The Duke's Secret Heir

by Sarah Mallory

  It was then he heard it, from across the room. A laugh, merry and joyful, clear as a peal of bells. The familiar sound that stopped him in his tracks and sliced into his heart like a sword.

  * * *

  When Ellen arrived at the Granby she was surprised to see how many carriages were still waiting on the drive and still more surprised at the crush of guests thronging the ballroom. As her name was announced at the door, Lady Bilbrough came hurrying over to greet her.

  ‘My dear Mrs Furnell, I am so pleased you could come tonight. And a new gown, too! Let me look at you... I adore that red silk net with the underdress of white satin just peeping through. Quite beautiful, and it suits you perfectly. One of your new creations from London, if I am not mistaken. How did you go on there, I hope you enjoyed yourself?’

  ‘Town was very hot, ma’am, and I am very glad to be back,’ replied Ellen, moving away from the door as another crowd of guests arrived. She glanced around the room. ‘Harrogate has turned out in force this evening.’

  ‘It has indeed,’ agreed my lady, but all the time her eyes were darting around, as if looking for someone. ‘I vow the landlords of the Crown and the Dragon will be kicking themselves that their balls have not been so honoured!’

  ‘Honoured, ma’am?’ Ellen gave a puzzled laugh. Surely the lady could not be talking of her own return from London.

  Lady Bilbrough reached out and touched her arm, saying in a voice trembling with excitement, ‘Oh, Mrs Furnell, only wait until you have heard the news!’

  But before she could continue General Dingwall came bustling up.

  ‘My dear Mrs Furnell, delighted to have you back with us. I have been looking out for you, for you promised me the first dance when we met again and they are striking up already, ma’am, so let us make haste. You know I am loath to stand up with anyone else, my dear lady, for I swear no one else is so light on their feet.’

  Ellen had no time for more than an apologetic smile for Lady Bilbrough before her elderly gallant carried her away. It was always the same; at any ball she attended there was never any shortage of dance partners and in tonight’s crush there were more than ever. No sooner had a dance ended than she was snapped up for the next. It was gratifying, but she was glad when the music stopped for a while and she was able to catch her breath and talk to her friends. She was drawn into a laughing, chattering group at the side of the room and was giving them a lively account of her time in the capital when she realised her companions were not attending. The men were standing to attention and straightening their neckcloths, while without exception the ladies were simpering and blushing as they looked at someone behind her.

  Ellen turned and found herself face to face with the man she had tried so hard to forget.

  The room began to spin. At a great distance she could hear Lady Bilbrough performing the introductions. So he was now the Duke of Rossenhall. He had not lied to her about everything, then. Only about the marriage. Only about loving her. But why had he come to find her? She realised she was being presented to him as if they were complete strangers. Which of course, her struggling brain fought to tell her, everyone thought they were.

  As Ellen sank down into the required obeisance she wondered if she would be able to rise again, for her knees felt too weak to support her.

  ‘Your Grace.’

  By a supreme effort of will she kept her voice steady and rose gracefully from her curtsy. When she forced herself to look at the Duke she was momentarily dazzled, for the candles glinted off his fair hair and it gleamed like molten gold. A halo, although she knew to her cost he was no saint. She schooled her face into a smile. His eyes, green as a cat’s but cold as ice, pierced her to the soul. The handsome face was achingly familiar, yet now it was stony and uncaring, so different from the way she remembered him. He looked as if this encounter was as unwelcome to him as it was to her and she knew in that moment he had not planned it; he had not sought her out. Ellen’s hands were tightly wrapped about her fan and she felt one of the sticks break beneath her grip.

  ‘Mrs Furnell.’ No one else noticed the steely menace behind the softly spoken words. But then, thought Ellen, no one else here was so well acquainted with the Duke. ‘If you are not engaged, madam, perhaps you would do me the honour of standing up with me for the next dance?’

  No. That would break her. She said, with spurious regret, ‘Alas, Your Grace, I have promised the next to Mr Leeming.’

