by Gill, Tamara
“Good evening, Your Grace.”
Gabe looked at the man who stood at the door, and a shiver of unease prickled his skin from the cold, calculating tone.
“Lord Fenshaw, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He walked into the corridor, pulling Eloise along and not allowing her the opportunity to speak or curtsy to the gentleman.
“No pleasure, sir, for I believe you have already had more than enough pleasure for one night.” Fenshaw turned toward Eloise and bowed. “Lady Eloise.”
Gabe beat back the urge to box the imprudent baron behind the ears. A bright flush swamped Eloise's neck, and Gabe squeezed her hand in unvoiced support.
“Was there something you wished to discuss?” Gabe raised his brows and waited for the words he knew would spill from the gentleman's mouth.
“Of course.” Fenshaw paused and smiled at Eloise, a gesture more like a sneer. “I wonder if the woman you have ruined has any idea what a rake and bounder you actually are.”
Eloise met his eye but said nothing.
“Rake and bounder no more, Fenshaw,” Gabe said.
“Really?” He lifted his chin and looked down his nose. “I beg to differ. In fact, I would lay my entire fortune on the line Lady Eloise would dearly love to hear why I believe this to be true.”
“I have no quarrel with you. Now, if you'll excuse us.” Gabe took a steadying breath and walked away, knew as soon as he heard Fenshaw's mocking laughter that the man was determined to expose him. Perhaps even forever ruin what he and Eloise had come to feel. He paused and turned back, bringing Eloise to a halt by his side.
“Did you know, Lady Eloise, your esteemed duke ruined my sister?” Fenshaw paused and strolled to a nearby painting, seemed to take a great interest in the family drawing hanging on the wall.
Eloise met Gabe's eye, then turned to face his nemesis. “Lord Fenshaw, perhaps you ought to speak to His Grace at some other time. Whatever your disagreement, Lord Durham's home is not the place to air such arguments.”
“Oh, I disagree. I believe right here and now will do very well.” Fenshaw smirked. “Your esteemed duke raped my sister, threw—”
“The sex was consensual. I never raped her.” Unable to look at Eloise for fear of her reactions to the man's words, Gabe kept his attention on Fenshaw. True or not, the scandal had near ruined him years ago; no matter, he had not known…
“Threw her out,” Fenshaw said. “Without a reference to her name, even when her belly swelled with his babe.”
“She was our maid, Eloise, and she came to me. For weeks I pushed her advances away, but eventually I succumbed.”
Eloise wrenched her hand from his and stepped away. “Miss Fenshaw was your maid? How is this so?”
He swallowed the dread that rose in his throat and threatened to choke him. “I didn't know she was Fenshaw's sister. And I never forced her. Please believe me.”
“Is what this man says true?” Eloise asked, her face stricken. “Did you sleep with your servant and get her pregnant?”
Gabe tried to take her hand again with little luck. “I did, but please, let me explain the full truth.”
“Who are you?” She shook her head. “I don’t know what to believe.”
“He is a bastard and one I have been longing to settle with.” Fenshaw stepped toward him and stopped a foot from his face. Eye to eye, nose to nose he said, “Tomorrow at dawn we meet. I will have my day defending my sister's honor, and you, sir, will meet a fitting end for a reprobate.”
Gabe turned to Eloise, his heart aching with the pain he’d caused her. She looked lost and confused, and he had hurt her. “Let me explain, it is not as bad as Fenshaw makes out.”
“Pistols at dawn,” Fenshaw said, giving no quarter on his stance.
“It's illegal to duel,” Eloise said, looking at Fenshaw. “You kill a duke and you'll end up hanging on the ropes like the men who rot in Newgate.”
Fenshaw shrugged, a mad gleam to his eyes. “If death is what it takes for my sister's honor to be restored, then I will gladly face the consequences. The Duke of Dale wronged our family and will pay dearly for his sins.”
At the man’s ignorance Gabe’s temper snapped. “I never knew she was your sister, and when I did, it was too late to repair the damage I had done.”
