Some Like It Wicked (Mills & Boon Historical) (Daring Duchesses - Book 1)

by Carole Mortimer

  ‘As always, slowly and carefully.’ His friend shrugged broad shoulders. ‘Now let me tell you of a piece of fine horseflesh I saw at Tattersalls yesterday.’

  Rupert accepted the change of subject for the dismissal it was, knowing and accepting that Benedict was not allowed to talk of the work he carried out secretly for the Crown.

  Quite why Rupert instructed his driver, much later that night, to travel back to Stratton House by a route that would take him past Pandora’s home, he was unsure. But instruct him he did, only to see that, despite it being after one o’clock in the morning, her house was once again ablaze with candlelight.

  Pandora really should talk to her household staff about this profligate waste of—

  What the …?

  The front door of the house had just been opened by the elderly butler, in order, it seemed, to allow another gentleman to step outside. A man who was dressed completely in black, from his shoes to the hat he was just placing upon his head. As if he did not wish to be seen or recognised?

  ‘Halt the carriage.’ Rupert sat forwards to give a tap on the roof of his carriage in accompaniment to the instruction. ‘I said stop the damned carriage!’ he repeated harshly when the groom either failed to hear or obey that first instruction.

  Rupert barely waited for the carriage to stop before throwing open the door and leaping out on to the cobbled street, his evening cloak billowing about him as he strode forwards confidently to confront the man dressed in black. ‘You, there! Yes, you,’ he confirmed as a pale face was raised to look in his direction. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘And who is enquiring, might I ask?’ came back the cool response.

  ‘I am the Duke of Stratton and a friend of the lady whose house you have just left in the early hours of the morning,’ Rupert answered haughtily, determined to know exactly what this gentleman had been doing in Pandora’s house at one o’clock in the morning. He knew what it looked as if the fellow had been doing and it was completely unacceptable to him!

  The other man eyed him calmly. ‘Indeed?’

  ‘I have said so, yes,’ Rupert bit out icily.

  A challenge the other man met for several seconds before turning to look enquiringly at Bentley as he stood in the doorway behind them, receiving a brief nod of confirmation for his trouble. ‘In that case, I am Constable Smythe, and this is my deputy,’ he added as a younger man in uniform stepped out of the house behind him. ‘We were called to attend these premises earlier tonight after her Grace’s home was broken into and a fire set in that lady’s bedchamber,’ the constable continued evenly.

  ‘Good God!’ Rupert felt the blood drain from his face. ‘Is Pandora all right?’

  ‘Her Grace has not been harmed above breathing in some of the smoke from the fire. She is badly shaken, of course—’ Constable Smythe broke off his explanation as Rupert turned on his heel and hurried inside the house.

  ‘I really am perfectly all right, Henley,’ Pandora assured huskily, and not quite truthfully, as her maid fussed over her as she sat in one of the armchairs in the small parlour which adjoined her bedchamber.

  Pandora had been awoken a short time ago to find that the curtains about her bed were ablaze, the heat and choking smoke making it difficult for her to breathe, let alone escape the flames. Only her terrified screams had saved her, bringing Bentley and several of the other servants running to her bedchamber, the elderly butler sweeping her up in his arms and hurrying from the room whilst Cook organised the maids in putting out those flames with bucket after bucket of water brought up from the kitchen.

  Even now, over an hour after the flames had been fully doused, Pandora could not bring herself to so much as look at the scorched remains of her bed. Even more disturbing was that the constable Bentley had insisted be called to the house, upon discovering there was also a broken window in the room that had once been Barnaby’s study, had proceeded to question as to whether or not the fire might have been started deliberately, rather than Pandora’s original explanation that she must have somehow fallen asleep and inadvertently knocked over the candle on the table beside her bed.

  Pandora had dismissed the constable’s notion as being nonsense, of course. It was unthinkable, inconceivable, that someone could ever deliberately wish to harm her in that dreadful, shocking way.

  ‘What is all that noise, Henley?’ Pandora frowned her confusion as she heard the sound of raised voices outside in the hallway.

  The older woman looked petrified as she turned towards the door.

