The Duke of Danger

by Burke, Darcy

  Thinking wasn’t just hard. It was damn near impossible.

  “The dance will end soon,” she said. “Are you familiar with the Tilneys’ house? Where can we meet?”

  He pulled himself from his haze of shock and captivation. “We’ll have to wait a good while. After midnight at least.” Several years ago, he’d met a woman for a brief tryst in a closet on the second floor. “Two floors up, there’s a closet they use for linen. It’s in the northwest area off a servants’ passage. Will you be able to find that?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not a simpleton.”

  “I didn’t say you were. I merely asked if you could find it.” He didn’t grow irritated with her. It made sense that she would have little patience with him. Or perhaps she had a naturally short temper like her late husband.

  Do not think about him right now.

  And how was he supposed to keep Townsend from his mind when he was holding the man’s widow in his arms? Better yet, how could he possibly avoid tumbling into the darkness of his guilt and remorse if he were married to her?

  Thankfully, the music drew to a close.

  “I’ll meet you there at one o’clock,” she said. “Do not be late.”

  They would need to keep the meeting brief so their absences wouldn’t be noted. “Around midnight, I will make a point of saying I’m leaving. People will think I’ve gone.”

  The dance was done. She peered up at him, her lip slightly curled. “That’s hardly necessary. You see, I need you to marry me immediately. If people see us together, there won’t be a scandal. Besides, I’m no green, unmarried girl.”

  It was all he could do not to gape at her. In the middle of the dance floor. With everyone staring at them. “We can’t discuss this here. I’ll meet you in the closet.”

  He escorted her from the floor and managed to escape the ballroom without having to talk to anyone. He went directly to the gaming room, where he tossed back a glass of whiskey as quickly as possible.

  Several gentlemen looked his way but didn’t approach him. Then West entered and stalked directly toward him. “I hear you caused quite a stir,” he said.

  Lionel walked to the corner, and West followed. “In the ballroom? Yes, well, that’s going to pale as to what happens next.”

  West stared at him. “What the devil are you talking about?”

  Lionel immediately regretted saying anything. It wouldn’t do to spoil her plans, whatever they were. “Never mind. I do think it’s past time I go.” He’d just make his way to the closet early and await her there.

  “You don’t have to. We could play a round of cards.”

  They could, but he was too agitated. “Next time.”

  “Are you all right?” West asked. “You seem…off.”

  “I’m fine. Truly. Enjoy your evening.”

  Lionel departed the gaming room and made his way toward the front of the house. Instead of leaving, however, he cut into the servants’ stairway and ascended to the second floor. He went in search of a lamp, which he found in a deserted chamber, then located the closet where he waited.

  There was nowhere to sit, so he simply leaned against the shelves holding mountains of linen—and the lantern for which he’d managed to carve out a space. He had ample time to consider Lady Townsend’s demand.

  Marriage.

  Could he do that? He’d planned to marry, of course, and had even thought this Season might be the time to seriously search for a wife. But that had been before the duel last summer. Then everything had changed, and he was fairly sure he didn’t deserve to find happiness.

  Which didn’t mean he couldn’t marry. Plenty of people married for reasons other than happiness. It seemed he and Lady Townsend might be two of those people.

  He couldn’t imagine she wished to wed him for any sense of joy. In fact, he couldn’t imagine why she wished to marry him at all.

  At last, he heard footsteps. The latch clicked, and the door opened. Lady Townsend quickly stepped inside, closing the door firmly behind her.

  She took in the small space and positioned herself as far away from him as possible. That still only allowed maybe four feet between them. “This is rather close.”

  He straightened to his full height, pushing off the shelves behind his back. “It’s also out of the way.”

  She elevated her chin. “I suppose it is.”

  “Forgive me, but I’ve been trying to reason why you’d want to marry me, and I’m afraid I’ve come up with absolutely nothing.”

