Dukes Are Forever

by Anna Harrington

  Each breath was excruciating. “But I knew nothing about the guardianship! I was just as shocked as Edward.” Her hand pressed against her mouth, as if holding it could keep back the agony churning within her. “And then after we…”

  She exhaled with a shudder. Oh, she was going to be sick!

  Augusta reached for her hand and squeezed it. “After?”

  “After…well,” she whispered shamefully. She closed her eyes, too embarrassed to look at his aunt.

  “I had my suspicions,” Augusta admitted quietly.

  Kate opened her eyes. The countess looked at her with a gentle, knowing expression, not surprised that her nephew had bedded his ward. Her face flushing with hot humiliation, Kate rose to her feet and turned away, afraid that if she didn’t move, she’d burst into flames right there on the sofa.

  “I never meant to hurt him…I was only trying to help Papa,” she whispered, barely more than a breath. “Oh God, he must hate me.”

  “Hate you? Oh, no, my dear.” Augusta tilted her head thoughtfully as she studied Kate. “I do not believe hatred is what he feels for you.”

  She shook her head. “He punished me by taking me away from Brambly, then banished me to the moors—”

  “Because having you nearby would have kept his feelings for you fresh. The only way he knew how to protect himself was to send you out of his reach.” Augusta drew a deep breath. “The problem, Miss Benton, is that you are not the first woman Edward has cared about who deceived him at the command of her father, and he believed you deserved to be punished for your deception. Your banishment to Greymoor accomplished both in his mind.”

  Her breath came ragged. “I didn’t deceive—”

  The door flung open unexpectedly, and Mary stumbled into the room, her face flushed and excited.

  “His Grace,” she forced out as she struggled for breath, “he’s awake! Dr. Brandon—”

  But the two women didn’t stay to hear the rest. They were already running down the hall. Augusta hurried into Edward’s bedchamber with Kate fast on her heels.

  Beside the bed, Dr. Brandon glanced up at the two women. Only then did Kate hesitate, to tiptoe forward, her heart racing as her eyes fell on Edward and searched for any sign he was awake. But his eyes were still closed although his color had returned to normal, his chest now rising and falling strongly.

  Tentatively, she reached for his wrist, to feel the beat of his pulse beneath her fingertips—

  His eyes opened and stared mercilessly at her.

  “Kate.” Her name was a strangled, accusing rasp.

  With a gasp, she jerked her hand away. There was no forgiveness in him, and whatever hope she’d clung to that she could find a way to make him trust her again vanished instantly beneath his cold gaze.

  “Edward, thank God!” Augusta shifted to move in front of Kate, blocking his view. “Do not ever do anything that foolish again, or I shall kill you myself!”

  But his aunt’s attempt to distract him was futile. “What is she doing here?” he forced out, his voice gravelly with disuse.

  The accusation in his question stirred Kate’s ire, worsened by the fear and worry over him she’d carried inside her for the past three days.

  “Miss Benton came as soon as she heard,” Augusta interrupted. “She has been nursing you all night.”

  He glanced past Augusta and leveled his gaze on Kate. “Missed your chance to kill me, then?”

  This was how it was going to be between them…So be it. Kate folded her arms angrily across her chest. “The hour is still early.”

  “Cease your squabbles,” Augusta chastised quickly, although Kate had a puzzling suspicion his aunt was secretly pleased at their fighting. “Edward, do not strain yourself. You are still weak. There will be plenty of time for bickering between you two later.”

  “Your aunt is correct, Your Grace,” Dr. Brandon interjected. “You need to rest until you’ve regained your strength.”

  “I have enough strength.”

  He tried to sit up, but the pain of the wound tore through him with a teeth-clenching gasp.

  “Sir, the wound seam is still weak,” Dr. Brandon warned. “You must not move!”

  Kate rushed forward and pushed Dr. Brandon aside to take his shoulders. “Edward, please,” she said softly, concern thick in her voice. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

  He stilled immediately at her touch, but his eyes shined cold like obsidian as they rose to find hers. “Why are you here?” he asked quietly.

