A Necessary Husband

by Debra Mullins

  She refused to be embarrassed. "I was simply wondering where the madman from last evening had disappeared to."

  He laughed and those dimples flashed again, drat the man. His teeth were white and even, and now that he had shaved and cleaned himself up, he was just as handsome as Meg was lovely.

  He had combed his dark hair, and while the length was most unfashionable, the way he had it tied back gave him the look of a pirate. Since he was more presentable, she could see a resemblance to the duke in the sharp blade of a nose and the dark, slanted brows. If only his manners matched his looks, she thought as he sat down and dug into his breakfast like a man who had been fasting for a week.

  He paused in his single-minded devouring of his food. "You never answered my question, you know."

  "I don't recall your asking a question."

  "I asked what you are doing here at this hour, Mrs. Devering. It seems a bit early to be paying a visit to Meg after her late evening last night."

  "Surely you are not lecturing me on the social proprieties! You, who walk around half dressed and attack your food like a starving wolf?"

  He frowned down at his clothes, then turned the frown on her. "There's nothing wrong with the way I'm dressed. And if you did not come calling at such an early hour, perhaps your delicate sensibilities would not be offended."

  "I have not come calling," she replied impatiently. "I am a guest of the duke's."

  "Really." He sat back in his chair and raised his brows. "And what does Mr. Devering think of that?"

  Lucinda flushed, taking his meaning immediately.

  "Mr. Devering passed away just over a year ago, Captain," she replied sharply. "I am a widow."

  His face softened in sympathy. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't know."

  "You don't know a great many things, Captain," she shot back coolly. "Since you inquire, I will inform you that your grandfather asked me to help Meg in assuming her rightful position in society. As he and my late father were friends, I naturally agreed to assist him, and accepted his gracious invitation to stay here at Raynewood so that I might be closer to your sister. Now, have you any more questions, my lord?"

  "Yes. Where do you live ordinarily?"

  She gave a thought to the lovely country house she had been forced to sell to pay the first of her husband's debts. "I don't see how that is your concern. You are very rude, my lord."

  His expression darkened at the title. "I'm not the one who has to worry about a reputation," he said pointedly. "Isn't there some English rule that says an unmarried woman can't live alone with a man not her husband?"

  "Your grandfather is nearly eighty-five years old!" she exclaimed. "But to put your nasty mind to rest, let me assure you that we are well chaperoned."

  "And who is this chaperone? Meg?" He laughed.

  "No, you scapegrace," came a new voice. "I am."

  Garrett was obviously startled by the aged female voice that had interrupted their conversation. And when he got a good look at the lady, the comical expression of disbelief on his face had Lucinda suppressing a giggle.

  Tiny enough that she would barely come up to Garrett's chest, the white-haired lady was fashionably dressed in a dress that matched the dark purple turban on her head. Ropes of snowy pearls all but obscured the delicate embroidery of the gown, and large diamonds sparkled at her ears. She glared at him, and Lucinda was struck by the resemblance between them, right down to the Stanton nose.

  "Have you no manners in America?" the old woman demanded. "Do you not even rise when a lady enters the room?"

  Garrett got to his feet, a flush spreading across his cheekbones. "I apologize, madam," he said with hastily gathered charm. "You took me by surprise."

  "Who is this strapping lad?" the old lady demanded of Lucinda.

  "This is your great-nephew, Garrett Lynch from America," Lucinda replied, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. "Captain, this is your great-aunt, Lady Agatha Strathwaite, your grandfather's sister."

  "Nephew, is it?" Lady Agatha demanded.

  "He's William's son, my lady."

  "Ah, you would be Kelton, then," Lady Agatha said with a decisive nod. She peered closely at him, her dark eyes searing. "You like females, don't you?"

  "Ah... yes." Clearly puzzled, Garrett looked at Lucinda, who refused to meet his gaze. It was all she could do to maintain decorum, torn between shock at Lady Agatha's bold question and outright laughter at Garrett's discomfort.

  "You'll do," Lady Agatha declared.