  “I admit it’s a severe plan, but I’m at my wit’s end. I’m destined for a marriage I don’t want, and it’s all your fault. You did say you would do anything to help me. Didn’t you mean that?”

  “Of course I did. I’m a man of honor, for better or for worse.” Often for worse, it seemed.

  She looked away from him, her jaw tightening. When her gaze found his once more, her eyes were fire and ice, a mixture of hot anger and frigid determination. “Your honor has definitely been worse for me. Which is why I am seeking your help—you owe me.”

  “I do.”

  “Yes, and I’d planned to demand money to settle Geoffrey’s debts. After I gave you the cut direct. Which I didn’t get to do.” She folded her arms across her chest, and he felt her frustration fill the small space. “Things are not going the way I’d planned.”

  “I’m sorry things aren’t progressing as you wanted.” His chest squeezed, and he fought to take a breath. “Your life isn’t at all what you’d expected it would be, and that’s entirely my fault,” he said quietly. “I will give you the money you need and anything else you require.”

  “Anything. Yes, you said that last summer too.” Her gaze locked on to his. “My parents have decided I should marry someone I don’t want to. They have already set things in motion. I need you to marry me instead.”

  “Forgive me, Lady Townsend, but I find it difficult to comprehend there is anyone you’d rather marry less than me.”

  She laughed, a dark, hollow sound that made his guts twist. “Yes, I can see why you’d think that, and if we were to have a true marriage, it would likely be accurate. However, to save me from marrying Sir Duncan, we will wed, and it will be a marriage of utter convenience—for me. I shall be independent to do as I please, you will provide me with ample pin money, and there will be absolutely no intimacy.”

  “You want me to accept an agreement of marriage in which I have no children, not even an heir?”

  Her icy gaze didn’t waver. “Yes.”

  Bloodiest of hells. How could he possibly agree to that? He had a responsibility to his title, his family. Yes, there was someone—his second cousin’s son—who could inherit, but that wasn’t the point. His father, if he were still alive, would be devastated to think that Lionel would trade away their legacy in such a fashion.

  And yet…he owed her. He’d promised her. And if he was nothing else, he was, above all, a man of honor.

  “You are asking quite a lot. I have a responsibility to my title.”

  She didn’t blink. “I looked you up in DeBrett’s—you have a cousin.”

  “I should like to have children,” he said.

  “Then take a mistress who will provide them for you.”

  By God, she was cold, but then he’d likely made her that way. He vaguely recalled a charming, vivacious young woman from that house party. She was currently nowhere to be found. “You don’t wish to have children?” he asked.

  For the first time, she seemed to falter or at least hesitate. She glanced away, but when her gaze moved back to his, the fire was back along with the ice. “Not at present. If I change my mind, I shall notify you, of course.”

  He leaned back against the shelves, his frame slumping a bit. This was so absurd as to be almost incomprehensible. He’d killed her husband, and now she wished to marry him?

  Only to save her from something she wanted even less than being leg-shackled to her husband’s murderer.

  “If you’ll p
ermit me to ask, what is so wrong with marrying Sir Duncan?” Lionel didn’t know the man.

  Her expression changed to one of intense disgust. “Many things. Many, many things. I hardly think it should matter to you.” She tipped her head to the side. “You offered your assistance, and I am asking for it. Are you a man of your word?”

  Any doubt or reservation he possessed disintegrated beneath the weight of her query. “Of course I am.” The matter of an heir distressed him, but not nearly as much as the fact that he’d killed her husband and left her vulnerable to a marriage she didn’t want. “You said things with Sir Duncan were already in motion. What does that mean?”

  “My parents have negotiated the union, and he is calling tomorrow to sign a marriage contract. The banns will be read on Sunday.”

  No wonder she was desperate. “You must really not want to marry him if you would ask me to do this instead.”

  She inclined her head but said nothing.

  “It seems we must act quickly. You strike me as rather organized. Do you have a plan?”

  “Er, no.”

