The Dukes of War: Complete Collection

by Ridley, Erica

  Three years later, he’d become a hollow husk of a man, beautiful and broken. He’d remained locked inside his head until Lord Carlisle had rescued the captain from—well, wherever he’d been—and returned him to England, determined to give him back some life.

  The last time she’d seen the captain was over a month ago, the night Grace and Lord Carlisle had been compromised into marriage. He had seemed so… defeated. The ton was in full agreement that Captain Grey had miraculously awoken from his fugue that very night, but Jane held a private opinion.

  For him to “awaken” implied he’d been in a state of arrested consciousness, and she didn’t believe that was the case at all. Every time she’d glimpsed him, his eyes had been too tempestuous to imagine him unaware of the world about him. He just no longer wished to be part of it.

  Jane wrapped her arms about her chest and tried to put him out of her mind.

  The time to obsess over a strong, silent soldier with dark, haunted eyes was five hours from now, when she was alone in bed with her thoughts. Right now, she needed to focus on being a good friend.

  She gave her companions her sunniest smile. “How go the renovations on Carlisle House?”

  Grace’s eyes lit up. “’Tis only been a week since the wedding, so we haven’t purchased much—aside from furnishings for my mother’s chambers, of course.” She sent a fond glance toward her mother, then touched her fingers to Lord Carlisle’s chest. “I don’t care about chandeliers and fancy gowns. What we have is more than enough. I want Oliver to spend every penny on his tenants before restoring the estate.”

  “And I don’t want you to lack a single comfort,” Lord Carlisle responded gruffly as he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his wife’s hair.

  Wasn’t that adorable? Jane clenched her teeth behind her smile. She wasn’t jealous in the slightest.

  No. This was going to be a splendid evening. She was fortunate to have been invited. This opera was one of her favorites.

  She pasted the smile back on her face.

  “What are your duties while Lord Carlisle handles his affairs?” she asked her friend. “I imagine managing such a large household must be a challenge.”

  Grace shook her head. “I thought so at first, but they don’t require much direction from me. Most of the staff has been working there since Oliver was a child. What I truly wish we had is some entertainment for Mama. The library is empty, and—”

  Lord Carlisle swung his head sharply in her direction. “I shall order a dozen titles as soon as the tenants’ roofs have been repaired.”

  Her chin jutted forward. “Absolutely not. You have other duties a hundred times more important than travel tomes and gothic novels. I refuse to—”

  “I have books,” Jane interjected before the fight could continue. “I can lend...” She coughed into her gloved fist. No. She could do better than that. These people counted their shillings, and she loved them dearly. “…that is, give you as many history tomes and gothic novels as you might like.”

  Lord Carlisle’s voice hardened. “We couldn’t possibly.”

  Jane made a self-deprecating gesture. “Your wife’s best friend is a bluestocking with more books than sense. You might as well get something out of the association.”

  Even if it killed her. She rubbed her suddenly chilled arms. Just the thought of losing any part of her collection left her empty.

  Every book, every story, was dear to her heart. For long, lonely weeks at a time, the only conversation she heard was the dialogue printed within those pages—well, that and the gentle prodding of her brother’s servants if she missed a meal. Books kept her company so often that she had a fair quantity memorized. Mansfield Park. Waverley. Guy Mannering. Her throat convulsed. Of course she would relinquish her dearest possessions to Grace and her mother.

  That’s what friends did.

  Grace reached across the carriage to squeeze Jane’s hand again. “You are the kindest woman who ever lived. I will accept a loan, but not a gift. We shall return your books as quickly as we can read them.”

  Some of the tightness left Jane’s shoulders. “As you please.”

  The carriage jerked to a stop. Lord Carlisle and Mrs. Halton exchanged pleased smiles. Grace clapped her hands in excitement.

  Jane concentrated on making it through the night with her pride intact.

  Lord Carlisle helped his wife from the carriage, then his mother-in-law. When it was Jane’s turn to alight, she rallied her courage and forced herself up from the squab. It was just a Society event. She would survive.