  "Thank you, ma'am," he responded, his tone doubtful.

  She clucked her tongue at him. "You may address me as Lady Agatha—everyone does, even dear Lucinda—or even Aunt Agatha, as we are family. And perhaps the next time we meet, you will be properly attired, as well."

  Again he glanced down at his clothes. Lady Agatha saw his puzzlement and sighed. "You'll have your hands full with this one," she said to Lucinda. "He's got looks, I'll grant you that, but he definitely needs polish."

  Lucinda allowed herself a smile. "Luckily, he is not my problem, my lady."

  Lady Agatha let out a cackling laugh. "Isn't he?"

  With that cryptic remark, she left the breakfast room.

  Garrett slowly sat down again. "Why did she ask if I like females?"

  "Perhaps you should ask your grandfather."

  "No, Mrs. Devering. I'm asking you." Something about the way he said the last word made her want to blush. It sounded so... intimate.

  "It's a rather indelicate matter," she stalled.

  He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, grinning from ear to ear. "That's even better."

  The man was a scoundrel, to sit there and fix those stunning blue eyes on her while demanding that she speak of things no lady was supposed to know about! "It's something of a family secret," she admitted, heat creeping into her cheeks. "I really do think you should ask your grandfather to explain."

  "I don't agree," he said softly. "You're blushing, Mrs. Devering."

  "Of course, I'm blushing!" she snapped. "You are making me quite uncomfortable."

  "Good," he said, dimples flashing. "Now what was this deep, dark secret you were about to reveal?"

  "Captain, please. I really cannot."

  "I like the way you say that," he murmured. " ‘Captain, please.' I'd like to please you, Lucinda."

  His warm, low voice stirred longings she hadn't felt in years. She squelched the rebellious emotions. "My name is Mrs. Devering," she corrected, but her tone wasn't as chiding as she would have liked. "And I will thank you not to seduce me at the breakfast table."

  "My apologies," he replied. "Where would you like me to seduce you, then?"

  "Your uncle did not like females," she blurted out. "Obviously, we do not have that concern with you!"

  Garrett burst out laughing as understanding lit his features. "Old Erasmus really did it, didn't he? He disowned the one son who could provide him with an heir!"

  "You are his heir," she snapped. "And you have quite ruined my breakfast."

  She stood to leave, but he held up a hand, still chuckling. "Sit, Mrs. Devering. I apologize."

  She hesitated.

  "Sit," he told her again, his face creasing in amusement. "I promise to behave."

  Slowly she sat down again, watching him closely. "I shall hold you to that, Captain."

  "Let's change the subject," he suggested. "I had heard that the English do not rise before noon, yet everyone seems to be up already."

  "We keep country hours at Raynewood," she informed him, taking a bite of her now cold eggs. "Only Meg is still abed, but as the dance master arrives this afternoon, she will be rising soon as well."

  "I see." Garrett attacked his breakfast again. Then he looked up and pointed his fork at her. "If Lady Agatha is the chaperone, why does Meg need you?"

  Alarm streaked through her at the question, and her heart skipped a beat. Then she took a deep, calming breath. No one knew her true circumstances. Well, almost no o
ne.

  "The duke felt Meg needed someone younger, to be a companion," she replied evenly, managing somehow to keep placidly eating her eggs.

  "Lady Agatha is a lady of some years, and His Grace felt that a high-spirited young girl might be too much for her."

  "So he hired you."

  She clenched her teeth in annoyance. Was the man never satisfied? "I assure you, Captain, that I am not His Grace's employee. I am simply a friend of the family who is doing him a favor."

  "And for that favor, you get to stay here in this huge house and live off my grandfather?"

  Color rose again in her cheeks. She jerked to her feet and threw her napkin down on the table, her entire body quivering with fury and fear. The irritating man was skating uncomfortably close to the truth.

  Fascinated, Garrett put down his fork. Her flushed cheeks and anger-bright eyes contrasted with the pale green of her dress, bringing her loveliness to life.

  "You, sir, do not know what you are talking about," she said in a low, clipped tone. But her fingers crushed the napkin where it rested on the table.

