The Secret Duke

by Jo Beverley

  “Where is your home now?” he asked.

  Bella had to think quickly about how much to tell him, for she didn’t want him to know about Bellona or Lady Fowler. His opinion of her mattered too much. But she had to admit to some home.

  “London,” she said. “Soho.”

  “Alone?” he asked, brows raised.

  “With an elderly relative. Her offer of a home allowed me to escape.”

  “She allows you great freedom.”

  What could she say but, “Yes.”

  “Then we should travel to London together. I have business there, as it happens, and we can discuss matters further en route.”

  Business with your half brother, the duke? That connection still worried Bella, but His Grace the Duke of Ithorne could not magically discover that his half brother was consorting with a woman who’d invaded his revels, and who was an associate of Lady Fowler.

  “We won’t be able to discuss such matters in front of other passengers,” she objected.

  “We’ll travel by post.”

  He said it so calmly, as if it were not outrageous at all. Not long ago, travel with a strange man in a private carriage would have seemed impossibly scandalous. Now, with him, it was irresistible.

  With this colleague, this conspirator.

  This friend.

  This man who might be and become more—especially in a private carriage.

  “Very well,” Bella said, as calmly as she was able. “An early start?”

  “Before dawn, if you’re willing.”

  “Of course. As this is my business, Captain Rose, you must allow me to pay for the chaise.” It would stretch her income to the full.

  “Nonsense. I would be traveling to London anyway.”

  Relieved, Bella graciously acceded, and they rose to make their sedate way back to the Compass.

  Inside, however, Bella was all nerves and excitement.

  This morning her driving purpose had been to get revenge on Augustus and prevent him from ever hurting others. She still wanted that, but now she felt on the road to something much more alluring.

  Discovering more about this intriguingly changeable man.

  Thorn escorted Bella Barstowe to her room at the Compass, aware of danger, and that it was irresistible. The danger presented by an intriguing and desirable woman.

  Kelano of the Pleiades, but Kelano the Amazon too, willing to fight for justice. Kelano the harpy, the agent of his destruction? Danger did add savor to life, but he couldn’t imagine Bella in that guise.

  Tempting her to travel with him was setting the stage for disaster, however. She’d scoffed at the idea of wanting to be compromised into marrying a sea captain, but if she discovered he was a duke she might see things differently. The astonishing thing was, that didn’t deter him. After avoiding traps all his adult life, he seemed now willing to shrug at one.

  There was something between them. Something he’d experienced only rarely, and never with a young, single woman. She felt it too. He could tell.

  It had been there at the revels, and again at the Goat, even though she’d been so wary then. It had been the reason she’d fled, and the reason he’d returned, against his better judgment, the next day.

  The reason he’d felt sharp disappointment when she hadn’t come to the tryst.

  The reason he was going to travel with her tomorrow and, with or without her, destroy her brother.

  He wished he could sweep her suffering away, and restore to her all that she’d lost, but that was impossible, even for the Duke of Ithorne. As Duke of Ithorne, however, he had a thousand ways to destroy her brother without involving her at all.

  His rational side knew that would be best. He should return her to her home in London and compel her to stay there in safety. She deserved to be part of it, though, to witness justice done, and he’d give her that, at least.

  Chapter 15

  They set out before dawn by chaise to London, as planned. When Bella saw four horses pulling the light post chaise, she was fervently glad she’d allowed him to pay for it all. Sea captains must be wealthier than she’d thought.

  In the night her thoughts had turned to marriage.

  Once, not long ago, she’d been sure it was folly for a woman to marry if she had the means to stay single, but that certainty had proved a brittle shell, easily cracked—by happy lovers, and by a man who could just possibly be a good husband.

  He was handsome, but that weighed little. More important, he was kind, considerate, and could laugh with his aunt, an innkeeper. Physically, he stirred her, and in the night she’d remembered that kiss from long ago, spinning into dreams and fancies that combined goatherd, footman, and dashing, heroic Captain Rose, all wrapped up as an ideal husband.

  And now it appeared he was also rich.

  Even so, such a marriage would once have been low for Bella Barstowe, but that Bella might as well be dead. She was never going to marry a country gentleman, and certainly not achieve her youthful dream of wedding a lord with a grand estate and a house in Town. She was never even going to be accepted back into any version of the society into which she’d been born.

  So why not become Mistress Rose?

  Her betraying nighttime mind had spun out images of life in one of the Dover cottages, of his kind and loving arms, and of children. Of neighbors and respect. Of shopping and cooking . . .

  Even a nighttime vision had stuttered there, for she didn’t know how to cook. Then she’d realized that Peg might want to come with her, and that she could find replacements for Annie and Kitty.

  Servants meant she’d had to adjust her neat cottage to something a little larger. Captain Rose was a captain, after all, and half brother to a duke. The duke might visit. She’d added a modest drawing room and dining room and furnished all with a degree of elegance. That had required a footman, but that had toppled her into memory of the Goat, and a bed, and into very different imaginings that had made her blush when they’d met this morning.

