Desperate for a Duke

by Dayna Quince

  “What of your mother?”

  “She died when I was six, but she was gone long before then. Something happened during my birth, and she never recovered. She required constant care because she couldn’t move or speak. She was like an infant, but her eyes were lifeless. There was no…spark inside them.” He swallowed. “My father hated her for it. He called her weak, and by default, I was weak and unworthy of his bloodline. He used my illness as an excuse to say I was illegitimate. He said no child of his would be so pathetic.”

  “I’m sorry.” Heather couldn’t imagine hearing such words from one’s own parent.

  “So am I. I wish I could have known at least one of my parents.”

  Heather’s heart ached for him. “Who raised you?”

  “The staff. Sturdy clansmen who never cared to follow a single order he gave. They drove away the duke’s original steward. Faegan took over affairs, and we carried on, did as we pleased, lived as we pleased.”

  “A boy’s paradise.”

  “Exactly. Though Mrs. Ferguson made sure I attended my lessons, ate all my spinach, and washed behind my ears.”

  “You said you never left Scotland before the party. Did you attend school like most boys of nobility?” Heather wondered.

  “No. My existence was scarcely known beyond the castle and a nearby village. I was very sick as an infant. Mrs. Ferguson was worried that the duke might send me away. She raised me as her own, even made my clothes. Faegan used earnings directly from the land to pay the tutor. I’m practically a savage compared to the gentlemen you are accustomed to.”

  “I’m sorry,” Heather said with very real sympathy. She didn’t know what else to say. Everything she could think of sounded woefully inadequate in her mind. His past painted quite a different picture of the charismatic man she knew before.

  “No, I’m sorry. You’re getting a bad deal, Heather. I’m not worthy of you, and I probably never will be.”

  Heather was again robbed of speech. She couldn’t summon her earlier fear, not after what he’d just told her. He was doing it again, disarming her with words, giving her a false sense of safety she knew was not truly there. She swallowed and tried to wet her tongue enough to speak. “I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”

  “Then what would you say?” he pressed.

  “I…I don’t know,” she said in aggravation. “This—this pretending isn’t easy for me either.”

  “We don’t need to pretend, Heather. We had something between us once,” he said in exasperation.

  “Based on lies.” Which was still the case, only this time it was she who was lying to hide her father’s shame.

  He spun away from her, took a few angry strides, and turned back. “Did you lie? Because I didn’t lie about what I felt.”

  “You lied about who you were.” She said, though the words were weak. Her lie was so much bigger than his.

  “I lied about my station. Strip away the title, and I am just Mr. Calder. You said you fell in love with him. I am him.” He stepped closer again, but she was still out of arm’s reach.

  Heather folded her arms over her chest. She remembered those words; she said them in anger, but she had meant them. Heather had fallen in love with the steward, but now he stood before her as a duke. It felt too good to be true. There was just so much about him Heather didn’t know. How could she have fallen in love with someone she didn’t know? And worse, she could not allow him to know her, not while she held such a dangerous secret. “Those days were just a dream.” She turned away from him.

  “A fantasy,” he said as he stepped closer. He wrapped his hands lightly around her shoulders, touching but not holding. Neither moved for a moment. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I didn’t intend to deceive you when I got your letter. It simply…happened, and then the lie became useful. I had more freedom as Mr. Calder than I would have had as the duke. I cannot regret that, but I do regret hurting you. I could have wiped away all your fears about the future by simply stepping through the door as the duke.”

  “Yes, you could have.” Heather swallowed down the tightness in her throat. “But I accept your apology.”

  “But I would have lost so much time with you, like hearing you play for the first time and being left alone with you afterward. Lady Karen would never have left us the way she did.”

  Heather remembered that afternoon, the way she longed to be with him. Well, here she was. “This is the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do.” It was all she could confess for now.

