Finally, a gaunt old man quavered, “Ye ain’t got a shooter then?”
Devlin shook his head gravely. “No, I ain’t—er—do not have a shooter and I am not a highwayman, as you can see.”
The passengers muttered together. The man was not offering violence and his manner of speech and fine clothes indicated he was a gentleman.
Devlin’s eyes rested upon Fenella and his expression changed. Fenella stared back at him, her eyes wide and frightened. However, a touch of defiance lurked in those violet depths. She squared her shoulders, determined not to surrender without a fight.
“Aha!” he exclaimed in a brisk tone. “There is the young lady I seek. Come along, Miss Preston.” He stepped back to make room for Fenella to exit the coach. However, Fenella did not move.
The farmer’s wife rose up as protectively as a mother hen over her chick. Her head filled with thoughts of the dissolute, uncaring men who would seek to ravish the lovely young female next to her, she bristled in anger.
“Whatcher want wi’ ’er? Yer got no rights to demand as she must coom wi’ ye, she bein’ but a defenceless gel.” She laid a shielding hand on Fenella’s arm.
“You are absolutely correct, madam.” Devlin repaid this unintelligible tirade with a dignified inclination of his head. “But this is not just any young lady. Until this morning, she has been in the employ of my mother.”
Fenella felt as if she was about to faint. Devlin’s cultured tones, manner of speech and address all indicated he was a member of the Ton. These country folk would be more likely to believe him than her. She clutched her shawl around her shoulders and braced herself.
At the word “employ” all eyes swivelled to Fenella.
“Is this true?” asked a thin woman who looked like a frightened rabbit.
“Yes, it is—I mean was!” Fenella burst out. “I have left because I have tendered my resignation, so I no longer work for his mother.”
Devlin was walking Lucifer around and he cocked his head as he heard her words.
“Well,” squeaked the octogenarian in triumphant tones, “it looks like ’er doan work no more fer yer Ma, Sir, so can we git on our way?” There was a general mumbling of agreement with the old man.
“I am afraid not,” Devlin replied with a shade of menace in his voice. “I insist she return and take proper leave of my mother.”
“An’ ’oos yer mother then?” demanded the farmer’s wife, launching into another incoherent tirade. “An’ oo’re you by the way ter jes’ stop the coach wi’out so much as a by yer leave?”
The remaining passengers all nodded and made oo-aye sounds, grumbling and muttering. Resentment simmered. Fenella closed her eyes, wishing this were all just a bad dream.
“I,” said Devlin, poking his head into the coach again, “am the Duke of Wyndlesham, and my mother is the Dowager Duchess.”
This pronouncement had the desired effect. The passengers sat up in unison and regarded Devlin with new respect.
“A Dook, hey?” mumbled the old man. “That’s diff’ren’.” He shook his head solemnly as he regarded Fenella with rheumy eyes. “Ye’d better go back and sort it out, lassie.”
“But I don’t wish to return!” Fenella cried out. It was an anguished cry that struck all her companions as the truth.
“She doan wan’ ter go and ye canna force her, an’ that’s that,” announced the farmer’s wife, folding her arms.
Devlin gave an exaggerated sigh. “I did not wish to reveal the sinister circumstances of my quest here today, but you give me no option, Miss Preston.”
He rolled his eyes heavenward. Fenella bit her lip. Sinister? What was he going to say? The passengers were riveted once more and everyone looked at Devlin with expectant eyes.
“No doubt, this young lady appears to you as a blameless female of respectable parentage.”
All heads nodded. Fenella looked indeed to be a charming young woman of modest pecuniary circumstances, but certainly of decent background.
“Alas, she is no such paragon of virtue, since her outward appearance of modesty and beauty hides a heart blacker than soot, and an evil intent that would horrify you all.”
Some of Devlin’s rhetoric passed over their heads because there were several exchanges of bewildered glances, but the majority understood.
“What has she done?” piped up the thin lady in a trembling treble.
“She has stolen precious family jewels!” thundered Devlin, pointing an accusing finger at Fenella. “Heirlooms!”
The audience murmured, aghast at the crime, and every eye rested on Fenella who was red and shaking.
“See how guilty she is,” mourned Devlin. He shook his head and tutted as if commenting on the moral turpitude of the fairer sex in general.
“You are a liar!” The words exploded from Fenella’s lips. She looked around desperately at her travelling companions. “He’s a liar. I have taken no such things.”
“’E’s a Dook!” warbled the old man, as if Devlin’s social status somehow conferred upon him a moral elevation unknown to lesser beings.
Fenella was enraged. “Just because he is a Duke you believe him and not me. I am a defenceless female.” There were a few nods in her favour at this remark.
She glared at Devlin. “What have I stolen?”
“Do you or do you not have about your person or concealed in your baggage one diamond and pearl ring, one diamond and pearl bracelet, and one pair of diamond and pearl earrings?”