“That does not make your actions right,” Eloise said to him, her brow furrowed. “A servant is someone in your care, a worker who should be protected from harm and treated with respect.” A tear slipped free. “I do not know who you are.”
Gabe swallowed and pulled forth all the ducal breeding he had in him. “I am Dale. Your betrothed, should I need to remind you.”
“I cannot marry you.”
Her lip quivered and Gabe fought the urge to wrap her in his arms. Knew any attempt to comfort her would be met with disdain and loathing. “And why is that?”
“You lie,” she said. “Lie about everything. About who you are and what you have done. I don't know you at all. And I will not marry you. I'm sorry.”
Gabe watched the woman he loved walk down the darkened passage and wondered how the hell he was going to get her back. He turned and looked at Fenshaw, then allowed all the rage he had controlled for the past few minutes to come to the fore. “Pistols at dawn it is. Putney Heath, if you will.”
“I will indeed. My second will be in touch.” Fenshaw bowed and followed Eloise into the ballroom.
Gabe ran a hand through his hair and cursed. What a mess he'd made of it all, and now, after not even a day in London, and he had lost the only woman he'd ever loved.
Damnation.
Eight
“He's a liar and a despoiler of innocent women.” Eloise wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Her life was over. To find Gabe again, only to lose him, was too much to bear. How she could ever forgive his indiscretions was unimaginable. “You do not know that.” Emma sat beside her. “Listen, I spoke to Bertie at the ball, and from what I could persuade him to tell me, His Grace may not be totally to blame.”
Eloise met her friend's consoling gaze and sniffed. “He slept with Lord Fenshaw's sister and left her with child. How can he not be blamed for such roguish behaviour?”
Emma handed her a handkerchief. “Miss Fenshaw's mind was disordered, from what I can gather. She ran away from her brother's estate, and, for some perplexing reason, sought work in the guise of a maid. The duke was a young man then, and although I do not condone his actions toward his staff, perhaps they had formed a tendre of some kind. He is not a vicious or unkind person. Their relationship was a mistake, a youthful folly. Promise, before you act hastily, you will speak to him. Find out what further truths need be told. You love him, and you have a chance at happiness. Do not throw it away.”
Eloise stared silently at the unlit marble hearth. “You mentioned she was institutionalized. Do you truly believe she was inflicted with some sort of madness?”
Emma stood and pulled the bell cord for the servants. “I do believe so. I recall Miss Fenshaw during our season, was forever tipping her nose at the ton and its strictures. Forever in some sort of trouble, exhibiting bizarre behaviours. She had a terrible time of it.”
The butler entered. “My lady?”
“Tea, Peter, and could you have Cook make up a cold compress please?”
“What's the compress for?” Eloise asked.
“Your eyes.” Emma smiled. “We cannot have you speaking to the Duke of Dale looking like a bloated fish that has been for sale too long at the fishmonger.”
Eloise touched the swollen skin about her face and knew it would look blotchy and red. Nerves fluttered in her stomach over her impending discussion with the duke. So much rested on his answers, most importantly, their future happiness. Was this past transgression a terrible error, he, as a young man, could not set right? And if he felt no guilt, why flee the country for years? Unfortunately, his actions indicated both shame and guilt. None of it made any sense, and she wished she had stayed to hear him out.
Foo
lish, hasty, headstrong woman.
“He is to duel tomorrow. I must go. I need to speak to His Grace and convince him to do otherwise. Perhaps now Lord Fenshaw has had some hours to mull things over, he may no longer wish to face his nemesis at dawn.”
Emma frowned, directed a maid to place the tea dishes before her, and held out the cold compress. “Not before you hold this to your face for a time. Your eyes are dreadfully red, my dear. Only when I deem you appropriate for company, may you leave.”
Eloise lay back with the cooling cloth on her face as directed. “Did anyone ever tell you what a saviour you are? You'll make a good mama, Emma.”
“Thank you, dearest.” Eloise heard the smile in her voice. “Now, enough sentimental talk, you'll make me cry.”
“Very well. I’ll not say another word.” Eloise buttoned her lips and chuckled.
