The Dukes of War: Complete Collection

by Ridley, Erica

  But first, she was going to have to spend an evening shoulder-to-shoulder with the one person she would never be able to get out of her mind.

  Chapter 3

  At half nine the next morning, Jane tilted a wingback chair beneath the locked door to her private library. Such measures were unlikely to keep Isaac out if her brother were truly determined to enter, but the barred door would at least prevent Egui the devil-cat from leaping onto her head whilst she searched for guidance among her books.

  Provided the cat wasn’t in here already, lying in wait.

  She peered about the library suspiciously but saw no sign of the potbellied gray demon.

  Not that one ever did, until it was too late.

  With a last look over her shoulder, she began to walk along the rows of books in search of inspiration. Something in one of these tomes was bound to help her get noticed. Perhaps no strategy could win her a suitor, but if she could be desirable, for once in her life…

  She ran a finger along the spines and sighed. The novels were no use. They were full of perfect, beautiful maidens whose greatest challenge was deciding which rich, devoted beau she should take for a husband.

  Jane was in no such predicament. Just the night before, she’d had her first conversation with an eligible bachelor in weeks and made a pretty botch of it by babbling about her obsession with ancient tragedies.

  Her life wasn’t a tragedy, at least. Other people were forced to the altar. She had narrowly escaped that fate and would just have to die an old maid. Was that not a blessing? A bad marriage had no advantage over spinsterhood.

  To gain a husband, she would have to relinquish the freedoms she currently took for granted. Isaac often traveled for weeks at a time, which did leave her lonely, but who was to say a husband would not do the same?

  Her brother loved her, which made for far more comfortable interactions than the silent, frigid meals shared by bitter couples that only wed for money or titles or because their parents had betrothed them while still in the womb, or other such nonsense.

  She wasn’t rich enough to attract fortune hunters on the strength of her dowry alone, but Isaac provided her with any pin money she requested without question. She could solicit the gowns she desired, attend any routs she wished, purchase any manuscripts she—

  Ah. There.

  She’d hidden the little book of erotic sketches inside the hollowed-out pages of a treatise on the evolution of various embroidery stitches across the centuries. She doubted Isaac would take it upon himself to research such a topic—and, besides, he had his own library—but one could never be too cautious. If she were to ruin her disappointingly pristine reputation, she wished to do so by enjoying illicit pleasures, not just by reading about them.

  Or staring openmouthed.

  Each illustration depicted a man and a woman in positions she could scarcely fathom. She’d perused these pages dozens of times, and still a few of them seemed impossible no matter which way she turned the book.

  She sighed. Sketches couldn’t convey the feel and scent and taste of lovemaking. To truly understand, she would have to experience the wonder for herself.

  Which, in her position, would be an extremely unlikely occurrence.

  From a certain perspective, it was almost too bad that she had been born into gentility. She wouldn’t wish to trade her position in society for life in the rookeries, but there was an elegant middle tier: demimondaines.

  Some of those women were wealthier and more sophisticated than the highest echelons of the haut ton and could select their lovers at will. Rumors of carnal liaisons enhanced, rather than ruined, their reputations.

  The only individuals enjoying somewhat comparable freedoms in Polite Society were the rakes—and even then, their debauchery could only go so far.

  Respectable women, on the other hand, had no such privilege. The only way for a female to take a lover without ruining her name in the process was to marry… or to be so clandestine that no one was ever the wiser.

  Realistically, only one of those options was open to Jane—and it wasn’t marriage. The eligible men of her acquaintance had had four-and-twenty years to ask for her hand, and couldn’t be bothered to ask her to dance.

  Much less to perform acts of… whatever it was the inked couple was doing in this particular sketch. She turned the illustration around. It still looked like the same position. She wasn’t certain it was erotic, but it was certainly interesting.

  And tempting. While she wouldn’t trade the freedoms of spinsterhood for a cold, loveless marriage, she would happily trade her lonely, monotonous days for nights of heated passion.

