Addicted to the Duke

by Bronwen Evans

She wanted a family.

  Once they were out of the view of the dock below, Alex swung her up in his arms and for one instant her troubles slipped away. She felt safe.

  She breathed deep. He smelled of horse and stale sweat, but she didn’t care. This man owned her heart. Yes, when she was younger perhaps it was hero worship because he had rescued her, but as she watched him take on his father’s title, dedicate himself to his family, his tenants, and his duties to this country, the adoration deepened.

  Half asleep, she jerked awake when he kicked open the door of a small cabin and laid her on the bunk bed.

  “The ship’s surgeon, Mr. Foxhall, has vacated his cabin for you. It’s basic, clean, and has an opening porthole. It will also allow you a measure of privacy. I’d give you my cabin, but if anyone gets close enough to spy on us it would look strange.”

  All she could feel was the soft mattress under her, and she could not keep her eyes open a moment longer. “Hmmm, it’s perfect.”

  Silenced reigned, but she was too tired to care what he was looking at. She was a mess, but he’d never really noticed her when she looked her best, so why should she care what she looked like in his eyes?

  For some reason, Alex went out of his way to ignore her whenever possible. As her aching joints and burning bottom began to fade to a soft throbbing, a smile curved her lips. He couldn’t ignore her now. Not stuck on this ship.

  His lips pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “You did well, Hestia. You’ve earned your sleep.”

  And then she heard the cabin door shut and she was alone. She forced herself to stay awake long enough to take care of her personal needs. Then slipped out of her clothes and into the large man’s shirt she found at the end of her bunk.

  Tucked up in bed, the gentle sway of the ship at dock adding to her need for sleep, she gave a satisfied sigh. She’d finally gained entrance to his world. Now she would perhaps begin to understand the man who confused her more than anyone she knew.

  She’d just spent the last four days with Alex and he’d barely spoken a word to her other than to urge her to keep up. On the first night, when they had reached the Bracken estate, Alex’s sister, Therese, took her off to hear all the gossip from town. Then he’d ordered her to have dinner in her room, as she needed to retire early to be fresh for the long ride to Portsmouth. It had annoyed her that he’d been right. At the inn the following night she’d barely had enough energy for a bath before she’d fallen into her bed, bone weary.

  Since leaving London he’d been distant. She’d put his silence down to worry over setting sail so quickly and perhaps her safety. Yet his mood had not altered even when she’d tried to engage his attention. She did not want him to think she was the same silly young girl who had followed him around like a shadow.

  Now they were to leave at daybreak, on the early morning tide, and still she had no idea of what he was feeling. Resentment at being put in this position? Genuine worry for her father? For her? Or was he excited to be facing his demons?

  He was an enigma. However, all she cared about tonight was rest. And soon the world dimmed as sleep took her.

  —

  Hestia had no idea how long she slept, but the sun was shining through the porthole window above her bunk. The ship was also pitching more and she suspected they were on the open seas. Her stomach let out a loud grumble. Time to get up.

  She spotted her trunks in the far corner of the cabin and a jug and water bowl filled with fresh water. She stopped in front of the trunks and counted them. The two trunks Alex had sent to Great Yarmouth the night she’d told him about Fredrick’s plans were here, but a third one had joined them.

  She dropped to her knees in front of the well-worn trunk and reached to open the lid. She lifted it slowly, and when she spied its contents, her heart bloomed and danced like a leaf blowing in the wind. Here were all the men’s clothes she’d made for herself when she’d sailed home with Alex over four years ago.

  He’d kept them.

  They were all clean and pressed and in immaculate condition. Her eyes welled with tears as she spotted the scarlet sash she’d worn around her waist to help hold the pants up. It was lying on top of the clothes and folded carefully in two. Alex had made the sash from the lining of one of his waistcoats. He’d said the bright color should be worn to signify how brave she was and that she had faced down her attacker.

  She ran her hand over the worn silk and remembered how the sash made the revolting memories of the sultan’s treatment of her slide away. She’d worn it every day on the trip home. She’d been sad to leave it behind when she reached England.

  After a quick wash in the basin she braided her hair and decided to try on her old clothes.

  The pants were the right length, it would seem she had not grown taller since the age of sixteen; however her waist had filled out slightly and she would no longer need the scarlet sash to hold the breeches up. She slipped a shortened shift over her head, tucking it into the already tight waistband of her trousers. She lifted a shirt and struggled to get it on. The garment was a tad too tight across her breasts. She pulled it back over her head and decided there was enough seam to let it out. She’d have to wear one of the shirts she brought with her.

  Completing her dress was the old jacket Jacob had made for her out of one of his army jackets. It came almost to her knees and hid much of the exposure her new garments displayed. With her long jacket to hide her feminine shape within, she felt more confident about venturing up on deck. It would be impossible to tell she was a woman through a spyglass if a passing ship were interested.

  Once out of her cabin, Hestia decided to make her way to the stateroom. The Angelica was a different ship from the one she’d sailed on before. After feeding her hunger she would go exploring.

  Upon opening the door she simply followed her nose until she found the stateroom. The smell of coffee filled the passageway. Fresh scones and jam were on the table, and if someone could bring her a cup of tea she’d be in heaven. She hesitated at the door until a male voice welcomed her.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Hestia. Let me introduce myself, I’m Mr. Foxhall, the ship’s surgeon.” He bade her take a seat. “His Grace is up on deck with Jacob, and I’ve been tasked with ensuring your comfort.”

