Outwitting the Duke

by Deb Marlowe

  Laura lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep was impossible. Her mind still whirled with all the events of the day. No matter how tightly she shut her eyes, she could not erase the image of Captain Carew gazing at her, the expression in his eyes dark and unreadable. “I want Miss Stephens to stay with me too,” he had said, the anguish in his voice making goose bumps race up her arms. She rolled over, clasping her pillow.

  She wanted to stay with the captain too.

  It was folly, of course. She would not allow herself to admit that she was falling in love with the man. No, it would be better to put any silly emotions in some box in her soul, and lock it up so no one would ever know. But her opinion of him had changed today. She had been impressed with his generosity before, and even a little annoyed with his liberality when he had told her to make some new gowns for herself. Today, however, was different. He was unashamedly angry at the thought of losing his ward. His fierce protectiveness cast him in a new light, and she found him highly attractive.

  As far as she knew, she would soon be leaving for Derbyshire with Marguerite. Captain Carew’s mother, Lady Westchester, had fallen in love with Marguerite at first sight. Life on a country estate would be good for a little girl. She could run and play to her heart’s content. And, of course, she would grow up with every advantage.

  Life in Derbyshire could be good for Laura as well. She had never left the city, and it might be quite nice to be away from the noise and bustle of the streets. There would be other servants that she could befriend, and her position in the house was already set.

  But Captain Carew wouldn’t be there.

  Her mutinous mind would not turn away from that track.

  A soft, scurrying noise sounded in her room, and Laura sat bolt upright in bed. Was it a mouse? She loathed mice, always had, for she had endured their company long enough at the orphanage.

  She lit the candle beside her bed and held it aloft. Marguerite stood at the foot of the bed, her cheeks glowing red even in the dim candlelight.

  “Marguerite? Whatever is the matter?” She placed the candle on the bedside table and beckoned the little girl to come closer. She took Marguerite’s hand, and gasped. It was burning hot.

  “Are you sick? Poor thing.” She pulled Marguerite up beside her. Yes, the little girl was feverish, shockingly so. Laura hastily pushed the blankets aside and laid her charge down on the mattress.

  She must set to work without delay. Many were the times she had seen other girls fall ill at the orphanage, and time was of the essence. She must bring the fever down, and she must waken the captain and have him send for a doctor.

  “Marguerite, stay here in my bed,” she instructed, tying her wrapper securely around her night gown. “I’ll be right back.”

  The little girl slumped against the pillow and closed her eyes.

  She grabbed her water pitcher and headed across the hall. The best thing would be to wake the captain. She could dither about waking the other servants so that someone else would wake him—that would certainly be more proper than barging into his room—but when a child was ill, the simplest solution was best.

  She set the pitcher down beside the staircase and ran up to the third floor. A light flickered in the gap between the door and the floor. Perhaps he was awake anyway. She knocked.

  “Enter.” His voice sounded lucid enough, though somewhat confused.

  She opened the door and slipped inside. Sure enough, Captain Carew was awake. He was sitting in his armchair, a guttering candle beside him on the table. He was dressed in shirt and trousers, but had shed his jacket and boots. Seeing her, he rose, a look of stark amazement on his face.

  “I know this is not terribly proper,” she admitted. “But Marguerite has taken ill. Would you send for a doctor, sir?”

  “Of course.” He strode over to his wardrobe and withdrew a jacket and a pair of Hessians. “I’ll go at once.”

  “Thank you, sir. I am going to fetch some water from the pump outside so I can bathe her forehead.”

  “A good plan.” He tugged on his jacket. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Is she in the nursery?”

  “No. She woke me in my room, so I tucked her into my bed.” She turned back toward the door. “Thank you, sir.”

  She was down the stairs and out to the pump in a matter of moments, though her legs seemed made of lead. Why was she so worried? The captain was bringing a doctor, and Marguerite’s fever had just begun. Surely they were early enough, and taking enough precautions, that the child was in no real danger. Even so, her heart thudded painfully in her chest.

