A Duke, the Lady, and a Baby

by Vanessa Riley

  Busick wasn’t a heavy-handed lord. He was a soldier and a lover and a protector of all things beautiful. LaCroy was beautiful, with a cleft in her chin that should hold kisses, topaz eyes that needed to turn black with passion.

  Crossing this battlefield was fraught with too many risks.

  Explosions of feelings, cannon fires of desire, made a wonderful way to pass the time until morning.

  Nonetheless, Lionel needed a good nanny more than Busick needed to explore the attraction that existed between them.

  So he stood there with his hand upon hers, listening to the storm, wishing their circumstances were very different.

  * * *

  The duke held my hand, and I looked up into eyes that saw me.

  Did he know my fears, or was he preparing to terminate Lionel’s jittery nanny?

  He didn’t say anything, didn’t talk about the audacity of pulling a weapon on him.

  Well, it wasn’t as if I could tell him I’d been imprisoned in here for about a month, so soon after the birth of my boy. That I didn’t know if I would eat or see anything beyond these walls.

  I couldn’t even tell him that I was sorry for having to be a party to the deception enacted by the Widow’s Grace.

  Yet, I’d deceived myself for years, pretending to be a passive dove. Why should the duke of Repington be any different?

  “LaCroy.” His thin lips held my fake name like a kiss. “Tell me what you saw when you awoke. It wasn’t me, at least I hope not, with a knife in your hand. If it was me, we may need to reconsider this employment situation.”

  His rough palm clung to mine, not letting go, not that I wanted him to. Was it wrong to want to be held by him, when thunder and lightning danced outside the window? Was it horrible to hope to put my head on his shoulder, to nestle away my fears, hiding in him?

  My eyes closed for a moment. I needed a savior, not a duke, not a man I had to lie to to be near my child.

  “LaCroy, I asked what has frightened you. You can tell me. You’re the keeper of my secret. You can trust me with one of yours.”

  Those words, trusting someone who wasn’t Lady Shrewsbury or Jemina, stiffened my floundering spine. I took my hand from his and pulled my blankets around me.

  “I’m fine, Your Grace. Just startled. I didn’t expect you up here.”

  “I do like surprising people. But you have proper quarters. Though I admire your dedication, you don’t have to stay with my ward every moment. Why are you sleeping in here?”

  There wasn’t an answer that sounded plausible or sane. I stopped returning his gaze and went to the crib.

  Lionel had fallen asleep gumming the robe-belt ball.

  I took it from him and wiped it on my blanket. “Is it wrong to be dedicated to my charge? He’s so small and innocent.”

  The duke was behind me.

  I felt him close. I smelled Demeraran rum on his breath, felt the softness of his robe. If I took a half step backward, I’d be in his arms, whether he wanted me there or not.

  It was only a few seconds, dreaming while I was awake about that savior, about being comforted in strong, unyielding arms. Thoughts of the texture of brocade fabric slipping along my cheek, the heat of a man’s chest holding me close, made me stand still, made me wait.

  But I wasn’t brave enough to turn, to ask or take what I wanted.

  His palm fluttered over my shoulder, then landed softly on the crib rail. “Lionel is sleeping well. You should rest. In a proper bed, lying in pillows and sheets, a blanket on your bare feet . . .”

  He rubbed his forehead. “The late hour makes me babble. Sorry, LaCroy.”

  A savior was needed, that thing bigger than the duke or me, that would make everything good. That would melt away distance and distrust between us. “I’m sorry, too.”

  Thankfully, regrettably, he moved. I heard him sit in the chair. “Hand me my ward, Mrs. LaCroy.”

  When I turned, his face was stone. None of the softness, I’d seen earlier. This was an order.

  I scooped up my son, my precious boy and put him in Repington’s arms.

  “You go sleep until this soldier’s next feeding. I’ll stay with him.”

  “That’s too much, Your Grace.”

  “No. I think an extra measure of protection is good and perfectly suited for me, as I don’t sleep well most nights.”

  He told me another secret, and I still hadn’t told him my name.

