A Duke Deceived

by Cheryl Bolen

  It had been weeks since Richard had clasped anything around her neck, she thought sadly. In fact, it had been weeks since he had touched her.

  She heard the sound of a door opening into the dressing room and looked up hopefully.

  Her husband strolled into her room. “It’s too bad, my dear, the Radcliff Jewels are so gaudy for one in mourning, for I would love to see them on you tonight.”

  She rose and met him halfway across the room.

  He stopped to look at her. “You will do very well. Very well indeed.”

  “Do the pearls look all right?” She felt his eyes on her bodice.

  “No. You don’t need them, Barbara.” He moved closer, his hands finding the clasp and removing the pearls, his palms sliding down her soft shoulders. “A beauty such as yours needs nothing else.”

  She spun around to face him, wanting to fling herself into his arms, but he stiffened and offered his arm. “Shall we go downstairs, your grace? Our guests await.”

  Her heart heavy, she took his arm.

  In the drawing room Bonny felt more insignificant than ever. The guests who had already arrived—with the exception of Emily—completely ignored Bonny in their enthusiastic reception of her husband. Would Richard take their slight of his wife as confirmation that he had married beneath his station?

  If only she could distinguish herself in his eyes. Perhaps tonight’s dinner party would be such a success he would be very proud of her. She stood at her husband’s side and looked at the gathering. Twigs, nattily dressed in a rather loud satin coat, leaned on a cane between Richard and Bonny’s Uncle David. Emily and her mother, along with her brother, Alfred, had arrived, as had Cressida Carlisle with her sister and brother-in-law.

  “Athena Carlisle,” the duke said, taking the matron’s hand, “it’s been an age since I’ve seen you. But, of course, your name’s no longer Carlisle.”

  The woman’s whole air changed from subservient to glowing. “Miller’s the last name now, your grace, and this is my husband, Gregory.”

  Radcliff politely greeted the bald-headed man, then said, “Do me the goodness to welcome my lovely wife, the Duchess of Radcliff.” His arm tucked around Bonny as his eyes met hers.

  Once the duke alluded to his wife, the others could not praise her highly enough.

  Bonny’s Aunt Lucille listened to all the charming compliments before adding her own. “I am so very glad the duke insisted Bonny get Madame Deveraux to clothe her, for the poor thing had no sense of fashion at all, and look how well she looks now! Of course, she will look better when she can wear color again. Those with black hair don’t look good in mourning, not like blondes, don’t you think, Mrs. Miller?”

  Mrs. Miller, whose pretty, unwed sister was blond, agreed most heartily.

  “I beg to disagree,” the duke said. “I’ve never seen anyone wear mourning better than my wife.” He turned to Lady Landis. “And I find my wife has excellent taste—with or without the services of an expensive modiste.”

  “Quite so,” said Bonny’s uncle, who had acted especially proud of Bonny since her marriage.

  Mandley entered the drawing room and announced the newest guest, “Henry Blackburn, the third Earl of Dunsford .”

  Knowing that he was not acquainted with most of those in the room, Bonny went to greet him. “How nice of you to come, my lord.” She took his arm and led him toward the other guests.

  “Do you know my husband?” Bonny asked Dunsford.

  Radcliff’s cold eyes met Dunsford’s. “We were at school together,” the duke said stonily.

  Dunsford threw a nervous smile at Radcliff. “That was a very long time ago, to be sure.” He bowed. “Please accept my felicitations on your marriage.”

  Radcliff merely nodded, prompting an awkward silence.

  “I believe you know my cousins, Lord Alfred and Lady Emily Wickham,” Bonny said to Dunsford.

  As Alfred began to speak to Dunsford, and Mrs. Miller chatted with Lady Landis, Radcliff drew Bonny toward the window.

  “Why didn’t you tell me Dunsford was coming?”

  “Why didn’t you ask?” she snapped. “You’ve hardly spoken to me since the day you said I could have the party. You’re never home anymore.”