  She brought the water up to her room and arranged a sort of nursing station on her bedside table. Water, handkerchiefs, and a fan. Anything to help keep Marguerite cool. She stripped the covers off the bed and opened all the windows. The cool night air flooded the room, calming her and helping her to gather her thoughts. She lit candles throughout the chamber, and their flickering light chased some of her fears away.

  She bathed Marguerite’s hot forehead with the cool water, and began brushing the wet handkerchief over her limbs and her neck. Marguerite tossed from side to side. At length, two pairs of booted footsteps pounded up the stairs, and Captain Carew entered. Behind him was the doctor.

  Laura rose, standing aside so the physician could take a close look at the little girl. Captain Carew drew close to her side and gently took Laura’s hand in his.

  “You’ve done well,” he murmured in an undertone. “She’s beginning to lose that fitful look. I’ve seen so many feverish men die, and they never seemed to lose that disturbed rest.”

  The captain had seen people die? She glanced over at him. His family seemed to think he could not handle raising a child, but surely a man who had commanded a crew of sailors in the midst of crisis could handle Marguerite.

  She squeezed his hand in sympathy. He was so much more than others gave him credit for being.

  The doctor turned to them both. “She does have a fever, but it hasn’t taken root. At least, not as deeply as one might expect. As you indicated, Captain, she is from a foreign clime and her mother died of a fever. This, I think, has been delayed too long to be a direct result of that. She merely has a regular fever, a plain, old-fashioned summer fever.” He smiled reassuringly. “Brew up some willow bark tea and let her sip at it. After the tea, keep her cool and bathe her forehead, as you have done. I’ll come to check on her tomorrow. I am sure she will be hale and hearty.”

  Richard returned from the water pump with the pitcher brimful of water. Miss Stephens accepted it from him with a weary smile, wringing a handkerchief out in the fresh water. “Thank you, sir. You really can retire now. I can see to her.”

  “No, indeed. I couldn’t rest easy.” He sat on the floor beside the bed, his mind reeling.

  So many men had died on board his ship. He saw their faces, he remembered their strange, irregular movements. No one should die that way. Marguerite, his little Marguerite, would not pass away. Not if he could help it. He could not leave her. He wouldn’t leave Miss Stephens, either. She was too calm, too compassionate. His hand still burned where she had pressed hers into his.

  He leaned against the bed, inadvertently brushing against Miss Stephens’ leg. “How is she doing?”

  “She’s resting peacefully.” Miss Stephens placed her hand on his shoulder. “I know she’ll be fine.”

  The moment she touched him, it loosened a floodgate of emotions. “Do you think so? Oh, Laura, if you only knew what it is to see people die of fever. It’s a special kind of hell.”

  He hadn’t meant to call her by her given name. It just slipped out, in a moment of anguish. Yet it felt right to say it aloud.

  She slipped from the side of the bed, where she had been resting, and sat beside him on the floor. “I have seen people die,” she admitted quietly.

  “You have?” He glanced over at her. Her large eyes were ringed with fatigue and sadness. “When?”

  “As a child, growing up in the orphan
age.” She gave a little shrug. “Illnesses would sweep through, claiming the lives of my friends. I survived. I don’t know how or why I did.”

  “Fever claimed the lives of many men on my last voyage.” He inched closer to her. He needed her strength now. “It’s how I became the owner of the ship. Everyone in command died, and I had to step up. I’d spent a lifetime shirking duty, and all at once, it was pressed upon me with no hope of refusal. Not just commanding the ship, but taking Marguerite.”

  Laura was silent for a moment.

  “I know how difficult that must have been,” she murmured at length. “But it all turned out well. You have your freedom, and you have Marguerite. So you see, the pain was worth it after all.”

  He closed his eyes, allowing her words to wash over him. Yes, it was worthwhile, and he wasn’t about to let it go. If Mother wanted Marguerite to be raised in the country, then he would have to come too. He wouldn’t let Laura leave him, and he wouldn’t relinquish Marguerite to anyone, not even his own family.