  “Go sleep, LaCroy, in a decent bed. I have the little fellow. No one is going to take him from me. I’ll even keep your little knife for protection.”

  Whether he made fun, or was trying to tease me, didn’t matter. Lionel was secure in his arms, bundled within his robe.

  The man looked incredibly good and natural playing . . . no, being a father to my son.

  I bent and picked up my knife. “I know he’s well protected, but I still have to make it back to my room. Never know what’s in the shadows.”

  “Don’t tell me you believe all those foolish tales of Hamlin’s ghosts. I’m going to have to speak to Lady Shrewsbury to stop spreading tales. Now go, before Lionel decides he’d rather milk than my robe.”

  I moved to the threshold. With a final glance, I eyed the precious picture of the two. Then, I left.

  On the other side of the door, I lay my head against the panels. I was dizzy, my heart stuttering with the pounding of the rainstorm.

  When I left for Demerara, how much will Lionel remember of Repington? How much will he miss him?

  How much would I miss him?

  This draw to the duke would drive me crazy.

  Well, crazier.

  My eyes adjusted to the dark, and I saw nothing. I needed to keep seeing nothing as I moved six or seven paces to the servants’ quarters.

  My gaze strayed to the end of the hall.

  Nothing. No ghost. No guilty manifestations.

  I snuck back into the bedchamber Jemina and I shared. She was asleep, and I settled onto my bed, wishing for Lionel to cry so I could take him into my arms.

  Tomorrow, I’d have to contact Lady Shrewsbury. The Widow’s Grace needed the next phase of the plan started before it became impossible to get Lionel or myself away from Repington.

  CHAPTER 14

  PLANS FOR MY LIONEL

  A week of rain and snow flurries made Hamlin unbearable for me. The house abounded with restless men. Scarlet regimentals to the left and to the right, coming and going to the catacombs, slamming doors, loud talking. It was chaos except when the duke enforced nap time, Lionel’s nap time. Someone even tried to set up another tent in the grand hall, but the polite implied threat of no more coconut bread made it disappear.

  I stood under the grand chandelier as another delivery arrived. Soldiers in muddy boots hoisted lumber, lots of hearty oak, through Hamlin’s entry.

  Lord Gantry trotted down the stairs. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and he still had a few buttons to finish on his green striped waistcoat. “Sorry, Mrs. LaCroy. I know you like a tidy house. This should be the last of the big deliveries.”

  I nodded and hoped it to be true, but my heart shook when one fellow’s boards almost whacked the marble gods. Did they know the wrath that could come from awakening them?

  I didn’t, either, but it had to be big.

  “Sorry again, ma’am.” Lord Gantry shrugged. He smiled and escaped through the not-so-secret door to work on whatever project the duke had him doing.

  I had to get into the drawing room. I was convinced that evidence against Markham was in there. Jemina and I had checked everywhere but that room.

  Yet, if none was there, if nothing hung behind that mirror, then I’d go back to my strategy of getting my trust documents from the desk and booking passage to Demerara. Lady Shrewsbury would have to come up with a new plan, one showing me how to tell the duke who I was and that I’d be leaving with my son.

  Deceiving the duke was now unbearable.

  His bonding with Lionel, holding my baby every night, sh
aring with him dreams and plans, pierced so deeply into my soul. I was going to break.

  Jemina came from the rear hall and joined me with her wash bucket. “These marks are going to take a bit of work. Men and their dragging boot heels.”

  I dipped my rag in the sudsy water and started scrubbing.

  She knelt beside me on the cold hard floor, each of us engulfed by the shadow of the grand chandelier. In a way, each of us were still imprisoned to our plights, her amnesia, mine deception.

  “Nearly two weeks, Patience. We’re no closer to finding proof. Is this the big plan, to be maids?”

  This was honest work for a couple of dishonest women. I shook my head. “This rain stops Repington’s army. Of course it would affect our progress.”

  One of my lacy coiffed mobcaps covered my friend’s fiery curls, and she’d hemmed another of my mourning gowns to offer her a change of clothes. With me in a muted blue India print, we were the fanciest maids in the countryside.