  ‘You don’t suppose that he has come back?’

  Pandora looked taken aback. ‘Who has come back?’

  ‘The monster who tried to burn you to death in your bed!’ Henley cringed back as the voices outside grew louder.

  Pandora gave a shudder at the lurid way the other woman described the events of earlier, aware that it might all too easily have come true if Pandora hadn’t woken coughing from inhaling too much smoke and then seen the rapidly spreading flames that surrounded her. As it was, her bedcovers and, indeed, the bed itself had almost been consumed before the flames had been brought under control and then extinguished, leaving the bedchamber blackened, and the whole house still filled with the smell of smoke.

  Not that Pandora had any ideas of sleeping in her bedchamber tonight. In fact, she wasn’t sure, after the constable had put forward his theory of what might have happened, that she felt safe at the idea of sleeping in this house ever again!

  ‘—do not remove yourself immediately I shall be forced to physically remove you!’

  ‘Her Grace is badly shaken—’

  ‘And you will be shaken until your teeth rattle if you do not step aside by my count of three—’

  ‘Bentley, I’m sure you may safely allow his Grace the Duke of Stratton entrance,’ Pandora called out wearily as she now all too easily recognised the reason for the disturbance.

  Rupert, having been assailed with the smell of smoke as soon as he entered the house, now gave the overprotective butler one last deathly glare as he finally stepped aside in order to allow Rupert to throw open the door to what appeared to be a private parlour. Certainly there was no bed in it, just several small and comfortable-looking chairs and delicate tables bearing books and vases of flowers.

  Pandora was seated in one of those armchairs and being fussed over by the same irritating woman from two days ago. Her golden curls were loose down the slenderness of her back and in complete disarray—golden curls that were indeed long enough to cover those generous firm breasts. Her violet-coloured eyes were so huge and dark they appeared purple in her pale, soot-blackened face and her silk-and-lace lilac-coloured robe also bore signs of the recent fire in the dark smudges upon the lace cuffs and hem, as did the matching satin slippers upon her tiny feet.

  Indeed, Rupert could smell the smoke even more strongly in this room, easily guessing that her bedchamber was through one of the two doors leading off this room. Something he had every intention of viewing at a more convenient time. For the moment Pandora was his prime concern …

  ‘Please go,’ he softly instructed the woman Pandora called Henley, relieved when she instantly obeyed; he had even less patience to deal with the woman’s histrionics tonight. ‘Are you injured?’ Rupert instantly moved down on to his haunches beside Pandora before reaching out and taking one of her delicate soot-smudged hands into his much larger ones.

  ‘I wish that you had not shouted at Bentley,’ she reproved gruffly. ‘If not for him I might—’ She came to a halt, her throat moving convulsively as she swallowed. ‘It was he who braved the flames and carried me from my bedchamber.’

  ‘Then before I leave he shall have my apology and my heartfelt gratitude,’ Rupert assured firmly. ‘But, for now—are you injured above what I can see?’ he queried gently, having winced as he became aware of several patches of redness on her hands, as if she might have tried to beat out the flames with them before Bentley came to her rescue.

  ‘I
am unharmed.’ Her voice sounded far more husky than usual, and in any other circumstances Rupert knew he would have found it sensually arousing. As it was, he was well aware that it was the dangerous inhalation of the smoke, which now caused Pandora to talk so throatily.

  He now looked up at her searchingly, his mouth tightening as he saw the fear lurking in the depths of those purple eyes that looked directly back into his, a transparent delicacy to her ivory-coloured skin and the trembling of the softness of her bottom lip. Even her pointed and stubborn little chin seemed to have a new vulnerability about it.

  Rupert made his decision quickly. ‘You cannot remain here.’ He stood up abruptly, his expression grim as he bent down to scoop her up effortlessly into his arms.

  ‘Rupert!’ Pandora squeaked in protest even as her arms moved up about his shoulders. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she gasped as Rupert walked purposefully from the parlour, only to come to an abrupt halt when they discovered Bentley standing guard outside in the hallway.

