The Duke’s Desire

by Margaret Moore

  “From the country?” Clive asked as he straightened his disheveled clothing.

  “You heard me. How much will it cost me to get you out of England and keep you out of it?”

  “I have my mills to think of—”

  “I’ll buy them. How much?”

  The man’s eyes gleamed greedily as he took a moment to consider. “Thirty thousand pounds.”

  Galen’s chest tightened. He was wealthy, to be sure, but not in ready cash. This would totally deplete his bank account. But haggle with this man for Verity’s security he would not.

  “Very well.” Galen strode to the desk. “I shall give you half now and deliver the other half to you personally aboard ship just before you sail.”

  He quickly wrote the necessary notes. “I have explained to my banker that I am going into the cotton business.”

  How he would later explain this temporary acquisition to Jasper he didn’t know, and he didn’t care. The most important thing was to protect Verity and Jocelyn.

  His lip curling with scorn, he held out the papers as if they were diseased and the man accepting them leprous. “Don’t even think of talking to Verity before you go. I hardly need remind you that I have an acquaintance in Jefford, and I can always find out from Sir Myron if she has had visitors. Now get out of my sight.”

  Blackstone slowly perused the papers, then folded them and put them in his frock coat. “A pleasure doing business with you, Your Grace. Not that I wouldn’t have enjoyed the alternative—”

  Galen took a step toward him. “Never forget, Blackstone, that you are dealing with a duke, and one who has spent more time than he cares to remember with the lowlife of London. If you force my hand, if you so much as write to her, I swear you’ll wish you’d never been born.”

  Blackstone paled, then turned and scurried from the room like the rat he was.

  After he had gone, Galen paced across the carpet, his gaze intensely fastened on the fabric beneath his feet, as if he were a weaver examining every thread.

  In truth, he saw nothing. All his mind focused on was Blackstone and the threat he presented not to Galen, but to Verity and Jocelyn.

  Would Blackstone stay away from them? To be sure, he had been frightened by Galen’s threat, but later, would his arrogant belief in the power of the secret he possessed make him bold?

  Galen could believe it would, especially if Verity was the prize.

  Yet thirty thousand pounds—surely that would be sufficient impetus to do as Galen ordered.

  But how many times had he heard of tales of blackmailers who took a sum of money, then asked for more and more? How long might the thirty thousand pounds content Blackstone? How long before he asked for more money, or went to Verity to demand…

  Maybe not long at all. Maybe he would risk going to her as soon as he was out of London, trusting in Verity’s determination to avoid scandal to keep such a visit a secret, too.

  He should go to Verity at once and warn her.

  What if he were wrong? What if Blackstone did take the money and do as he commanded? Warning Verity would only upset her, and for nothing.

  That revelation might even frighten her so much she would flee with Jocelyn to someplace where he might never find them again. Under those circumstances, she probably wouldn’t dare to write him.

  He would be totally alone in the world, more so than ever before, because he would know what he had lost.

  Galen sank to his knees. He felt so helpless, so utterly unsure of what he should do or where he should go.

  “Oh, God, tell me what to do,” he whispered. “I want them to be safe, but I don’t want to be alone.”

  Then he raised his head, a resolute expression on his face.

  Galen Bromney, Duke of Deighton, who had run away and hid from his troubles for ten years, knew exactly what he had to do.

  He had to warn Verity. He had to tell her Clive knew their secret and that he might try to use that knowledge against her.

  And if that meant that Verity and Jocelyn disappeared so that he couldn’t even hear of them from time to time, if that meant Verity would never write to him, he would have to risk that.

  He would have her free of Clive Blackstone, no matter what the cost to him.

  Blowing a loose bit of hair from her eyes, Verity briskly wrung out the rag, then again fell to scrubbing the hall near the door to the parlor. She didn’t mind the sweat pouring down her back from her exertions, or the pain in her knees from kneeling on the hard wooden floor. Ever since Galen had left Jefford, she had cleaned and scrubbed and tidied as if her life depended upon a spotless house.