  After a few quiet moments, Laura relaxed against him. He glanced down at her, startled. She had fallen asleep, her long dark lashes fanning out across her cheeks.

  He gathered her into his arms, holding her close as she slept. He could carry her across the hall to the nursery and put her in bed, or even up to his room, but neither idea seemed right. What felt right was holding her as they both waited out Marguerite’s fever.

  He had never spent a night like this, never in his life.

  A year ago, he would have guffawed at the mere thought that he would ever have a child, or that he would ever spend a night chastely with any young lady.

  Women had been challenges, conquests, or alluring companions, but he never felt deeply for anyone as he did for Laura. He knew that now.

  The problem was what should he do with this knowledge?

  He was able to admit that when she had come up to his room earlier that evening, a wild hope had seared through him. For a brief moment, until he understood the need for her visit, he was certain that she had come to…well… throw herself at him. Hadn’t she stood up to his family, defending him when his great-uncle had lit into him? An understanding had flashed between them both, and he was sure that she was as miserable at the thought of going to Derbyshire as he had been.

  He hadn’t been able to sleep, thinking about the sparkle in her eyes as she had spoken of him as a good guardian. It was the only time anyone had defended his character.

  And yet, though she seemed to understand him, though she spoke of him as a good person, he had no true inkling of how she felt about him as a man—as in, if she would consider becoming his wife.

  He glanced down at her again, sleeping peacefully in his arms, and dropped a light kiss on her forehead.

  He would prove to her that he was a worthy husband. It was the only way he could keep Marguerite and Laura. They must become a family in truth.

  Chapter 8

  It took a moment for Laura to understand exactly what was happening as she opened her eyes. The morning sun was streaming in through the open windows of her room. And yet, she wasn’t in her bed. In fact, she was on the floor beside her bed, and her body was resting up against a warm, muscular wall that rose and fell evenly. Two decidedly masculine arms were wrapped around her waist.

  She gasped and struggled to sit up.

  She had fallen asleep on Captain Carew.

  As she struggled, his arms tightened around her. “Hmmm,” he muttered, his breath warm against her hair.

  For a fleeting second, she allowed herself to relax once more against him. How sweet this was, almost unbearable. When had anyone held her closely like this? Was this what it was to feel cherished, to feel safe? Sudden tears pricked her eyes and she blinked furiously. This was wrong. She was indulging herself and she must end it now.

  With a deliberate movement, she set herself away from Captain Carew. He groaned, the corners of his handsome mouth turning downwards. A lock of his dark hair had fallen over his forehead, giving him a delightfully tousled appearance. He opened his eyes, staring at her with such intensity that she shifted her own gaze to the floor.

  “I must check on Marguerite,” she whispered. “I am sorry I woke you.”

  “Not at all,” he rumbled. “Though I was very comfortable.”

  It was better to ignore this last remark—after all, the captain was of a flirtatious disposition, he couldn’t help it, it seemed. She rose, seating herself on the edge of the bed. Marguerite still slumbered, but her agitated tossing and turning had ceased. Laura pressed her palm to Marguerite’s forehead. She was still warm, but not alarmingly hot as she had been last night.

  “I think she’s improved,” she whispered. “The fever is going down. I’ll wrap an extra blanket around her so she won’t catch a chill. The morning air seems to be working wonders.”

  Laura walked over to the chest at the foot of her bed, and took out an eiderdown puff. Captain Carew got up from his place on the floor and helped her to place it over Marguerite. Then he paused, looking down at his ward.

  “Glad to see you doing better, little one,” he muttered in an undertone.

  Once more, Laura found herself blinking back tears. He loved Marguerite. Even though she was not his by blood, in his heart he was claiming her as his own daughter.

  It was a lovely sight to see. How many times had she herself wondered if anyone could love her as she was—penniless, without friends or family? Here she was to witness that it could happen. If only she could run to Captain Carew and throw her arms around him, and tell him what a wonderful man he was, and how she would stay with him forever if she only had the chance…good heavens, what kind of woman had she turned into?