  With the right man.

  The image of Captain Grey’s handsome visage rose to mind. As it did two hundred times a day. Would she have a clandestine affair with Captain Grey? Absolutely. The question was, would he?

  Not when she lacked the basic ability to attract a man’s interest.

  She sighed. The thing about marriage was that one was rather required to have intimate encounters with one’s spouse if one intended to beget heirs. The thing about secret affairs was that lovemaking was about pleasure, not practicality, and one only participated in carnal relations with those they desired.

  And Jane was plainly undesirable.

  She might have said invisible, were it not for that brief, whispered conversation and the subtle press of his shoulder against hers. She clutched the book to her chest. He had seen her. And spoken to her. And treated her like a friend, if only a temporary one.

  None of which meant he’d be eager to lie with her but, oh, would such a liaison not be perfect?

  Her shoulders fell. If it weren’t completely out of the question, of course. At this hour, he was doubtlessly en route to his cottage in Chelmsford, and she was stuck here in this town house with her brother for the rest of the Season. For the rest of her life.

  Even if she had managed to besot the captain with nothing more than the brush of her shoulder and a love of Greek playwrights, ’twould all be for naught. By the time she saw him again—if that day ever came—he would have long since found someone else. Someone memorable.

  “Jane?” A loud knock thundered against the door.

  Her brother. With shaking fingers, she fumbled the little book back inside the tome on decorative sewing and shoved it back in place amongst all the other volumes.

  The door rattled against the chair propped beneath its handle. “I say, Jane. Are you blocking the entrance to your library?”

  She dashed over to the door and lugged the heavy wingback chair back toward the fireplace. Panting, she shoved a damp tendril of hair off her forehead and flung open the library door.

  “Don’t be absurd, Isaac. Why on earth would I block the entrance to—yeeaaaghh!”

  Egui the Satan-cat leapt from her brother’s arms to the front of her bodice, his razor-sharp claws scraping all the way through her shift as he slid gleefully to the floor and shot off into the shadows.

  “I wish you wouldn’t tease him so,” Isaac admonished her. “He never gets out of sorts unless he’s around you.”

  She smiled through gritted teeth. “I shall endeavor to pay him less attention. Did you need something?”

  “I’m afraid so. I’ve been called away to a meeting with the board of future fish farmers down in Exeter, and I have to leave in the next few minutes if I’m to miss the snowstorm heading this way. Can you ensure Egui is comfortable while I’m away? It should only be a couple of weeks at the most, but one never knows when it comes to men and their herrings.”

  “Yes, yes, lovely,” Jane answered automatically, her heart pounding.

  This was her opportunity to make her own fate! With her brother away, no one would know whether spinster Jane Downing was home alone with her books or had slipped off for the night. She could be in Chelmsford by luncheon.

  If it didn’t occur to Captain Grey to seduce her, well, she would just have to seduce him. And if he was not at home—or, worse, rejected her out
right—there were plenty of inns in Essex, and she’d be back in London this time tomorrow morning with nobody the wiser.

  But first, she needed Isaac to depart as quickly as possible so that she could hurry on her way. “You go ahead, brother dear. Egui will be a delight. Enjoy your meeting without a further worry.”

  “You’re marvelous, Jane, truly. I don’t know what I would do without you.” He kissed both of her cheeks, patted her arm, and then sank to his knees to bid farewell to his demon spawn. “Egui... Egui... C’mere, puss. Come say goodbye to Papa.”

  Jane made no attempt to hide the roll of her eyes at the singsong baby voice her manly elder brother affected when he spoke to his cat. Nor did she attempt to hide her fury and disbelief when the potbellied fur-monster strolled out from between the bookcases with his head up and his silver tail high, docile as you please.

  Egui leapt into Isaac’s open arms with nary a claw in sight. He stretched his spine, purring loudly. As Isaac cradled his beloved pet to his chest, Egui lifted his languid gaze over his master’s shoulder and made direct eye contact with Jane.

