The Illegitimate Duke

by Sophie Barnes

  “Then what do you propose?” Viscount Clearwater asked.

  “The military has, as of tonight, been ordered to shoot anyone attempting to leave St. Giles.”

  “Good God!” Juliette clasped her hand over her mouth and stared at Florian in horror. Aware the room had gone utterly silent in response to her outburst, she glanced about hastily before turning her attention back to Florian. “You wish to murder people?”

  A tic at the edge of his mouth conveyed his disapproval of her question. Well, too bad. What he was suggesting was absolutely preposterous and wrong.

  “My lady.” His voice was firm and direct. “I would advise against insinuating I or anyone else here would ever be guilty of such a crime.”

  The way he said it sent chills racing down Juliette’s spine. She sat back, unsure of how to proceed. She shot a look at Lady Warwick for guidance but found no help there. Aware she was on her own in this, Juliette squared her shoulders. “Forgive me. I did not mean to cause offense, but surely you must agree that killing people is not the way forward. It is savage and . . . and uncivilized.” Silence followed and the frowns grew deeper. Juliette began to wonder if she’d made a massive mistake by deciding to come here. Lowering her voice to a hushed tone, she said, “It is your duty to save people, Florian.”

  Florian stared at her for a long moment before he spoke. “No one is more aware of that than I, my lady.” He clenched his jaw. His posture grew increasingly rigid and Juliette realized he fought to maintain control.

  “Florian.” Viola placed her hand over his in a comforting gesture that instantly sparked a detestable feeling in Juliette’s belly. She fought to rid herself of it as the dowager duchess said, “Perhaps you ought to explain your reasoning more fully.”

  Florian seemed to relax a little, then finally nodded. “Very well.” He turned his head so he could look more directly at Juliette. “You do not know the danger we’re facing or how difficult it will be to fight this disease if it is not contained from the start. If it spreads, the entire city will be at risk.” He was speaking slowly now, as if she were a child who failed to comprehend the simplest of things. It grated, but she made a deliberate effort to focus on his every word for the sake of the cause. “Since people also travel, contagion can easily spread to other parts of the country before we realize it has done so. It could even reach the Continent with devastating effect. Are you willing to risk such an outcome?”

  “No. Of course not.” It was absurd of him to think so.

  “Then you agree that my proposal is the best way forward.”

  She instinctively shook her head. “No. There has to be another way that doesn’t involve killing anyone.”

  “As long as the residents of St. Giles remain where they are, their lives will not be threatened.”

  “Except by the disease!” She glared at him, infuriated by his stubbornness and discomfited by the fact that he still possessed the ability to make her skin tingle even when the air between them was tense. Bolstering herself, she tried not to think of how scorched she felt when subjected to his assessing gaze, and forged ahead with her argument. “Surely the best approach would be to take those at risk of developing the disease to a safe location where they can be quarantined and, if it becomes necessary, appropriately treated. Can a floor at the hospital not be made available for this?”

  Florian’s eyes darkened. “You would place patients already at the hospital in danger?”

  “They would not come into contact with these people, but considering the unsanitary conditions in St. Giles, remaining there does not seem like a feasible solution. That book you lent me . . .” She could feel herself grasping at straws but she could not seem to stop. “William Buchan clearly states that cleanliness is key when battling the spread of disease.”

  “She does make a point, Florian.” It was the Marquess of Stokes who commented. “Thousands of pounds have been donated to this hospital. Lord knows it is not filled to capacity, so it ought to be possible to free up a floor for those infected by typhus. Choosing not to do so may be construed as wasteful and could result in the loss of future donations. In my experience, people do not wish to give money to a cause that fails to keep its promises.”

  It took enormous restraint for Florian not to march across the room and shake some sense into Stokes. Once he was done he’d be tempted to throttle Lady Juliette as well. This was all her fault. She failed to see the bigger picture. All because she wished to be kind. He winced at the thought of it. He knew better than anyone that it wasn’t kindness that kept people safe. It was common sense and intellect. Those who wanted to be kind often got sick themselves because they used their hearts instead of their minds.