  “I suppose the doctor will be here soon.” As she said the words, she became acutely conscious of the fact that she was still in her nightgown and wrapper. In fact, she had slept on Captain Carew wearing nothing but her nightgown and wrapper. Her face flamed at the memory. She hadn’t meant to be quite this big of a fool—all of her thoughts last night had been fixed on making Marguerite comfortable.

  He nodded. “You are right. The entire household will be up in a matter of minutes.” He was gazing at her with that same intense expression in his eyes, and she couldn’t return his look. In an hour, after a cup of tea, after dressing in sensible clothes—then she could muster the archness necessary to deal with this highly embarrassing situation.

  As it was now, all of her defenses were down. She was relieved about Marguerite, and mortified about the brazen way she had slept with the captain, and highly aware that her nightclothes—though sturdy and modest—did not equal proper attire.

  “I am terribly sorry I fell asleep as I did last night,” she blurted, unable to stand the suspense any longer. “Honestly, you should have shoved me away.”

  “No, indeed. You were resting so peacefully, I hated to disturb you.” He drew closer to her, and Laura’s heart began to pound against her chest. “I knew you were exhausted after dealing with Marguerite and my family, and besides, you look quite pretty when you’re asleep.”

  Again, that wretched blush crept over her face! This was her curse for having such fair skin. “Thank you for your kindness,” she replied simply. There was nothing more to say.

  “I have one or two pressing matters of business to attend to this afternoon,” he went on, his voice losing that wheedling, teasing tone. “Will you be all right if I am gone until supper time?”

  “Of course.” Her heart sank a bit at the knowledge that she wouldn’t see him all afternoon—but then again, it was for the best. She wouldn’t be seeing him at all for months at a time once they moved to Derbyshire. Better to get used to his absence a little a time.

  “Good. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He glanced over at Marguerite, still peacefully asleep, and then back at her. “Indeed, I hate to go. But it cannot be helped.”

  With that, he quit the room without a backward glance.

  There was one thing
to do today—speak to his family. After the agony of the Carew enclave yesterday, and the anguish of Marguerite’s illness, Richard saw his future more clearly than he ever had in his life. But before he could embark on the path laid before him, he had to disabuse every meddling Carew—and intimidating duke—of the idea that they could take the two most precious people in the world from him.

  He rode over to his parents’ townhouse in Mayfair, making it in record time. He dashed up the front steps and shoved open the door, not deigning to wait for the butler.

  “Richard!” Frances was already descending the stairs, but she halted mid-flight upon seeing him. “Whatever is the matter?”

  “I need to speak to Father and Mother without delay.” He tossed his hat onto a nearby tulipwood and ormolu bench. “Where are they?”

  “Still asleep, you ridiculous boy.” She came down the stairs and hugged him. “Don’t wake them. Yesterday was a difficult day. Not only did they have to dress you down, but then the ball at the Pooles’ was an absolute crush and lasted ‘til all hours.”

  “I cannot wait.” How trite these matters seemed after facing the loss of Marguerite and Laura. “I cannot allow them to take away my girls.”

  Frances faced him squarely. “You mean your ward and her governess?”

  “Obviously.” He had no time for trivialities.

  “Come.” She took him by the hand and led him down the hallway to the breakfast room. Grandmother was at the table alone, drinking tea from a delicate china cup.

  “Richard,” she proclaimed, looking every last inch the regal matriarch of the family. “Do come in. I was lonely in here by myself, but alas, I am the only early riser in this household.”

  “You have me, too,” Frances objected, sticking out her chin. “I haven’t been to bed at all.”

  “Ah, then, it doesn’t count. If you’ve never slept, then you haven’t risen.” Grandmother gave a slight smile as she poured more tea into her cup.

  “Richard wants to talk to you about Marguerite,” Frances added. She walked over to the table and pulled a chair out. “May I join you?”