Four Dukes and a Devil

by Cathy Maxwell

  The person most relived to see them was the Honorable Rees Trenholm. He was the first to approach Roan. “Congratulations, Your Grace, on your marriage.” He bowed to Susan. “Killeigh could not have chosen a more beautiful woman for his bride.”

  Susan blushed but she was actually very nervous. “I pray you, Mr. Trenholm, how does the wind blow? Will there be much gossip?”

  Rees laughed. “Of course there will be, but what do you care? The two of you look absolutely happy with each other.”

  And they were.

  “As for myself,” Rees said, “I am happy to see you show your face at last, Your Grace. There is a matter of a little wager on the Betting Book at White’s.” He raised his voice so all could hear. “The matter of a dance has not yet been resolved. And there have been several who have come to me for their money,” he added under his breath.

  Roan laughed. “Then let me solve the matter now. Your Grace?” he said, offering his hand to his wife.

  She placed a gloved hand in his, and he led her to the dance floor. The crowd moved back, and the other dancers stepped back, leaving the floor for them.

  “That must have been quite a wager,” Susan murmured.

  Her husband smiled. “My lips are sealed.”

  The music started, and, for a second, Susan was lost in the perfect wonder of the evening. They moved as one, and she was so caught up in the music and being in the arms of the man she loved, she forgot about their audience. She forgot her past. She forgot about everything but her present and her future.

  Too soon, the music came to an end.

  Both Roan and Susan were startled, and very flattered, when the crowd clapped for their performance. Susan knew she had been accepted.

  Her husband leaned close. “Don’t be too ahead of yourself,” he warned. “After all, we have to sit down the table from Marlborough and the others.”

  Susan rewarded his impudence with a kiss that delighted the crowd, who swooped in on them with their well-wishes. Ellen and Jane found themselves standing on the fringes of the crowd.

  Rees couldn’t help but smile. He was relieved he wasn’t going to have to make good on all those bets.

  Lady Theresa stood by the doors leading out to the garden watching all this. Miss Rogers looked so happy, so loved.

  And she felt so alone.

  Tears threatened. She slipped outside, wanting a private moment alone. If her father saw her crying, he’d be very annoyed.

  She swiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. She’d been such a fool. Gerald had loved her, and she’d treated him badly. What she wouldn’t give to have his love back—

  “Theresa.”

  It was her beloved Gerald’s voice. At first, she thought she was imagining things, but then she saw him. He stood in the night shadows by the garden gate.

  Without hesitation, she lifted her skirt hem and ran to him. His arms around her were strong and secure. They kissed, and she wept, overwhelmed with her love for this man. Her parents would never approve of him…but she could love no one else.

  “I was so wrong,” she declared, but he shushed her with a kiss.

  When they could speak again, her beloved asked, “Will you go to Scotland with me, Theresa?”

  She turned, looked back at the glittering company in the ballroom that could be seen through the glass doors. Her heart twisted at the thought of her parents—and yet, this was her life.

  She chose Love.

  “Now,” she answered Gerald. “This very minute.”

  And so it was that on that March night, a new set of lovers eloped.

  Because in the end, the measure of a well-lived life is not titles or riches. It’s not even measured by the people we please, especially at the cost of our own souls.

  No, the true measure of a well-lived life is how well we love…and how well we are loved in return.

  About Cathy Maxwell

  CATHY MAXWELL spends hours in front of her computer pondering the question, “Why do people fall in love?” It remains for her the great mystery of life and the secret to happiness. She lives in beautiful Virginia with her children, horses, dogs, and cats. Fans can contact Cathy at www.cathymaxwell.com.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

  The Duke Who Came to Dinner

  Elaine Fox

  Chapter One

  Distracted, Sam Gregory took a sip of his scalding coffee and nearly spit it all over the windowpane. Swallowing painfully instead, he leaned toward the glass and stared out the window into the dawnlight of the village street.