  Forcing some sense of calm into his rigid muscles, he made an effort to relax. Anger would yield no results whatsoever. But when she’d accused him of wanting to murder people he’d almost imploded. The rage had been swift and acute, the suggestion that he and Bartholomew might have something in common provoking a primitive urge to hit something. Especially when he’d had an inclination to do so already—ever since he’d acknowledged the yearning Lady Juliette inspired in him. He wanted her, damn it, more than he’d ever wanted any other woman before. And that, coupled with the chance of her not wanting him in return, made him irritable.

  Inhaling deeply, he tried to speak with a level voice. “To be clear, I want to save as many people as possible. Make no mistake about it. But when it comes to deadly diseases, fatalities are inevitable. My job is to minimize those fatalities as much as I can. Even if that means making tough decisions like ensuring that nobody leaves St. Giles, no matter what.”

  Lady Juliette straightened in her seat. Her posture was rigid, her face flushed and her eyes filled with endless resolve. When she spoke, her voice was calm, save for the slightest quiver. “I am not donating three thousand pounds so I can stand idly by while you do nothing for those who can be helped.”

  Jesus Christ and all his apostles!

  Florian clenched his fist. “Sometimes,” he grit out, “sacrifices must be made for the greater good. And I never said I would do nothing to help. Indeed, I have every intention of tending to the sick, but I will be damned if I am letting any of St. Giles’s residents near St. Agatha’s or any other part of London for that matter.”

  “What Florian and I would like to propose,” Viola said, taking over, “is setting up a clinic in St. Giles itself so people there can be evaluated and treated close to their homes. Any physician or nurse who agrees to help with this effort will do so voluntarily. But once again, it is our belief that risking the lives of a few is much better than risking those of many.”

  Florian considered Lady Juliette discreetly while Viola continued speaking. Her expression was set in firm lines that suggested she was trying very hard to control her emotions. Which was, of course, the problem. When it came to life and death, he never allowed emotion to interfere with his judgment. She, on the other hand, was new to all of this and could only focus on what he’d said about shooting anyone trying to flee St. Giles. But it could become necessary, and if she’d lived through a typhus epidemic like he had, she would understand.

  She must have sensed he was watching her, for she suddenly turned to meet his gaze. It was then that he realized her eyes weren’t an ordinary shade of brown as he’d initially thought, but hazel, the green flecks adding a fascinating degree of depth. Unable to stop himself, he dropped his gaze to her lips and immediately regretted doing so. For in spite of his increasing annoyance with her, that brief glance filled his mind with thoughts of kissing. It paved a path of desire so acute he was forced to look away, lest she be made aware of what he was feeling.

  “On another point,” Viola was saying, “we need to discuss this list of expenses.” She proceeded to hand out pieces of paper to everyone. A discussion about the need for more staff and certain supplies ensued. “All of this will be costly. The clinic in particular will be a large expense, possibly exceeding Lady Juliette’s generous
donation and . . .” She paused. “While bringing those who are infected to the hospital is not an option, we must try to get them out of St. Giles somehow. I hope I can count on all of you to think of a way in which to do so as cheaply and efficiently as possible.”

  When Viola paused to glance around the room, Lady Juliette spoke up once more. “Perhaps a charity event with an auction would at least help bring in additional funds, which in turn could increase your options of relocating the typhus patients.”

  Viola turned to her. “We haven’t had much success with such things in the past, but you’re welcome to give it another try if you think you can make it work.”

  “I’ll set my mind to it right away,” Lady Juliette assured her.

  The meeting was adjourned and the members pushed back their chairs.