  Once on Bow Street, they bent their heads against the bitter wind and dashed into the theatre lobby. Warmth enveloped them. To the others, the heat from the fireplace might have been welcome, but to Jane, it was her cue that she had officially entered Hell. Throngs of fashionable faces crowded them at once.

  “Lord Carlisle! Lady Carlisle!”

  “You look radiant, Lady Carlisle! Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Halton!”

  “I fancy you want your grays back, Carlisle. Their price has doubled, I daresay!”

  “Please say you’ll come to our dinner party next month, Lady Carlisle.”

  “Ravishing bride, Carlisle. I hear the mother’s a widow?”

  “Congratulations on your nuptials, Lady Carlisle. Is this stunning woman your mother?”

  “She is!” Grace chirped, radiant as a new countess. “Your Grace, I present Mrs. Halton. Mama, this is His Grace, the Duke of Lambley.” A firm grip latched onto Jane’s wrist and yanked her to Grace’s side. “And this is Miss Downing, my best friend. She’s as brilliant as she is beautiful.”

  The duke bent over Jane’s fingers. “In that case, I am very pleased to meet you.”

  “As am I.” She refrained from mentioning they’d met on at least ten prior occasions. It wasn’t his fault. Rakes couldn’t be expected to recall the names of all the ladies they’d tupped, much less the face of lowly wallflower.

  “Grace!” squealed a happy female voice. “That is, Lady Carlisle. Do you adore being a countess?”

  “I definitely adore my earl,” Grace answered with a laugh. “Matilda, this is my friend Miss Downing. Jane, I’d like you to meet Miss Kingsley.”

  It seemed churlish to say, I met her when we had our come-out on the same evening, then again when her cousin disappeared at a musicale and Miss Kingsley needed someone to turn the pages, then again when the ladies’ club collected embroidered handkerchiefs for charity, so Jane just sighed and said, “How do you do?”

  As she always, always did.

  Emptiness yawned inside of her. Jane wasn’t just a fixture in Society—she was a fixture. No more memorable than a carpet or a bellpull.

  Grace looped her arm through Jane’s and turned her toward one of the young men. “This is my best friend, Miss Downing. Jane, this is Mr. Fairfax.”

  Another familiar face.

  He touched his lips to the back of Jane’s gloved hand. “Don’t believe everything they write about me in the scandal sheets.”

  She smiled brightly. “So you’re not an incurable rogue addicted to gaming hells and pricy brothels?”

  Grace groaned into her hands.

  Jane blinked back at her innocently.

  As expected, Mr. Fairfax wasn’t listening. His gaze had already been caught by a young lady in an emerald dress, and he was even now disappearing into the crowd without remembering to say good-bye.

  Grace cast Jane a look, but before she could say a word of chastisement she was once again surrounded by well-wishers. “Oh, of course, Lady Grenville! I would love for you to meet my mother. Mama, this is …”

  Jane stepped back into the shadows. She supposed the positive aspect to never being recalled was that she could get away with some truly outlandish behavior. Mr. Fairfax hadn’t been insulted. He’d already forgotten her.

  She let the voices fade to a distant buzz. Her ability to ignore the outside world and live inside her head was key to getting through each boring, endless day
. When at home, it let her escape into her books. And when at the Theatre Royal… Well, living inside her head was better than being introduced to the same blank faces time and again.

  Others might not mind. Her brother, Isaac, preferred being invisible. He was boring on purpose, just to keep his name off the Marriage Mart’s most wanted list. He cherished his solitude.

  Jane was the opposite. She often said the most outrageous things she could think of in the hopes of seeing awareness flash for just one second in someone else’s eyes, but it never, ever happened. If there was a boring, harmless way to interpret her boldest insults or double entendres, that’s precisely how her remarks would be taken—and then promptly forgotten. It was as though High Society suffered from total Jane Amnesia. Janenesia.

  “Ladies.” Lord Carlisle proffered one arm to his wife and the other arm to her mother. “It’s time to take our seats.”

  Jane trailed in their wake.

  It wasn’t that her friends had forgotten her. Lord Carlisle possessed two arms and was escorting three women. Besides, Jane was used to walking unnoticed in other people’s shadows.