  Pedaling a bicycle with all the determination of Dorothy’s Wicked Witch of the West was a slender, fair-haired, stark-naked woman.

  Stark, he marveled, forgetting his coffee.

  Naked.

  He moved right, nearly overturning a table lamp, to look out the next window as she sped past.

  Her hair streamed out behind her in long, damp curls, some clinging to her naked back, some bouncing past her shoulders. A few strands adhered to her face. Her trim legs pumped hard, and he realized she wore the barest of panties in the palest of pinks—an odd concession to the perception that nudity might not be appropriate for a bike ride.

  Sam craned his neck and let his temple touch the windowpane as he watched her cycle past the house.

  Other than the panties, she was quite obviously naked. Firm, perky breasts pointed forward as she pedaled, her eyes looking neither left nor right but trained on the street in front of her as if willing herself invisible.

  That she was beautiful was abundantly clear. As was the fact that she was nuts.

  It only occurred to him after she’d rolled out of sight that she might have needed assistance. Like a robe, he thought, looking down at his tattered flannel. Or a car, he thought, glancing at the faded Nissan pickup in the drive.

  It was too late, however. She was gone. Like a bizarre dream. The ghost of Lady Godiva, he thought with a smile. On a Schwinn.

  Gray Gilliam nearly flung the bicycle into the shrubs at the end of the driveway and sprinted to the back door. She’d left it unlocked, but it balked as she pushed before she turned the knob, then refused as she turned the knob and pulled, then opened with a bang against the inside wall as she turned, pushed and stumbled into the mudroom.

  She panted, a stitch in her side so sharp she pressed it with one hand and bent forward.

  She had never been so humiliated in her life. Though she’d kept her eyes forward as she’d ridden home, she was sure somebody somewhere along the way had witnessed her disgrace. Now she’d have to wonder every time she got a strange look from someone if they’d seen her naked.

  Breath finally slowing close to normal, she flip-flopped out of the mudroom, across the kitchen, and headed for the stairs. Despite the fact that she was inside, goose bumps rose on her naked skin. She decided it was because of the chill inside the house and not because she felt as if she were being watched. The house was always cold, she reasoned.

  And she always felt like she was being watched, another voice in her head volunteered.

  While it was true, it was silly, she told herself. It made no sense to feel watched in this house. For one thing, the place sat on close to ten acres of private beachfront land, so no one was looking in the windows. And if there’d been someone inside the house, the creaking floorboards and unoiled door hinges would have alerted her to their presence immediately.

  She shivered. Her thin Virginia blood was simply unused to June in Massachusetts.

  She had just donned her fat white terry-cloth robe when the phone rang. She sprinted to the kitchen where the lone receiver was.

  “Do you love it?” her friend Rachel asked.

  Rachel almost always started a phone conversation in the middle, something Gray both enjoyed and wondered if she should disapprove of. She’d been taught to ask politely if someone was otherwise engaged before assuming a conversation was mutually agreeable.

 
“The house,” Rachel elaborated. “Isn’t it perfect for a summer away?”

  “Of course it is! But oh, Rachel, you won’t believe what just happened to me!” She hunkered down into the plush leather armchair in the music room. It was her favorite chair, even though it put her in mind of how it must feel to sit in a giant leather baseball glove. “This morning was so beautiful I decided to go for a bike ride. And I was standing on the shore, over by the bay outside of town, and it was gorgeous and the water felt so warm, and I was thinking I really needed to be more like you—”

  “Gray, I hate it when you say things like that.” Rachel’s voice showed her displeasure.

  “I know you do, but it’s true. I’m way too self-conscious, for one thing, so I decided what you would do would be to—”

  “Wait! Let me guess. You stripped naked, went swimming, and got bitten by a shark.”

  Gray laughed, almost wishing that had been the outcome. “All but the last bit.”

  Rachel gasped. “No way. You? You got naked. In public.”

  “It wasn’t exactly public. There was no one around. But yes, I went swimming. Skinny-dipping.”

  There was a pause. Then, “All right, who are you really and what have you done with Gray?”