  "Maybe I don't," he agreed, watching her with interest. "But something sure has you all worked up."

  "Good day, Captain," she said tightly, and swept from the room as if she couldn't stand his presence another moment.

  Garrett looked at her empty chair and the crumpled napkin. So the lovely Mrs. Devering was a widow. That changed everything, as he was now free to seduce her with a clear conscience. She looked like a woman who could use a good romp between the sheets, and he was just the man for the job. Which brought him to his grandfather.

  Was there something illicit going on between the duke and Mrs. Devering? She had acted very strangely when he had suggested it. Did she see the duke as a meal ticket? Was she his mistress?

  If something was going on between the two of them that he didn't like, there was no way Meg was staying another day. He dug into his breakfast. He would have his answers soon, one way or another.

  * * *

  The man was a complete barbarian, Lucinda thought, storming down the hallway. And his remarks had been far too close for comfort.

  She paused in her flight, pressing her palms to her flaming cheeks.

  The American was too bold and spoke too easily of things that should be left unsaid. He would never understand her reasons for accepting the duke's bargain. How desperate she had been. How trapped.

  She closed her eyes to will away the memories, but they came anyway. The tradesmen pounding on her door the day after her husband's death. The salacious lord who had approached her at Harry's funeral to collect a gaming debt—any way she cared to pay it. The lovely country house, the only place she had been happy during the ten years of her marriage, sold to cover Harry's vowels. Yet it still wasn't enough.

  And then there was Malcolm.

  Just his name made her drop her hands from her face and straighten her spine. Malcolm would not defeat her.

  She would survive, even if she had to go around Garrett Lynch to accomplish her objectives. He had no concept of correct social behavior, and worse, she wouldn't put it past him to deliberately sabotage Meg's chances to make a good match—especially once they moved to London for the Season.

  And the way he looked at her! She had heard tell of lusty sailors, but last night...No one had ever looked at her that way. It was... indecent! Yes, that was the word. Not exciting. That was not what she had meant at all.

  With any luck, Garrett would soon return to America and leave her—leave all of them—in peace.

  "Mrs. Devering, a word if you please," the duke said from the doorway of his study. "Now, if you please," he repeated, then disappeared into the room.

  With a feeling of dread shadowing every step, she walked into the study.

  "Kindly close the door," the duke said, seating himself behind his desk. He hadn't raised his voice. He didn't have to. The Duke of Raynewood had spent eighty-five years learning how to command people with the sheer power of his presence.

  And it was effective, Lucinda thought, taking the chair the duke indicated with a sweep of his hand. No one could intimidate better than the Duke of Raynewood.

  "Have you just come from breakfast?" he asked, glancing through some papers.

  "Yes, Your Grace."

  "Then I take it you must have seen my grandson."

  She folded her hands tightly in her lap. "Yes, I did, Your Grace."

  "He's grown into a handsome lad." He looked at her expectantly.

  "Indeed, sir."

  The duke leaned back in his chair. "He does credit to the Stanton name—though he would deny the connection if he could."

  Unsure where the conversation was going, Lucinda could only murmur, "Yes, Your Grace."

  "But he's my grandson and my heir, Mrs. Devering, whether he wills it or no. I would like time to convince him to stay in England and take on his responsibilities."

  Though she fervently hoped otherwise, Lucinda pointed out, "He has said he will not leave until Meg does. She intends to stay the full season, if not permanently, which should give you plenty of time to get to know each other."

  The elderly man tapped his fingers on the desk. "I do not think Garrett will wait that long. I saw him this morning, speaking with one of the men from his ship. It wouldn't surprise me if he means to take Margaret away with him by force."

  "What!" Lucinda rose to her feet. "Your Grace, are you certain?"

  "No, I am not certain, but the possibility does exist." He raised his brows at her, and she slowly sat as he continued, "I am very fond of my granddaughter, Mrs. Devering, and being a selfish man, I would like to keep her with me as long as possible. It is my greatest hope that she will marry well and settle here in England. Should Garrett succeed in spiriting her away, I doubt he would allow her to return until long after I was in my grave, if then."

