She Tempts the Duke

by Lorraine Heath

  If her true whereabouts were discovered she would be in a great deal of trouble. But she couldn’t regret being here. She thought she could confess to Tristan what she’d never be able to tell Sebastian. “I always resented that I was left behind.”

  “Rafe resented being left at the workhouse. You two should talk sometime.”

  She glanced over at him. “Did you regret boarding a ship?”

  “Thought it would be a fun adventure.”

  “Was it?”

  “Sometimes.”

  She returned her attention to Sebastian’s chest. It was broad and powerful. She imagined him wielding a fine-edged glistening sword in battle. Or perhaps he’d held a rifle and bayonet.

  “Have you heard the rumors that he forced himself on me in the garden?” she asked, feeling the heat warm her face.

  “I pay little heed to rumors.”

  She offered him a soft smile. “But you did hear them.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “I wanted Sebastian to know that I was not the source. And neither was Fitzwilliam. I think perhaps it was your uncle, although I’m not certain what he hopes to accomplish.”

  “He just wants to make things difficult for us, I suspect. Sebastian cut off all his access to funds and has alerted everyone to whom Uncle owes money that he will only pay off what Uncle owes if he has their word they’ll not extend credit to Lord David any longer. Makes it rather difficult for him to get along with life.”

  “Do you think whoever attacked Sebastian will try again?”

  “I think Sebastian will be better prepared. He’ll expect it now.”

  “It wasn’t Fitzwilliam. I think you thought it was. But I saw no bruising when our paths recently crossed.”

  “Then I suppose we’ll never know who it was. If you want that letter you sent him to be more than a delaying tactic for his learning the truth, you should let me take you home now.”

  She shook her head. “Not until his fever breaks.” She peered over at Tristan. “But you may go on.”

  “And leave you without a chaperone? What sort of cad do you take me for?”

  He made her smile when she thought she might never smile again. “He’s hardly in a state to ravish me.”

  Tristan grinned, the familiar boyish grin. She was so glad he’d not lost it, wished Sebastian would reclaim his. “What do you know of ravishment, my lady?”

  She giggled lightly. “Nary a thing. Only what I have read in novels.”

  He dropped his feet to the floor, bent down, and picked up his boots. “I’ll be down the hallway if you need me.” He grew incredibly somber. “I’m glad you’re here, Mary. While my brother will probably not admit it, I suspect he will be as well when he awakens.”

  As long as he awakened. “Sleep well.”

  “If only I could.”

  She heard in his tone what he had not admitted. In sleep, like his brother, he too battled demons.

  The room grew incredibly quiet after he left until all she heard was the ticking of the clock and Sebastian’s labored breathing. She doused all the lamps until only the one beside her remained lit. It cast a pale glow over the unscarred portion of Sebastian’s face. She was not repulsed by his scars, but she suspected upon waking that he would be grateful to know that she’d not sat there studying them.

  “Pembrook.”

  She started at his unexpected outburst, fought not to panic at his sudden agitation. Again, he repeated the name of his estate, with a bit more force.

  He gasped, opened his eye. “Pembrook.”

  Surely he was delirious. “No, you’re in London,” she told him, touching his brow.

  He grabbed her wrist, jerked her near. Once the physician was finished with his task, they’d unbound Sebastian. Fire burned in his gaze. “Pembrook. All that matters. Must reclaim it.”

  “You have reclaimed it. It’s yours again. No one will take it from you a second time.”

  He calmed, but continued to study her. “Mine.”

  “Yours.”

  He drifted back to sleep. Once again, she began to blot the dew from his throat. Until that moment she wasn’t certain that she’d truly understood his obsession with Pembrook. It meant everything. Fevered, near death, he didn’t call out for a woman or his brothers or even her as a friend. He called out for an estate, for land, for an ancient castle that had withstood the test of time.

  It couldn’t wrap its arms around him or comfort him or talk quietly with him during a long winter night. Yet it didn’t seem to matter. He loved it. It was everything to him.

