My Once and Future Duke

by Caroline Linden

  Instead of answering, he closed his eyes and pulled her close again, holding her as if they were about to be parted. “Must you?” he whispered, his lips against her forehead.

  Her mind raced and her heart sank. What did that mean? He was clearly dreading it. “Do you not want to know?”

  His chest heaved with a silent sigh, then he released her. “Anything you want to tell me, I want to know.”

  Sophie didn’t move. “Jack, what is wrong?”

  He took her hand and studied it, stroking his thumb over her knuckles. “It’s been a trying day.” He flashed her a wry smile, looking for a moment as he had at Alwyn House. “Thanks to my mother and Philip, not you.”

  “Oh.” She exhaled and gave a small laugh in relief. “I’m very sorry to hear they made life difficult.”

  “Now that I am here with you, I don’t give a damn about them.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her temple, and they walked into the parlor and sat on the sofa, never letting go of each other.

  “I think you have suspected me of having secrets for some time now, and you’re right—although perhaps not for the right reason,” she began. “I have not been completely honest with you.”

  Jack cleared his throat. “Secrets.”

  “Yes.” She hesitated. “The first one is that my name isn’t Campbell. Mr. Campbell is a myth, as well.” She watched his face closely but saw no sign of horror or disgust there. “I invented him because I wanted a fresh start when I came to London, and a widow is allowed so much more freedom.”

  “A fresh start,” he repeated. “From what, if I may ask?”

  Her face grew warm. “I was companion to an older lady in Bath. She left me three hundred pounds in her will, and I took my chances and came to London with it.”

  “Ah.” A thin frown creased his brow.

  “I wanted to be independent,” she explained. “My family . . . You know my father was disowned when he married my mother. His father was a—a viscount. Papa was not the oldest son, but he would have had a generous inheritance. But he fell in love with my mother, and my grandfather vehemently disapproved because she was an opera singer. My father gave up everything to marry her.” A smile crossed her face, thinking about her parents again. “My mother sang in every court in Europe. It was just the three of us, traveling from city to city, as she got engagements. It became harder as the war spread, and then Mama got sick.

  “We had to come home to England,” she said, her words growing softer. “Mama lost her voice and Papa had to support us. He . . .” She hesitated. “He did so at the gaming tables. I helped him practice.”

  “And that’s where you learned to play,” he murmured.

  Sophie nodded. “I have a knack for cards—of all the silly talents to have. That’s why Vega’s was a crucial part of my plan. I never would have been accepted as a member there if I’d been a spinster, which was another good reason to become a widow.”

  He said nothing for a moment. “You’ve won a good sum at Vega’s, haven’t you?”

  Sophie nodded. “Approaching four thousand pounds, after expenses, in three years. I want to be independent.”

  Jack’s eyebrows went up. So far her story aligned reasonably well with what he’d already assumed. Nothing she said had changed his mind about her—if anything, he had to admire her pluck. This was a real plan, and she’d executed it well. The contrast between his brother’s careless carousing and Sophie’s methodical pursuit was impossible to ignore.

  She blushed under his regard. “I play to win because I have no other means of support. You accused me of being a hardened gamester. I suppose I am, although I truly don’t try to ruin anyone. It’s true I won from Philip, but never very much. I don’t want to beggar my friends, and I did think very highly of Philip until—”

  Until Philip became possessive and troublesome. Jack resolved to revisit that point with his brother until Philip understood how loathsome his behavior had been. Incredibly, he found it all a massive relief. When she’d begun so somberly, he had feared there was something far worse. But this . . . it was nothing like what Portia had hidden from him. Sophie was as he had thought: independent, determined, and fundamentally true. His heart lifted at the realization that he’d been right about her, which meant he was free of any doubt about what to do next . . .

  “How very sensible,” he said to change the subject.

  She started. “Sensible! You think it’s sensible?”

  He shrugged. “How many gentlemen with empty pockets have the same plan? Excepting the fictitious spouse, of course. And, no doubt, any actual employment.”