  "Surely he would not be so cruel?"

  "I'm certain he would not see it that way. But he is very angry with me, and he sees me as a threat to Margaret."

  Lucinda nodded. "I believe you are correct. He is very protective of his sister."

  "As am I, Mrs. Devering. I want what is best for my granddaughter, but that is where my grandson and I have differing opinions." He gave a small, sardonic smile. "Among other things."

  "Perhaps, over time—" she began.

  "Over time, I shall be in my grave, with my estates abandoned and my granddaughter an ocean away!" The duke took a deep, calming breath. "To make certain none of these things comes to pass, I am charging you with keeping an eye on my granddaughter, Mrs. Devering."

  Lucinda nodded. "Of course."

  "And my grandson."

  "What?" Once more, Lucinda surged out of her chair. "Your Grace, it is one thing to have charge of a young girl, but quite another to attempt to keep track of a grown man!"

  "Be seated, Mrs. Devering."

  "You can not ask such a thing of me," she continued, her voice rising. "It is impossible!"

  "Be seated!" he thundered.

  Lucinda sat.

  "Perhaps you misunderstood me," the duke said in a low, dangerous voice. "We have an agreement, Mrs. Devering."

  "Garrett Lynch was not part of the agreement."

  "I have changed it." Calmly, the elderly man folded his hands before him on his desk.

  "You cannot do that!"

  He raised his brows. "I have just done so. Mrs. Devering, you have always maintained an impeccable reputation for good breeding and elegance. You have done your family name proud, and I am certain your father would have been pleased."

  Lucinda nodded stiffly.

  "However . . ." He paused. "Before his death, your husband acquired a shocking amount of gaming debts. And for some reason, his brother, Lord Arndale, has not paid these debts of honor."

  Lucinda set her jaw at the mention of Malcolm Devering, her brother-in-law. She knew exactly why Malcolm had not paid Harry's debts, and it had nothing at all to do with honor. "That is correct, Y
our Grace."

  The duke continued, "You are in a difficult situation, madam. Without my help, you do not have the means to repay the amount."

  "I have my mother's pearl necklace," she whispered, desperate to gain some control over the situation.

  The duke shook his head. "You and I both know that the necklace would make but a small dent in such a sum."

  Feeling trapped, she said, "It is all I have, Your Grace."

  "Not at all, madam." He steepled his fingers. "You have a respectable family pedigree and excellent social standing. You have entrée into the salon of every society hostess, and your demeanor is that of a lady in every way. Your reputation is quite unassailable, despite the current gossip."

  Her cheeks heated. "You mean the tale of how my husband died."

  "Indeed. While the gossips have continued to chew on this particular tidbit, I have noticed that your husband's actions have not injured your own consequence. It's quite remarkable."

  "I'm glad you approve, Your Grace," she said with a tight smile.

  He looked uncomfortable for a brief moment. "Yes, well, it is an uncommon tale, and you have weathered the storm quite exceptionally."

  Uncommon tale indeed! My husband died in his mistress's bed. He broke his neck during one of their shocking games with whips and ropes.

  "A woman of your fortitude should have no trouble handling my grandson," the duke continued, "so I want you to keep him in your sights as much as possible. I have plans for him, as well. I intend to arrange a match for him with Lady Penelope Albright."

  "He will never agree," she blurted out.

  "I am aware of this, Mrs. Devering." She flushed. "You will assist me in making sure Garrett and Lady Penelope spend time together while we are in London. Once he marries the daughter of an English peer, he will be more inclined to stay here in England and tend to his responsibilities."

  "It is not my place—"

  "Your place is where I say it is, Mrs. Devering! I will arrange the introduction to Lady Penelope, while you turn my grandson into a proper Englishman."

  "Impossible," she whispered.

  "You must make it possible." He stood. The sunlight streamed in through the window behind him and shadowed his face, making him seem all-powerful. "For if you fail in this, if my grandson returns to America, then our bargain is forfeit."