  In a way, she supposed it did, because cleaning kept her busy and her mind occupied, and by nightfall, she was so tired, she fell into a dreamless, exhausted sleep.

  Otherwise, she would lie awake thinking about Galen, and what might have been.

  At the unexpected sound of a carriage, she stopped scrubbing and stood as quickly as her sore knees would let her. She wasn’t expecting any visitors.

  She took a few steps into the parlor and looked out the window.

  Wearing what was obviously a new coat and hat, Clive sat alone in a curricle driven by the innkeeper’s lad.

  She turned away. Clive’s business must be prospering. Perhaps he had come to gloat, or offer her another chance to invest. She wouldn’t, of course, even if he arrived in the Prince Regent’s barouche drawn by the finest matched pair in England. How she wished she could make him understand that!

  Yet whatever his reason, if he came without Fanny, she wished Nancy and Jocelyn were there. Unfortunately, Nancy was at the village visiting some friends, and Jocelyn was at school.

  Hoping that Nancy would return sooner rather than later, she removed her apron, rolled down her sleeves and shoved the errant lock of hair back into place again. She glanced at her red, wrinkled and damp hands, then wiped them on the apron before she answered the door when she heard Clive’s familiar rap.

  “Clive, you’ve come back,” she said with very little enthusiasm.

  He smiled, exposing his crooked yellow teeth. Then he ran an incredibly insolent gaze over her, a horrible lascivious gleam in his eyes.

  A shiver of dread ran down Verity’s spine as she looked past him to see the curricle going down the drive. She struggled against a nearly overwhelming impulse to call the boy back—but to do so would tell Clive he could intimidate her, and that she did not want.

  “Good morning, sister. May I come in?”

  Verity didn’t immediately vacate the doorway. “Where is Fanny? Not ill, I hope?”

  “No, she’s at home.”

  Verity caught the scent of wine and surreptitiously wrinkled her nose. He wasn’t drunk, though. Far from it. He seemed more energetic than ever before.

  “Have you no baggage?” she replied as she turned slightly.

  It was not much of an invitation to enter, but that didn’t seem to trouble Clive in the least as he strolled past her.

  “No, I don’t intend to stay long.”

  “Oh.” Relief flooded through her, only to be replaced by annoyance as Clive sauntered into the parlor with his usual proprietary air. Near the hearth, he turned toward her, and again she saw that chilling, lustful look in his eyes.

  “Why have you come, Clive?”

  “Why, to visit.” He smiled, only this time, his smile was different, too.

  She had always hated him and dreaded his visits, but never before had she felt so frightened of him, or what he might do. “For how long?”

  “Whatever is the matter, dear sister?”

  She straightened her shoulders. “I think you should leave, Clive.”

  His eyes narrowed with suspicion as he crossed his short arms. “Why, what makes you so cross today?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Come, sister, sit down.”

  “I would prefer you to leave, Clive,” Verity replied through clenched teeth.

  He didn’t move, except to smile more, and a
nother shiver of dread trembled along her backbone. “And I think you should be nice to me, or you will be sorry.”

  He started to come closer, slithering almost, like a snake with legs. “I know the truth, you see, my dear Verity.”

  “What truth?” she demanded as she backed away. Her heart pounded in her chest and the throbbing of her blood sounded in her ears.

  He knew! How else to explain his change in manner, his newfound confidence and bold arrogance?

  But how?

  “You really shouldn’t have been so indiscreet as to discuss such a subject in the wood, where any passerby might hear that Jocelyn is not poor Daniel’s child.”

  She couldn’t breathe as her mind flew back to her meeting in the wood with Galen. She had heard nothing, but she had been thinking about Galen and her own troubles. Somebody could have been in the wood, watching and listening.

  It would be like Clive to spy.