  Ellen turned to smile at that gentleman, but he immediately coughed and bowed and assured His Grace that he was happy to forgo the pleasure of dancing with Mrs Furnell. He then lost himself in a tangle of words as he tried to assure Ellen that he meant no disrespect to her. His sacrifice earned him a bow from the Duke.

  ‘Normally I would not dream of taking another man’s partner,’ said His Grace, with smiling civility, ‘but in this instance, I confess the temptation is too great to be resisted. Mr Leeming, is it not? I am indebted to you, sir.’ As if on cue, the orchestra struck up the first notes of the next country dance and the Duke offered his arm. ‘Madam?’

  Time stopped. Ellen felt as if she had grown roots and could not move. She was aware of the interested stares of everyone around her, the smiling face of Lady Bilbrough, who was nodding encouragement, but most of all she was aware of the man standing before her, fair, tall and broad-shouldered, his back ramrod straight. Solid as a rock and dangerous as sin.

  Ellen’s eyes dropped to the dark sleeve. She would as lief put her hand in the jaws of a crocodile, but she was trapped. To turn away would cause talk and speculation. Ruin. Slowly and with infinite care she placed her fingers on his arm. Beneath the fine material he was tense, hard as iron, and as he led her to the dance floor she could feel the anger emanating from him. It was like a physical wave, trying to wash her off balance. She put up her chin. Why should he feel aggrieved, when she was the one who had been betrayed? They took their places in the set, facing one another more like opponents than partners.

  ‘It has been a long time,’ he said. ‘Four years.’

  She smiled politely. During those years she had practised hiding her true feelings and now that training came to her aid.

  ‘Is it really so long? I had forgotten.’

  A lie. She had counted every one of the days since they had parted, but she did not cry over the past. At least, only in her sleep, and no one could help their dreams. They moved forward and back. They circled, changed partners and back again. His next words, little more than a fierce whisper as they passed, caused her to miss her step.

  ‘I thought you were in France.’

  She corrected quickly and hissed at him as they circled, ‘That was the intention.’

  ‘But you came here.’

  ‘I had to live somewhere.’

  ‘But not with me.’

  She kept smiling, but inside a sharp blade sliced deep into her heart. ‘No, never with you.’

  They separated. Only her familiarity with the dance kept Ellen moving. Only pride and strength of will kept her smiling, while her mind wandered back to those heady days in the Egyptian desert. The stuffy warmth of the ballroom disappeared, replaced by a dry heat and the scouring sand carried by the Simoon, the wind that could blow up ferociously and without warning. The chatter of guests became the shouts and menacing cries of the Mamelukes as they thundered up on their horses and surrounded the camel train, bristling with weapons and clearly hostile.

  Ellen heard again Mrs Ackroyd’s impatient tut. The little Englishwoman had been Ellen’s schoolteacher and was now her friend and mentor, and her indomitable spirit was in no way cowed by a threatening tribe of desert horsemen. Or perhaps it was being perched high on a camel that enhanced her sense of superiority.

  ‘For heaven’s sake,’ she admonished their trembling guide, ‘tell them I am a personal friend of Bernardino Drovetti, the French Consul G
eneral. Tell them he has arranged safe passage for us with the Governor of Egypt.’ She drew out a paper and waved it at the nearest rider. ‘Look, we have permission to visit the antiquities at Giza and our permit is signed by Muhammed Ali himself!’

  At the name of Egypt’s current ruler, the horsemen muttered and growled and looked even more threatening. One rider, taller and broader than the rest, pushed his way through the throng and approached them. He was dressed as the others in loose white trousers, a blue waistcoat over the billowing white shirt and a turban with a scrap of cloth over his face to protect him from the windborne sand, but Ellen noticed that his skin was paler than his companions, and there was a glint in his emerald-green eyes that was strangely compelling.

  ‘Perhaps I can help?’ His voice was deep and well-modulated. She remembered feeling no surprise to hear the aristocratic English accent in this foreign land. ‘No doubt you paid good money for that pass, but I’m afraid your dependence upon the Pasha’s protection is misplaced. Outside the walls of Cairo his power is limited.’ The green eyes narrowed and gleamed, as if he was laughing at them. ‘Let me see what I can do.’