  “Yes, well, gentlemen seem to have different rules,” she said wryly. “I wouldn’t dare do some of the things men at Vega’s have done.”

  He acknowledged the point. “Have you any other support? Surely your grandfather would step in if he knew.” He found himself hoping she named the old tartar. Jack wanted to give the man a stern word about abandoning orphaned grandchildren.

  Her eyes sparked with disdain. “No, my grandfather won’t lift a finger to help me. He disowned me as thoroughly as he disowned my father. I’d sooner starve than ask his help—not that he would give it even if I were starving.”

  “Perhaps a cousin, or an aunt—your mother’s family—”

  She gave a tight shake of her head. “No. My father had a brother, but said he was just as surly as my grandfather. I don’t want to know him, either. And I haven’t had contact with my mother’s family since we came home to England. I wouldn’t even know where to look for them. I have preferred to be on my own.”

  Jack let it go. “It doesn’t matter. You’re of age, after all.”

  “There is more.” She took a deep breath. “I confess I—I had hoped to find a husband,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “Someone respectable, who could offer me a good home and a chance to have a family.” Her voice grew wistful, and his stomach tightened. He burned to banish that lonely tone from her voice forever. “I haven’t had anyone since I was twelve. My grandfather—the Ogre—is worse than having no one. A penniless woman with no connections is hardly likely to attract a respectable man, but I thought, if I had some small fortune saved up . . .”

  It took all his restraint not to growl at that. Sophie had no idea how appealing she was. Once more he thought of Giles Carter, who’d been with her at Vega’s, the man who made her laugh and took her arm. That man, he knew, was attracted to her, and Jack doubted her four thousand pounds had anything to do with it.

  “I wanted you to know, so that you may walk away,” she said, interrupting his thoughts.

  “Do you think I wish to walk away?”

  Color rose in her face. “I hope not,” she whispered.

  He raised her hand to his lips and pressed an openmouthed kiss to her palm. “Are those all your deepest secrets?”

  “No,” she whispered, watching with dilated eyes as he made love to her hand. “There is one more . . .”

  “Tell me, darling.” He didn’t think there was anything she could say that would change his mind now.

  Her lips parted, and she raised her gaze to meet his. “I love you.”

  His heart jumped in his chest, and for a moment he forgot to breathe. “Sophie . . .”

  She pressed her fingers to his lips. “I didn’t say it in expectation you would feel the same.”

  “No? Then you hope I don’t?” He removed her hand from his face and bent her backward on her tiny sofa.

  “What? Well—no . . .” Her breathing grew uneven as he hooked one finger into the neckline of her dress and tugged the fabric down to bare her shoulder.

  “Good.” He shifted his weight until she was beneath him. His luck, so poor all day, had undergone a sea change. She loved him. He felt bold and invincible, and his next move seemed so right, he wondered why he hadn’t already made it. “I’ve been falling in love with you since you stormed into the library and called me a lunatic. You were entirely correct, and I wanted to say that it was beca
use of you—blowing kisses to the dice at hazard, declaring you would walk to Alwyn through the mud and the rain, taunting me with your bare feet while you wore my banyan.” He pressed his lips to the soft skin atop her shoulder. “You drive me mad, Sophie, and I never want it to end.”

  Her fingers plowed into his hair as he kissed his way along her collarbone. “Madness is not something to crave . . .”

  Jack lifted his head. “For me it is—your kind of madness. My father, like his father and his grandfather and undoubtedly several other generations before them, married for sane, calculated reasons. Some of their unions were civil and harmonious, some were not, but I can’t imagine one of them felt as I do when I’m with you. Marry me, Sophie.”

  Her eyes flew wide open.

  “I want you, darling,” he breathed, skimming his palm up her waist. Exeter had shown him how to cleave the knot: marrying someone else would put paid to any rubbish rumors about an engagement. Tomorrow he would call on Lucinda and make it clear there was no understanding, no promise, no betrothal. He was prepared to do almost anything else in his power to see to her comfort and safety, for the sake of the promise he’d made to his father, but he would not marry her. Worth any scandal, echoed Exeter’s words in his mind.