A collective gasp of horror swept through the coach—these were gems indeed.
“Yes, I have,” said Fenella. “But they are mine. They belonged to my mother.”
In a flash, she knew he had neatly trapped her. Of course, she had her mother’s jewels with her. However, any ordinary individual, looking at her for the first time, would not belief she owned such jewels. Although neatly turned out in her tobacco-brown travelling costume, Fenella could not pass for a member of the Ton.
“I told you so,” Devlin announced in triumph.
“But they’re ’er mother’s!” protested the farmer’s wife.
Devlin gave a sorrowful smile and tapped his head significantly. “My mother has been very good to her and I think in this young lady’s confused state, she has come to believe the jewels are her own.”
“Watcher goin’ ter do now wi ’er?” asked the old man, voicing his anxiety at the predicament in store for Fenella. The magistrate…a jail sentence…?
“We simply want to clear up any misunderstanding,” Devlin said. “She will return the jewels and I will ensure that her family—her aunt, I believe—can collect her and return her safe.”
Since Fenella had already volunteered the information about an aunt, the passengers were relieved.
“’Ow do we know ye ain’t goin’ to spirit ’er away and have yer wicked way wi’ ’er?” demanded the farmer’s wife, seeing her chick’s safety slipping out of her hands.
Devlin beckoned the damsel to peer out the window where Finch was waiting patiently with the gig. He gave a small salute when he saw several pairs of eyes staring at him.
“Now, madam, I would hardly bring my groom along with the gig if…er…ravishment were my intention.”
The farmer’s wife sat back slightly mollified. She nodded to herself, then patted Fenella’s shoulder.
“Wha’ever ye’ve done, lassie, best go along wi’ the Dook ’n sort it out. It’s prob’ly a misunderstandin’ and yer can explain the whole story to the lady.”
The other passengers nodded and Fenella sensed an air of restlessness. Time had passed and the coach was now delayed by a good twenty minutes. She climbed out the coach and the guard found her luggage, setting it down next to her. Seconds later the vehicle lumbered off down the road and she was alone in the middle of the dirty track, staring at the Duke of Wyndlesham.
Fenella proudly tilted her chin. “I fancy you have won, Sir. I am in your hands. You have tricked those people into believing I am a common thief
. Now you have me here, what do you want?”
Devlin walked up to her. He gazed into her eyes.
“I have not won, Miss Preston. I have lost. I am lost. Hopelessly, irrevocably and for eternity.”
A puzzled frown crossed Fenella’s brow. “I don’t understand you. What have you lost?” Her voice was cold. Why was he toying with her in this way?
Devlin took her hand. “I have lost my heart, my dear Miss Preston. And see what a desperate man I have become, stooping so low as to lie and trick in order to get you to stand here in front of me.”
Fenella felt suddenly giddy, as if she had been struck a blow. “I …don’t understand.”
“I am sure you do not,” Devlin replied, grasping her other hand. “I have been a churlish boor, always criticizing you, always seeking to trip you up, seemingly always out to seduce you, and then having the temerity to accuse you unjustly of an affair with another man.”
Fenella stared at him as if he had gone mad.
“Yes,” she said slowly. “You have done all that to me. However, I’m afraid I have no idea why you are telling me this.”
She made a small move to pull her hands out of his grasp but he only clasped them tighter, raising her hands to his chest.
“I love you, Fenella!” Devlin’s voice was hoarse. “I never knew what love was before, and you must understand how this coloured my thoughts and actions. I thought all women were like Penelope Vane …cold, heartless and self-seeking, looking only for a rich, titled husband. When you came along, I thought you were just a clever young female, pretending to be this sweet, wonderful woman. I could not believe you were exactly what you appeared to be.”
Fenella stared at Devlin. Had she heard him correctly? She pulled her hands away.
“No!” she burst out. “You cannot love me. You have always insinuated how disparate our social levels are and how you cannot love anyone not of your social class. If it is carte blanche you are offering me, Your Grace, then I can only say you have insulted me to the core.”
Devlin fell on his knees in the dust. The interested passengers, who chanced to peer out the window just before the coach rolled around the bend, were flabbergasted.
However, Devlin and Fenella were oblivious to any audience, including the fact that Finch had loaded Fenella’s bags onto the gig and tactfully vanished.
“Carte blanche?” His voice depicted the revulsion he felt at such an idea. “Fenella my dearest, how long is it going to take for you to understand that I love you and I am offering you marriage?”
Fenella stared at him. “But you cannot,” she burst out, a sob gathering perilously close in her throat. “I am a nobody.”
Devlin rose to his feet, oblivious of the dust that now coated his riding breeches and elegant Hessians. “I think you will be astonished to discover an emissary of your grandfather ensconced at Deverell House.”
Fenella’s mouth fell open; she was momentarily speechless.
