The Duke of Nothing (The 1797 Club Book 5)

by Jess Michaels

  Helena stepped away from Baldwin and toward the bubbling beauty before her. “Oh, it’s lovely. Her face is so…so enchanting.”

  “Yes.” His voice came softly. “It is.”

  Heat flooded her cheeks, and she didn’t dare turn back for fear she might find him looking at her, not the statue. And if she did, fearing what she might do next. Out here, in the quiet dark, in the soft moonlight, anything seemed possible.

  “You miss your friends at home,” he said, a statement, not a question.

  She continued to look at the statue, though her pleasure in it faded a fraction. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you said you envied my close friendships. So I assumed you must be longing for your own.” He stepped up next to her and stared up at the fountain lady’s perfectly carved face. Still, she felt his tension. His…waiting.

  She swallowed. “I did have a circle of friends in Boston,” she said, and her eyes stung with sudden tears. “But we—we grew apart in recent years.”

  She could still recall her best friend giving her the cut direct after her fall. It was a moment she would never forget.

  He faced her, his expression suddenly curious. “I suppose that happens,” he said softly. “As our lives change.”

  He was too close now. Too close and too warm in the cool late spring air. She found herself leaning toward him, her body doing what it pleased rather than what was prudent. She caught herself and stepped away.

  To her surprise, he followed, closing the distance she had created. Her throat felt like it was tightening and her world began to spin as she stared up into his handsome face. His unattainable and oh-so-very handsome face.

  “Baldwin,” she squeezed out.

  He muttered something beneath his breath and then he reached out, catching her arm and drawing her up against him. His chest was rock solid and her body molded to it like it had been made to do so. She could have pulled away, probably should have, but instead she reached up to grip his forearms, anchoring herself in whatever way she could.

  His mouth lowered, torturously slowly, and then she felt his warm breath stir on her lips. She gasped, and it was in that moment that he claimed her mouth. What started as a gentle kiss rapidly spun out of control. His arms came around her, pulling her even closer, and his tongue stroked inside her mouth.

  Her world stopped. Ceased to exist. It was replaced only by sensation. Of his hard body against her soft one, of the taste of him, of the smell of his skin. He drove his tongue inside of her with finesse and the perfect combination of dominating demand and gentle coaxing.

  She couldn’t help but relax. It had been ages since she was kissed, and never like this. Never so…thoroughly. She opened and met his tongue with her own. He made a harsh noise deep in his throat and his hips bumped hers.

  She arched against him, lifting to wrap her arms around his neck as she fought for purchase, fought to control, fought to get closer somehow.

  But just as suddenly as he had taken her in his arms, he pulled away. He steadied her, then paced off several steps, running his hands through his hair. She watched him, bereft and confused and a tiny bit grateful for his discretion when she’d had none.

  “I’m bloody sorry, Helena,” he said at last, turning to face her.

  Everything seemed almost magical in the moonlight and her heart stuttered with a longing she had never felt before. One that made her braver than she was. She clenched her hands before her, worrying them as she whispered, “Are you? I suppose it would be very wanton of me to tell you I am not.”

  His eyes went wide and dilated, desire slashing across his angled face. “No, it would be honest.” He bent his head. “Honesty is a valuable commodity. One I am sadly lacking.”

  She stared at him, confused and intrigued. “I cannot imagine that you are not honorable or honest.”

  He barked out a humorless laugh before he turned away. “No one can imagine it. That is how I’ve gotten away with everything for so damned long. And here I am, standing in my sister’s garden, practically seducing you in front of the lady fountain and you have no idea of who I am.”

  Helena could not deny how she was brought in by his pain. By his struggle that was so obvious in every tense muscle in his body. She moved toward him, stepping around so that he couldn’t avoid looking at her. She reached out, hesitant, and took one of his clenched hands in her own.

  “What is it?” she whispered. “Can’t you tell me?”

  He seemed to ponder that a moment, then he nodded. “If I’m going to accost you in the garden and then pull away, I suppose you deserve to know why.” He hesitated, and she watched all the color drain from his cheeks. Then he pulled his hand from hers and said, “What you must understand, Helena, is that I have nothing.”

  Baldwin felt the words coming from his mouth, words that had remained unspoken for so many years. And yet he couldn’t stop them. He looked at this woman, this lovely woman who fascinated him, and he wanted to tell her the truth. He needed her to understand why what they’d just done, that stunning kiss, was impossible.

  Perhaps he needed to remind himself, as well.

  He watched for her reaction, but her expression remained passive, open, accepting rather than judging, and it spurred him on. Not that he could have stopped. Saying it out loud had opened floodgates he’d been bracing against for years.

  “No one knows,” he continued, moving to sit down hard on the bench across from the fountain. “Not even my mother understands the full extent of the damage to our position, though she is aware of some of it.”

  Helena took a place beside him. “How did it happen?”

  He winced. “There is a story.”

  “You needn’t tell me if you don’t want to,” she said. She reached over and covered his hand with hers. “I’m a stranger, after all.”