  Not daring to answer with the truth, she avoided his gaze and eased him back against the pillows, and he went without fighting her, his strength dwindling rapidly. Of all the times and places to admit to her feelings, his sickbed surrounded by his physician and aunt was not it. And certainly not when he still mistrusted her so vehemently.

  “It isn’t every day a man is shot fighting a duel for me,” she dodged instead. Then, because she didn’t want him to see how much the duel had upset her, she forced a sardonic arch of her brow. “Although the least you could have done was win.”

  He laughed despite his infuriation at her, then immediately grimaced at the pain. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  An unexpected stab of sorrow pierced her chest. He’d meant that tease as gallows humor, nothing more, but he’d already disappointed her by believing the worst of her, and for that, she suspected, he would never apologize.

  When she reached over him to pull up the blanket, he whispered low enough so only she could hear, “I haven’t forgiven you.”

  Despite the desolation darkening within her, she answered in the same low voice before moving away, “And I haven’t forgiven you.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Kate—”

  “Rest, sir.” Dr. Brandon stepped up to the bed and moved between them, gently putting Kate back, and smiled down at Edward, pleased now that his patient was cooperating. “Ladies, if you would excuse us?”

  Augusta nodded and took Kate by the elbow. “Of course.”

  The countess led her to the connecting sitting room and closed the doors between the rooms, and Kate gratefully sank onto the settee. Her entire body trembled as she willed herself not to cry.

  Oh, they were a pair! Both of them were stubborn as mules and infuriating to the other, but even now, a connection lurked between them that couldn’t be denied. He was the most aggravating yet alluring man she’d ever met, and from the moment she met him, she’d wanted her hands on him, although to both caress and throttle him in equal measure. And when they weren’t at each other’s throats arguing, they were tearing each other’s clothes off to get closer. He wanted to control her, but she refused to surrender.

  Most of all, she still loved him, despite everything, while he…did not. And now never would.

  “All will be well, Katherine,” Augusta assured her. She hesitated, then confided as she sat beside her and patted her hand, “He asked for you, you know. The message I sent you—he asked me to write it when the men brought him home. Perhaps he knew you would come to him when he needed you.”

  Kate’s eyes burned with unshed tears. If he had, then it was too little, too late. She’d needed him to believe in her back at Brambly. Now, could she ever forgive him for sending her away, especially when he had yet to forgive her?

  “For now, however,” Augusta continued, “I think it would be best to give him distance.”

  But Edward’s idea of distance was to send her to the moors, half a country away from her home and everyone she loved. Including him. She drew a trembling breath and resolved herself to it. “So I am to return to Greymoor, then.”

  “You are not going back to that dreadful place!” the countess corrected indignantly. “You are needed here to help salvage Strathmore’s reputation.” Augusta sent her a look that permitted no argument. “You will remain in London for the rest of the season, for your introduction as his ward. Because of that duel, everyone has heard of you, and now the time has arrived for them to see you for themselves. Under my c
areful supervision, that is.”

  Kate stared at her, stunned speechless. The London season? Then she remembered Mrs. Elston’s warning that she would be dressed up and shown off in order to find a husband and free Edward from the guardianship. Her lips pressed into a grim line. “Are you planning on contracting me for marriage, then?”

  “Heavens, no! Not after Edward nearly died to get you out of one.” As Augusta considered her thoughtfully, something bright flickered deep in her eyes. “Miss Benton, I think you and I should enter into an agreement.”

  “What kind of agreement?” she asked warily. She’d already entered one agreement with a Westover, and she didn’t know if she could survive a second.

  “If you spend the season in London, allowing me to introduce you as the duke’s ward and accepting invitations from potential suitors—” As Kate started to protest, Augusta cut her off with a wave. “With no expectations that you should marry any of them,” she clarified, “at the end of the season you will be allowed to return to Brambly, and I will make certain Strathmore voids his guardianship.” She added casually in afterthought, “Of course, should you find a suitor you wish to marry, the decision would be yours completely.”