  Gretna Green crossed his mind immediately, but she’d already eloped there. He flinched inwardly and pushed away from the shelving once more, squaring his shoulders. “I can procure a special license at the Doctors’ Commons first thing in the morning. We can wed any time after that. Just tell me when.”

  She thought for a moment, her gaze slightly narrowed as she appeared to study one of the shelves. “You’ll come to my parents’ house at noon. Is there any chance we can have the ceremony then?”

  “I’ll need to secure a clergyman, but that shouldn’t be a problem.” He’d find one tonight, as soon as they were finished.

  Her entire frame sagged a bit. Her relief was evident. “That will suffice.”

  This businesslike arrangement wasn’t at all how he’d expected to propose marriage. “What will your parents say, given they’ve already promised you to Sir Duncan?”

  Lady Townsend regained her earlier stoicism. “I don’t care. I’m marrying a marquess with more than adequate wealth. If that doesn’t please them, nothing will.”

  He heard the disgust in her tone. Her marriage to Townsend hadn’t pleased them. She had eloped with the man, after all. It was a romantic notion—running off to marry for love. That he’d robbed her of that stung him to the core. How in the hell would they get on?

  “How do you imagine this—our marriage—progressing? Do you plan to live with me?”

  She blinked at him. “I haven’t quite worked that out. For now, I expect your town house here in London is large enough to accommodate me having my own quarters.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Then that shall suffice.”

  Yes, it was all rather sufficient. Nothing more and nothing less than was absolutely required. “Does this make you…happy?”

  She speared him with a dark, empty stare. “Nothing makes me happy. I should think you would know that. I will see you at noon.” She spun and opened the door, leaving him alone in the closet.

  Nothing made her happy. Well then, on that score, they were equal.

  * * *

  After a fitful night of barely any sleep, Emmaline had managed to choke down a slice of toast and half a cup of chocolate. She looked at herself in the glass. At least the purple beneath her eyes matched the lavender of her gown.

  She turned away, her stomach churning. What on earth had she done?

  Nothing yet, but the alternative was horrifying. She’d danced with Sir Duncan last night, much to her parents’ delight. He’d expressed his enthusiasm—to borrow her mother’s description—for their courtship, saying he was incredibly fortunate to have another opportunity for marital bliss. But then he’d gone and ruined what could’ve been a lovely sentiment by saying how he looked forward to a bride who wasn’t a simpering virgin. He’d tittered, winking at her as if they were sharing a joke. Then he’d gone on to detail the ways in which he pursued athletic endeavors. He’d concluded by saying he was in excellent physical condition. She’d stared at him, unable to find any suitable response.

  Then she’d remembered that she didn’t have to marry him, that she had a plan of her own to avoid her parents’ scheme. Except it required her to marry a man she’d vowed to hate.

  Since that moment, she’d worried that she’d made a rash decision. Another rash decision. Eloping with Geoffrey had been her first, and while she hadn’t immediately regretted it, she’d grown to question her actions. Only because Geoffrey hadn’t turned out to be the man she’d thought he was. With Axbridge, she knew he was a scoundrel and a killer. He was precisely the man everyone knew him to be—the Duke of Danger.

  It wasn’t too late. She didn’t have to marry him. But then she’d marry Sir Duncan. Couldn’t she just run away? Surely Axbridge would fund her escape.

  And where would she go? She’d have to start over somewhere, utterly alone. After the last eight months of relative isolation while she was in mourning, she didn’t want to do that. Marrying Axbridge gave her everything she wanted: a respectable position, adequate financial support, and the ability to remain in the world she knew.

  To do what exactly? She wouldn’t have children with him. She couldn’t. What, then, would she spend her time doing?

  Anything you bloody well please! Stop this nonsense and go downstairs!

  Indeed. She stiffened her spine and went down to the drawing room. Her mother was seated near the windows embroidering something for one of her grandchildren. Emmaline had four much older siblings who were married with children. She had come to her parents later, as a surprise, and not an entirely welcome one. They’d mostly ignored her in her younger years and she’d never been close to any of her siblings. She’d always felt as though she’d missed out on having a family.

