If I Were a Duke

by Eva Devon

  “Very.” He hesitated slightly, feeling off foot. Would he always feel a wave of uncertainty with Eleanor? If he did, he had to let it go. For what life would that be? He pulled her to him tightly, loving the feel of her soft skin against his. “Are you?”

  She tilted her head back, eyeing him contemplatively. “I do believe I am most content.”

  “Then I must endeavor to elevate your contentment to ecstasy.”

  With that, he dove beneath the covers, prepared to devour her then and there.

  “Tony!” she exclaimed again, but a note of pleasure filled her voice.

  Just as he was about to set to his task, there was a soft knock.

  He groaned and stood. Pulling the linen sheet about his waist, he headed to the door and opened it.

  A maid stood before him and she let out a small sound of astonishment before she bobbed a quick curtsy. “Your Grace?”

  “Breakfast for my duchess and myself,” he declared.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” she peeped, then hurried down the hall.

  Laughing and feeling all was completely well with the world, he turned back to his wife.

  “You are a terror, Tony,” she said, though she appeared to enjoy his behavior.

  “I confess it,” he agreed, allowing the linen to drop back to the floor. “But I feel as if I could conquer the world today.”

  “Then you should.” She rested back on the pillows, her dark hair spilling about her. “Will you go to parliament and resolve the ills of the world?”

  He crossed to her and sat beside her. Taking her hand into his, he replied, “Let us go to Scotland.”

  “Scotland?” she queried, her hand resting in his. “But you’re needed—”

  “I need to be with you,” he said firmly. “What better place than the wildness of the Highlands?”

  He leaned forward and took her mouth in a searing kiss to which she did not resist but rather gave in to.

  “I want to make love to you in the heather,” he said softly.

  “We’ll terrify the sheep,” she teased warningly.

  He laughed, a booming sound. All the cares of the world had gone from his shoulders just now, knowing that he and his wife had found an accord.

  “Fine then, we shan’t terrify the sheep. But I’d like to wander the bens with you. Will you come?”

  She bit her lower lip, again. Her gesture of indecision.

  “Do you not wish me to see our new home together?” he asked. “To make it ours?”

  “Of course I do. You must. You are the Duke of Ayr.”

  “Is aught else amiss then?” He watched her carefully, knowing that nibble of her lips meant some thoughts were dancing through her head which might not prove beneficial.

  “No. Nothing is amiss,” she said before she squeezed his hand. “Let us go tomorrow.”

  He kissed her again, his soul soaring. “Tomorrow.”

  *

  The coach climbed over the dangerous and rough roads of the western Highlands deep into Argyle. The sea roared in the distance, its wild crashing meeting the stones of an ancient earth. The bens, shored up from the water, framing deep, salt sea lochs which stretched like the fingers of the old gods deep inland.

  Eleanor had always felt there was a magic in this land. A deep secret that had never been uncovered and had been lost when the old ways had begun to vanish into the mist.

  “It is so glorious,” Tony said as the coach, at last, began to descend into the valley that held Castle Ayr.

  She marveled at him. So many men of his standing would have seen this land in terms of power, of wealth.

  For deep in the Highlands, there was still the old power which had stood behind the Jacobites. Most had been pushed out in clearances by cruel landlords. But many still fostered the torch of freedom in their breasts. Some of them were lords who kept banners hidden in secret caverns.

  Other men might have counted the timber that still covered a good portion of Ayr land. While much of the Highlands had been cleared of the trees, the great estate still included vast forests which bore trees as old as time. Some might have thought of cattle or rents.

  Not Tony.

  Tony saw the wild beauty of this land. A terrible, fierce beauty which branded one’s soul if one allowed it.

  “I could not agree more,” she said, finding that she approved of her husband more every day.

  That very approval had, in many ways, made the long journey a difficult one. For Tony had insisted on sitting beside her, holding her hand for a good deal of it. She had made the decision to allow it. What else could she do? She smiled at him, held his hand, answered his questions as best she could. But she kept her secrets close to her heart.

  She had not told him about James or the pain of her childhood. She could not bring herself to do it. For if she did, she had the horrible suspicion that she would break apart, never to come back together again. Worse, knowing Tony, his affection for her might grow to something deeper. Something she could not allow.

  “Eleanor, are you unwell?”

  She shook herself and forced a smile to her lips. “I am well. There is much to think about, now that we are returning to the estate.”

  “It is yours now,” he said happily.

  “No,” she countered. “It is yours.”

  “Ours then,” he relented. “But you will have more say now, and I shall defer to your advice.”

  Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away. Castle Ayr had been a strange home to her. She’d never quite been accepted by her uncle, but the servants had done their best to make her feel cared for. As best as they could without raising the duke’s anger.

  She’d done her duty. She had her work, but she’d never been able to make real change.

  Now, because of Tony, she could.

  “We have a great deal to take care of,” she admitted woefully. “I hate to confess that the crofters’ cottages are in a terrible state and many of the villages need an influx of funds.”

  He nodded, serious now. “We shall do all those things and more.”

  “More?” she queried, not quite following.