  Something about the gleam in Augusta’s eyes told Kate there was nothing casual behind her comment, yet she couldn’t fathom what scheme the countess had up her sleeve.

  She shook her head. “Edward won’t agree. He doesn’t want me anywhere near him.” Her heart tore as she remembered that moment in the hay cart when he’d asked her to come to London with him so he could keep her close. Since then, her world had turned inside out.

  “You must trust me, my dear.”

  Kate did trust her because Edward trusted her, so she nodded grimly. “As long as I’m not forced to be courted,” she repeated for emphasis.

  “Oh, my dear.” Augusta smiled slowly in a grin that reminded Kate of the cat who caught the canary. “What I have in mind for you is so much better than simply being courted.”

  Kate swallowed. What on earth had she gotten herself into now?

  * * *

  Edward blinked awake against the bright sunlight slanting through the windows. His mind was clear now, and he knew immediately where he was and what had happened to put him there. The memories of the duel and being taken home were fresh and sharp, so was the pain in his shoulder.

  And so was the pain of waking to find Kate in his bedroom.

  He gritted his teeth as he sat up, then sank back against the pillows. He felt better, but his body was still weak, sore, stiff. He’d been through this before, and he knew it would be quite a while before he felt normal again.

  Through the set of open pocket doors separating his bedchamber from the suite’s sitting room, he saw Augusta at the writing desk, penning letters in her elegant handwriting on crisp linen paper.

  “Good morning,” he called out to her.

  She glanced up, pausing only a moment before finishing the sentence. “Good afternoon,” she corrected. “You slept for nearly sixteen hours. Did you have nice dreams?”

  Nice dreams? Nothing regarding his unbidden dreams about Kate was nice. Sultry, certainly, along with hot and lurid…but not nice.

  “Yes,” he lied. Then paused. “You’re writing letters?”

  “I am writing to our relatives and friends to inform them that despite my nephew’s most recent attempt to get himself killed, it appears in all likelihood that he will survive.”

  He grimaced silently. Augusta loved him dearly and proved it at every opportunity by irritating the daylights out of him.

  She set down her pen and turned sideways in the chair to face him. “Feeling better?”

  “Much.”

  “You are looking better. At this rate, you will be ready to be shot again in no time.”

  He blew out a breath. She wasn’t going to make this easy on him. “Why not?” he countered flippantly. “After all, the other shoulder is still bullet free.”

  Her lips pressed into a thin line, clearly not amused. “You have both shoulders bullet free for the moment.” She picked up a small lead ball from the writing desk. Then, holding her arm straight out to her side, she let it fall and clank dramatically against the floor. “Thanks to the brilliant talents of the surgeon, Dr. Brandon, and Miss Benton.”

  “That woman was the reason I got shot in the first place,” he grumbled, his shoulder aching at the thought of her.

  “Your pride got you shot,” she countered bluntly. Despite the well-deserved chastisement, he heard the concern for him lacing her voice. “Miss Benton saved your life. She remained at your side the entire night, tending to your wound and fever. I was afraid that if you remained unconscious much longer, Dr. Brandon would have two patients on his hands.”

  The entire night. That would explain the fuzzy dreams he had of her, her face floating just above his, her voice murmuring soothingly. But it didn’t explain everything.

  “It wasn’t just her.” Absently, he rubbed his sore shoulder. “There was another nurse. A German woman who read the Bible.”

  Augusta’s lips stayed carefully still. Finally, after several seconds, she answered, “That was not a German nurse.”

  “Then what was it?”

  “Petty vengeance.”

  At his puzzlement, she stood and crossed into his bedchamber. She reached for the tea service on the side table to pour him a cup.

  “Special tea created by Miss Benton to help with the soreness. She’s named the mixture after you.”

  He crooked a brow.