  “After that kiss, I’d say you’re more than that,” he mused, watching her pale fingers tangle with his. “Here it is, the bottom line of it: my father loved us, I know that is true, but he was selfish. He gambled and he lost. I used to watch him do it with this pit in my stomach. But he was always assuring, always implying that we had more than enough for his foolish decisions not to matter. And when he died—”

  He cut himself off with a shake of his head. She nodded slowly. “You discovered the truth.”

  “Yes,” he whispered. “I was already mourning the father I loved, weighed down by grief and responsibility, and then I started finding the ledgers.”

  “Ledgers?” she repeated.

  “Dozens of them, all designed to hide one lie or another, one debt or another.” He almost choked on the words. “For six months, as I went through the contents of his office, every single day brought some new nightmare. The creditors were calling and I was in a chess match with a dead man. Every move took me closer to my doom.”

  “It must have been devastating,” she said.

  He nodded. “Utterly. But I…I made it worse, Helena. I did.”

  “How?” Her brow wrinkled.

  “One of the men my father owed money to, he approached me with a bargain. More gambling to clear the debt. I was against it. By then any stomach I had for the idea was long turned. But I felt I had no choice, so I did so—and I won. That small debt was cleared. It was exhilarating.”

  He stopped talking and bent his head as shame flooded him. He couldn’t say the next, he never had. Not to his mother, not to anyone.

  Helena brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. “You gambled more,” she said softly, filling in the things he could not bring himself to say. “You tried to fix the damage using the same tools your father had to make it. And I assume it failed.”

  He nodded without looking at her. “Yes. Though I did clear a few debts, I also incurred more. I stopped after a few months, but the damage was done. By him. By me.”

  Her breath went out in a shuddering sound that mimicked the one inside his head at all times. “It must be terrible for you.”

  He dared
to look up at last and found her staring back at him. She was care and empathy and support personified. But he wasn’t finished yet.

  “I’m telling you this, not for your sympathy,” he said slowly. “But because I must. I am not the kind of man who goes around kissing young ladies in a garden. I would normally not be so reckless, but the moment I saw you on the terrace at the ball, I was drawn to you. When I look at you I want…well, I simply want. But there are still outstanding debts I cannot even find and a future that can be fixed in only one way. So I…I can’t pursue what I want. I must do what I need to do, no matter how much I don’t want to.”

  Her eyes widened slightly, and she nodded. “You must marry for money.”

  He wanted to howl when she said it. He wanted to turn away from the disgust that would shortly flow over her face. Only it didn’t. Her expression remained calm and unreadable.

  “Yes,” he choked out.

  “You have so much weight on your shoulders,” she whispered, reaching up to stroke her hand over one of them.

  “Much of which I put there myself,” he said. “I did this.”

  “Not alone,” she reminded him, her grip tightening on his arm. He stared at her, and for a moment just a tiny fraction of the weight that he carried lessened. He could breathe again.

  But it couldn’t last. “Either way, the result is the same.”

  She was very still, and then she slowly slid her hand away. His body mourned the loss. “I understand. I must confess to you that I don’t like it.”

  “No?” he whispered.

  She smiled, a sad and small expression that hit him in the stomach. “If my reaction to the kiss didn’t spell it out to you, let me be clear. I want, too, Baldwin. I’ve been shocked by how deeply I felt connected to you, even after that first night. But I’ve known my position for a long time. I never assumed it would or even could be elevated. That wasn’t my purpose in coming here. So it seems we must just be…friends.”

  Pain ripped through him at that kind offer. One he didn’t deserve but meant so very much to him. “I would be honored to be your friend, Helena Monroe.”

  She stood and he followed her to her feet. She slid her hand through his elbow and smiled up at him. He could see the lie in that expression. The pain behind it. It mirrored his own, but what was there to do? Life was not fair.

  He knew that very well.

  “Then we shall be friends,” she said, and motioned to the house. “It will be enough.”

  He nodded as he began to guide her back to the house and the party within. But with every step, he felt the weight of her fingers around his bicep. The warmth of her body beside him. He felt the relief that confession had given to him. Not just confession to anyone, but to this woman who had inspired his trust so easily.

  And he knew being her friend was not enough. Could never be enough. But it was the only option.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Do you have any news to report?”

  Baldwin had been staring into his tea, stirring it aimlessly, but now his mother’s voice broke into his fog and he jerked his head up to look at her. He found her watching him, concern in every line of her face.

  “News?” he asked. “Regarding?”

  “It’s been a week since your sister’s gathering,” the duchess said, flexing her hands open and shut in a nervous display. “I know you’ve gone to a few parties since then and I haven’t been to all of them. I was simply wondering if you’d enjoyed the company of any of our—our prospects?”

  Baldwin paused before responding, for his mind was consumed with only one woman: Helena. Since Charlotte’s party, since their passionate kiss in the garden, all there had been was her. And though he couldn’t explain the full truth to his mother, that was a big part of why he couldn’t concentrate on anyone or anything else.

  “You know how the beginning of the Season is,” he explained with a wave of his hand. “A crush, everyone circling. In a few weeks it will calm down and I’ll be able to find more time to approach each lady individually.”