  Fallon snorted. She felt the whoosh of his breath in her hair. “You were prepared to marry an old man with a black heart.” He turned her, and they both looked up at the picture of his father. “This must be from forty or so years ago, but his eyes look the same as they did when I was a boy. There is no joy in him, Heather, no love. He would have broken you. Maybe I’m not such a bad bargain after all. I want to cherish you. I want to take care of you.”

  Heather tucked her head into her chest. Those words again, such sweet promises, but she knew by the lick of heat in her belly that being cherished was not all she was looking for. Her steward had shown her that, but would this duke?

  He turned her to face him. “What is it?”

  She shook her head and refused to look up. She was afraid the need was there in her eyes. Surely, he wouldn’t be able to see it in the dark. He tipped her chin up. She met his eyes, his little more than shadowed pools. They caught the tiniest flicker from the candle, like a single star in a midnight sky.

  She knew he saw the need deep in her bones. It was inevitable. He lowered his head slowly. He was giving her time to move away, but she couldn’t. Didn’t he know that? She had no power here. Something took over her, and she had no will to deny it. His lips met hers gently, silently asking for permission, begging to be accepted. She didn’t deny him, but nor could she invite. She was too afraid, her heart still wary of believing something could be this good. She couldn’t give him what he wanted. A part of her wanted to, but she was incapable under the guilt she carried. His arms came around her, pulling her close. She arched against him, and it felt wonderful, but still she didn’t move. She could neither acquiesce nor deny.

  She remained pliable in his arms, and he didn’t seem to mind. He kissed her deeply, nudging her lips apart and searching the inner cavern of her mouth. Heather wanted to moan. His kiss brought back so many feelings from before. She had clung to him before, begging for more with her body. She could almost see herself doing it again, but she held on to her resolve to remain distant while she still carried the burden of her father’s secret, despite the watery feeling in her knees and the pooling warmth inside her. He brought one hand to the back of her head, holding her as he plundered her mouth deeper, stripping her wits.

  She released a breathy gasp as he pulled away, a smile playing about his lips. She hoped he wouldn’t move away too soon, or she might collapse at his feet.

  “I have hope, little flower. A man with hope is a dangerous thing.”

  “What is it you hope for?” she asked as she regained her footing and pushed away from him.

  “I have hope that one day soon you will return my kisses again. You will beg for them.”

  Her mouth dropped open to instantly deny him, but then she clamped it shut and changed her mind. “I hope that too, Fallon.” She could tell she had surprised him. “But it won’t be tonight. Goodnight.” She turned and walked away. She reached the stairs and glanced back briefly to see if he was watching and stopped. He was staring at the portrait of his father. He looked to be in pain, his fists clenched at his sides. Her mind raced with questions, but before she could take another step, he lifted the candle and blew it out. Heather turned and continued down the stairs as quietly and carefully as she could.

  She made her way back to her room in the dark and climbed into bed. She lay under the coverlet and thought of the way he had looked. He was still angry with his father, and that was something she could understand. Heather was bitterly angry with
her own father. She remembered him fondly, but those memories were now tainted with betrayal. He’d gambled shamelessly, draining his estate until it was nothing but a dusty, dry riverbed. He’d thought nothing of the welfare of his wife and daughters. Then he’d shot himself, leaving his family with the full weight of his actions. They could have lost everything, if not for her mother’s quick thinking.

  But Fallon talked with such joy of Scotland and those who raised him. Was it possible that the desertion of his father still caused him pain? Until now, Fallon had lived with his father’s threats hanging over his head like a guillotine. A duke was a powerful man, capable of getting away with almost anything. But that threat was over now, dead and buried with the old duke. Heather wondered what Fallon felt upon learning his father had died. Relief? Joy?

  For Heather, news of her father’s death had felt like gunpowder exploding inside her heart. She’d cried for days, unable to speak his name or look into her mother’s eyes without fresh sobs bursting forth. Heather knew she’d been shaped by her father’s love and generous affection. It made her who she was today. Her father’s betrayal didn’t change that, and ultimately, it wouldn’t change her. But what Heather didn’t understand, and she was certain Fallon didn’t fully comprehend, was how his father had shaped him. Good or bad, the old duke had left a permanent wound inside Fallon. How could Heather heal it?