  What was it about Pembrook that possessed men? To be owner of it, his uncle had done horrible things. To reclaim it, Sebastian had become a man obsessed so that he thought of nothing else. She’d set free a boy only to have him return with a heart that belonged solely to his heritage, to Pembrook.

  Chapter 19

  “Where is she?”

  “My lord,” Tristan began, trying to calm the man who had burst into the foyer shortly after the clock chimed midnight. One of Rafe’s men who was on watch outside had halted him until Tristan could be found. Fortunately he’d yet to retire, but instead had been enjoying whiskey in the library.

  “Where is she?” Lord Winslow bellowed. “Mary!”

  “Easy, my lord.”

  Winslow glared at him. “Do you know what you’ve done to her? You and your damned brother? You’ve ruined her.”

  “He had nothing to do with it,” a soft voice called down.

  Tristan glanced up the stairs to see Mary standing on the landing. When he looked back at Winslow, the man’s face was so ruddy with anger that he feared he might have an apoplexy fit. “It’s not what you think, my lord.”

  “She’s dressed like a servant … coming from the bedchambers,” he stammered.

  She might be dressed like one, but she came down the stairs with such regal bearing that she’d never be confused for one. She’d pulled back her hair into a braid. It was a style familiar to him. She’d worn it often when she came to visit Pembrook but she certainly no longer looked like a child.

  “You will come home with me this instant,” her father ground out.

  “No. Sebastian is fighting a fever. Until it is gone, I will remain here.”

  “You will defy me?”

  “I have no choice.”

  “They can hire a nursemaid.”

  Slowly, regretfully, she shook her head. “No.”

  “Fitzwilliam will not tolerate this blemish on your character or this—all night in a bachelor’s residence.”

  “How did you know where I was?”

  “I was at the club. Fitzwilliam was there. Said he sent regrets to the Morelands. He wasn’t of a mood to attend their affair with you at home nursing a headache. A headache. Of all things. You’ve never suffered so much as a sniffle. When I returned home and discovered you were not about, I confronted the carriage driver. He confessed to bringing you here. What sort of madness is this? Without your reputation, you have nothing.”

  She stepped forward and touched his cheek. “I saved Sebastian once before. I can do it again.”

  Winslow glared at Tristan. Tristan merely shrugged. “I tried to convince her to leave, my lord. She’s rather set on staying. One of the female servants is with her. I can send them all up if it’ll put your mind at ease. We owe her our lives. We would never take advantage of Mary.”

  “It doesn’t matter if you do or not. The gossips will have a field day with this.”

  “I’ll explain to Fitzwilliam,” Mary offered. “He’ll understand.”

  “Don’t count on it, my girl. And then what? No other man will have you. Men do not fancy spoiled goods.”

  “She’s not spoiled,” Tristan ground out.

  “In the eyes of Society she will be.”

  “Only if you say anything,” Mary said quietly. “If you back my story that I was abed with a migraine, no one need know differently.”

  Tristan watched Lord Winslow struggle
with his decision. He could only hope he never had any daughters. They appeared to be a great deal of bother.

  Finally, Winslow nodded. “The matter of your presence here is to stay between us. I’ll have your word on that, Lord Tristan.”

  “You have it.”

  “All right then. When you can return home, Mary, you do so by cover of night.”

  Instead of answering, she stepped forward, hugged her father, and whispered, “Thank you.”

  Then she was scampering back up the stairs to care for her patient.

  “She’s a brave girl, Winslow,” Tristan said somberly.

  “That will be little consolation, my lord, if word of her presence here does get out.”

  His arm was dead. Yet he would not move because to do so would be to awaken her.

  She was in a precarious position much worse than a kiss in a garden. She was in his bed, her head nestled on his shoulder, and although he couldn’t quite feel it, he knew his arm held her near. It didn’t matter that she was fully clothed.

  She was in his bed.