Gabe left for Putney Heath within an hour of leaving the Durham's ball. He wanted to get a feel for the location that might be the place of his demise. The carriage rumbled over the cobbled streets of Mayfair before passing through the more unsavoury locales of London, the stink and rot of its inhabitants prevalent on every street corner.
He frowned at the despicable living conditions and wondered how he could help to improve their lives, should he survive the morning's meeting.
“So it's all over between you and Lady Eloise then?”
Gabe turned away from the dimly lit streets and faced Hamish, his second and midshipman. “I'll tell you tomorrow after I face Fenshaw.”
Hamish waved his concerns away. “You're a crack shot. No harm will befall ye.”
He could only hope his friend's insight would prove true. Adventure on the high seas, which, many a time, involved armed pillage of English ships, once held his soul enrapt. Made him feel alive, and allowed him to take revenge on a country that had wronged him. But those were the brash exploits of his youth; Gabe found he no longer held such sentiments. Amazed he wasn't dead already from such actions.
Eloise was everything to him, and he would rather die than live without her. “Fenshaw is a good shot, from what I can recall, and he'll be aiming to injure me.” Gabe sighed and rubbed his eyes. No, Fenshaw would not wish to injure him, kill him would be closer to the truth.
“Can ye speak to him and talk sense into him?”
He shook his head. “There's no talking sense to him.” Gabe's laugh sounded far from humorous. “I tried speaking to him years ago before I left England, and the bastard wouldn't listen. No, I'll have to face him and hope for the best.”
Hamish frowned. “What of the duchy should you die? What of ye ship?”
A twinge of guilt settled in Gabe's gut at the thought. He had despised the title and all it involved. Dale, such a proud and honourable name. Second son that he was, he had only brought scandal to the ducal door, tarnishing the family name. Or so his father always believed. Gabe had tried to right the wrong he had caused, but nothing could calm the wrath of his father. Nor could he find Fenshaw's sister to offer for her. Instead, he'd been ordered out of England by an irate father with a demand never to return.
“I should have stayed and fixed this error of judgement years ago. I was a foolish young man who should have known better. Had I tried harder, I could have found Miss Fenshaw. Explained better to father what had happened and what I intended to do to solve the problem.” Gabe looked at the box of duelling pistols at his side, his finger absently stroking the wooden casing. “And now it is too late.”
“Whatever the future holds, I wish you to know, working under you and being your friend was a privilege. Rest assured, all will be well. You'll more than likely find when we make the Green Man Inn in an hour or so, Fenshaw is nowhere to be found.”
Gabe nodded and returned to looking out the window; the bleakness of the streets matched his mood exactly, but he doubted his friends words. Fenshaw would be there intent on seeking his misbegotten revenge. That there was no doubt.
“He's gone. Already?”
“Yes, Lady Eloise. If you would please enter, I'm sure we can discuss your concerns further, inside.” The old butler looked up the street, his eyes darting about, no doubt terrified someone would see her at the dukes door causing strife.
Eloise gave the elderly butler a frantic shake of her head. “No, no. I must go now. I have to reach him before it's too late.”
She turned and ran down the front steps.
“To Putney,” she called to her driver as she climbed back in her coach. “And please hurry.”
She sank back against the plush seat, twisting her hands in her lap. She would be too late, she was sure of it. Already, the night sky had started to give way to the dawn. Had she lost the opportunity to speak to Gabe again, she would never forgive Emma for it. Why didn't her friend wake her when she'd fallen asleep on the settee? Eloise moved to the opposite seat and opened the little window between herself and her driver. “Is this the fastest you can go?”
“Aye, my lady. Any faster and I'm likely to turn us over at the next corner.”
With a snap, she shut the portal. Taking a deep breath, Eloise attempted to calm herself. At this early hour, not many people were on the London streets; they would make it in time. They had to.
The nightmare that had awoken her haunted her mind. Gabe, bleeding and lying dead on the heath…alone. She shut her eyes, not able to bear such a thought. He had wronged, but he was barely a man when he had done so. The fault lie with them both, Gabe and Miss Fenshaw, and he would explain. Eloise was sure.