  “Really, though, I must confess myself amazed that you were able to keep the secret so long,” he murmured as he came closer still. “You know the kind of scandalous cad the duke has always been. Men like that love to brag about their conquests, even more than the conquest itself sometimes. Lucky for you he has been out of the country.

  “Not that I would fault the duke for wanting to brag about having you, my dear,” he continued in a horrible low and husky voice. “I will be tempted to shout about it from the rooftops when it is my turn.”

  At that statement, it was as if every insult she had ever borne, every subtle slight, every disgusting proposition and sly hint, had been distilled into one sentence uttered by a man she loathed.

  “Get out,” Verity ordered as she pointed to the door, her hand trembling not with fear or shame, but from pure, righteous anger.

  How dare he look at her as he did? How dare he presume that she would ever let him touch her with his disgusting hands?

  She was no longer alone in the world, and helpless.

  Clive had forgotten, as she did not, that she need not stand alone against those who would hurt her, or her child, anymore.

  Because now she had Galen.

  “Get out of my house,” she commanded imperiously.

  Clive’s eyes narrowed and his hands balled into fists. “Still the proud one, eh, Verity? So queenly, ordering me from here. This should have been my house. Everything you have should have been mine. Why else do you think I married that fool Fanny? For her looks?”

  “Whatever you think should have been, this is my house, and you will leave it immediately.”

  “Where’s Nancy?” he demanded. Then he smiled his damnable smug smile. “Here? I think not, or she would have already shown herself.”

  Verity’s mouth went dry.

  “So, we are alone. And your house is so charmingly out of the way. I daresay you could scream and scream and nobody would hear you.”

  Verity turned and lunged for the door, but he caught her about the waist and dragged her back into the room. “Oh, I don’t think so, my dear. I don’t think you want to leave just yet.”

  She struggled to break free, but he was stronger than she expected.

  “I can see how distressing this must be for you, to realize I know all about you and the handsome duke. Very distressing indeed, given your family’s already scandalous reputation.”

  “Take your hands off me!”

  He pulled her back toward the sofa. “When I’ve finally gotten them on you, and when you must understand that you should let them stay there, given what I know, if you want me to keep your secret?”

  “What about Fanny?”

  “She doesn’t know. Your secret is safe with me.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I assure you, my beauty, that it is—for the present. I know what I know, and I know you well enough to be certain you will do whatever I say to buy my continued silence.”

  “You are disgusting!”

  “I’ll tell everybody,” he vowed as he tugged her around to face him, his wine-soaked breath hot on her face. “Everybody will find out that Jocelyn is a bastard, the bastard daughter of a bastard mother.”

  “Have you considered what the Duke of Deighton will do if you harm us in any way?” Verity demanded breathlessly. “You heard him in the woods, too. She is blood of his blood. Do you think a man like that will sit idly by while his child is threatened—or his child’s mother?”

  “He doesn’t care about anybody but himself.”

  Clive had not seen Galen’s face when she had asked him to leave them alone. He had not witnessed Galen’s heart breaking before his very eyes. “Touch a hair on Jocelyn’s head or force yourself upon me, and he’ll see you hang!”

  Her words finally seemed to penetrate his understanding. Then that horrible smile returned. “Rape? Really, my dear sister-in-law, you mistake my purpose. I shan’t take you against your will. You will give yourself to me.”

  “You must be mad!”

  “Without scruples, perhaps, but not mad,” he replied, his eyes darkening with lust. “Give me what I desire and I will keep your secret,” he muttered as he bent his head to kiss her.

  She spit in his face.

  He raised his hand and struck her hard. “You ungrateful whore!” he snarled. “Who do you think you are? You’re nothing but a harlot who found a fool to make a supposedly honest woman of you. You should be glad I am willing to keep your secret, at any price!”

  His grip tightened and she bit her lip not to cry out in pain.

  “Why be so difficult?” he demanded as he forced her down to the sofa. “It’s not as if you have your virtue to consider. And you’ll be doing this for your precious Jocelyn. All you have to do is let me have you and I’ll keep your secret. Think of Jocelyn and submit.”

