A Devil of a Duke

by Madeline Hunter

  “As Clara explained, they do not censor each other.” Stratton poured more brandy in Gabriel’s glass.

  “Well, they should censor that woman. If your wife owns the damned journal, she could have refused the damned essay.”

  “You were not named. It read like a general upbraiding of the nobility.”

  “When you first read it, did you think, Oh, dear, Lady Farnsworth’s pen is scolding the entire nobility? Or did you think, I’ll be damned, that sounds just like Langford?”

  Stratton smiled down at his brandy.

  “This amuses you, I can see. You would not find it so clever if you were the subject of that essay, and the whole world knew it.”

  “I was in another part of that journal, and so was Clara, and we were named, if you remember.”

  That took the umbrage right out of him. He realized the fuller implications of what had just been revealed in the drawing room. “She allowed that? She agreed to fully air that scandal on those pages?”

  “She wrote it. She wanted the truth out in the world, so there would be no misunderstanding of what had occurred. It came at a great cost to her.” He paused. “She did it for me. So do not expect me to sympathize too much if Lady Farnsworth’s little essay cost you a bit of your pride.”

  “You have succeeded in calming the storm better than I thought possible. Let us join the ladies. Amanda will never forgive me for leaving her alone with them.”

  “I think it wiser to let them chat.”

  Gabriel did not think it at all wise, but he relented. “Then we must occupy ourselves here for a spell. Sit, and tell me how your son fares.”

  “That bores you.”

  “Not at all. Not at all. Tell me everything. He is what, a month old now? Has he started talking yet?”

  * * *

  “The earlier drafts are stacked by date, most recent first and oldest at the bottom. They are in the second drawer.”

  Amanda finished explaining the very logical way she had left Lady Farnsworth’s papers. Lady Farnsworth sat at a writing table, making notes. A sheet with similar notes could be found in the library desk’s top drawer, left for Lady Farnsworth should she go looking for reminders of the explanation given to her on Amanda’s last day.

  Lady Farnsworth admired her sheet of notes, blotted them, then folded the paper and returned to her seat on a divan beside Mrs. Galbreath. She found her reticule and tucked the paper away. “How fortuitous that I found you today, so I could have a map, as it were.”

  The “map” had taken fifteen minutes to create. Now that it was done, Amanda wondered how to avoid awkward questions.

  “You do know that if it becomes known that you are living in his home there will be no hope for you,” Lady Farnsworth spoke as calmly as if she commented on the weather.

  The duchess rolled her eyes. “Really, Dorothy.”

  “I feel obligated to remind her. It isn’t done. You know it isn’t, Clara. Langford has outdone himself in his lifelong campaign to shock society.”

  “No one knows I am here, except you ladies and the Duke of Stratton. Nor will I remain here much longer. The duke is kindly helping me with a matter that has bedeviled me. It should conclude soon.”

  “And where will you go then?” Lady Farnsworth demanded.

  “To aid my mother, as I said. I did not lie about that. I have no illusions that my association with the duke will last long.”

  “If you needed help, you could have asked us,” Mrs. Galbreath said.

  “That is kind of you, but I do not think this is help that you could give anyway. I want you to know that the help was not conditioned on my being his lover, or the other way around. Rather that happened before he knew I needed any help. I had even tried to hide that from him. As to my current situation, it happened almost by accident.”

  “It does not sound as though Miss Waverly desires to escape a situation that she regrets,” the duchess said. “It seems we will not be required to rescue her, ladies.”

  Lady Farnsworth acknowledged that with a grudging nod. Mrs. Galbreath appeared less convinced. “And if there is a child, what then? Will there be a settlement?” she said. “This may have happened by accident, but there can be the most lasting of consequences.”

  When Amanda did not reply, the duchess asked gently, “Would you like one of us to speak with him? Or my husband?”

  Lady Farnsworth scowled. “That devil shall not be allowed to take advantage of your ignorance.”

  “He is not a devil,” Amanda said. “He is more kind than you know, and would never take advantage. Nor is he keeping me. Would I be wearing this dress if he were? I am a temporary houseguest and I do not require any settlements. Now, please, do tell me how the next issue of the journal progresses. I have been wondering about it and am glad to have this chance to hear about it.”

  The ladies launched into a spirited account of the next issue and its contents.

  * * *

  “I have news about the man behind this, perhaps.” Gabriel spoke into the night and broke the quiet peace. “I have debated whether to tell you because the thread is very thin. Too thin to follow.”

  “Any thread is better than none.” Amanda pulled up her legs and turned to face him. “You must tell me now. It would be cruel not to.”

  “Do not make too much of it.”

  “Tell me, damn it.”

  “Amanda. What language.”

  “Tell me or you will hear far worse.”

  “I have the name of a man who claims items like these were stolen from his land. It fits with what I know about their source. There was a private auction when they came to London years ago. Their provenance was ambiguous. Provenance means—”

  “I know what it means. It is the history of an item or work of art. Who owned it previously, back through time. If no one knew the provenance of the brooch, for example, how could this man prove it belongs to him?”

