The Illegitimate Duke

by Sophie Barnes

  “Luck is an illusion created by man to explain the inexplicable.” She narrowed her gaze on him, as if trying to see more than he wished her to see. “People survive diseases for a reason. Just because we haven’t yet discovered the reason does not make it less true. But I believe you already know that. Don’t you?”

  Her mind was something to be admired. Florian knew he could easily lose himself in days’ worth of discussions with her. So he stood and went to his bookcase, intent on ensuring her departure sooner rather than later so he could return to his work and stop thinking about the way her dress hugged the most perfect curves he’d ever seen.

  Selecting a well-used copy of Domestic Medicine by William Buchan, he handed it to her. “You mentioned an interest in medical texts. This is one of my favorites. You’re welcome to borrow it if you like.”

  She accepted the offering, her gloved fingers swiftly brushing his. Yet it was enough for a surge of energy to dart up his arm. “Thank you,” she said, seemingly unaffected by the brief moment of contact. “I look forward to reading it.”

  He gave her an expectant look, willing her to leave.

  Instead she remained in her seat. Her head tilted and he knew in that instant, before she uttered another word, that she was about to say something frightening. “I know you value honesty, so let me be blunt.” Cold apprehension snaked down his spine. “The Duchess of Huntley has informed me of St. Agatha’s committee and of her mother’s seat on it.”

  Florian felt his stomach collapse and a rush of unease swirl up inside him.

  “Since the donation I plan on making is substantial, and, keeping the additional funds I intend to raise in mind, I do not feel as though offering me a seat on the committee as well would be too much to ask.” She folded her hands neatly across the book in her lap. “It will allow me to engage in the discussions regarding distribution of funds, which frankly, I think I deserve to be included in. Don’t you?”

  He stared at her, uncertain of how to extricate himself from this mess without causing offense or sounding unreasonable or giving up the money the hospital desperately needed. So he nodded and muttered an almost incoherent, “Yes,” while trying to come to terms with all the time he would have to spend in her company.

  Christ, it wouldn’t be easy.

  Not when she affected him the way she did. And it was all because of one stupid glance at a silly ball, which had led to a riveting conversation and a startling awareness he could not shake.

  “Good.”

  She pushed herself out of her chair and stood. “My brother will arrange to have the money transferred as soon as possible.” She smiled as though she’d won an award, her sense of victory affording her with a vibrant glow that made his chest burn and his fingers tingle with a curious need to reach out and touch her.

  Restraint came to his rescue, strengthening his posture and tightening his features as he dipped his head in affirmation of her comment. “Thank you, my lady. I’ll make sure you’re informed of the next committee meeting.”

  Her eyes held his for longer than necessary before she turned away and went to the door. She paused there, glanced at him once again, but said nothing further before she slipped out into the hallway, her maid following close on her heels.

  Florian stood as if nailed to the floor. What the hell had just happened? He stared at the vacant spot where Lady Juliette had been sitting moments earlier. Within half an hour, he’d gone from successfully keeping her at arm’s length, to having to spend more time with her than ever before. Which wasn’t the least bit wise. Because with the fight against typhus and the adjustment his new position as heir to a dukedom demanded, Florian had enough on his mind. The last thing he needed was for Lady Juliette to become an additional concern.

  She was the sort of woman a man would have to marry if he seduced her, which meant that avoiding temptation was now at the top of his list of priorities. Right below saving people from certain death and figuring out how to run three estates.

  Reaching for a nearby decanter, Florian poured himself a glass of brandy and set it to his lips. Trouble had come to call on him in droves and he knew the only way past it was to face it head-on.

  Juliette left the hospital with a new sense of purpose. Her body still trembled with nervous trepidation though she’d done her best to conceal it in front of Florian. Instead, she’d forced herself to remain as rigid as possible, to meet his penetrating gaze with confidence, hopefully hiding the twisted mess her stomach had turned itself into while in his presence.

  He was so intense and . . . inexplicably more handsome today with his hair in disarray and his cravat slightly askew, than he’d been the last time she’d seen him. How was that possible? She shook her head, unsure of the answer but keenly aware that his masculine presence was to blame for her turbulent nerves.

  Her heart still beat a wild rhythm against her chest, not only because she’d so desperately longed for him to agree with her plan, but because of Florian himself. As usual, he’d been all seriousness without the tiniest hint of a smile, and although this had increased her awareness of him, it had also given her the opportunity to study the carved planes of his jaw and the sculpted shape of his mouth without the interference of laugh lines.

  His nose was patrician, his eyes a deep shade of infinite blue. But what drew her attention the most—what had always drawn her attention where he was concerned—was the color of his hair. It was a beautiful shade of copper, the rich tones shifting in the light falling through the window behind him. Coupled with his features, he presented an image of virile beauty and uniqueness. Add his profession and the man demanded admiration. So much so it was a wonder he hadn’t yet married—a puzzling notion she chose not to dwell on since doing so was likely to fluster her even more.

  Reaching the carriage, Juliette climbed in and waited for her maid to follow. The door closed and she slumped back against the squabs. “That went so much better than I expected,” she muttered on an exhalation of breath. She’d always spoken candidly with Sarah and appreciated her frankness in return.