  The memory of that mocking glance had haunted Ellen’s dreams for four years. Now, as the dance brought them back together, she could perceive no laughter in his eyes, just an ice-cold fury that chilled her blood. If only she had known he would be here, if only she had enquired who was in town before venturing out this evening, but she had thought herself safe enough in Harrogate. The Duke had no properties and no family this far north. Her mind, normally so sharp and clear, refused to work. She could not think what she should do, save continue to dance and smile.

  When the music ended she ignored the Duke’s hand as they walked off the floor.

  She said coldly, ‘Pray do not feel obliged to accompany me, Your Grace. If you think I am honoured by your attentions, you are mistaken.’

  ‘I want to talk to you.’

  ‘We have nothing to say to one another.’

  He put his hand on her arm, obliging her to stop and face him. There was barely contained anger in every line of him, but before he could speak they were interrupted by General Dingwall.

  ‘Well, now, Your Grace, you have had your dance and it is time to give up your fair partner!’ The old soldier gave a fat chuckle. ‘Oh, yes, you may look daggers at me, young man, but when you get to my age you will find that a title is not nearly so intimidating. Besides, I know you for a military man, sir. A major, so I outrank you!’

  For a moment Ellen feared the Duke would ignore General Dingwall and actually drag her away with him, but at last he released his iron grip. He held her eyes, his own full of chilling ferocity, but his voice when he spoke was politeness itself.

  ‘Your superior strategy carries the day, General,’ he said. ‘I relinquish my prize. For the present.’

  He bowed, but the look he gave Ellen as he walked away told her it was only a temporary reprieve.

  * * *

  Ellen’s elderly admirer led her back to the dance floor for a lively gavotte and when it ended she was approached by several other gentlemen, all hopeful of a dance, but she announced her intention of sitting out for the rest of the evening. She could not see Max, but she knew he was somewhere in the crowded room, watching her. She could feel his presence, menacing and dangerous. She considered leaving early, but was afraid he might follow her home and that was the last thing she wanted.

  When supper was announced Ellen decided there was safety in numbers and headed for the large table that ran down the centre of the room. With relief she saw an empty chair beside Georgie Arncliffe and she hurried towards it.

  The Arncliffes had come to Harrogate two years ago, when Frederick’s doctors had advised him to try the spa waters, and Ellen and Georgie had immediately struck up an acquaintance. The fact that they both had young children had drawn them together, but their lively minds were very much in harmony and the acquaintance soon blossomed into a firm friendship. Now, Georgie’s smile of welcome was balm to Ellen’s battered emotions.

  ‘I did not know you had returned, Ellen. Welcome back, my dear.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Ellen took the outstretched hand and squeezed it gratefully as she sank down on to the chair. ‘I am so pleased to see you and Frederick tonight.’

  ‘As if you did not know almost everyone here.’ Georgie laughed. ‘And I had been hoping to impress you by introducing Frederick’s good friend, but alas Lady Bilbrough has stolen my thunder.’

  Georgie turned to smile across the table and Ellen’s heart sank when she saw the Duke of Rossenhall lowering himself into the vacant seat opposite. He gave her a look that was nothing short of predatory.

  ‘So,’ he said. ‘We meet again, Mrs Furnell.’

  Frederick Arncliffe looked up. ‘You two are acquainted?’

  Ellen kept her eyes on Max, wondering if he would tell them the truth; that they had met in Egypt four years ago, when he and his men, a mixture of English deserters and Mameluke warriors, had come upon two Englishwomen with their woefully few guards and had offered them protection. But it was Georgie who laughingly replied.

  ‘Why, yes, they are, my love,’ she said. ‘His Grace requested an introduction from Lady Bilbrough.’

  ‘What man would not?’ Max murmured with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

  ‘Indeed, Mrs Furnell is one of the diamonds of our society,’ put in Mr Rudby, sitting close by.