  When she was younger, she’d thought perhaps her stride was the problem. That maybe she’d copied so much of Isaac’s careful boringness that her very walk made her invisible.

  Easy enough to correct! She’d tried strutting like a peacock. Shimmying like a demimondaine. Swaggering like a dandy. Once, she’d shuffled ploddingly behind her brother with her mouth hanging open as if she were the walking dead intent on eating him alive. At the annual Sheffield Christmastide ball. In front of hundreds of witnesses. At the very least, she’d expected to gain a horrid-but-catchy nickname, like Lady Automaton or even That-Poor-Miss-Downing-What-Do-You-Suppose-Is-Wrong-With-Her?

  Nothing. Not a blink. Complete Janenesia.

  Lord Carlisle paused in front of Ravenwood’s opera box and held back the curtain. Mrs. Halton slipped inside first, followed immediately by Grace. Just as Jane moved forward, Lord Carlisle stepped in behind his wife. The curtain didn’t precisely fall on Jane’s head. She pushed the curtain aside and hurried inside as quickly as possible. The box was dim, but sumptuous. She pushed a few more pins into her displaced curls and settled into an empty seat.

  Of course Carlisle wished to sit next to his wife. They were newly wed. And Jane was a never-will. Even if she could somehow command a man’s attention, with what would she keep it? Her brain was a mark against her, and as for her alleged beauty… Her own papa had always said she was quite pretty—for a plump girl.

  Although the current high-waisted fashions did nothing to hide her plumpness, the billowing tubular midsection gave all women a rounder midsection, so at least she wasn’t the only young lady thus afflicted. Just the only undesirable one.

  The audience rumbled excitedly as the thick red curtain began to part onstage.

  Grace leaned into her husband, her brow furrowed. “He’s not coming?”

  Lord Carlisle slipped her hand in his. “He’ll be here. He would never break his word.”

  Jane kept her voice hushed as she turned toward them. “Who won’t break his word?”

  “An old friend,” Carlisle murmured at the same moment Grace said, “Captain Grey.”

  Chapter 2

  Heat raced up Jane’s cheeks. Captain Grey? Was joining them here?

  Her entire body was blushing, just at the sound of his name. And the reminder of the rather lurid thoughts she had about him every time she closed her eyes.

  She couldn’t move a muscle. Heaven help her, she could barely even think. This was a disaster.

  The last thing this evening needed was the object of her fantasies to sit right beside her and remain unaware of her existence. She’d rather return home now, before complete and utter humiliation had a chance to rear its ugly head.

  “How do you know he’s coming?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Because he said so.” Lord Carlisle lifted his wife’s fingers to his lips. “I told him it would please Grace if he would join us at least once before removing to Essex.”

  “He’s… leaving?”

  Grace nodded. “Tomorrow. He has a little cottage a couple miles past Chelmsford and he plans to stay there the rest of the Season.”

  “Or perhaps forever.” Carlisle’s jaw tightened. “Xavier thinks he may never be ready for Polite Society. He may be right.”

  Jane swallowed hard. Of course the dark and dangerous man of her dreams planned to disappear from Society forever after tonight. What did she expect?

  The curtain to the private box flung open. There, silhouetted by the chandeliers in the corridor, stood the infamous Captain Grey… and a very imperious usher.

  A wry smile quirked the corner of Captain Grey’s lips. “I’m afraid my good man here couldn’t quite credit that I was welcome in the Duke of Ravenwood’s box. Shall I go?”

  Lord Carlisle sprang to his feet. “Of course you’re welcome! Come, sit. I believe you know everyone present?” He turned toward the usher. “We’re all very pleased our dear friend was able to join us. That will be all.”

  “I’m so sorry, my lord,” the red-faced usher spluttered. “He looked… I thought—”

  “It’s forgotten. Go.” Lord Carlisle dismissed the usher, then turned to Jane. His voice lowered. “Do you mind moving down a seat so Xavier can sit next to me?”

  Captain Grey frowned. “Unnecessary. I’ve already interrupted enough.”