  Rupert paused to address the older man with grave sincerity. ‘I believe I owe you an apology for my behaviour just now, and my sincere gratitude for your bravery earlier in regard to her Grace’s welfare, as well as your astuteness of mind in drawing this incident to the attention of the authorities.’

  ‘Her Grace has become as dear to me as either of my own two granddaughters,’ the butler answered stiffly. ‘As she is to all of us here who have been lucky enough to find employment in her household.’

  Rupert nodded as he remembered how Pandora’s kindness had resulted in her hiring servants who might otherwise not have found employment—a kindness which had most certainly been to her benefit tonight. ‘Her Grace will return in the next few days in order to close up this house, after which you may be assured that there will be employment for all of you here in one of the Duke of Stratton’s households.’

  ‘Rupert—’

  ‘Yes, Pandora?’ He did not so much as spare her a glance as he turned towards the staircase.

  She looked up into his grim countenance, not at all sure what he had meant by that last remark. ‘If, as you said, I am to return in a few days, then I must be going somewhere else.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Home, of course.’

  ‘I—’ She blinked. ‘But I am already home.’

  ‘My home,’ Rupert stated. ‘It is my own home to which I am taking you, Pandora.’

  She stared up at him in disbelief, sure that Rupert couldn’t possibly intend removing her from this house wearing only her satin and lace—and scorched—nightclothes!

  Chapter Ten

  ‘It is not that I am ungrateful, Rupert—’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Of course I’m not.’

  ‘You don’t sound grateful, Pandora.’

  ‘It is only—I wish you might at least have allowed me the time to dress before carrying me from my home. Or for Henley to pack a bag so that I might dress once I arrived here.’

  ‘It is time for bed, Pandora, a time for undressing, not dressing. Nor,’ Rupert continued hardily, ‘am I in any mood to deal with that ninnyhead of a maid tonight.’

  ‘She means well.’

  ‘I am sure that Attila the Hun believed himself to be in the right of it, too!’

  ‘Now you are being unkind—’

  ‘A trait for which Stratton is known far and wide, I do assure you,’ a third voice cut in with scathing hauteur, bringing an abrupt end to the conversation that had been taking place between Pandora and Rupert since he had carried her out of her home and deposited her in his carriage some minutes earlier, before instructing his driver to depart for Stratton House. ‘Good God, how dare you bring one of your whores into my home, Devil?’ The woman’s voice now rose accusingly.

  ‘I believe you will find that it is my home, madam, and I advise you not to forget it,’ Rupert bit out coldly as he turned with Pandora still held firmly in his arms. ‘Nor will I tolerate your behaviour in calling the lady in my arms by such a foul name!’

  ‘I will do exactly as I— Is that—can that possibly be the Maybury woman?’ Patricia demanded in obvious disbelief.

  Pandora had stilled in Rupert’s arms the moment the other woman first spoke, relieved anew at having his evening cloak wrapped about her own scorched robes. She looked up warily at him now. She could clearly feel the leashed tension in his body as, having once again scooped her up into his arms once they left the carriage, he now held her imprisoned against his muscled chest.

  A shiver run down the length of her spine as she found herself unable to look away from Rupert’s furious face; his eyes had turned a hard, icy grey as he scowled at his stepmother, cheekbones sharp as blades against the tautness of his flesh, his mouth a thin uncompromising line, the squareness of his jaw rigidly clenched.

  He and Pandora might have disagreed all the way here from Highbury House, concerning Pandora’s reluctance to go to Stratton House with him, but never once during that time had Rupert looked at her with the intense and deliberate dislike with which he now so obviously viewed Patricia Stirling.

  A woman whose existence Pandora had completely forgotten about until now, as well as the fact that she was already in residence in Rupert’s home!

  ‘It is indeed Pandora Maybury, the Duchess of Wyndwood,’ he rasped. ‘The lady whom I hope will very soon consent to become my own Duchess of Stratton.’

  ‘I believe you will find that I am the Duchess of Stratton!’

  ‘Not for much longer,’ Rupert said with grim satisfaction.