“My grandfather?”
Devlin nodded. “I am ashamed to admit I was so haughty as to place an overwhelming importance on social status, without having enough wisdom to judge a person on their integrity. I discovered that I loved you and then was told, by this gentleman, that your grandfather is a Spanish nobleman, making you very much my social equal.”
Her face was an impenetrable mask. “There are other reasons. I have a family past, which nothing can eradicate. My father …” Her voice broke into a sob.
Devlin caught her in his arms. “I know everything. Do not question me as to how I know, but suffice to say that I do know, and I do not care.”
She looked up at him, her huge eyes drowned in tears.
“You must care,” she whispered. “People will find out; they will talk.”
“The only thing people will know about is your father’s unblemished career and brilliant military exploits,” he declared.
Fenella shook her head and turned her face away.
“My darling,” he cried despairingly. “I have done it all wrong from the start. I have offended and insulted you, and now I have what seems to be the temerity to want you in my life only because you are socially acceptable.”
She nodded and struggled to extricate herself from his strong embrace. He closed his arms even tighter and with one hand tilted her chin up.
His sapphire eyes blazed a fire of love of which she had only ever dreamed. His voice rang in her ears, in a strong and resolute tone.
“I love you my dearest, darling, fiery, feisty half-Spanish tigress.”
He placed his mouth on hers and Fenella felt as if he had touched her soul in an angel’s kiss. Fiery thrills chased up and down her body as he took firm possession of her mouth. His tongue slid between her lips, the smooth sensation sending ripples down her spine, giddy tremors threatening to overtake her whole body. Her knees buckled under the power of his kiss but his strong arms held her tight. Crushed against his chest, she felt his arousal awakening; his pulsating desire throbbed against her groin. His hands slid down to grasp her buttocks and crush her even harder against him.
Then his one hand snaked upward and fumbled with the ribbons under her chin. “I cannot kiss you with this horrible bonnet in the way. May I get rid of it?”
She murmured her assent. Seconds later, the offending item of headwear was lying in the dust as the Sixteenth Duke of Wyndlesham took his time thoroughly kissing his bride-to-be.
“Devlin,” she gasped, “where is Finch?”
He raised his head and looked around. “I think my errant groom has absented himself in order to win back my approval.”
He noticed her mischievous expression.
“I suppose the staff told you where I had gone.”
With a rueful smile, he shook his head. “I am afraid you have captivated my entire household, including my mother, and I find to my intense displeasure that they have all transferred their allegiance to you. I had to work out your escape route for myself. However, Finch was kind enough to lead me in the right direction.”
“Do you love me?” she asked solemnly.
His powerful kiss silenced her and told her what she needed to know.
She broke away from his embrace.
“Now what?” he growled.
“Lady Vane! You are engaged to her.”
Devlin’s eyes twinkled as he assumed an expression of deep sorrow. “Alas, no longer.” He laughed at her bewildered expression. “We have Sir Marcus to thank for that.”
Fenella looked even more astounded as he explained the plot.
“When I returned to the inn at his insistence, he made a clean breast of everything and accepted responsibility for his part in the scheme, but clearly Lady Vane was behind it all. I confronted her with the information and threatened her with exposure.” Devlin shrugged. “In the face of such compelling evidence she was forced to…er…leave me disappointed in love.” He grinned. “She also threw the ring into the fishpond.”
Fenella gasped. “Devlin, that precious ring!”
Devlin caught her to him. “I believe one of our footmen is an excellent swimmer and will rescue it without any trouble at all. However, I can bestow a dozen rings upon you. Right now there is only one thing I want to give you right now.”
Fenella blushed bright red as her own desires mounted.
“I cannot wait for our wedding night,” he murmured, as his one hand slid toward her breasts. “I want you; I need you; I long to touch and taste you, to bring you the pleasure you desire. You are my goddess of love.”
Fenella thrilled as she heard these words. Gone were the feelings of doubt; her arousal was natural; her passionate response was what he wanted, and what she wanted too.
“The poets were right,” she murmured, before she hungrily returned his ardent kisses.
“What poets?”
“Never mind, just kiss me.”
The Duke of Wyndlesham readily obliged his future Duchess’ demands.
Acknowledgements
Althou
gh The Dangerous Duke is my first Regency Romance, I have been steeped in Regency writers since I was a teenager. From Jane Austen to Georgette Heyer, I read 'em all!
I was delighted when my 'fun project,' The Dangerous Duke, was picked up Aurora Regency, an imprint of Aspen Mountain Press. I am honoured to share the adventures of my heroes and heroines with you.
My particular thanks go to my editor Celina Summers for her constant encouragement and excellent editing, and to my mom for being my biggest fan.
Table of Contents
The Dangerous Duke
The Dangerous Duke, Copyright ©
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Acknowledgements
The Dangerous Duke Page 25