  “There’s something in the drawing room, Jemina. We have to get to it.”

  “Can’t you use your influence and just ask the duke to leave the room?”

  “Influence?”

  “You two look mighty cozy whenever Lionel is about. The duke’s eyes follow you at dinner, don’t you know?”

  “His eyes followed the basket of bread. I merely happened to carry it.”

  “If you say so. It’s a nice big basket, a beautiful one.”

  It was. My mother had made it. Entwined with plaited reeds braided into a handle, it had a deep brown bowl that was big enough to put two Lionels.

  “The duke is truly loving your bread and basket.”

  To prove I wasn’t falling for the duke, I decided to go to the drawing room. I stood up, smoothed my skirts of wrinkles and went to the door.

  When I lifted my hand to knock, I heard the duke’s baritone mention Wellington’s name. Then something about war.

  Then something about Lionel.

  Eavesdropping wasn’t something I did. Well, a few times I overheard Colin and Markham arguing about nonsense. Then there was that volatile last meeting in the drawing room.

  Yet, I was locked in place wanting to know what the duke meant. Wellington was the commander of England’s forces in the ongoing war.

  Was that why the duke drilled so hard, to return to battle?

  My heart stopped as fear enmeshed it, crushing it tight.

  “Patience.”

  Jemina’s loud whisper made me jump and knock into the door.

  I turned to her and made eyes at her, but the woman waved me forward, bolstering me.

  The door opened and a man with officer’s braiding on his uniform came out. “The commander will see you now.”

  I didn’t think I was expected, but, having knocked, it wasn’t like I had a choice. The pit of my stomach looped and knotted, making a bow.

  Stepping inside, my first time in days, I saw the duke sitting at the big desk. He wasn’t in military dress but relaxed in a bronze embroidered waistcoat and buff breeches. My gaze fell to his bandaged foot, and I wondered how he could think of returning to war with what it had done to him.

  His hands laced upon a pile of papers. “Mrs. LaCroy, you must be prescient. I’ve made improvements to my ward’s schedule. Or has Lionel told you of our talk last night?”

  His smile, warm and inviting, mirrored the one his face held when we danced at Lionel’s crib. Dance was the only way to describe what we did each night—the close but not touching approach to the baby, him slipping to the left, me to right. His breath teased my neck as he passed. Then we parted with the exchange of scents—his rum and sandalwood, my lavender.

  “Lionel didn’t mention any changes, and I didn’t think I was on your schedule.”

  “True. We do our best work at night . . . with Lionel.”

  I should laugh at his joke, but I didn’t know if he was joking or if he saw my confusion, my belabored heart. We were good in the quiet night. We took care of Lionel well. My boy was getting stronger, and he reached for the duke as much as me. If the man had milk, I might be replaced.

  “I’ve been thinking about us and Lionel. Please come forward. You don’t need to be at such a formal distance. This is a welcomed meeting, nothing more.”

  I wanted to clutch my pianoforte. I was safe at this distance, but when the duke called, his nanny was expected to come.

  Head tossed back, I walked the long distance to the desk and took my seat.

  His expression turned pensive. “Mrs. LaCroy, have you ever traveled?”

  Travel? Maybe he found milk and I was being sent away, a nanny retirement? “Yes, Your Grace. I have. I’m from Demerara.”

  “My favorite rum.”

  “It’s more than rum, sir.”

  “I know. I haven’t had the pleasure of visiting, but some of my friends have. My cousin, I believe . . . went.”

  I stared at him and didn’t blink. If he’d finally put it all together, I would not lie. I was tired of this secret stuck between us.

  His strong jaw held steady; his countenance was blank with those beautiful eyes boring down at me. He’d be good at playing whist.

  “The war is continuing. I’ve written to Wellington about his need for a strategist. I was very good at strategy.”

  I leaped up. “You are done playing guardian? You’re going to leave us?”

  “Sit, LaCroy.” He pointed me back to the seat. “If I go anywhere, Lionel will come. I’m the only dependable family he has.”