  “There you are, dear,” her mother said, briefly looking up from her project. “I hope you slept well.” Clearly she hadn’t seen the bags under Emmaline’s eyes.

  “Well enough.”

  “Father was so pleased to see you dancing with Sir Duncan last night. This will be an excellent match—you’ll see.” She lifted her head then, her eyes widening briefly. “My goodness, I meant to ask you about Axbridge. Why on earth did you dance with him?”

  Emmaline had been relieved when her mother had fallen asleep immediately after getting into the coach last night. And Father had left the ball earlier to go to his club. That meant Emmaline had been able to avoid any sort of interrogation about the marquess, as well as enjoy some peace.

  She sat down near her mother and arranged her skirts around her feet. “Because he asked me to.”

  Mother stared at her. “That makes no sense. You can’t stand him.”

  “He feels guilty.” That much was true. Not only had he said so, but she could see the darkness lurking in the depths of his eyes.

  Mother clucked her tongue. “It is not your duty to assuage his guilt.”

  “No, but I am not a vengeful person.” She nearly choked on the words. She’d absolutely planned revenge, or at least to deliver a blow by making a spectacle last night and giving him the cut direct. She had succeeded in making a spectacle, even if she hadn’t publicly humiliated him. And the scandal their marriage would create would resonate through Society for perhaps the entire Season.

  Would it be a scandal? Not in the true sense of the word perhaps, but it would be on everyone’s lips. She and Axbridge would either be celebrated and invited everywhere or utterly reviled and ostracized. Given that he was a marquess and still rather popular despite his murderous background, she doubted it would be the latter.

  “Well, it was certainly the talk of the ball last night,” Mother said. “Axbridge has been gone for months, then he shows up and dances with you of all people. It seemed rather audacious. But then I suppose that’s to be expected from him. Doesn’t he have one of those silly duke nicknames?” She glanced out the window and straightened. “There’s a coach outside. But it’s too early for Sir Duncan
to be here.”

  Emmaline’s heart began to beat faster. “Perhaps it isn’t Sir Duncan. Perhaps it’s some other gentleman paying a call.”

  Mother cast her a dubious glance, her mouth clenched tight. Then her expression softened, turning sympathetic. “I know Sir Duncan isn’t necessarily the man you would have chosen, but when you did choose, it wasn’t the best you could have done, as we both know. You didn’t talk to me about your marriage, but I could tell that you were growing increasingly distressed.”

  Distressed seemed a strong word, but she wouldn’t quibble. No, she hadn’t been happy. But did that mean she could never pick anything for herself? That was an absurd argument.

  “Have faith, Emmaline,” Mother said brightly. “Your father and I only want the best for you, and Sir Duncan will provide it.”

  Obviously their definitions of “the best” were not the same.

  Cutworth, their butler, stepped into the doorway. “The Marquess of Axbridge is here.”

  “Show him in, and please fetch my father,” Emmaline said, rising. Her pulse sped even faster.

  “What is going on?” Mother set aside her needlepoint and stood. “Emmaline?”

  Emmaline strolled away from her, clear to the other side of the room, and didn’t respond.

  A moment later, Father came in, followed almost immediately by the marquess and another gentleman—the clergyman, Emmaline presumed.

  Axbridge offered a bow and looked to Emmaline’s mother, then her father. “Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Forth-Hodges.” He turned to Emmaline and made an even deeper bow. “Lady Townsend.”

  “Lord Axbridge,” she murmured. He looked as handsome as he had last night. He didn’t have purple bags beneath his eyes, the rogue.

  Father’s brow creased as he frowned, first at Axbridge and then at the clergyman. “What is this about?”

  Axbridge pulled a paper from the interior of his coat. “I’ve a special license that allows your daughter and I to wed. Mr. Smithson here will perform the ceremony.”