  Then he was going directly to Doctors’ Commons in pursuit of a special license. Sophie wasn’t the woman anyone would expect him to marry, and it would astonish, if not scandalize, most of London. But she was the only woman he could imagine spending his life with, and by God he meant to have her—in his life, in his bed, in his heart.

  She put her hands on his face and searched his eyes. “Jack—no, you can’t mean that. I have nothing to offer you that’s worthy of a duchess—”

  Jack made a scornful noise low in his throat. “Only a duke can determine that, and I have determined that you offer everything I want in my duchess. Will you have me?”

  She surged up and kissed him, her mouth soft and hot. Jack kissed her deeply, shuddering when she sucked on his tongue. “I will,” she whispered. “With all my heart and soul.”

  “And body, I hope.” He began drawing up her skirt. “I intend to have you here and now.”

  Her eyes shone dark with desire. “Yes.”

  “Do you know, I’ve thought about making love to you on a sofa again ever since we returned to London.”

  “Have you?” Her eyes drifted closed and she arched her back, pressing up into him.

  “Every night.” His hand reached the garter tied above her knee. He tugged it loose and hooked his fingers under her knee, urging her to put her legs around his hips.

  “Then . . . I hope you do . . . every night.”

  He grinned at her breathless reply. “Nothing would give me more pleasure.” Jack’s heart beat so hard he was sure she would feel it. He wanted her to feel it. It never beat that way before her, and he thought it might stop beating altogether if he ever lost her.

  He made love to her on the sofa, and then he took her upstairs and made love to her again, leisurely this time, in her bed. When Sophie had fallen into an exhausted slumber, draped over him, and his muscles felt as though they wouldn’t support him if he tried to stand, Jack wound a lock of her hair around his finger and dismissed any thought of sneaking home before dawn.

  He was home. And he wanted the world to know.

  Chapter 24

  Lady Stowe had let an elegant house in Berkeley Square, facing south across the garden at the heart of the square. Jack fleetingly wondered how much of the rent he was paying before dismissing the thought. After last night, when Sophie whispered that she loved him over and over as he moved above her, joining his body, heart and soul to hers, he’d pay the rent on every house in this street and thank Lady Stowe for it. He tied up his horse and rapped the knocker.

  His arrival caused a bit of a flurry inside the house. The butler showed him to a bright morning room while the sounds of running feet echoed upstairs. He strolled to the window and watched the traffic roll by outside as his mind drifted to Sophie—his love. He wanted to spoil her with every luxury he could. Perhaps he’d whisk her back to Alwyn for a month after their wedding.

  The door behind him opened. “Your Grace,” cried Lady Stowe. “How delightful of you to call.”

  Jack turned. The countess curtsied, a rather rigid motion compared to Sophie’s flowing one. “Good day, Lady Stowe. I called in hopes of having a word with Lady Lucinda.”

  Her face brightened. Lady Stowe was a petite woman and had been a beauty in her youth, with pale blond hair and wide blue eyes. Now her hair was turning to silver and there were lines around her eyes, but Jack was not fooled. The countess might look like a china doll, but she was cut from the same iron-willed cloth as his mother. “My daughter will be down soon to receive you. She will be most delighted you’ve called.” She came into the room, a proud smile on her face. “Won’t you be seated, sir?” She went to the sofa, and Jack obediently took a chair. “I hope the duchess your mother is well?”

  “She is.” Jack thought she must know how his mother was even better than he did, especially since he’d been avoiding his mother since their conversation about Lucinda.

  “I am delighted to hear it,” said Lady Stowe warmly. “Family is so important.”

  Sophie wanted a family. She’d had no one since she was twelve, not even a managing mother or an irresponsible sibling. Jack, who had never been free of family duty and obligations, thought he would also like a family, one of his own making. His lips curved at the thought. His sons would be better cardplayers than Philip; he had no doubt about that. His daughters, too. Sophie would see to it.

  “My husband’s brother, Lord Stowe, is in town at present, as well. Are you acquainted with Stowe yet?”