  Mandley cleared his throat to announce the last guest. “Mr. Stanley Moncrief with Lady Lynda Heffington.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lady Heffington did not walk into the room, she glided into it quietly like a cat on soft paws, a smile fixed on her face, her eyes riveted on the duke’s. Completely ignoring Bonny’s presence, the redhead laid a bejeweled hand on Radcliff’s arm. “Pray, it was so good of you to ask me,” she said loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

  Radcliff’s eyes darted from Lady Heffington to Stanley Moncrief. “You came with Stanley?” he asked, his face stern.

  “Yes, he’s so very obliging.” Lady Heffington turned then to Bonny. “I do hope I don’t make an odd number for your table.”

  “Well—”

  “Do me the goodness of placing Lynda near me, your grace,” Stanley said to Bonny.

  Before Bonny could respond, Mandley announced dinner. Bonny took the butler aside and told him to set a place for Lady Heffington beside Stanley.

  It wasn’t until Bonny pulled her skirts beneath her and sat down that she remembered Stanley was to sit next to her husband. Her heart stilled when she looked down the length of the table and saw Lady Heffington at Radcliff’s left.

  Oblivious to the three footmen serving wine and buttered crab, a dazed Bonny poked at the food for which she no longer had an appetite. Putting aside her humiliation that her husband had invited his former mistress to his wife’s table, Bonny still stung from her husband’s utter rejection of her.

  She tried to swallow a bite of parsnips, but they caught in her throat. She felt tears welling up and prayed she would be able to hold them back. The only thing more humiliating than having to entertain your husband’s mistress was crying at your own dinner party.

  “Your flowers look beautiful, Bonny,” said Emily, who sat beside her.

  “Yes, I must find out who did them for you,” said Lady Landis.

  “I did them myself, Aunt Lucille.”

  Bonny’s aunt’s eyes narrowed. “Well, of course, the duke does have the finest garden in London. How stupid of me not to have realized how easy it would be for you to have gorgeous bouquets.”

  Lady Landis’s words made Bonny realize the garden wasn’t hers, though Richard had urged her to consider everything he owned as hers, too. Even her first dinner party was not hers. Her party for a dozen now served an unlucky thirteen.

  As if through a fog, Bonny watched those at her table. She observed every gesture or word that passed between her husband and the woman who had been his mistress. She noticed the easy intimacy between them and wondered if it was Lady Heffington who kept Richard from her each night.

  Though those thoughts tore at her heart, that her husband would humiliate her like this hurt even worse. A man who could wound so had no heart. The man she had married possessed a heart that knew no bounds. What had become of that man? she wondered morosely.

  Lady Heffington lowered her voice, but her words could be heard at the other end of the table. “I am given to understand you have been neglecting your poor little wife, Radcliff.”

  “I beg you not to repeat such groundless gossip, my lady,” Radcliff said sternly.

  While her husband’s reply lifted Bonny’s spirits, they fell again a few minutes later when she saw Lady Heffington stroke her husband’s hand, and he placed his over hers and said something Bonny could not hear.

  As if to deny her own eyes, Bonny spun to face Dunsford, who sat at her left. Sitting at the end of the table herself, she had put the shy Emily beside her and intentionally placed Dunsford opposite Emily in hopes of furthering their acquaintance. “What was that you said?”

  “I was merely telling Alfred here,” Dunsford responded, “that it’s not proper
to talk about gaming houses in front of ladies.”

  “Pooh,” Bonny said. “I am a married lady.”

  Bonny saw Dunsford’s pale eyes indicate Emily across the table from him and knew to whom he referred.

  “She doesn’t count, old boy,” Alfred said. “She’s my sister. Knows all about the hells.”

  Emily’s gaze met her brother’s. “Yes, and I know you should stay away from them.”

  “Daresay your sister’s right,” Dunsford said.

  Bonny attempted a smile. “We women are always right, my lord.”

  Determined to present a placid countenance, Bonny drew out the bashful earl by asking him about his school days and to kindly repeat any stories he knew of Twigs that were fit for mixed company.