  “Really?” Sarah asked from her spot beside her.

  “I thought he might be more resistant.” But she’d been wrong. Although Florian had wanted to know the details of what she planned, he’d readily agreed to her involvement.

  “He would have been a fool to turn you away, my lady.”

  “You’re probably right and yet I’m still having trouble believing how simple it was to accomplish my goal. My nerves still haven’t settled.” Giving her attention to the passing street view, Juliette said, “My sister has found her purpose in the school she opened last year while Raphe makes a difference every day when he visits Parliament. I only want the same and this is important, Sarah. People will die unless something is done to prevent it.”

  “They will do so anyway, my lady. You heard what Florian said. Typhus is incurable.”

  “I know, but with the extra funds there’s a chance that fewer will have to do so,” Juliette murmured. “The thought of the people I grew up with not getting the treatment they deserve because they can’t afford it is more than I can bear. Their suffering not only pains me, but compels me to try and do what I can in order to help.”

  “And so you will by offering up your allowance,” Sarah said with the sort of admiration that could not be feigned. “No other lady would do so, I assure you.”

  “You had a visitor earlier,” Viola Cartwright, Dowager Duchess of Tremaine, said while Florian stitched his patient’s wound shut.

  The severely broken arm had required surgery. There was still no guarantee it would mend satisfactorily or that the young man to whom it belonged would ever be able to use it again. But Florian had done his best. He dropped the bloodied needle into the dish Viola held and went to wash his hands. “We’ll need to dress that and bandage it well before he’s taken up to the ward for recovery.”

  “I will take care of it. As soon as you tell me why the Duke of Huntley’s sister came here to se
e you personally.” As the founder of St. Agatha’s and Florian’s employer, the young widow had always made a point of knowing what went on at her hospital. Labeled an upstart on account of her hasty marriage to a dying old man, she was a woman with whom Florian had felt a connection from the start. Both had scandalous backgrounds, though hers was publicly known while his was not.

  He sighed. “You would rather leave our patient on the operating table than let me avoid this conversation?”

  “Mr. Peterson is fine. The morphine I gave him will keep him asleep for a while longer.”

  Seeing no dignified chance of escape, Florian took off his surgical apron and tossed it into a large basket so it could be taken out for laundering. “She wants to donate her yearly allowance to us. To the hospital, I mean.”

  “Well, that is marvelous!” Viola said. “Very generous of her.”

  “Yes. Except she wants to get involved.”

  “Can you blame her? It is her money, and as a duke’s sister, I am sure the sum will be immense.”

  “I do not doubt it,” Florian agreed. “But that is not the problem.”

  “Then what is?”

  Florian hesitated sharing the details of his meeting with Lady Juliette, then gave up when he realized his friend would never let the matter rest until he did. “She knows about the typhus outbreak in St. Giles, and since she grew up there, she wants to help save as many people as possible.”

  “And your issue with this is what, exactly?”

  Still reeling from the idea of spending more time with Lady Juliette than he’d intended, he completely forgot himself and said, “It is naïve, Viola, perhaps even stupid for her to suppose that—”

  “Florian!” Viola scowled. “That is unfair of you. Especially since you are always the first to get involved when a life needs saving. Don’t think I do not know about your charitable visits to St. Giles in recent days.”

  “Would you have me turn my back on my patients?”

  “No. Of course not. But you might have a lot more of them if you don’t start acting responsibly.” Crossing her arms, Viola boldly asked, “Can you imagine what would happen if you were to bring the disease back here with you?”

  “You forget I had the disease years ago and survived it. I ought to be immune.”

  “Forgive me, but ‘ought to be’ is hardly reassuring.”

  “I am taking precautions.”

  “And doing so has served us well thus far, but—”

  “God damn it, Viola! I took an oath and that means something to me!” Puffing out a breath, Florian raked his fingers through his hair. “Nobody deserves to be left to die, no matter how poor or neglected they may be.”

  “Agreed. Which is why I chose to support you when you wanted to donate treatment to those who cannot afford to pay. St. Agatha’s has backed you, giving you all the necessary supplies. But there is a limit to how long we can afford to do so and that is discounting the risk.”

  He knew she had a point. The fortune her husband had left her had been put to excellent use in procuring and renovating the building constituting the hospital. But prosperous donors had been hard to come by lately. Other charitable organizations had started gaining more attention, like the Healing Hearts Orphanage in Holborne. Not that he thought the children there did not deserve donations, but it did mean St. Agatha’s was struggling more than it ought.

  “I wash my hands with soap while my peers laugh,” he said, ignoring her reference to decreasing funds and focusing instead on the risk she’d mentioned. “I use alcohol to disinfect tools and I cover my mouth with a scarf to avoid breathing the same air as those who are ailing. Because of these rules and because we have also implemented them here at St. Agatha’s, this hospital has the greatest survival rate in the country. You cannot tell me that is coincidence.”

  “Of course not.” Viola looked thoroughly vexed. “But this is typhus we are talking about.”