  How long had she been here? How long had the fever raged? His side ached, was tender. He remembered fleeting images: the physician, Tristan. Rafe. Briefly. Once. Don’t you dare leave me again. Or was that a dream? Mary. Cool water trickling down his throat. Cool cloth on his brow. Gentle reassurances, soft voice. Mary’s voice. Always Mary. Tender touches. Mary. Encouragement. Mary. Awful-tasting broth. Mary. The fading scent of orchids. Mary.

  Her hair had escaped the ribbon she’d been using to hold it back while she nursed him. So thick. So curly. However did she manage to pile it all on her head as she did? With the arm that still had feeling, he sifted his fingers through the strands that appeared to be coarse but felt like silk. Just like that night when he’d thrust his hand into her hair, thrust his tongue into her mouth. Barbarian. For a few moments, lost in her, he’d been able to leave behind the decisions that haunted him, the scars that marred—

  With a jerk, he touched his face. Dammit! Where was the patch?

  He twisted. On the far table. He couldn’t reach it, pinned beneath her weight as he was.

  She moaned, sighed, and he realized that his movements had disturbed her. Thank God, she was nestled on his good side. He could save her the grotesqueness. Although it was a bit late to spare her completely.

  She lifted her head, squinted. “Relax. That side is in shadow.”

  Her voice was that of a woman roused from slumber, and something in his belly tightened as he imagined her rousing from slumber after a night of passionate lovemaking.

  A night with Fitzwilliam.

  If her reputation weren’t completely tarnished. Again, he had to wonder how long she’d been here.

  She stretched, a slow, sinuous movement that thrust out her breasts and challenged the buttons of her bodice to remain secured. Unfortunately they met the challenge splendidly.

  Where had that thought come from? This was Mary. Friend, advisor, nurse. Woman. It was the last that unsettled him. Every time he saw her, he was reminded that she’d grown up, but here in his bedchamber he was well aware that they’d both grown up. The games they could play now were not innocent, would not result in giggles and laughter. Rather they would include long moans and deep groans—

  The blood rushing into his arm caused painful pinpricks that brought his thoughts round to where they should have remained. “Your hair is a mess.”

  She laughed lightly, clearly not offended by his critical assessment. “I got caught in the rain coming here. I did little more than dry it which means it had its way. It takes much work to keep it tamed.”

  “I like it wild.”

  She stilled, her breathing shallow, her gaze on his as though he’d given her an uncommon compliment. She slid off the bed, and he could see her more clearly now. She wore a ghastly black dress that made her look like a crow.

  “Anticipating going into mourning over my death?” he asked lightly.

  She smiled again, although not as brightly. “I knew you wouldn’t die. I wouldn’t let you.”

  Just as she’d refused to stand by while his uncle plotted his death.

  “You’re feeling better. I was so relieved when your fever broke last night,” she said.

  “How long?”

  “Three nights.”

  “You’ve been here the entire time?”

  She nodded. “Father knows I’m here. He’s not happy about it.”

  “I would think not.”

  She gave him a scowl. “But he’ll do what he can to keep my whereabouts a secret. Tristan threatened the servants with dismissal if one of them spoke of anything that transpired within the residence. He can be quite intimidating.”

  “He should have intimidated you into leaving.”

  She grinned. “He tried.” Her smile diminished. “I couldn’t bear not being here while you suffered. I wish I’d been there for all your suffering.”

  She blinked rapidly, and he knew she was on the verge of weeping, bravely fighting it off because she knew he abhorred tears. He wanted to tell her that he was glad she hadn’t been there. It would have only made things worse because he would have worried about her. Just as he worried now. Three nights. Her reputation would no doubt be in shreds.

  “How will your father explain your absence?” What was wrong with his voice? Why did it sound accusing?

  “Not to worry, Keswick. I’m not your responsibility. I shall send in your valet to tidy you up and have your cook send up a tray. Rest and regain your strength. I fear your uncle is not done with you yet.”

  She turned to leave.