  While Bonny appeared to listen with lively amusement to Dunsford’s narrative, Radcliff watched from hooded eyes. How could his Barbara bring Dunsford into this house? He could not believe the sensitive woman he had married could be guilty of so cruel an action.

  He ached to watch her lovely face smile at the arrogant Dunsford. But he ached far more to think of her twisting and writhing with pleasure beneath Dunsford. God’s eyes, but nothing had ever hurt so much. Not even when his parents died.

  Although Bonny had captured his heart, he could at least salvage his dignity. His pride. He couldn’t let her know how utterly devastated he was. Far better to let her think he was having a jolly time with Lynda.

  He feigned interest in what Lady Heffington said and even took her hand in his a time or two. He displayed excellent thespian skills when he could gladly throttle the lying redheaded baggage for telling his guests he had invited her. Had he not been a gentleman, he would have shown her the door.

  Before she left tonight, he vowed, Lynda would know better than to set foot in his wife’s home again.

  “I say, Richard,” Twigs said from the duke’s right, “when did that bloody doctor say I could ride again?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Miss Carlisle wants to know when I can trot in the park.”

  Radcliff’s gaze Hickered to Cressida. “I daresay you could manage a phaeton by next week. Riding a horse will be quite a bit longer.”

  “I did so want to see Mr. Twickingham at the ribbons,” Cressida said. “For I am sure he is very skillful.”

  The duke lifted his wineglass and gave Cressida a knowing glance. “To be sure.”

  After dinner the men took their port and smoked cigars in the salon, where Radcliff made himself a very agreeable host, inquiring into Mr. Miller’s job as a barrister, speaking of Northumbria to Barbara’s uncle David—Lord Landis—and talking about mutual friends with Alfred.

  “Believe I remember where the facilities are,” Stanley said, slipping from the baroque room.

  Indeed, he remembered everything about Radcliff House, where he had spent so much time when he came up from Oxford. He mounted the marble staircase, running his hand over the bronze banister, his discerning eye taking in all the treasures within his view. When his grandfather had built the house, it was said to be the finest mansion in London.

  Stanley crept past the unused ballroom. If only he could have seen the room when its huge crystal chandeliers cast bright lights over the most select members of the ton.

  Well, when he was master here, it would once again be the grandest address in all of London. And the balls he would give! The undeserving Richard did not appreciate what he had.

  Without having to think about where he was going, Stanley let his legs carry him to the duchess’s room. He wondered if the new duchess had changed the decor. He could almost see his aunt sitting there at her gilded dressing table in the ivory-and-gold room.

  Before he opened the door, he turned to make sure no one was watching him, then he entered. He was pleased to find the room well lit from twin torcheres flanking the dressing-table mirror, a candelabra on the mantel and another candlestick beside the bed. The room remained exactly as he remembered it.

  The jewels must be in here, he thought, walking to the dressing table and opening its small drawers. In the very top drawer he found a velvet case and took it out. His breath grew ragged as he held the box in his hand and slowly opened it. Brilliant emeralds caught the light of his candle. The Radcliff Jewels. Now they would be his. He fingered them lovingly, then placed them in the deep pocket of his coat, replacing the velvet box in the drawer.

  His hands sweat and his throat grew parched. Damn, but he needed a drink. He crept from the room and down the stairs.

  Evans always liked to wait up for his master. A gentleman needed the assistance of a good man, he thought smugly. While he waited for Radchff, he took inventory of the duke’s dressing room. Surely it was time to replace some of the breeches that had straddled one horse too many.

  As he busied himself in the dressing room, he thought he heard the duchess’s door open. He tiptoed to the adjoining door and ever so slowly eased the opening wide enough to peek into her grace’s chamber.

  At first he did not recognize who was snooping into the duchess’s things, but as the man turned his face toward the candlelight, Evans remembered Stanley Moncrief. Never cared for the boy, he thought. Stanley did not admire his master, and if there was anything Evans did not like, it was someone who did not like Radcliff. No woman could ever have had a better son than his grace. No bride ever had a better husband. And no valet ever had a better master.