  His mother’s lips pursed. “Baldwin, I do worry so.”

  Tension flooded him, pleasant thoughts of Helena fading into the background at last. “I know. I’m sorry. I do not have any intention of not doing as you wish.”

  “Of course you don’t,” the duchess said, reaching out to touch his arm. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.” She paced away, and for a moment Baldwin thought the conversation might be at its end. But then she turned back, determination lining her expression. “I think we ought to have a country party.”

  He leaned back. “A country party? Now?”

  “Yes,” she said. “A week would be enough time to let the servants out in Sheffield plan. It’s only two-day ride for anyone we would invite in London.”

  “And you want to get these prospects alone,” he said, folding his arms and spearing her with a hard glance.

  She shook her head. “You needn’t sound so ominous! They wouldn’t be alone. We would invite others. To only invite the prospects would be too obvious. I would invite your married friends.”

  “Far less obvious, yes,” he snorted.

  She glared at him. “I hear told that the Earl of Grifford is back on the market after his wife’s death. I could invite him. He’s older and he won’t interfere with your goals. And Matthew or Hugh or—well, not Robert. He’ll just ruin all the young ladies he comes in contact with.”

  Baldwin stared in shock. She was not incorrect in her assessment of Robert, Duke of Roseford. Aside from being a loyal friend and an incredibly intelligent mind, he was also known as a rake of the highest order. Still, one didn’t expect a lady to acknowledge that fact.

  “You mean to invite gentlemen who you don’t believe will intrude upon my various courtships,” he said.

  Her lips parted. “I know it all sounds mercenary and I don’t like it any more than you do. Your sister married the love of her life—I’m not immune to the fact that life is demanding you not be allowed to do the same.”

  Once again, Baldwin flashed to images of Helena, her arms coming around him as she murmured out a deep sound of pleasure. He cleared his throat. “Most don’t get as lucky as our Charlotte,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “Well, at the very least I want you to see if you could like one of these women. That is a start.” The duchess bent her head. “A country party solves our problems.”

  Baldwin could see that she was determined and that doing as she requested would take some amount of pressure off her shoulders. He owed her that. “Very well. Send word to Sheffield and mail your invitations to prospect and friend alike. A week in the country could do us all good.”

  She smiled, relief slashing across her face. “Excellent. I’ll invite the prospects and the others we discussed.”

  Baldwin hesitated. “Including Miss Shephard?”

  Her face fell a fraction. “I realize you’ve spent a bit more time with the Americans than with anyone else. Are you saying you don’t like Charity at all?”

  Baldwin swallowed. He hadn’t really paid much attention to Helena’s cousin. Fifty-thousand pounds or no, he could not fathom pursuing her and having Helena close by the entire time. It seemed an exercise in cruelty to them both.

  “Have a mind, dear,” the duchess said. “Her father is a bit overbearing, I know. In private, without him interfering and trying to manage any courtship she might have, she could be more…palatable.”

  Baldwin searched his mind, trying to find an argument against Charity. But the only one that screamed out at him was Helena. And he couldn’t exactly explain that to his mother. She would be appalled that he had dragged a young lady he could have no true designs upon out to the garden and then kissed her. Yet another item on the list of his bad behaviors.

  “Of course you shall invite them,” he said with a sigh. “Though I would not get your hopes up that Charity will be my match.”

  She nodded. “I understand. Well, I will be off to write le
tters and make arrangements. I’ll send you an accounting of everyone who says yes once it is finished.” He moved to escort her back to the hall, and she leaned up to kiss his cheek as Walker called for her carriage. “I know this is hard for you, dearest,” she said softly. “But you’re trying and that’s all anyone can expect.”

  He smiled as her vehicle was brought round. “Good afternoon, Mama. Thank you again for all your help.”

  She left, and he watched as she was helped into her carriage. But as he waved her away, his mind kept returning to Helena Monroe. In truth, he would not be sorry to have a little time with her in the country. She was the only person in the world to know the full extent of his secret. Assuming she had not become disgusted with him the more she thought of what he’d done, it might be nice to have a friend who truly understood his position.

  Although when he thought of her, lovely Helena, friendship was not what was on his mind. Which meant he’d have to change it. As quickly as possible.

  Helena stared at her uneaten plate of supper and tried to force her mind to think of anything other than the topic that dominated it. Baldwin. He had been her only focus, her only thought, her only dream for seven long days. Since Charlotte’s party. Since Baldwin’s searing kiss and devastating confession.

  “An invitation has arrived, sir,” Aniston said as he entered the room, a folded envelope on a silver platter.

  Her uncle glanced up and his eyes went wide at the seal on the front of the paper: an S with a riot of wheat around it. Helena gripped her fork tighter, for she had memorized that same seal and even drawn it out, in the secret pages of her journal.

  Sheffield.

  Uncle Peter rudely waved Aniston off and unfolded the paper with a sharp glance for Charity. “Here, girl, something to celebrate. I’ll read it out loud. ‘Your presence is requested at the country gathering of the Duke of Sheffield. Guests will gather for a week staring Sunday next.’” His eyes glittered. “And there’s more, but that’s the important part.”