  She could swear the little beast smirked.

  Isaac rose to his feet and brushed gray hairs from his breeches. “Thanks again, Jane. I owe you enormously. Be good, kitten. I’ll see you both in a fortnight.”

  She smiled. Egui slipped beneath the hem of her gown and began to shred her stockings.

  Teeth gritted, Jane all but shoved Isaac out the door. “No problem, brother. Anytime. Have a good trip. Don’t bring back any fish larvae. I love you.”

  “Love you too, Jane. You’re one in a million.” With a last buss to her cheek, Isaac was down the hall and gone.

  As soon as she heard the front door close, Jane bent over and yanked Egui from her bleeding ankle—then immediately dropped him when he let out an ear-piercing caterwaul. The last thing she needed was for Isaac to run back and spend the next two hours lecturing her on his angelic pet’s misunderstood intentions.

  Before Egui could test his claws on her other ankle, she hurried out of the library and raced upstairs to her bedchamber. Her lady’s maid stood before the open wardrobe with a pile of freshly laundered linens in her arms.

  “Martha! Splendid timing. Help me put together a valise with... a week’s worth of clothing.” That was shamelessly optimistic, but Jane supposed it was better to have clean clothes and not need them than it was to attempt a seduction whilst swathed in week-old garments. “Perhaps a small trunk.”

  “At once, Miss Downing.” Martha placed the linens on a shelf and went to fetch a traveling trunk. “Where are we going?”

  “To...” Jane swallowed. If the whole purpose of this desperate endeavor was to embark on a brief, clandestine affair, the last person who should bear witness was a servant under Isaac’s employ. She would have to go alone. “You shall have a week’s holiday, effective immediately. I am visiting a sick friend, and it should be better for all of us if you don’t fall ill yourself.”

  Martha’s eyes sparkled. Jane had a strong suspicion the girl was sweet on one of the footmen and would not in the least begrudge a few days away from her mistress. Inter-staff liaisons were strongly discouraged, of course, but given that Jane was off to seduce a man who didn’t know her from Princess Charlotte, she could hardly stand in the way of others’ passion.

  She began to pile shifts and stockings into the small trunk. “One tiny request, Martha. Can you please mind Egui for me while I’m gone?”

  Martha blanched and shook her head wildly. “Oh, ma’am, please don’t make me! I’d druther play nurse to lepers than spend one second alone with that cat. I don’t think he… cares for me much.”

  Of course not. Jane’s temples began to pound. Egui hated everyone except Isaac. Perhaps ’twas better to put one of the male servants in charge. “Very well. Go have Dunbar summon a hack. And send up a footman to carry down this trunk. I wish to leave at once.”

  Martha bobbed and nodded and dashed out of the bedchamber before her mistress could change her mind.

  Jane had already pushed Egui from her thoughts. At least for the moment. The more pressing disaster was what clothes she might don to instill lust in a man’s breast.

  She scowled as she combed through her uninspiring wardrobe. How was she meant to seduce a dashing military captain when she’d failed to attract the attention of any other gentlemen of her acquaintance? She stuffed her embroidery kit next to the gowns. Perhaps she could lower a few bodices during the ride to Essex.

  Jane was just latching the trunk when Martha returned with a pair of footmen, who immediately hefted it and awaited further instruction.

  Martha wrung her hands. “Your hack is waiting, ma’am. Are you sure I oughtn’t accompany you?”

  “No, thank you. You’ve earned your holiday. Clive, Malcolm, I’ll need you to mind Egui for me while I’m—”

  Both footmen dropped the trunk and stared at her in horror. “You cannot mean it! I— We— That cat—”

  Jane raised her eyes heavenward and let out a loud, long-suffering sigh. No intelligent person wished to mind Egui, but she was only the one foolish enough to have promised. He would now be her sole responsibility until Isaac’s return, romantic encounter or not. “Let me be clear. I am going to be inside that hack and on my way within the next five minutes. If Egui is in a sealed basket upon my lap, he goes with me. If he is not—”

  Clive and Malcolm fled the room without a backward glance.