  She stilled. “If I let you do this, do you give me your word that you won’t tell anybody the Duke of Deighton is Jocelyn’s father?”

  His hold relaxed a little. “Yes.”

  “Go to hell, Clive.”

  With all the force she could muster, Verity brought her knee up, striking him in the groin. Groaning and staggering back, Clive clutched himself. Verity scrambled to her feet.

  “Blackstone!”

  Verity gasped with surprise and whirled around to see Galen standing in the doorway. Relief, pure, unadulterated relief, flooded through her and joy swiftly followed as she ran to him and threw her arms around him.

  As his embrace tightened about her protectively, he looked down at her with grave concern. “Has he hurt you?”

  She shook her head.

  His gaze left her face to settle, with angry intensity, on Clive.

  “Blackstone, it is lucky for you I have arrived in time, or you would be dead,” Galen said grimly, and there was not a doubt he meant it. “I didn’t think the thirty thousand pounds was going to be enough to stop you from preying on Verity, and I see I was quite right.”

  “Thirty thousand pounds!” Verity cried, pulling away to look at them both.

  “That’s what he requested when he came to see me in London, and I agreed, on the condition that he was also to stay away from you. To leave the country, in fact.”

  “Why should you not pay me that much?” Clive demanded. “That’s what I would have had if Daniel hadn’t married your whore.”

  Galen was across the room in an instant. He grabbed Blackstone and pulled him close, until they were nose to nose. “Call her that again, and by God, I will kill you.”

  “Galen, let him go,” Verity commanded.

  He glanced back at her, and after a long moment, did as she asked. She hurried toward them, taking Galen’s hand in hers before she faced her enemy.

  An enemy she would fear no longer. An enemy she would no longer give dominion over her. An enemy she could face and conquer with Galen at her side. “Clive, you had better give back the duke’s money, or you will be charged with blackmail.”

  “You…you can’t mean that!” Clive spluttered. “You know how people will tal
k. How they will treat your daughter.”

  “It will be difficult, of course. None know that better than I—but it cannot be more difficult than dealing with the likes of you. I was wrong not to realize that before, to hide us away in shame and fear.”

  Galen squeezed her hand and looked at her with love shining in his eyes. “And she is the daughter of a duke. Surely that will count for something.”

  He turned his triumphant gaze to Clive again. “I really think you ought to reconsider, Blackstone. If Verity is willing to let the truth be known, I would be delighted to tell the world of my daughter. Of course, it might be wiser of you to keep your knowledge to yourself.” His smile grew. “Indeed, I find I am feeling quite magnanimous, so if you do keep that ugly mouth of yours shut, I will let you have the fifteen thousand pounds I’ve already given you as payment for your mills and to buy your passage from the country.”

  His expression altered to one of grim resolution. “On the condition that we never see or hear from you again.”

  Clive regarded them angrily for a moment, then his bravado fled as he realized they were united in their determination. “I’ll be well rid of you!” he snarled. “I hope you all rot in hell, and that brat, too.”

  He stormed out of the room and they heard the front door slam.

  Galen put his arm around Verity. “That may not be the last we see of him.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I would rather he get nothing, and certainly not your fifteen thousand pounds.”

  “If that is what it takes to free us from him, I will gladly part with it.”

  “Whether Clive leaves us alone or not, we are free now, Galen,” Verity said, smiling gently. “Really free.”

  He drew her close. “Yes, we are, but I shall have him watched until he sails, nonetheless.”

  He bent down to press a soft kiss upon her mouth. “Besides,” he murmured as his lips trailed across her cheek, “I have been thinking about what you said. Perhaps I should try to do more for mill workers, starting with showing how a mill can be run with both fairness and economy. If nothing else, I believe I would be a better mill owner than Clive was and definitely better to my workers. That must add to our victory.”