  “And we are duty bound to protect the healthy while doing our best to save the sick. You know I am right.”

  “And yet Lady Juliette’s involvement bothers you.”

  The mention of the woman who’d faced him earlier brought a recollection of creamy skin with it. Florian dismissed the alluring vision and focused on his friend. “Would it not bother you?”

  “Why would it? We need the funds and it sounds like she is eager to provide them! If you ask me, her arrival is something of a blessing.”

  He grimaced. “She will want to decide things. You realize that, don’t you?”

  The dowager duchess seemed to ponder that for a moment, then said, “If she insists on helping, I think we should let her. And as far as her getting involved and you worrying about her wanting to decide things is concerned, I suggest you advise her. Be her mentor and teach her something useful the way you’ve taught me.”

  Unwilling to reveal his real protestations regarding Lady Juliette, which had little to do with her wanting to help and everything to do with the sparks rolling over his skin whenever he thought of how right she’d felt in his arms when they’d danced, he said, “I gave her a copy of Domestic Medicine.”

  “Well then. I am sure she will be fine.”

  The sarcasm wasn’t lost on Florian but he chose not to respond. Instead, he left Viola to bandage Mr. Peterson’s arm and made his way back to his office. The room was a mess, full of books and medical supplies he never had time to put away. There were even a few empty teacups and plates distributed on various surfaces. Lady Juliette hadn’t seemed to mind, but that didn’t stop him from wishing she hadn’t witnessed the cluttered disorder. The impression it gave . . .

  Blinking, he shook his head. Why did he care?

  Unwilling to answer that question, he slumped down into his chair and pulled a blank piece of paper out of a drawer. Dipping his quill in a nearby inkwell, he proceeded to list all the ways in which Lady Juliette’s donation could help.

  He was just jotting down improved nourishment for patients right after ability to afford more staff, when a knock at the door brought one of the nurses into the room.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Florian, but there is a man who needs your help.” Her crisp tone conveyed the urgency even as she said, “He has a knife protruding from his back.”

  Florian dropped his quill and stood.

  “He’s been taken to operating room number three,” she added as Florian followed her out into the hallway and fell into step beside her. Grateful for the chance to escape the rest of the world and all its complications, he quickened his pace.

  Chapter 6

  As it turned out, the surgery was not as simple as Florian thought it would be. The blade that had penetrated the man’s back had pierced his lung, which required the evacuation of blood. For this purpose, Florian applied a flexible tube attached to a piston syringe and made a counter-incision on the man’s back for additional drainage.

  The procedure took a couple of hours, including the stitching of the wound, so by the time Florian was done and had finished detailing the surgery in his notes and checking up on the situation in St. Giles, he was exhausted.

  He still had a house call to make, though, before he was able to return home.

  Alighting from the hackney he’d used to reach Cowley Street, he paid the driver and climbed the front steps of the red brick mansion in front of him. The butler opened the door as soon as he knocked.

  “Good evening, Irving.” Florian stepped inside the impressive foyer and handed his hat over to the butler. “How is my uncle faring this evening?” He began removing his gloves.

  “His melancholy is unchanged.” Irving held the hat so Florian could drop his gloves into it. “But that is hardly surprising, all things considered.”

  “And my aunt?” Florian asked, hoping to get some additional insight from the aging servant.

  Irving hesitated briefly, then quietly answered, “She suffers the knowledge that each passing second brings her closer to losing her husband.”

  Florian
blew out a breath. Dealing with those who lay dying had become second nature to him since the day he’d decided to become a physician. Over the years he’d grown accustomed to removing himself from emotion since feelings of helplessness, despair and sadness were a hindrance to his profession. If there was one absolute certainty in the world, it was that everyone died eventually. And yet, the thought of losing his uncle before the man had reached his sixtieth year made Florian’s heart ache in a way it had not done for as long as he could remember.

  “I will show myself up,” he told Irving, saving the butler from having to climb the steep staircase that led to the bedrooms.

  “Very well. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ring the bellpull.”

  Thanking the man, Florian picked up the bag of medical supplies he’d brought with him and climbed the stairs. When he reached the landing he turned left and strode toward the door at the end of the hallway. Hesitating briefly, he took a moment to compose himself before knocking. Entrance was immediately granted and he stepped swiftly into the dimly lit room with the pretense that this was just another regular visit.

  “Good evening to you both.” He cast a glance toward the dishes still waiting to be cleared from a nearby table. “I trust the salmon was as good as always.”

  From her position next to the bed, Aunt Abigail rose weakly to her feet and came to greet him. Florian closed the distance and bent to kiss her cheek.

  “It is good to see you again,” Abigail whispered so only he could hear. “The pain he suffers is unbearable. I hope you can ease it a little.”

  Finding her hand, Florian gave it a gentle squeeze. “I shall do my best.” It was all he could promise, though God knew it wasn’t enough. It would not save his aunt from suffering the death of her husband in the weeks to come. Noting the dark circles under her eyes, he suggested she go and lie down for a while. “I will let you know when I leave, but an hour or two of sleep will do you good.”

  Reluctantly, she agreed and left the room after placing a kiss on her husband’s brow.