  “No, I don’t mind.” Jane scrambled out of the way and waved a hand toward her vacated seat. “Please. Sit next to your friend.”

  He inclined his head and took his seat.

  The lighting was too dim to make out the crystalline blue of his eyes or the long black lashes that framed them. But Jane didn’t need lighting to recall every angle of his chiseled features or the careless tumble of wavy black hair against the stark white of his cravat. Every inch of him was seared into her memory.

  Well, every properly (but disappointingly) clothed inch, that was. Nothing could hide the strong thighs encased in buckskin breeches or the thickly muscled arms filling out the sleeves of his expertly tailored jacket.

  Heaven help her. She was going to be a hairsbreadth away from this gorgeous man for the next three hours. She absolutely, positively, couldn’t swoon. Or throw herself into his arms. His thick, powerful arms.

  Her breath caught. This was impossible. He’d been seated next to her for less than five seconds and already her heart thundered as though she were running for her life. Perhaps she should be. Captain Grey wasn’t good for one’s reputation… or one’s heart.

  Everyone knew that. He’d returned from war in a fugue state, and even before that, he hadn’t been considered a catch. Not by Society. He wasn’t rich. He wasn’t heir to a coronet. And he’d always had the same air of danger and unpredictability that clung to him even now.

  He appeared confident, graceful, and deadly. No wonder the usher had hesitated. Captain Grey moved more like a hunter than a gentleman. Those piercing blue eyes could freeze a duke right in his tracks.

  Or a bluestocking spinster.

  She lowered her lashes. There was no way she was going to be able to pay any attention to this opera. She was too aware of his intoxicating proximity, of the rise and fall of his chest, of the way his eyes… were looking right at her? Her leg started bouncing with nerves. He’d caught her staring. She slid a little lower in her chair.

  Whatever color she’d flushed before was nowhere near the crimson she must be blushing now.

  He hunched closer so that his shoulder was touching hers. “Any idea what they’re warbling about on stage?”

  Oh, lord. She had no idea how her heart wasn’t exploding right out of her chest. His shoulder. Was touching hers. On purpose.

  “Er...” Her mind went blank. Captain Grey was actually talking to her. And expecting a reply. Think. What opera was this? She forced her gaze to the dueling sopranos. “That’s... Ismene and Antigona. They’re vexed that Creon won�
�t bury Polynices because he started a war.”

  His eyes widened. “You speak Italian?”

  She shook her head. “Greek. Antigone was a play before it was an opera. I must’ve read it a hundred times.”

  He blinked.

  She let her words trail off. Stop. Talking. One must not admit to reading ancient Greek plays hundreds of times. Bluestockings do not leave a coquettish impression. One must strive to be enchanting and irresistible.

  Her well-read mind failed to summon any actionable ideas.

  His lips quirked. “I haven’t read a book in years, so I suppose I ought to pay attention while the plot is being dramatized right in front of me.” He turned his gaze back to the stage.

  There. Jane tried not to crawl under her seat and die. This was what happened when she showed her excessive love for reading. Nothing. Nothing at all happened. That was exactly why she was so forgettable.

  Yet she could think of nothing compelling to say or alluring to do. She couldn’t believe she’d already lost his attention after having had it for such a brief moment. She was so… Jane.

  Would it have been better to say she’d only read Antigone once? Or to claim she had no idea why those people were dancing about the stage with swords and lots of sobbing? Perhaps the wisest course would’ve been to—

  His shoulder. She stopped breathing. His shoulder was still touching hers. He had remained hunched down as if, any minute now, they might once again be whispering like bosom friends.

  She shivered. If only!

  It wasn’t just that he was the most exquisitely attractive man she’d ever laid eyes upon. He was a soldier and a hero. An officer. Military men were loyal, and heroic and strong and delicious.

  Do not overthink, she admonished herself. Proximity meant nothing. It was just a play. Just a shoulder. He wasn’t going to whisk her into the shadows for a carnal interlude (not that she would have objected) and he certainly wasn’t in any danger of losing his mind and proposing marriage. He planned on disappearing from Society altogether.