  “He can’t. The quiet sale, however, suggests something suspicious about how the brooch was procured. So his claim may have merit.”

  “And so . . . he may have decided to get his property back by any means, even if it meant having someone steal it back for him.”

  “That was my thought. He lives in the general area where Brentworth was told the hoard had been found. Devonshire. So it is possible he saw his opportunity.”

  “Are we going to go there?”

  “It is tempting, but I would prefer if the thread were a bit thicker. It could be a chase after nothing. It would be easier if we had some indication of where your mother is. I would hate to travel to Devon only to learn later your mother is in Northumberland.”

  She fell onto her back. “I might have known where she is by now if you had not abducted me.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Very probably.”

  “Or you might have been molested on the road traveling alone. Or assaulted by whomever you followed.” He moved so his face met hers in the dark. “I also would have been denied your company these last days and nights.”

  “You would have busied yourself with another.”

  “Eventually. Not for some time, I think.” A good while, he suspected. “What did you and the ladies talk about after Stratton pulled me away?”

  “Their journal.”

  “Ah. I thought perhaps you spoke about me.”

  “You really are very conceited.”

  “Did they warn you off me? Predict utter ruin for you?”

  “Nothing that I am not already well aware of. But we did speak about the journal as well. And you and Stratton? Did you two drink whisky and complain about the trouble women cause?”

  “Brandy, and we talked about his son. Or he talked and I listened. The child has little to recommend him yet. He is very tiny and mostly sleeps.”

  “Have you ever held him?”

  “Of course not. Why would I do that?”

  “Babies are very nice to hold. Like puppies, only better.”

  “Perhaps I would
have, if I had known that. I like puppies.”

  “You will have your own son someday. You must hold him. He will not remember that you did, but he will know it.”

  “It is my duty to have a son and no doubt I will, in due course. But I do not look forward to being a father. All those lectures about right and wrong and such. I’m not sure I have it in me.”

  “Then do not lecture. You will be a fine father. You have already been one in a way, with your brother. If you care for a son the way you cared for him, you will be quite the devoted father.”

  He tried to picture that. Would he be as besotted as Stratton? Probably not. Stratton’s joy came in part from sharing the experience with a woman he adored. Gabriel did not expect anything similar in his own marriage when he finally made one.

  The thought of that match left him cold. He did not know women well and preferred male companionship. He doubted he would be blessed with a wife whose company he preferred to that of Stratton and Brentworth. Women talked about things that bored him, and few displayed much wit in doing so. Other than with Amanda, he had rarely had true conversations with any women.

  He gazed down at her. She spoke blithely about him marrying and having an heir. He resented the circumstances of their meeting and the necessity of their parting. He hated how pending loss tinged everything they did and said now.

  Her expression changed suddenly. Her eyes grew large. She pushed at him hard and scrambled out from under him. “Of course,” she cried while she fought her way free of the linens. “Of course.”

  She ran to the dressing room. “Stay there,” she called. “I will bring it.”

  She emerged from the dressing room with a lit candle and a paper that she waved. “The last letter. Look at the bottom.”

  He opened it and read it again while she held the candle close. Her finger pointed. “See? She underlines this word along with love, but the line breaks the way they do at times when you draw a long one with a quill. It was the same on the other letters. I had not even thought about it, but with what you told me tonight, I kept seeing it in my head. And before you ask, yes, it is just the sort of thing she would do.”

  “Seeing what in your head?”

  “Read only the letters that are underlined in the last word.”

  With love and Devotion.

  D e v o n.

  Devon.

  Chapter Twenty

  “I say we go at once.” She spoke firmly.

  “We will wait until the directions arrive.” His tone more than matched her own.

  “It is stupid to delay.”

  “It is reckless not to wait.”

  The argument had been simmering all day. It boiled over when Langford came to her chambers that night and found her packing her trunk.

  He reached down, grabbed the garments in the trunk, and threw them down on the divan. “Unless you intend to walk the house naked, you will still need these.”

  “She is in Devon. I am sure of it.”

  “It is a big county.”

  “She is at that man’s property. You have the name. The thread is thick enough now to follow. We can get there in a few days and release her and—”

  “And if she is not? Then the letter comes and no one retrieves it. No one can follow the dagger back to her and her captor.”

  “No one will need to because I will have already rescued her.” How could he not see the simplicity of her plan? After worrying for months, she wanted to race to Devon and finish this.

  “We will wait for the letter.” He spoke with strained forbearance, like she was a child. With finality. The lord had spoken.

  She wanted to kick him. She stomped her foot in frustration instead. “You are horrible. You said you would help, and now you want to dawdle when action is needed.” She grabbed the garments off the divan and threw them into her trunk again. “I will do it alone. I don’t need you for such a simple task, and my skills will probably be more useful than you anyway.”