  ‘So I am informed,’ replied Max. ‘The golden widow.’

  Ellen’s cheeks flamed. He made it sound like an insult, although no one else appeared to notice. True, Georgie gave a little tut of disapproval, but Frederick merely laughed and shook his head at her.

  ‘Pho, my dear, Mrs Furnell is not offended. She knows it is a compliment to her radiant beauty.’

  ‘Yes,’ the Duke agreed quietly. ‘I have been unable to think of anyone else all evening.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Ellen’s brows rose. She turned to Fred and said coolly, ‘I fear your friend is a breaker of hearts, Mr Arncliffe.’

  Sitting a few seats along from the Duke, General Dingwall gave a bark of laughter. ‘How could he not be? Handsome young dog, with a title and a fortune, ’tis no wonder that all the ladies are hot for him.’

  ‘But I was not always titled, or rich. A few years ago I was merely Major Colnebrooke of a Regiment of Foot.’ He leaned back, his long, lean fingers, playing with the stem of his wineglass. ‘Then ladies were more inclined to run away.’

  There was uproar at this, hoots of laughter from the gentlemen while from the ladies came disclaimers that their sex would be so fickle. Only the Duke and Ellen appeared unmoved. She felt his eyes upon her as she concentrated on her supper, cutting the meat into precise little portions. Each mouthful tasted of ashes, but pride forced her to continue. How dared he chastise her? What had he expected her to do, once his deceit was discovered?

  And your own deception?

  She would not think of that. She had done what was necessary to survive.

  The scrape of fiddles heralded the start of another dance and the supper party began to disperse. The Duke pushed back his chair.

  ‘May I escort you back to the ballroom, Mrs Furnell?’

  ‘Thank you, Your Grace, but that will not be necessary.’

  ‘What, madam, are you afraid of me?’

  Slowly she came to her feet, saying with a laugh, ‘Of course not, Your Grace.’

  But the look in his eyes told her she should be. Very afraid.

  Chapter Two

  Ellen stood, waiting, while the Duke made his way around the table to join her. His step was firm, assured, and he had the lithe grace of a big cat. When they had first met she had likened him to a lion, with his shaggy mane of thick, wavy fair hair. It was shorter now, and darker than she remembered, but four years
ago his locks had been bleached by the Egyptian sun. Now it had golden highlights that glinted in the candlelight.

  All that glitters...

  Mrs Ackroyd had called them a golden couple, but Ellen had quickly discovered that Max was not gold but dross. Foolishly she had allowed herself to be taken in by his charm, so blinded by love that she had ignored her friend’s advice to wait, and had entered into a hasty marriage, only to discover within weeks that it was all a pretence.

  Now the man who had broken her heart and ruined her life was towering over her.

  ‘Well, madam, shall we go?’

  With a smile she took his arm. She had vowed that no one would ever know how foolish she had been, how much she had suffered. Least of all Max Colnebrooke.

  * * *

  Max kept his pace slow, measured, as he escorted Ellen back to the ballroom. The shock of seeing her again after all these years had abated. Upon his return to England, four years ago, he had searched for her, hoping against all the evidence that she had come back to him and not forsaken him for the French Consul, but it had been in vain. She had left Egypt under her new lover’s protection, leaving him no word of explanation. Not even goodbye. His temper was under control now and it must stay that way. His anger against the woman beside him had cooled long ago, he would not give her the satisfaction of knowing that her betrayal had almost destroyed him. But there were questions he wanted to ask, things he needed to know.

  ‘We must talk,’ he said.

  ‘No, we must dance.’ She was smiling, but not at him. She lifted her hand to acknowledge those already on the dance floor who were inviting them to join in.

  He could refuse, he could drag her away to some secluded spot, but how would that look? Everyone would say he was besotted with the golden widow and he had no intention of adding to her consequence in that way. Max took his place in the line. It was a country dance and would go on for some time, perhaps as much as an hour. He almost ground his teeth in frustration, but there was nothing he could do now. Talking would have to wait.