  “This is a clan, is it not?” he inquired as though it was obvious.

  “Once, yes,” she said warily, wondering what he planned. “But the clan system has been all but eradicated by the English.”

  “Well damnation to that, I say,” Tony replied vehemently. “I’m the Laird of Ayr as well as the duke, and I bloody well will be taking care of my family.”

  His family.

  It shocked her, those words. Would he truly take on such a role? Once, it was what the great lords did, taking care of the people, unifying them, making them feel as if they were a part of something living on the lands of another man.

  As it was now, so many of the people barely sustained a life here and few felt a part of anything anymore. Oh, the villages did their best. But from the stories she’d heard of the times not even a hundred years ago, things had truly descended into disarray.

  Could they change that?

  Looking at her handsome husband, she knew, without any doubt, that if anyone could, it was he.

  “We shall make a good start of it, then,” she said, squeezing his hand which he seemed to quite enjoy.

  “We shall, lass.”

  It was so strange to hear his Irish accent slip into his speech. It gave his voice the feel of a deep river rolling through the land.

  It did something indescribable to her. Something alarming.

  “There!” she called, spotting the shimmering, silver loch.

  He leaned over her and peered out her window.

  “By God, my father did not jest.”

  “What did he say?” she asked.

  “That it was a castle worthy of Camelot.”

  “It is that,” she agreed. “It is a miracle it stands given the wars since Robert the Bruce burned so many of the ancient castles.”

  He nodded. “A military necessity, though regrettable in terms of h
istory. We shall have to do everything we can to preserve this for future generations.”

  She shouldn’t be astonished by the things Tony said anymore, but she was. To think she had once thought him a carefree rake who gave no thought to anything but pleasure. Oh, he liked pleasure, but he was always thinking about the people around him and future generations.

  It had taught her a valuable lesson. It was impossible to judge people based upon their reputations or one’s own personal thoughts about certain choices.

  It was, indeed, possible for a rake to be an excellent man.

  As the coach rolled along the road tucked beside the loch, they trundled over the stone bridge and stopped just before the towering ramparts.

  Eager, her husband opened the door, jumped down then helped her descend.

  Drinking in the salty, peat-tinged air, she felt peace, a deep, glorious peace at being back in the land she loved so well.

  Now, the only thing which had made her life unbearable was gone, replaced by a man who would make the estate great. And who seemed devoted to her own happiness.

  She swallowed. It was terrifying, the way he seemed to care for her. The way he tended to her smallest needs. She had not been cold one moment of the long trip, for he had seen to hot bricks and blankets and wine, as they traveled into the chilling autumn air.

  Now, he grinned and gave an exaggerated shiver. “Feel that? God’s blood, how I love that wind.”

  She laughed.

  Most could not abide a Scottish winter, the wind screaming down from the north with a bite as powerful and fierce as any wolf’s.

  Tony looked as if he could not wait for it.

  “I find it quite pleasing myself.”

  He waggled his brows. “Glad to hear it. We’ll have to go sailing on the loch. And I fancy being tucked under a great blanket with you all winter.”

  She gave a start and then blushed. He said the most shocking yet delicious things. And sailing? On the loch? It did seem with Tony, she would be trying new things almost daily. She relished it.

  They crossed into the bailey. Tony looking about happily, nodding to anyone he came across, asking their names, their positions.

  Most of the servants gaped at him as if he were some crazed fish brought in from the depths of the loch.

  No one was accustomed to a caring lord.

  Suddenly, he turned to her and gave her the most passionate look.

  She half-expected him to ask where her chambers were.

  Instead, he took her hand. “Now, lass, show me your garden.”

  Her garden? Out of all the things he could see, that was what he wished?

  Her heart did the most horrible thing. It leapt in her bosom.

  “We canna,” she protested. “The castle servants will have lined up to meet you. No doubt, they are eagerly waiting to set eyes upon you.”

  He nodded, though there was a hint of resignation to him. “You’re right, of course. I must make a good impression and assure them I have their best interests at heart.” He winked. “And then you’ll show me your garden.”

  With that, he strode a few steps ahead with his hands clasped behind his back, genial and powerful. He was a man in complete and total control without having to say a word.

  It was then she knew that Tony had everyone’s best interests at heart. And there was no one she could admire more.

  Chapter 19

  The small cottage was warm and dry and Tony felt an overwhelming feeling of having come back to a familiar place. Granted, he’d spent most of his childhood in a caravan, but he still recalled the small thatched homes of the Irish people who had allowed him and his mother to shelter on occasion.

  They’d always been full of the scent of peat, a kettle steaming, and porridge boiling over the fire.

  A spinning wheel sat in the corner, a pile of wool in a basket ready to be made into yarn.

  “Your Grace, will you take a chair?”

  He smiled at young Nancy Monroe, and gratefully took the chair by the fire. He had forgotten how low the ceilings could be in such homes, and he’d been stooping the last few moments. He hadn’t minded. Not at all, for he had been absorbed in his wife in her element.

  Eleanor was moving confidently around the small room, sprinkling herbs along the dirt floor and scrubbing surfaces.