  “Die Auferstehung.” She held out the cup to him with a wry smile on her lips. “Resurrection tea.”

  Of course. Scowling, he took the cup and sipped. He wouldn’t have put it past the woman to attempt to poison him, but even poison would have been welcomed to dull the pain in his chest, and not just from the bullet. “Where is she now?”

  “Resting. The poor girl is exhausted. Brandon has ordered nothing but rest for the next few days for both of you.”

  He didn’t argue. He felt better, but not nearly well enough to get out of bed. “I’ll need to speak to Mrs. Lutz. We’ll have to settle—”

  “Mrs. Lutz is not here,” she informed him. “Miss Benton traveled to London by herself.”

  He paused in surprise, the teacup raised halfway to his lips. “By herself? How?”

  “You should ask her. The impropriety of it is alarming.” Her normally tight lips twitched. “On the other hand, you can now have her arrested for horse theft.”

  He choked on the tea, coughing, then winced at the shooting pain in his shoulder. “Do I really want to know?”

  “Oh yes. Quite a story, I assure you.” For a fleeting moment, Edward thought he detected a hint of admiration in his aunt’s voice. “But we have more pressing matters, I’m afraid.”

  “And what is that?”

  “How to introduce her to society.”

  “There’s a simple solution.” He set the tea aside.

  She blinked. “Which is?”

  “We don’t.”

  The hard-set glower she gave him told him she did not find his answer satisfactory. “That is no longer an option. That foolish duel ended any hope you had of safeguarding her guardianship. Now, everyone in London wants a glimpse of her.” She paused meaningfully before adding, “The woman Strathmore was willing to die for.”

  He shifted against the pillows with a grimace, his shoulder throbbing with near-blinding pain now, and ground out, “I was not willing to die for her!”

  “What you claim does not signify, dear boy, but what they believe.”

  “I don’t give a damn what they believe,” he grumbled.

  “I do,” she answered coolly. “The best way to silence the gossips of the ton is to give them access to her, let them pay calls and court her, and then, when the season ends and the rumors fade, you can send her home to Brambly.”

  “She’ll never agree to it. She’ll think you’re planning to marry her off.”
<
br />   “Would that be such a bad thing?”

  He gritted his teeth at the pain. “She’ll refuse to be courted.”

  “Not with the right persuasion. I am certain the moment that country gel dons her first ball gown and waltzes with a handsome member of the ton she will fall.”

  “Don’t count on it,” he muttered. And he spoke from experience. Ball gowns and waltzing? Good God. She’d been naked and writhing beneath him, and the only one falling had been him.

  “But that is not my primary concern,” she countered evenly. “My concern is rescuing the tattered remnants of the Westover reputation.”

  “A bit melodramatic, don’t you think?” He nearly laughed until he saw the absolute seriousness in his aunt’s expression.

  She fixed a stern gaze on him. “Are you not lying in bed due to a duel fought over the accusation that you voided your ward’s marriage contract so you could have her for yourself?”

  He stared at his aunt insolently, very much disliking her newfound impingement into his private life. “Technically, I won that duel,” he reminded her.

  “Which only served to make it even more believable.” She shook her head, the simple gesture encapsulating how utterly foolish she found the guardianship, the duel, and all the rumors now flying through the city about him and his unknown ward. “This family has been through too much in the past year to allow its reputation to now be smirched by this.”

  Edward lowered his gaze. If she meant to make him feel guilty, she’d succeeded. The arrow hit straight into his heart. Augusta loved him like a mother, and he had unduly put her through fresh torment these past few days. He deserved her admonishment. “It has,” he agreed solemnly.

  “So I have taken it upon myself to prepare a suitable introduction for her,” she informed him. “I have hired Madame Bernaise to create her wardrobe, and as soon as possible, I shall take her out in public with me, ensuring she is seen by the loosest-tongued gossips in the city.”

  He rubbed his arm, the ache now pounding down to his fingertips. “How does that stop rumors that I want her for myself?”