  But that sly Stanley Moncrief had always been jealous of the duke.

  With anger, Evans watched Stanley pocket the Radcliff Jewels. I knew it! He’s not only coveting his cousin’s goods, he’s stealing them. Evans almost burst into the room to apprehend this reprobate thief when he stopped himself. If the jewels turned up missing, who would be blamed? Whose room were they in?

  A slow smile spread over his sagging face. He did not care for that chit the master had wed. God, but things had been so much better before she came. She and that prattling maid of hers. This house had been so lively when it had been filled just with bachelors and their never-ending escapades. Oh, the times those young men had!

  While the men took their port after dinner, the women retired to the drawing room. To avoid having to speak to the odious Lady Heffington, Bonny asked Emily to sing, and when Emily finished performing, Bonny invited Cressida to entertain with her sweet voice. By the time she finished singing, the men had joined them.

  With Cressida on one side of her, Mrs. Miller sat on one of the satin settees, locked in conversation with Lady Landis over mutual friends. Twigs had asked Bonny to be his partner in a game of whist with Stanley and Alfred. Lord Dunsford shyly looked up from his highly polished boots to ask Emily if she would play cribbage with him, while Lord Landis and Mr. Miller went on the balcony to smoke.

  At this time Radcliff said, “Lady Heffington, there is a book I would like you to see.” He took her across the room, where he opened a picture book and spoke to her in soft tones.

  “Oblige me by listening very carefully, Lynda,” he said through gritted teeth. “I don’t know what game it is you and Stanley play, but I vow I will have you physically removed from Radcliff House if you ever have the gall to show your face here again. Is that clear?”

  “Pray, don’t be mad at me, Richard dear. It is only that I love you too dearly, mon chéri.”

  He gazed at her with eyes like hot coals, slammed the book shut and said, “I am a married man.” Then he stalked across the room.

  Her face red, Lady Heffington pretended to be interested in the book for a long time after he left.

  Radcliff walked to the game table where his wife played and looked over Twigs’s shoulder.

  “Would you care to take my place, Richard?” Bonny asked.

  “No, my dear, I fear Twigs would box my ears if I deprived him of your most excellent partnership. I am happy to watch.”

  “I fear my play has been most poor tonight,” Bonny said. Indeed, twice Twigs had kindly rebuked her for not following suit.
>
  As the game continued, Cressida, too, came to watch. “How I should love to be a skillful player.”

  “Perhaps you can come more often to Mr. Twickingham’s sickroom, and he could teach you,” Bonny offered, wondering how she had the presence of mind to have heard any of the conversation around her.

  Since seeing her husband escort Lady Heffington across the room, Bonny had felt as if she were bleeding inside. If she hadn’t been to the heavens in Radcliff’s arms, this hell wouldn’t hurt so deeply.

  Now her hand balled into a fist as she saw Lady Heffington approaching the table.

  “That’s a capital idea,” Cressida said. “Would I be a wretched bother to you, Mr. Twickingham?”

  “Not at all,” Twigs mumbled, more intent on his game than on her. “Deuced rotten luck that you pulled that king from my hand, Landis.”

  “Stanley,” Lady Heffington snapped, “I fear I have a dreadful head and need you to see me home.”

  Stanley looked at Richard. “Take my place, old boy.”

  Radcliff shrugged, then exchanged places with his cousin, after which Stanley and Lady Heffington bade farewell.

  Bonny joined the others in saying goodbye to Stanley but refused to speak to that contemptible widow.

  Radcliff was so absorbed in the cards, he neglected his hostly duties and completely ignored his departing guests, much to Bonny’s satisfaction.

  When their guests left, Bonny glared icily at her husband, then mounted the stairs to her chamber, where Marie awaited. The abigail deftly removed the pins from Bonny’s hair and brushed it out, then assisted Bonny into a simple muslin nightgown.