  He pushed himself up, swung his legs off the bed, and realized he wasn’t dressed for company. He wasn’t dressed at all. He clutched a sheet to his waist. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  She looked back at him as though he’d said the silliest thing she’d ever heard. “Remain my friend.”

  Did she think there was any way in hell that he wouldn’t? That he couldn’t? Besides his brothers, there was no one he cared for more. But even as he thought it, he realized that his feelings for her now were not what they’d once been. He wasn’t quite sure what they were. He’d gone swimming with her as a child and not given much thought to her undergarments clinging to her body. Now he would give it a great deal of thought. Would notice the shadows that tempted a man, that tempted him.

  “Always,” he rasped so low that he wasn’t even certain if she heard him.

  “I’ll see to your comforts. Then I must return home.”

  Don’t go, hovered on the tip of his tongue but he bit it back. He would not show weakness, could not rely on anyone. That he already had far too much angered him. He needed to regain his strength and return to Pembrook.

  In London he was doing little more than ruining Mary’s reputation. He needed to distance himself from her. Maybe then he would stop hurting her.

  Chapter 20

  “My father is most displeased with the gossip that is making the rounds. It seems things have moved from a kiss to your spending the night in Keswick’s residence.” Lord Fitzwilliam uttered the words as though unable to truly countenance them.

  As soon as Mary had ensured that Lord Tristan would be aroused from slumber to watch over his brother, the valet was on his way to Sebastian’s bedchamber, and a servant was preparing a tray for him, she asked for a carriage. After returning home, she fell into a sound sleep in her bed that lasted into the afternoon. She’d barely finished bathing when she was informed that Lord Fitzwilliam had come to call. In her father’s library. Where he had proposed.

  He stood implacably before her just as he had when he’d heard the gossip about the kiss. The gossip that had since reached his ears was much worse. So worse in fact that her father stood near the decanter table pouring amber liquid into a glass and downing it with such ferocious speed that she wondered why he even bothered with the glass.

  “You were not to speak to Keswick—”

  “I didn’t. The
entire time I was there, I spoke not a single word.” Not precisely a lie. She had whispered, cajoled, soothed, reassured. And not once had she spoken only a solitary word. She’d always spoken at least two. She knew she was splitting hairs but she didn’t like being chastised.

  “You were in his residence for three nights.”

  She looked to her father. He merely shook his head. So he’d not told. Then how had Fitzwilliam learned—

  “Someone saw you going in,” he said as though she’d asked the question aloud. “Someone saw you leave.”

  “So Lord David has posted spies.” She didn’t want to contemplate that perhaps it was Fitzwilliam with the spies. “Keswick was ill. He couldn’t take advantage of the situation. And even if he could have, he wouldn’t have.”

  “No, he leaves taking advantage of you to moments in the garden.”

  “It was one moment and he didn’t take advantage.”

  “So you welcomed his attentions.”

  Sighing, she studied her clasped hands. They were bare of jewels. She suspected they would never be adorned with a wedding band. “We’ve been over this. I see no reason to rehash.”

  “I fear I must withdraw my offer of marriage.”

  Her chest tightened and she squeezed her eyes shut. She’d known this could be a possible outcome to her actions. She swallowed hard, opened her eyes, and with all the fortitude she could muster, she met Fitzwilliam’s gaze. “Of course, my lord. I had expected no less.”

  For a moment he looked uncomfortable, regretful even.

  “I regret any pain or humiliation that my actions have caused you,” she said. “I believe you to be a good man and that marriage to you would have been satisfying. But it is not in my nature to ignore someone in need, regardless of personal consequences. A quality which I believe would make me an exemplary wife, but a very challenging one.”

  As he studied his polished shoes, she almost thought she detected a smile on his face. “My father insists that I end this arrangement before any more damage can be done to my family’s good name. While he cannot keep from me upon his death all that is entailed, he can keep funds from me until he dies. I have no source of income other than his generosity.”