  She’d heard him casually explaining to the innkeeper that he’d brought word to Miss Barstowe requiring her to return to London and that he was offering her transportation. She hadn’t even thought of how it would look here, but if there was any possibility of her dreams becoming true, that was important. She’d made sure to look both dull and distant.

  Now they were traveling at speed, and Bella was discovering that a chaise was very small when shared with a large man, especially one whose presence seemed particularly powerful.

  She took refuge in rational thought. She had had some rational thoughts in the night, and now she raised a problem.

  “I’m nervous about being recognized near my home. I’m still a scandal there. Even the people who are kindly disposed to me still think I ran off with a man, so it would be disastrous to be found out there with you.”

  He nodded. “In addition, any word of you in the area might alert your brother and make him behave cautiously. It really would be wiser if you remained in London and left this to me.”

  He was right, but Bella absolutely didn’t want that.

  “I think I can disguise myself,” she told him, not mentioning her experience at it. “A wig and some face paint will do, as we don’t venture too close to Carscourt. I can arrange the disguise overnight at my home in London.”

  Kelano’s dark wig. A light touch with Bellona’s sallow face.

  He frowned slightly, and she thought he might try to insist that she stay behind, but then he shrugged. “As you will.”

  “What of you, sir? Your dress will be very remarkable in Oxfordshire.”

  He smiled down at his black frock coat. “I like to be remarked upon, but to be less so I need only dress in tedious modern style.”

  “And remove the skull from your ear?” Bella suggested, hearing and liking her own teasing tone.

  “Must I?” he complained, eyes twinkling.

  “I fear so.” He reached up and unhooked it, and then offered it to her. “I give you charge of it.�
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  Bella took it, saying, “A skull . . .” and thinking, If only you gave me charge of your heart. Even so, she closed her hand over it, resolved to keep it safe.

  “Why do you wear it?” she asked. “It makes you seem a pirate.”

  “Because it amuses me. And because sometimes it’s useful to be remarkable.”

  “As at the Black Rat,” she remembered.

  “Indeed. Now, if you truly wish to come to Oxfordshire with me, we have another problem. We will be an unusual couple, and we don’t want to make people speculate about us.”

  Bella looked a question.

  “We look nothing alike, so claiming to be brother and sister would be doubted, but we’re too close in age for any other innocent explanation.” After a moment, he added, “The only solution that occurs to me is that we pretend to be married.”

  Bella almost jumped in her seat. “Absolutely not!”

  It would sound like outrage, but it drove too close to her dreams.

  “No impropriety, I assure you, but how else are we to present ourselves?”

  He was right, and Bella was calming down, but it still felt too dangerous in so many ways. “Half brother and sister,” she suggested.

  He raised a brow and she grimaced. She knew country ways. Even though it was possible, it wouldn’t be believed.

  “I’m sorry if the idea distresses you, but if you want to come with me, I see no choice. Any peculiarity will draw attention, which makes it more likely that you will be identified. And if I may be blunt, you say yourself that you’ve no reputation to lose.”

  Bella flinched, but it was true. She had no reputation left.

  Which meant she was suited to be no man’s wife.

  All her pretty dreams faded away. She fought not to show any trace of her pain and said, “Very well,” with a shrug. It made her all the more determined to ruin Augustus as he had ruined her.

  He inclined his head. “Then may I call you Bella?”

  It was a crumb, but she took it. “I suppose that would be appropriate. . . . ” But then she said, “No, you can’t. Using my real name anywhere near Carscourt might trigger recognition.”

  “So it might. Sharp wits, indeed,” he approved. Another crumb. “How shall I address you then?”

  “Conventionally. ‘Wife,’ or ‘Mistress Rose.’ ”

  How painful this pretense was going to be, but she would choose it over the alternative—saying farewell to him in London and probably never being alone with him again.

  “If we’re to be so conventional, you should be a prim young wife.” He lazily assessed her. “Your clothes fit that role, but your liveliness doesn’t. Perhaps spectacles.” Bella had started again, for spectacles were part of Bellona. “With plain glass, of course,” he explained.

  She had to say, “Where would I find such things?”

  “I’ll procure some for you. And a ring, of course.”

  Worse and worse. Bella rubbed the third finger of her left hand. “That feels wrong.”

  “All in a good cause,” he said, so casually she could have hit him.

  “Travel gives me a headache,” she lied. “May we talk later?”

  He agreed, of course, which left Bella at peace with her misery. She turned toward the window and tried to pretend he wasn’t there.

  She had to come out of her megrims, of course, so she allowed that a pause for tea while the horses were changed had revived her. Put simply, she had a gift—stolen time with this man. She would make the most of it, which meant she wanted to find out more about him.

  Once they were under way again, she asked, “So what is your business in London, sir? To do with a ship?”

  “With cargo. It will take little time.”

  “And your ship? The Black Swan? It doesn’t need you?”

  “She—ships are always female—is being careened. Having her bottom scraped,” he added with twitching lips.

  Bella managed not to react, but she wanted to giggle. Instead, she drew him out about ships and the sea.