  Jack’s polite expression felt as stiff as a mask. If he had been about to propose marriage to Lucinda, he would have to receive her guardian’s blessing. But he wasn’t about to propose, and he had no interest in speaking to Lord Stowe. “I am not.”

  “Stowe is very fond of my Lucinda,” the countess went on. “He treats her quite as if she were his own child! I’m sure I couldn’t ask for a better guardian for her, since her own dear father is no longer here.”

  “I’m delighted to hear it,” he replied. He glanced around the room, determined to change the subject. “My man Percy tells me you have had no complaints this Season with the house.”

  “Oh no,” she said at once. “This house suits us very well. It is too small to hold a ball, of course, but your own mother—such a kind lady!—has offered to host one in Lucinda’s honor.” She gave a little peal of laughter. “But naturally you must know all about it, since it will be held in your very own home!”

  There was no doubt in Jack’s mind that his mother had been actively scheming with Lady Stowe to make that ball a betrothal ball for him and Lucinda. “I’m afraid not,” he said. “My mother does not always keep me apprised of her plans, and I rarely attend balls.”

  She paused, her expression turning sharp and frustrated for a brief moment before she smiled again. “I hope you will make an exception to attend this one. It would mean so much to Lucinda, and to your mother, I imagine.”

  He tipped his head. “Perhaps.” He’d attend that ball only with Sophie on his arm, as his duchess. Otherwise, a regiment of soldiers couldn’t make him walk through those doors.

  Lady Stowe pursed her lips. “Where is Lucinda? Normally she is so punctual, Your Grace.” She reached for the bell rope and gave a hard yank. “I’m sure she’ll be so distressed to have kept you waiting.”

  The door flew open then to reveal Lucinda, pink cheeked and flustered. She hurried into the room and almost stumbled into a curtsy. “Your Grace, Mother,” she murmured breathlessly.

  “There you are at last, dear. Come, ring for refreshments for His Grace,” said her mother, patting the seat next to her.

  “Actually,” said Jack as Lucinda flushed at her mother’s criticism, “I wonder if Lady Lucinda would care to take a turn abou
t the square with me. It’s a very fine day out, and I confess I long to feel the sun.”

  Lady Stowe blinked, then let out another peal of her tittering laughter. “Why, that’s a splendid idea! It’s been ever so rainy lately, a breath of fresh air would be delightful. I fancy a turn about the square as well—”

  Jack cleared his throat, and she stopped speaking at once. “If I may, Lady Stowe, I have something particular to discuss with Lucinda and wonder if we might speak alone.”

  The countess shot a look of triumph at her daughter. “Of course, Your Grace.”

  But Jack was watching Lucinda, to see if she shared her mother’s delight. If she did, he couldn’t tell; Lucinda’s expression didn’t change, for better or for worse. Since he’d seen ladies’ faces brighten simply at the sight of him approaching, he took this as a positive sign. If she’d been waiting eagerly for his proposal, as his mother claimed, he would expect to see some indication of gratification. Instead, Lucinda continued looking slightly nervous, fidgeting with a ribbon on her dress.

  When she caught him watching her, she dropped the ribbon and blushed. “Yes, Your Grace. That would be lovely.” She curtsied again.

  Lady Stowe swept out into the hall, where the butler was waiting. “Lady Lucinda will be walking out, Wilkes,” she told him before turning back to Jack. “I will have refreshments waiting when you return.”

  He sincerely hoped there was no reason for him to come back into the house. If Lucinda broke down weeping and he had to escort her back to her mother, it would be awful. He turned to Lucinda, who was tying her bonnet ribbons, and offered his arm. “Shall we, Lady Lucinda?”

  They strolled across the street to the large central garden, through a gate in the iron railing. Directly across from them stood Gunter’s Tea Shop, with a cluster of carriages sitting under the shade of the trees nearby and more people sitting on the benches in the park. Jack steered Lucinda toward a quieter part of the square, wanting a little privacy. “Have you been enjoying your Season?” he asked politely.