  Martha stared at the empty doorway, the forgotten trunk, and then her mistress. “Er... shall I summon the butler, perhaps?”

  Jane shook her head. “By now, everyone is searching for that odious cat. Come on, then. You take that side, and I’ll take this one.”

  With only minor damage to the wainscoting, she and Martha managed to get the trunk down the stairs and over to the front door, where the horrified butler and hack driver rushed forward to relieve them of their unseemly burden and escort Jane to the coach.

  No sooner had her derrière touched the worn squab of the hack than Clive and Malcolm raced from the town house with a rocking, screeching wicker basket held aloft between them and only mild scratch marks upon their triumphant faces.

  She held out her arms for the basket.

  Egui, it seemed, was destined to play chaperone on her quest for a romantic encounter. Marvelous. She might not meet with success, but the adventure could hardly fail to be a memorable one.

  Chapter 4

  Despite the icy wind and blinding snow, perspiration clung to Captain Xavier Grey’s brow as he crashed an axe onto one of the few retrievable tree trunks still visible in the white blanket behind his small cottage.

  When he’d sent his handful of servants up to Chelmsford a fortnight ago to prepare his domicile, the climate had been cold, but clear. When he’d sent his staff on holiday for the remainder of that fortnight while he visited friends in London, Xavier had actually looked forward to returning to his cottage a day or two before his servants. The solitude would do him good.

  The storm, less so.

  Provisions would last a week, two at the most. Perhaps that was plenty. Perhaps it was not. Keeping warm would be critical. He swung the axe one last time and then began hauling the logs indoors.

  No one had predicted a snowstorm. He supposed that was the very nature of… well, nature. Unpredictability. What had begun as a lovely snowfall now threatened to entomb them all in their homes. He added the last of the logs to the reserve pile.

  A chill rippled across his skin as he barred the front door against the bone-cold wind. ’Twas ironic. He had hoped never to be trapped anywhere again, and now here he was, doing it to himself. The fact that it was voluntary this time—all openings were sealed to keep out the snow, not to keep in the man—ought to have eased his rising panic.

  It didn’t.

  He began to stalk the corridors of his old, familiar cottage. The kitchen was clean and cold. The dining room: dark. The library: silent. The servants’ quarters:
vacant. The master bedroom: lonesome. The entire cottage was devoid of company or stimulation. Just a restless ex-captain, alone with his thoughts… and his memories.

  Xavier wasn’t fond of either companion.

  He might have left the battlefield, but his mind was still at war. He could never erase the horrors he’d seen. Nor the role he’d played.

  His skin crawled. He had learned things about himself that he would do anything to forget. He’d set off in search of honor, of heroism. Instead, he’d found evil. All around, and inside himself.

  And he’d been rewarded for it.

  It was bitter irony that he’d returned home without a scratch on him when more honorable men—better men—had returned in pieces, or not at all. His childhood friend Bartholomew Blackpool was in want of a leg... and the man’s twin brother had died defending their country.

  Xavier would never tell Bart how fortunate Edmund was that a bullet had pierced him before the French soldiers found him.

  There were far worse fates than death. Xavier would know.

  He shrugged out of his coat and shirtsleeves and washed up at a basin filled with water.

  It was no use. He would never feel clean. Nor should he.

  He sighed. It was just as well that he was stuck out here without any servants. He didn’t deserve company, and he certainly didn’t deserve being waited on. He hoped his staff was wise enough to wait out the inclement weather rather than attempt to reach the cottage during a snowstorm. The roads would quickly become a death trap.

  He pulled on a fresh shirt and shoved his arms into his thickest coat. Dressing warmly would allow him to better ration the firewood.

  The parlor was the only chamber with a small blaze in its hearth. He stirred the embers with a poker. Night would fall in a few hours, and he didn’t want the fire to die in the meantime.

  A knock sounded upon his front door.