  He gripped her arm firmly. “Do not try my patience, Amanda. You will go nowhere without me. I will not have you riding across the country and confronting this man alone.”

  “You cannot stop me.”

  “I have already stopped you, and will do so again.”

  She stuck her face up at his. “Do you really believe I could not have left if I chose to? The lock on your back portal would take two minutes to release. That folly’s roof provides an easy way to go over the wall and I could climb up on it easily. I could have lost Vincent any day we went to check for the letter, and once I ran he would never have seen where I went.”

  “Then why didn’t you?”

  “Because I did not know where to go, thanks to your interference. Now I do.”

  “You still could have left and found another cellar to wait in until the next letter came.”

  “Why wait in a cellar when I could wait in luxury?”

  He reacted as if she had challenged him with a slap to the face. Jaw tight and eyes blazing, he strode to the door. “You can enjoy the silken bower a few more days, Amanda. You will be held in close confinement here.”

  She almost cried from frustration. He was so damned stubborn. She kicked her trunk. The pain to her toe sliced through her fury. She dropped to the divan and checked to see how badly she had hurt herself. Not too badly, although her toe would be sore for a day or so.

  Her open trunk gaped at her, displaying a jumble of made-over dresses and simple chemises. Mixed with the other fabrics, a dark patterned silk drew her attention. The shawl.

  His expression when he left came back to her. Anger and resolve, but something else in those eyes. Insult. Hurt.

  Then why didn’t you?

  A good question. A fair one. The true answer had not been the reason she’d thrown at him. Perhaps it had not been the one he’d wanted to hear, either.

  She could not be sure that the emotions she experienced when they embraced were shared by him. She sensed at times that they were, but her heart could be lying to her as surely as she had just lied to him.

  He would not have wanted her to speak the truth. I stayed so I could love you as long as the world allowed. How awkward if she had said that. One did not speak of love when the end was in sight. Yet what she had said instead had been an insult to him. To what they did share.

  She grabbed the shawl and draped it over her nightdress. She walked out to the bedchamber. She pressed the door’s latch. It did not move.

  She laughed to herself, ran to the dressing room, then returned to the door with a hairpin in hand. Half a minute later, she stepped out of her chamber.

  She had never visited his apartment, but she knew where it was. The movements of the servants had told her that much. She trailed past other doors until she arrived at his. She tried the latch and it gave away.

  The first chamber served as a sitting room. She gazed around its darkened space, but he was not there. There was another door, and light leaked through the crack where it was ajar.

  Suddenly it opened fully and he strode through. He halted when he saw her. The light behind him illuminated his white shirt, but shadows formed the rest of him.

  “Did you wear that shawl to remind me that my own stupidity entangled me in this business?”

  “I wore it so I would not be indecent if a servant came upon me.” She let it drop.

  “What the hell do you want?”

  Still angry. Still insulted.

  “You, of course. That is the real reason I stayed, and also the best luxury.”

  He came to her with two taut strides, grabbed her, and pushed her against the wall. No talking then. His kiss almost devoured her while he pulled off her nightdress. His holds and bites gave no quarter. She released herself into the rough pleasure and instinctively gave back what she got from him until desire cried all through her.

  That only drove him harder. He lifted and turned her and bent her over a fat arm of a divan. He grasped her hips and thrust into her hard. Then harder yet, again and
again. He did not lead her to her heights but forced her there in a furious taking.

  When she was on the brink, already tasting the fulfillment, so hungry for it she thought she would die, he stopped.

  “Tell me again why you stayed.”

  She barely found her voice. “For this. For you.”

  He thrust deeply. She gasped. The finish beckoned again, tantalizing her.

  “Again. Tell me again.”

  “For you.”

  He filled her over and over until the exquisite trembles when they joined became a tremor that shook her essence.

  * * *

  He rode the release until its end. He did not know how long he stood there or how his legs supported him. Finally, he found half his mind.

  She did not move while he pulled off his clothes. She looked lovely and erotic with her long legs parted and her bottom raised. His blood attempted to stir again, but accepted defeat for a while.

  He lifted her and carried her into the next chamber, put her on the bed, then dropped next to her.

  “If I hurt you—”

  “You did not hurt me. I do not think you would allow yourself to do that.”

  She had more faith in him that he did. Seeing her in his chambers had raised a sharp edge in the anger that had sent him back here after their argument. Even her words had not softened him.

  I stayed because of you. He drew her closer, into his arms.

  She turned and laid her head on his chest. “You should get better locks.”

  “Would it matter? I expect those who can work locks can work all of them.”

  “It would slow them down. I would never have been able to take the brooch if the museum had a better lock on its case. There were people about. If I could not do it fast, I could not do it at all.”

  “I will respect your expertise and tell the butler to see to better locks.”

  “Wait until I am gone. Just in case I want to escape.”

  He had to smile. Yet her reference to leaving caused a stirring of the anger again, because he did not want to think about that yet. Whenever he did, he tasted an emotion that reminded him too much of grief.