  That didn’t comfort me, and it was far from true.

  “Mrs. LaCroy, I was wondering if you’d come with us. Officers can take family. Lionel needs supervision.”

  “Was that the secret project—to figure out how to put yourself and Lionel in danger?”

  “The war needs to end. Men are dying every day. If you can step up and help, you have to do it.”

  “Why you? Haven’t you given enough? And why put the baby in danger?”

  His face turned beet red. “No one has asked me to do so. I have yet to prove that I’m handy on a horse again.”

  “Small blessings.”

  “Were you this opinionated when you worked for Markham, or was there a reason he gave you special privileges?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You float about here as if you own the place. Were you Markham’s mistress?”

  A little vomit rose in my throat. “Certainly not. I’m not that kind of woman. Why would you think this?”

  “You’re very pretty, Mrs. LaCroy, and well-endowed, and—”

  “The countess told me you’ve had your share of pretty women. Shouldn’t you know the type, someone like me who’s difficult versus someone more eager to please?”

  “You are far from eager. My conquests were not Markham’s. My friends were independent women who knew exactly what they were getting, a man who loved war more than domestic life. But Markham, he has a habit of going after servants and women under duress. I sense you to be strong, Patience LaCroy, but everyone has a breaking point. Markham thrives on breaking things.”

  The grip I had on my collar eased. “I’ve been through the worst, but never would I debase myself with the likes of Markham. Have you preyed upon servants?”

  “I haven’t. I’m very careful with those I employ.”

  There was something in his expression before he raised his countenance to the coffered ceiling. Something that said if they were equals, meeting as strangers, there might be different possibilities.

  But this was a distraction.

  Colin would do the same when he wanted me to hush. I wouldn’t be silent. If I’d spoken up sooner, I might have prevented my husband’s death.

  “You’re a confident man, Your Grace. You know substance defines a man. Not a limb, but yet you go through this pretense with everyone wearing that padded bandage. I know nothing of war, but I saw the soldiers come to Demerara—close quarters, men crowded about. It will be difficult to h
ide your amputation. And why hide it at all? You were injured in service to your country.”

  “You are correct, ma’am, and I don’t doubt myself. I doubt others. I spent my youth on the battlefield. Any hesitation in a leader’s ability can lead to problems on the field. That’s a disaster in the offing.”

  “No one here doubts you.”

  “You do.”

  “Never you, but your judgment, yes. How can you even think of becoming so involved in Lionel’s life and then put yourself and him at risk?”

  “I suppose taking a wily nanny along wasn’t insurance of Lionel or me returning unscathed.”

  “No. It’s not. Even if I wanted to save you, how could I? I’m just a nanny, a foreigner.”

  “Well, we’d all be foreigners in Spain.”

  “This is not funny. You’ll have to wait for a land invasion to reach Hamlin to show off your fancy strategies. Or you could return the boy to his mother. She could make sure that the baby is unharmed.”

  “Now you’re talking crazy, LaCroy. I can’t trust Lionel with a woman who ran off. Mothers leave, and it’s never for a noble reason.”

  I couldn’t stand hearing his low opinion of me or bear to think of him going to war. I wanted to confess, box his ears, and hold on to him to keep him from harm.

  Instead, I slapped my forehead.

  This was me feeling too much, too soon. I couldn’t let my heart do this to me again. As fast as I could, I moved toward the door.

  “LaCroy, stop! Where are you going?”

  “To go check supplies for the land invasion. If you’re called back to duty, you can be assured Hamlin is running well without you. Be assured, nannies don’t leave, not without their charge.”

  “Stay, Mrs. LaCroy.”

  “Why? Because you haven’t asked me to withdraw?”

  “I haven’t, but I want you to stay. I want to reassure you that I’m not reckless and that I take Lionel’s concerns and that of his outspoken nanny very seriously. Come back. Sit. Let’s pretend I said nothing of this. Let’s review Lionel’s schedule for next week.”

  His smile was tentative. Those dimples seemed sincere, not a tool to twist my emotions even more.