  Chapter 16

  Sporting stylish clothing expertly fitted by his new tailor, and looking every inch a ridiculously wealthy duke, Fallon strolled along Bond Street and pondered the many windows for inspiration. According to Faegan, a woman’s heart could be softened with fripperies. Fallon didn’t believe Heather was such a woman, but it certainly couldn’t hurt, could it?

  He stood before a window display of bonnets and fans, completely at a loss. He was so focused on the ribbons and rosettes that he didn’t notice the gentlemen who had stepped to either side of him.

  “It’s disgusting, isn’t it? Why on earth does a bonnet need such adornment?” Rigsby asked from beside him.

  Fallon jumped. “Bloody hell, Lord Rigsby!”

  “Just Rigsby will do.”

  “Buying off a mistress, Ablehill? Only diamonds will do,” Draven said from his other side.

  Fallon turned to him with a murderous smile. “I’m of the mind to put your teeth in the back of your throat, Draven.”

  “No doubt it’s deserved, but how ‘bout a drink instead?”

  “In good time, but I think our friend here needs some help.” Rigsby stepped between the two men and gestured to the window. “I assume you are searching for a gift for your betrothed?”

  “You would be right.” Fallon turned back to the window with a sigh.

  “Nothing here is going to inspire much…ah, romance, if that’s what you’re aiming for.”

  “I just want to see her smile,” Fallon admitted.

  “Ah, then let’s go inside, and I will give you some insight into a woman’s soul.”

  Fallon nodded and reluctantly followed Rigsby and Draven inside. He didn’t know what he was getting into, but hopefully, they would not lead him afoul.

  After advising him on his purchases, and what Fallon would consider invaluable knowledge, he was persuaded to join them at a gentleman's club called White’s. They hailed a hackney and shortly arrived at 38 St. James Street, where Fallon followed Draven and Rigsby inside. In the few days that he’d been in London, Fallon noticed a kind of unsettling phenomenon whenever he was announced or introduced. All talk would cease, and then a dull roar of whispers would follow. White’s was no different, only the most curious were brave enough to approach. He received congratulations for his betrothal and observed many calculating smiles. He was relieved when they took a private dining room away from the din of the main area. A waiter brought them snifters of brandy, and they sat and sipped in companionable silence.

  “Now that you’ve been ousted from obscurity, I wondered if you would consent to breeding Maxim with a mare of mine,” Draven began.

  Fallon gave him a dark look. “I’ve yet to decide whether I should call you out or hang you by your pantaloons someplace public.”

  “Come now, can’t we move past it?” Draven asked with an innocuous smile. “No harm was done—at least not by me.”

  Fallon set his teeth. “You made Heather upset and uncomfortable.”

  “He makes all women upset and uncomfortable, but he’s not a bad sort once you get to know him. He can be tolerable,” Rigsby interjected.

  “I like to liven things up by playing the villain. It suits me, and I think most would agree. But where would you be without me?” Draven leaned forward. “I knew you were the real duke because of that little story you told about Maxim. I met Wallace at a horse fair in Edinburgh. I had heard rumor of Maxim’s birth and sought him out for my own stables. Imagine my surprise when I’d learned he’d been sold to a duke’s son. At that moment in the drive, it eluded me, but then that fateful morning, it all came together perfectly. Even then, the name Ablehill was vague to me. I am an ally, should anyone question your inheritance.”

  “No one can question my right to the inheritance. The old duke left a wide berth in regards to living family that still wished to associate with him.”

  “Then I must apologize,” Draven said suddenly. “My behavior was a lark at yours and Miss Everly’s expense. I’m sorry.”

  Fallon was surprised but still skeptical. “I accept…for now.”

  Draven nodded. “Of course. Trust must be earned.”

  “Here, here!” Rigsby lifted his drink, and Fallon and Draven followed suit. They each sipped and the tension dissipated.