Should he live to do so…
The carriage rolled around a corner, and she clasped the strap to keep her upright, the steel object in her pocket digging into her thigh.
Fenshaw was mad. Perhaps the affliction that affected his sister ran in his family's blood. Whatever the reason, she did not trust the man to honour the rules of duelling. Her dream had been so vivid and lifelike. No, she would not allow Fenshaw to kill the man she loved.
If anyone was to mete out punishment to Gabe, she deserved the right. He had lied to her. Lied repeatedly, and yet, only to save her from truths that would hurt—had hurt her. She herself was not entirely honest when she'd first met him. Had she not looked at him with longing no virginal maiden should ever know, asked him to teach her to shoot a gun when she could hit a small mark accurately at a hundred yards?
Trivial lies, but lies just the same.
By the time they pulled across from Putney Heath, the birds were singing a tune to the new day. The glow of dawn painted the horizon, dimming her hope of arriving in time.
“Come, we must hurry.” Her driver jumped down from the box and ran behind her toward a park. Eloise looked about, not really knowing where she was going. They would have to be around here somewhere.
“'Tis nearly dawn, my lady.”
“I know.” She inwardly cursed the reminder. Bad enough they were duelling at all. Men and their stupid rules of honor. Whatever was wrong with discussing one's problems like the gentlemen they were supposed to be? Two shots sounded behind a copse of trees just ahead of them. Eloise slid to a stop. Her blood ran cold in her veins, and, picking up her skirts, she ran.
At the sight that beheld her, Eloise, without hesitation, pulled out her flintlock, aimed, and fired at Fenshaw. The man had wounded the duke, and against all rules, was taking aim to shoot him again. Relief poured over her like a balm when her shot sent his lordship's gun flying from his hand, split in two pieces.
Gabe instinctively ducked at the sound of a second gunshot. He turned to see Fenshaw clasping his hand, another pistol shattered at his feet. Confused, he scanned the park, then stilled at the sight of Eloise. Gun still pointed, smoke billowing about her like an avenging angel. At that moment, he knew she was
Indeed a seraph. One who had saved his life. Guilt over Fenshaw's sister or a warped sense of honour had made Gabe fire over Fenshaw's head. He'd planned to accept whatever punishment providence dealt him, but apparently, Fenshaw had not been satisfied with his
initial effort and thought to twist fate to meet his own agenda.
Fenshaw's second kicked his friend's gun away and helped the man toward his carriage.
Gabe called after him. “My apologies, Fenshaw. What happened between your sister and me…I made a mistake, and I wish I could repair the damage I did, but I cannot.”
Eloise came and stood beside him, her eyes wide with concern at the wound to his arm. “I would have married her,” he said and heard a growl of displeasure from Eloise.
Fenshaw halted his retreat. “Bollocks,” he said in a menacing tone. “You used her, then left her defenceless. Carrying your child.”
“You are wrong. When your sister confessed her condition, I told her I would support her, make her and the child comfortable for the rest of her days. She fled that night. For weeks, I searched but could find no trace of her. Only when my man notified me of her whereabouts and her true identity did I realize what I must do. I came to see you, but you would not admit me. I wrote to you requesting her hand in marriage, but by then, you had shipped her off to an asylum.”
“Where you left her to die,” Fenshaw said through clenched teeth.
Gabe looked at the man with disgust. Pigheaded bastard. “No, Fenshaw, you left her to die. I tried to right my wrongs. You wouldn't hear of it. Instead, you spread lies about town of my misdemeanour and sullied my name.”
“And you left England because of it all.” Eloise clasped his arm and frowned. “Oh, Gabe, I'm so sorry I didn't give you a chance to explain.”
“I was ordered to leave. My father made it patently obvious he wished never to see me again. He was granted his wish when he died two years ago.”
“I'm so sorry.” Eloise hugged him, needing to hear his wonderful heart beat beneath his shirt.
He shrugged as he watched Fenshaw climb into his carriage. “You have no reason to apologize.”
The doctor, summoned by Gabe's second, waddled over to him, opening his bag as he came. “Shall I have a look at the wound, Your Grace?”