  The outraged screech that split the air following this announcement was enough to shatter the eardrums and caused Pandora to finally look up to the top of the wide, curved staircase to where the other woman stood. Tall, her ebony curls arranged artfully about the patrician beauty of her flushed and angry face, the silk robe the Dowager Duchess wore over her night rail a perfect match, Pandora noted distractedly, for the colour of Rupert’s icy-grey eyes. Could that be deliberate?

  ‘Cease that disgusting noise immediately, woman!’ Rupert thundered. ‘Better still would be to remove yourself and your hysterics from my sight and hearing completely!’

  Patricia drew in an angry breath. ‘How dare you speak to me in that tone?’

  ‘As I am sure you are all too well aware, madam, I will speak to you in any way I choose,’ he continued icily as he walked up the staircase with Pandora, sparing only a scathing glance at the other woman before striding off down one of the hallways.

  ‘You will not dare to sleep with that woman whilst I am in this house!’

  ‘I assure you, if I took Pandora to my bed then it would not be with any intention of sleeping.’ Rupert didn’t even hesitate in his stride as he coldly answered the woman who had once been his lover. A woman he now despised more completely than he would ever have believed it possible to despise anyone or anything. ‘And, as your sensibilities appear to be so outraged by Pandora’s very presence, I am sure that both she and I would be thankful if you were to vacate these premises as soon as is possible,’ he added.

  ‘You are only doing this to spite me, and I refuse to be—’

  ‘And you dare to accuse me of arrogance?’ Rupert gave a scornful laugh as he bent to open a door halfway down the hallway. ‘What you do or don’t refuse to do is of absolutely no interest to either Pandora or myself,’ he informed her.

  ‘That is surely a little difficult to know with certainty considering your little mouse has not spoken a word since becoming aware of my presence,’ Patricia jeered.

  Pandora bristled, both at being called a ‘little mouse’ and the condescension in the other woman’s tone. She had no more been born a Duchess than Patricia had, but she’d had just as many years to become one. ‘My present silence has nothing to do with your own presence and everything to do with the fact that it’s almost two o’clock in the morning and I’m tired and anxious for bed,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘And on that note w
e will both wish you a good night, madam,’ Rupert spoke with satisfaction before stepping into the room and kicking the door closed behind him, a candle already alight upon the bedside table to illuminate the bedchamber.

  A very masculine bedchamber, Pandora noted as she looked about them: a large mahogany four-poster bed surrounded by gold curtains, a matching tall and imposing wardrobe, and another tall mahogany six-drawer dresser, with several beautiful paintings of horses upon the walls, the curtains at the windows matching those on the bed, an Aubusson carpet of deep and rich gold on the floor. It was without doubt a gentleman’s bedchamber. Rupert’s own room, perhaps?

  Pandora’s cheeks were still slightly flushed from the deliberate way Rupert had implied to Patricia that the two of them were about to become lovers. ‘I wasn’t referring to your bed when I said I was tired and ready for bed!’

  ‘“Anxious for bed” was the way you described it, I believe?’ he drawled teasingly as he placed her gently down upon the gold cover on the bed before straightening.

  ‘I meant my own bed,’ Pandora corrected crossly as she sat up to pull his evening cloak more securely about her. ‘Which this most decidedly is not!’

  ‘Your own bed and bedchamber are unfit for use,’ Rupert reminded her as he shrugged out of his soot- and smoke-soiled jacket before discarding it on a chair.

  ‘And, despite what you said to the contrary only moments ago, this is your own bedchamber.’ She shook her head. ‘I really feel it would have been better for all concerned if you had taken me to either Sophia’s or Genevieve’s home.’

  ‘Would you really have wanted to put either of those two ladies in the same danger as you appear to be?’

  Pandora’s cheeks were now as white as snow. ‘You are also of the opinion that this evening’s fire was set deliberately?’

  Rupert’s jaw tightened. ‘I believe Bentley was perfectly correct in bringing tonight’s events to the attention of the authorities. No doubt you would have preferred he had not, just as you have instructed him in the past in regard to those other occasions upon which your home was broken into?’ He raised disapproving brows.