  The conversation moved to calmer topics of phaeton races, horses, and boxing. Fallon felt out of his depth again, having only read about these things in the paper. He hadn’t traveled before now, and even in Scotland, he hadn’t participated in much of the social world. He felt like an outsider more than ever. He could look and act like a gentleman, but could he ever be one?

  Another snifter of brandy soothed his doubts and left him feeling pleasantly warm. Draven and Rigsby were entertaining. Without even thinking beforehand, he invited them to join the dinner party Lady Everly had arranged for that very night and they accepted. They left the club and parted ways on the street after Fallon gave them his address. He hailed a hackney and went straight to the townhouse to alert Lady Everly to the addition of two more guests. He hoped she wouldn’t be cross.

  She did raise a brow but then shrugged daintily and claimed Violet and Prim would be delighted to join the throng to even the numbers. By their wide smiles directed at him, they certainly were.

  The Everlys were seated around a tea tray in the drawing room, looking quite at home in his father’s home—or his home, rather. He liked the vision they presented, especially Heather in a new pink gown that hugged her bosom in the most enchanting way. It made it hard to look away from her. He took the seat Violet offered beside Heather and set the gift boxes on the table. He presented one to Lady Everly first.

  “For you, my lady, for educating me in my role here. I’d be a bumbling fool without you.” He handed out the others as Lady Everly graciously thanked him and opened her gift. He turned slightly to Heather as he presented her box, wanting to see her expression as she opened her gift, and to watch her sisters open theirs. To Lady Everly he gave a crystal bud vase, Prim and Violet both received new silk fans, and to Heather, he gave a pair of luxuriously soft gloves. His gift was seeing her eyes light up whilst watching her sisters. She smiled with true joy, elated by the happiness of her family. She turned to him with that smile, and his heart warmed with triumph.

  “How am I to repay you?” she said.

  “You’ve already repaid me,” he said quietly amid the chatter of her sisters and mother.

  Her eyes twinkled. “I do believe you wished to hear me play again.”

  Fallon’s smile broadened. “That I did.”

  “Is there a harp in the house?” h
er mother asked

  “I have no idea,” Fallon said.

  “Then you shall have to look. The music room is right next door. You have my permission to play for him for a moment.”

  Heather stood and Fallon followed her to the music room. Fallon wondered at the sudden lack of concern over the fact that they were about to leave unchaperoned. He wasn’t going to argue.

  The music room shared a wall with the drawing room, but essentially, they were alone. The room was spotless, but had an air of being entirely untouched, the instruments placed decoratively rather than for use. There was indeed a harp. It was large and ornately carved with elaborate scrollwork, Chinois Erie, and gold decoration on the crown. The pillar, neck, and sound box were glossy black enamel.

  “How lovely,” Heather said in appreciation. “It’s the finest I’ve ever seen.”

  “I’d expect nothing less from a man like the duke.”

  Heather turned to face him. She put a hand on his chest and came up on her tiptoes to lightly kiss his lips. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For the gifts.” She smiled.

  “I didn’t do it for a kiss. I did it for your smile.”

  “Then you get both today.” She stepped back.

  “And you said you’d play for me,” he reminded her.

  She laughed as she pulled a Chippendale chair from the wall. “Would you mind?” She gestured to the massive harp.

  “It would be my pleasure.” Fallon lifted the harp by the pillar and the sound box and set it before her. She moved into position, and Fallon pulled another chair close to listen.

  “What would you like me to play?”

  “You know precisely what I want to hear.” He folded his arms over his chest and leaned back in the chair, crossing his ankles.

  Heather tried not to stare, but he cut quite a handsome image. He was so long and muscular, it made her think of… No, she mustn’t let herself go there. She tore her gaze from him, put her hands on the strings, and began to play. She did not lose herself in the music as she normally did. She was too physically aware of the man sitting nearby. From her peripheral vision, she could see his booted feet and could feel his attention on her, but she tried again to resist all thought of him and focus on the music. She struggled through the rest of the chords and finished sloppily. She cringed as she pulled her hands away.