  Gray laughed again. Leave it to Rachel to cheer her up even on the heels of her biggest mortification. “Very funny.”

  “So, how was it, acting like me? Rewarding? Or did something bad happen?” Rachel’s voice was wry.

  “It was very rewarding,” Gray said, realizing she’d gone about this story the wrong way. “At first it was positively divine, and I could see why you follow your impulses, why physical freedom is so exhilarating. But then…” She felt breathless anew at the embarrassing memory, flushing hot again. “Oh Rachel, you won’t believe this, but a dog stole my clothes!”

  “A—what?”

  “As I was swimming, I saw this beautiful white dog running up the beach. I’d seen the dog before, actually. In fact, I saw it just yesterday on the beach, with a guy in a long, heavy coat. I remember because I thought it was strange that the guy was wearing a winter coat in June. Anyway, before I could do anything, this dog picked up my sundress and ran off. Just…ran off. I couldn’t believe it. I started whistling for it. Calling it. But it disappeared up the beach without a backward look.”

  “Oh my God.” Rachel paused, and was obviously having a hard time restraining laughter. “What about the guy in the coat? Was he around?”

  “I didn’t see him, but I did wait for him for quite a while. ’Til my fingers got pruney, and I thought I’d freeze to death. Then I ran out of the water, grabbed my underpants—thank goodness he didn’t take those too—and pedaled home as fast as I could.”

  Rachel was openly laughing now. “Did anyone see you?”

  “No! At least I don’t think so. I didn’t see a soul, thank God. Not that I was looking.”

  Rachel hooted. “And you had to go through town, didn’t you? What other way is there?”

  “I don’t know! I went through town. It was mortifying. Imagine it.”

  “Oh I am,” Rachel said through guffaws, adding, after Gray moaned, “Come on. It’s funny. And nothing bad happened, did it? I mean besides being embarrassed.”

  “No, I just kept my eyes on the road and my feet on the pedals.” Gray hesitated, struck by the idea that being embarrassed didn’t really qualify as something “bad” happening. “I guess I was only embarrassed.”

  “And seen by no one, as far as you know.”

  “As far as I know,” she repeated ominously.

  “Gray, I promise you, if anyone saw you, they were struck dumb by your beauty. It’s not like you know anyone anyway.” She chuckled again. “Besides, you were probably pedaling so fast you were invisible.”

  Despite herself, Gray laughed. “It was the fastest I’ve ever ridden.”

  “The fact is, I should try to be more like you,” Rachel said. “This is exactly the kind of thing that would happen to me, except the town would have been throwing a parade, and everyone would have seen me.”

  Gray scoffed. “You don’t want to be like me. I’m sick to death of who I am. Uptight and cautious and—well, my students call me the Gray Ghost. That should tell you something.”

  “It tells me they remember the time you caught them drinking beer in the woods.”

  “No, it means I’m practically invisible. I’ve spent a lifetime actually striving to be invisible. God forbid I ever made a show of myself, as my mother used to say. And now look at me. I’m scared of my own shadow.”

  “You are not.”

  “Trust me, I am. Coming up here was the gutsiest thing I’ve done in years, and right off the bat I do something stupid.”

  “What you did, Gray, was—was make a show of yourself! And wasn’t it kind of fun? You’re already getting out of your shell, not even a week into your summer.”

  “Maybe,” she conceded thoughtfully. Out of her clothes, out of her shell…same thing. “But mark my words. I’m going to change myself this summer. I’m determined. I’m going to loosen up. Follow my impulses. Be brave.”

  “Gutsy Gray! And you’re off to a great start!”

  Gray laughed. “I don’t know about great. But getting naked in public was a start.”

  Rachel cracked up again, before getting down to the reason for her call. “Listen, I’m wondering if you’ve seen any sign of the so-called ghost yet.”