  “Your idea to set up a clinic in St. Giles is good,” Lady Juliette was saying while gathering her reticule and rising to her feet. “And you will obviously need more staff to run it, as Viola says. There is also no denying that there are other costs incurred by the hospital itself and covering these is of course a necessity. That said . . .” Her voice, though quiet, was sharp enough to cut glass. “I was hoping I’d have more say in how my money is spent.”

  Florian rose as well.

  “Of course.” The surprised look in her eyes was priceless and fleeting. Florian took a moment to appreciate the effect of his geniality before pressing on. “But what you possess in ways of kindness and a desire to help, you lack in experience. As evidenced by your rash contrariness with my effort to save as many people as possible from a deadly disease. All because—”

  “My rash contrariness?”

  She was leaning toward him, allowing her sweet fragrance to distract him from the outrage burning within her eyes. Hell, he rather expected her to jab at him with a pointed finger and for some peculiar reason he imagined he might enjoy such a heated display of anger on her part. It suggested passionate emotion, with him as the direct cause, which brought his mind straight back to his earlier thought of kissing.

  Shoving the unwelcome notion aside, he stared her down. “You may have lived your life in the slums, my lady. Indeed, you have undoubtedly experienced your fair share of misery. But when it comes to saving lives, your naïveté is astounding.”

  Shock was the first emotion to cross her face but then she composed herself, like a warrior princess preparing for battle. Her features tightened, and if Florian wasn’t mistaken, she even grew an inch in height. “I have admired you for your accomplishments and I have even enjoyed your company.” Her breaths came in short little bursts of agitation. “I see now that I was wrong to do so, however, for although you may be an excellent physician and an interesting conversationalist, you are nothing but a cad, completely devoid of compassion.”

  His hand grabbed hold of her elbow before he could think of what he was doing. Christ! This woman was dangerous. She robbed him of common sense!

  Ignoring that for the moment, he steered Lady Juliette a little further away from everyone else so he could give her a few choice words in private. Except he was not wearing gloves since he was at home, and the lady in question was dressed for the pleasant day that it was, her breezy muslin gown consisting of short cap sleeves that left most of her arms bare to his touch.

  Her skin was smooth and wonderfully warm. He could feel the heat of her spilling through his palm and fingertips. The sharp inhalation she made, as he tightened his hold ever so slightly, forced him closer. His body nudging hers in an effort to raise her awareness of him just as she had raised his awareness of her.

  “Compassion, as noble as it may be, has no place here.” He placed himself between her and the rest of the room. Reluctantly he released her arm, but not without noting the way her breath quivered the moment he did so, as if she regretted the loss of his touch. Elemental appreciation tightened his chest and he suddenly longed to encourage such sentiment in her once more. Later. Right now, words had to be said. “Compassion doesn’t save lives, my lady. Reasoning and solid medical experience do.”

  She shook her head as though not comprehending. “How can you be so devoid of emotion? How can you be so cold?”

  He winced, aware of the callous man he presented. “To let my heart guide me in this matter could be detrimental.” He softened his voice, willing her to see him for who he really was beneath the monster she saw. “That does not mean I do not have one or that I lack compassion. But for me to be the best physician I can be, I have no choice but to discount it in favor of making rational decisions.”

  She stared up at him as if mesmerized, her mind clearly working to process his comment. And then she asked, “Have you always been like this?”

  The question squeezed beneath his ribs, constricting his lungs. And yet, he struggled to overcome the panic her question evoked. Because it wasn’t an easy one for him to answer. At least not honestly. Even though he wanted to. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he wanted to open up to her, if only a little.

  Perhaps because of her hopeful expression or maybe because he wanted her trust.

  “It’s something I learned to do a long time ago,” he revealed. After his mother told him about Bartholomew, he’d hated her, Armswell and himself for a long time. Until he’d banished the feelings shredding his soul and applied analytical thinking. “Objectivity is easier that way and heartache less likely to occur.”

