and horror pounded through him. The mere thought of anyone laying a hand on her—

  “Yes.” She hiccupped and then bit her trembling lip. “It wasn’t my fault—”

  “Hush. Of course it wasn’t. That isn’t who you are.” He tucked a wayward curl over her ear.

  The moment stretched and strained. Liam relived the memory of those horrific months in his head. The despair. The disbelief.

  Had they been deceived? Betrayed?

  Her chocolate eyes softened and pooled. Her shoulders slumped.

  Something lifted within her. Or was it him?

  It didn’t matter because suddenly, there she was, looking right back at him with her heart in her eyes. The girl who waited for him in the shadows of a long-abandoned abbey. The young woman who played vingt-et-un and drew him out of his contemplative nature.

  The woman he loved.

  His Eliza.

  “Ah, there is my Liam,” she breathed, gaze swimming.

  Tentatively, she touched his face, her small fingertips chilled.

  “There is my best friend,” she continued, eyes roaming over his face. “I thought I had lost you, my love.”

  He snatched her hand, pressing it fervently to his lips.

  “What happened?” she asked, cupping her opposite hand to his cheek. “How could we have been at such cross-purposes?”

  “I do not know.”

  “You were my soul.”

  “As you were mine.”

  She tangled her free hand in his hair.

  He leaned into her hand, seeking affection.

  Ah. How many lonely days had he dreamed of this? Her small hands touching him. Her strong spirit supporting him.

  “How could you believe I would say such things? That I wouldn’t come running if you needed me?” He turned his head and pressed a kiss into her palm. “Of course, I would love you, no matter what happened.”

  “I didn’t believe your letters. Not at first.” Her fingers sk
immed feather-light over his face. Eyes. Nose. Lips. As if reminding herself that he was real. He was here. “But as the months passed and I heard nothing, I started to doubt.”

  “Never doubt.” He leaned forward, kissing her forehead. “Never doubt my devotion to you.”

  She clutched his head with both hands and leaned her forehead against his. She hiccupped and laughed and hiccupped again. And then collapsed against his chest, sobbing.

  Liam wrapped his arms around her, gathering her close. He understood her tears. They were akin to his own. Tears of joy. Of relief. Of knowing that he had not rejected her. That she had not played him false. He let her emotions rage, cradling her against his chest.

  She finally lifted her head. He wiped her wet cheeks dry with his handkerchief.

  “Better?” he asked, handing her the handkerchief.

  Eliza nodded, blotting her cheeks more thoroughly, still sniffling. She clutched his handkerchief in her hand and snuggled back into his arms, head against his shoulder, legs tucked up to her chest.

  Years of separation melted away.

  Liam crushed her to him. How many times had he held her just like this?

  Eliza pressed her face into the curve of his shoulder, breathing in deeply. “How I’ve missed this.”

  “I’ve missed . . . us,” he whispered against her hair.

  “Us,” she repeated.

  He tangled the fingers of their free hands together, fitting her palm against his, comparing, assessing. Her hand was so Eliza—small and fine boned, her delicate creamy skin contrasting with his calluses. But strength flashed in the tendons that flexed as she twined her fingers with his. Endless proof that she was smaller than he and yet a force of nature at the same time.

  Would this moment last? Would they be able to recover the relationship they once had? How could he ever bear to be parted from her again—

  “Hush.” Eliza pulled her hand from his and cupped the side of his head.

  Liam frowned down at her. “Pardon?”

  “You are thinking too loudly.”

  Oh.

  Emotion clogged his throat. How had he thought it possible to live without her—