  Sometime later she found she was talking about herself, but safely, about her area of Oxfordshire. About the geography, agriculture, and industry. She was ashamed of her ignorance and had to confess to being a poor student.

  “Being more interested in sneaking out to meet young men on the far reaches of the estate,” he said.

  “But not until I was at least fifteen, I assure you, sir. Before that I merely daydreamed my way through my lessons.”

  “Dreaming of meeting young men on the far reaches of the estate.”

  “No. I dreamed of meeting young men at parties, balls, and assemblies. In London, even. At court.” She smiled at her youthful folly. “And being adored by all, of course.”

  “How many of your dreams came true?” Thorn asked, trying not to startle her out of honest reminiscences. He wanted to know all about Bella Barstowe.

  “Some did,” she said. “I began to attend local assemblies at sixteen, and went to London in the winter of 1760.”

  “When George the Second was still alive?”

  “Yes. I was presented to him. Very abrupt, but I think he teased me. I wasn’t sure, because his German accent was so strong. I gather our new king has no accent at all.”

  “Having been born and raised in England.”

  She smiled at him. “Strange for that to be strange.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Perhaps we should allow no monarch on the throne not born here.”

  “An astonishing and possibly treasonous notion!”

  “Isn’t it?” she tossed at him, mischievously repeating his phrase.

  It was as if she blossomed before his eyes, not from a bud, but from a thistle into a flower. Not a rose. Something bolder. Perhaps a poppy. Vivid red and dancing in the breeze. That should be her destiny, not whatever drab existence she made do with now.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” she demanded.

  “I was revising England’s history under your new rules.” He risked a diversion to what interested him. “Have you ever attended a masquerade?”

  She blushed again. Very prettily. “Why ask that?”

  “Mere curiosity.”

  “Then yes, I have, occasionally.”

  “Do you enjoy them?”

  She was wary of the direction of his questions. Interesting.

  But she answered, “Yes.”

  “What was your favorite costume?”

  “What was yours?” she countered.

  He thought of the goatherd’s homespun, but said, “A pirate. And you?”

  “A medieval queen.”

  “Weren’t you young for the part?”

  “Everyone is young for a while, even queens.”

  “True. Many a princess has been married into queendom at a young age. And to a foreign country.”

  “Another example of the injustices visited on women,” she pointed out.

  “ ’Struth, are you truly of that stamp?”

  “Don’t you think I have reason?”

  He remembered her story. “Yes, yes, you do. Let’s return to our plans. Who are the notable people in the eastern part of Oxfordshire?”

  Thorn listened, but he was distracted by visions of Bella Barstowe at sixteen, delighting in parties, assemblies, and balls. Dressed as a young queen at a masquerade. Her figure, he remembered, had ripened young. That had been her problem in the Black Rat, that and her refusal to be cowed.

  She would have been bold at sixteen, but not very foolish. A girl with a mind and sharp wits, relishing the game but, as she’d said, knowing the limits. She’d probably already had suitors and been on the road to a desirable husband and a happy life.

  Until her brother stole that from her.

  Surely there was some way to return her to that road. She was still young, and still pretty, but chained by a shredded reputation. Her revenge wouldn’t restore it. . . .

  Unless her brother could be compelled to tell the truth.

&nb
sp; He wouldn’t suggest that to her yet. He didn’t want to raise her hopes. But restoring her to her rightful station was now his prime purpose in this enterprise.

  Of course, he could also always raise her above her station. He could make her a duchess.

  Perhaps he twitched, for she looked a question at him. What had she been talking about? Local hunting? He was saved by the coach turning in for a change of horses. He leapt down to speak to the postilions.

  What a ridiculous idea. Bella would have no more idea of how to be a duchess than would a fledgling chicken.

  Bella watched him leave, dismayed. What had she said?

  Something about her parents. That they weren’t affectionate, but that she and her sisters and brother had seen little of them.

  Had that disgusted him because matters were arranged differently in simpler households? Her throat ached at more evidence of the social gulf between them. She didn’t mind it, but perhaps she was too formed by her own life to be a sea captain’s wife.

  When he returned and the coach set off again, she remained silent, but he said, “You were speaking of your childhood, I think. Were there servants who took gentle care of you?”

  She wished she could tell him all about Peg, but that would lead to other matters, so she mentioned her briefly along with others and then asked, “Were your parents loving?”

  Immediately, she winced. He’d been born the bastard son of the duke, and at some point sent to live far away because he and the duke’s legitimate son looked too much alike. No wonder he said, “No,” rather shortly. Perhaps that was also why he seemed cautious about what he said next.

  He talked of childhood games and then turned the conversation back to her. “I feel certain you were drawn to your parents’ attention now and then by naughtiness.”

  Bella had to chuckle. “Painfully so, but I learned to keep to the safer side of their tolerance, or perhaps they simply wearied of me. My older sisters behaved exactly as they should.”

  That led to talk about Athena in Maidstone, and then to memories of the Black Rat, and every word, every connection, drew her deeper into emotions that could only lead to pain.