  Her expression softened and she quietly whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For whatever it was that happened to you.” Glistening with pain, her eyes locked with his. “It must have been awful.”

  Shuddering in response to the depth of her insight, he glanced away, pushing the negative memories back. By the time he looked at her again, he was back in control and able to speak in the same precise tone he always applied when discussing his work. “It has allowed me to excel at my profession.”

  He would not waste time wondering why he discreetly reached out to brush his hand with hers or why she allowed the gesture rather than pulling away. But in that moment, he felt he had no choice but to do so. She, on the other hand, had every chance and reason to add more distance between them. Instead she remained where she was, her shallow breathing suggestive of profound alertness.

  Captivated, Florian dared to take a step closer so he could whisper close to her ear. “My lady, you are the only threat to my composure. And if I were indeed the cad you believe me to be, I would have no qualms about proving that to you.”

  “Sir.” Her pupils were fully dilated, her lips parted with what could only be described as shock. “You forget yourself.”

  He stepped back and bowed his head. “Perhaps.”

  She swallowed and he noted the way her pulse fluttered rapidly against her neck and how her breathing grew more shallow. Maybe he did affect her after all. Maybe—

  “I need you to help me put my money to good use as quickly as possible.” She was suddenly completely serious, forcing him to wonder if he might have imagined her response to him. “The longer we talk, the more the disease is likely to spread with fatality rates climbing until we face a situation that is no longer possible to solve.” When he opened his mouth to speak she cut him off. “Deciding to shoot people is not the answer, Florian. Resolution is.”

  This again? She was like a bloody brick wall refusing to budge. “Fine. But whatever the solution, it won’t involve bringing typhus patients to St. Agatha’s. And the soldiers stay where they are with their orders to act if necessary.”

  “But—”

  “This is not a game. Lives are at stake and I intend to save as many as possible even if I have to fight your compassion every step of the way.” Ignoring the flush that flooded her cheeks, he dipped his head. “Now, if you will please excuse me, I must attend to my other guests.”

  Without waiting for her to respond, he moved away quickly and went to join a conversation at the other side of the room. Because remaining in Lady Juliette’s
proximity was likely to make him go mad, not only from their differing points of view but from desire the likes of which he’d never experienced before. If only the subject of it were not so troublesome or unattainable. But she was, and he would do well not to forget it.

  Chapter 9

  Even though Juliette had tried to convince Raphe that attending more social events would be a waste of her time, he insisted. Whether he hoped she would suddenly change her mind about marrying one of the eligible bachelors or expected some long-lost heir to make an unexpected appearance was unclear. But it did mean that, rather than spending the evening reading some additional books on medicine she’d found in the Huntley House library, she was once again forced to endure a crowded ballroom.

  And since Amelia was in confinement and Gabriella had elected to stay home with Raphe and their children, that left her in the Warwicks’ company. The evening was only tolerable because of the excitement Vivien had shown when Juliette had mentioned the charity event she planned to hold. They’d attended a few fund-raisers together the previous Season and when Vivien had hosted one herself for the benefit of the blind, Juliette had happily helped her organize it.

  “Garden parties are all the rage,” Vivien said. They were standing some distance from the dance floor where the crowd was slightly thinner. “If you set up a tent in the Huntley House garden with an area allocated for an auction, I think it could be very successful.”

  “Perhaps, but what if it rains?” Juliette asked. “It’s only May, after all, so anything can happen. I rather think I’ll ask my brother if I can use the ballroom for a massive tea party.”

  “Oh, how original!”

  Running with the idea, Juliette said, “I’ll have round tables set up with decorations on each one and frosted petit fours in bright, uplifting colors.”

  “A positive atmosphere will certainly help the bidding. What sort of items are you thinking of auctioning off?”

  Juliette thought about that for a second. “The usual gift baskets, of course, but something else too . . . something bigger and more desirable, like . . .” A thought struck her and she couldn’t help but smile. “A waltz with Florian.”