  “Not unless the ghost is an obnoxious sundress-stealing dog.” Gray crossed her legs and picked at a terry-cloth pill on her robe. She wished Rachel hadn’t brought up that damn ghost. She had just been starting to feel comfortable. If it weren’t for all the talk about this place being haunted, she was sure she wouldn’t be imagining herself watched at every turn.

  “Nope, the ghost is the Duke of Dunkirk. At least according to legend. Supposedly, he’s buried right where our house was built.”

  One of the reasons Gray was house-sitting this summer was because Rachel and her husband, Robert Kinnistan, were trying to sell their house in the Cape Cod town of Wellfleet, Massachusetts. The trouble, according to their Realtor, was that the place was old and rumored to be haunted. Rachel thought that if someone were living in it, that might prove to the squeamish it was both comfortable and ghost-free.

  Before Gray arrived, she hadn’t believed any of those reasons were why the house wasn’t selling, most particularly the ghost. She’d thought their Realtor was lazy. Or maybe the squeamish one herself. But the opportunity to get out of DC and reinvent herself was more than she could pass up. Though she hadn’t told her friends, she was thinking of moving there if she could find a job.

  It wasn’t until she’d gotten to the house that she’d been consumed by creepy feelings. Talk about the power of suggestion. She didn’t even believe in ghosts, so it was ridiculous to feel spooked.

  “Why would a ghost haunt the place it was buried?” Gray asked, exasperated. “I mean, really, you’d think they’d haunt the place they died. Or the people who were responsible. These things never make sense.”

  “I know, ghost legends are all the same. Although I think some people say he didn’t actually die until he reached the shore. And where he reached the shore is supposedly right where our house is. Others say he died in a house that stood where ours is. I just don’t know.”

  “So have you ever noticed anything odd when you’ve been here?”

  “Well…” Rachel’s tone was reluctant. “I haven’t, but Robert says he has. I can’t remember what, exactly.”

  Gray swallowed. “Ask him if he’s ever noticed this: every now and then I smell something burning. Not like the house is on fire but like a pipe or a cigarette. But when I look around, I can’t find anything. It’s weird.”

  The line went silent. Gray wondered if they’d been cut off. A chill swept through her again.

  “Hello? Rachel?”

  “I’m here,” she said. “I’m thinking. You know, Robert might have menti
oned something about a pipe smell…”

  Despite herself, Gray shivered. This was stupid. She wasn’t the superstitious sort. She was more interested in figuring out why the house was considered haunted than whether or not it really was. Because she knew the answer to that. There were no such things as ghosts.

  “Then it must be something explainable. Like a light socket overheating or something caught in a radiator,” she reasoned. “So who was the Duke of Dunkirk, and what was he doing here?”

  Rachel sighed. “I don’t know. Robert could tell you. All I know is, the duke is supposedly our ghost, and that bar in town, Dunkirk’s Den, is named for him. Personally, I think it’s Covington Burgess.”

  “You think someone named Covington Burgess is haunting your house?” Visions of an old sea captain or a long-dead fisherman pacing the crow’s nest filled her head.

  Rachel laughed. “No, he’s all too alive, in my opinion. I think he’s the one who took the legend of this duke and attached it to our house, saying it was haunted. He’s also the rat who bought the Neely home for a song after claiming it was sinking into the marsh, and he’s been after Robert’s house for years. I guess we should feel lucky he hasn’t sicced his engineering firm on us yet. No doubt he’d get them to claim four hundred feet of cliff face is getting ready to give way and send the place into the ocean. Though that would be easier to refute than the ghost thing.”

  “Covington Burgess,” Gray repeated. “I’ll remember that name.”

  “Do. And if you hear anything about him wanting to buy, let me know. Oh darn. Gray, the baby just woke up. I’ve got to go. I thought we’d have more time to chat.”

  “Don’t worry.” Gray felt a pang. She missed her friend. “I’ve got to shower anyway. We’ll talk soon. And I’ll let you know what I find out about this supposed ghost.”

  “Good,” Rachel said, then finished, laughing, “And remember: go with guts.”