  Scrubbing.

  A fine apple glow warmed her cheeks and she hummed as she worked.

  Nancy had chatted away to her, apparently quite at ease with the duchess helping her with the washing up.

  What grand lady would do such a thing? He knew a few who might try it, but even the duchesses that he knew had all been born to privilege.

  Privilege did not apparently prevent Eleanor from rolling up her sleeves.

  “Nancy, I’ve tucked extra eucalyptus leaves into the basket,” Eleanor said as she dried the last dish and brushed her hands along her apron.

  “Thank you,” Nancy said. “I canna tell you how much they have helped the baby. Why, I’ve even breathed a good deal better since.”

  Tony watched the interchange quietly. Then he dared to peek at the little bundle nestled in the cradle near the fire.

  A fine wool blanket covered most of the baby, but her beautiful face rested above the wool, in sweet repose. Her little mouth was half-open and her delicate eyelids fluttered in her dreams.

  His own heart swelled at the sight.

  Then suddenly, the baby blinked, her little face screwed up and, in an instant, was red as she let out a strong cry.

  Nancy jumped, ready to move. But Eleanor swooped in easily, picking the baby up as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  Nancy let out a grateful sigh.

  He thought of his own mother then, raising a child on her own, no one to truly help her through sleepless nights. He ached for how hard it must have been for her, yet he knew how much she had loved him.

  Eleanor bounced the baby easily and let out the happiest coos he’d ever heard.

  He stared at his wife, stunned.

  Was this his queen of ice? No, that reserve which he’d assumed was so much a part of her vanished as she held the baby in her arms.

  Within a moment, the baby laughed. The sound filled the whole cottage with joy.

  He laughed right along with her. “You two are quite friendly.”

  “Fast friends,” Eleanor agreed.

  “She saved my baby’s life,” Nancy said immediately.

  Tony whipped his gaze to Nancy. “Indeed?”

  “I did no such thing,” Eleanor protested gently, still cooing at the baby. “Graine MacBride did that.”

  Nancy tutted then her eyes swelled with tears. “If you hadna sent for her—”

  Eleanor smiled kindly. “I’m so grateful everything was well.”

  Nancy nodded tearfully.

  Tony studied the women and, here in the small cottage, his admiration for his wife grew. She had hidden this part of herself from London. But there was no hiding her kindness and good heart now.

  He knew it in his bones, this was truly Eleanor. A woman at home in a cottage, caring for the people on her land.

  “Would you like to hold her?” Nancy asked.

  Tony swallowed. “I would.”

  Eleanor crossed to him, her simple skirts swinging through the small space. Then, carefully, she bent and tucked the baby in his arms.

  The small bundle felt as if she weighed nothing and he cradled her with great care. He bounced her gently. “Hello, wee lassie.”

  The baby gazed up at him with big, blue eyes, contemplating him.

  She fussed for a moment, unsure of him, but then he began to sing.

  My Bonnie lies over the ocean

  My Bonnie lies over the sea

  My Bonnie lies over the ocean

  Oh bring back my Bonnie to me

  Bring back, bring back

  Bring back my Bonnie to me, to me

  Bring back, bring back

  Bring back my Bonnie to me

/>   The baby smiled up at him, making delighted sounds. Then as quickly as she’d woken, her eyes drifted shut, falling fast asleep in his arms.

  When he looked up, Eleanor was staring at him, her lips parted in a soft smile. And as they looked at each other, he felt a deep wave of comfort wash over him.

  He settled back, ready to hold the baby whilst she slept, ready to finally be home.

  Chapter 20

  Much to his relief, Tony felt more at home in Scotland than he ever had in England. It was the wildness of it, he knew. As a child, he’d slept under the stars or in their traveling wagon. The wind had been his lullaby, making a lilting duet with his mother’s voice.

  The green fields had rolled, dotted with stones before them and they had been free. So very free.

  Now, as he scaled the ben with his wife, he felt the same soul-soaring hope he’d had then. Here, in the fierce hills, where stags roamed and heather-covered cliffs jutted up from the silver sea loch, he felt certain that everything he had ever hoped for was about to come true.

  As a boy, he never could have dreamed of such a thing. He’d not known more than the small villages of whitewashed, thatch cottages. Now, he was a grand man, capable of helping people. It was what his mother would have wanted.

  Perhaps not the dukedom. She hadn’t been overly fond of the English, except for her pirate lord. But she would want him to put his resources to good uses.

  The last weeks had been spent in deep conversation with the new agent. They’d had to replace the last one who seemed to think that a new roof on a crofter’s cottage meant ruin for the dukedom.

  If repairing cottages and villages, harkened the death knell of the Ayr Dukedom, it didn’t deserve to exist in the annals of power.

  He and Eleanor had spent a great deal of time in the library and in their chamber in the wee hours, considering how they might draw work into the area. It had been decided that the Ayr Distillery would be opened in the spring. Whiskey, after all, was something that would never go out of fashion. And he felt certain, it would be an investment that could last more than a hundred years and help a good many families on his land. Now that there was so little chance of employment in the Highlands, something like the distillery would be essential.