  Words deserted her as she looked at the handsome man beaming a smile at her.

  His smile faltered as he misinterpreted her stare. “Forgive my informality, it’s just we very rarely have a lady on board.” He turned toward the table. “His Grace suggested you might like to eat and then I should escort you up on deck.”

  “No need to apologize. I’m sorry for missing breakfast. I slept through.” Her breathless voice almost echoed in the large cabin.

  His smile was back as if she was an indulgent child but she didn’t care. “You’ve slept through two breakfasts.” At her obvious embarrassment he added, “Perfectly acceptable for a young lady after such a heroic four-day ride. Shall I call for some tea, or are you feeling a tad delicate? It often takes a while for one to find one’s sea legs.”

  Two days? That must mean they were well under way. She hoped no one was following them. “Thank you, Mr. Foxhall, tea would be lovely. I’ve sailed with my father on occasion and luckily I never get sick on ships. I have sturdy sea legs, I’ve been told. I must take after my father in that way. My mother was always as sick as a dog whenever on board a ship, even when it was at dock.”

  Mr. Foxhall looked greatly relieved.

  She’d known Alex always sailed with a surgeon on board. His previous trips had taught him the value of having someone with such skills among his crew, but she never imagined a surgeon who rivaled Alex in looks.

  “Do you know if the Angelica is being followed? Did we slip away without arousing suspicion?”

  “I’m sure His Grace will answer all your questions once you have eaten. Please make yourself at home and I’ll be right back,” he said, and left her to her refreshments.

  After finishing her breakfast,
Hestia began studying the spacious stateroom. She let out an exclamation of delight. She was very impressed by the sprawling smart, masculine style. It suited Alex.

  There was a closed door on the left, which she assumed led to Alex’s cabin. How her feet itched to enter and explore his cabin, but she knew Mr. Foxhall would be back soon and she did not wish to be poking her nose where it did not belong.

  She spied a small bookcase and made her way across the room to see what Alex liked to read when at sea. To her surprise there was an eclectic mix. Books on exploration were mixed with philosophy and poetry. Another she quickly put back on the shelf when she opened it to see an etching of a couple in an intimate embrace.

  Her face heated, and to her horror Mr. Foxhall returned at that moment. Hestia couldn’t look the sinfully handsome surgeon in the eye. And it wasn’t because he was well over a foot taller than her. He’d caught her snooping. Did he know what books were on this shelf?

  He politely offered no comment as she hurriedly took a seat and busied herself with sipping her tea.

  “Is the Angelica the only ship you sail on?” she managed to ask.

  “Yes. When docked at Great Yarmouth, I also have a small office where I can treat sailors. Most cannot afford a doctor, but His Grace pays me well enough to afford me the time to help others.”

  “That sounds like Alex…that is, His Grace.”

  Mr. Foxhall did not seem fazed by her slip.

  “Have you known His Grace long?” she inquired.

  “I was under his command in the Turkish campaign. I worked as a newly qualified surgeon. Did you know that I also know your father? During the campaign, when His Grace was captured by Murad, I turned to your father for help. It took two years, but we finally rescued him.”

  “You weren’t with Alex when I was rescued?”

  “Sadly no. My father had just died and I returned to England to attend to family matters.”

  “Do you come from a big family?”

  His smile widened. “Yes. I have two elder brothers, the head of the family being Bernard Foxhall, Viscount Riley, and three younger sisters.”

  A viscount’s son. How interesting. “Do you miss them?” As an only child, she’d longed for a large family and hoped to have many children one day.

  “I pop home whenever duties allow. In between voyages.”

  She poured herself another cup of tea. She was finally beginning to feel human again with a bit of food in her stomach and a long sleep, although her bottom was still rather tender. “Does His Grace sail with you regularly?”

  “When his family duties and estate business allow him to indulge his joy of the sea. He sails mainly when we travel to North Africa.”

  The words implied that the Mediterranean was not one of Alex’s favorite destinations.

  “I want you to know that there is no need to worry. Every man on this ship is determined to help you defeat Fredrick Cary.”

  “Thank you. I just hope it does not take too long to find my father. His Grace sent a missive on ahead, so I’m hoping it will alert him to the danger he’s in.”

  Mr. Foxhall nodded. “It would certainly help us if he was not blind to his predicament. More tea?” he asked, and refilled her cup yet again. “I hope you won’t find the journey too boring. I have other books in my cabin that I could make available, although I have no idea if you’ll find them interesting. Some are in Latin or French.”

  “Thank you for your kindness. I can read both languages, plus Greek. My father is rather enamored of the classics. He named me after a Greek goddess. Hestia was the goddess of hearth and family.” She wondered why her father named her after Hestia, as she certainly was not his call to come home very often. “I was given a rather broader education than most young ladies.”

  He opened his mouth and then closed it, only to open it again. “What is it you’d like to know?” she asked.

  “Forgive me for being so forward, but I cannot understand why you have not married. Surely that is the safest route to thwart Fredrick Cary’s plan. Once you marry your wealth would become your husband’s. He’d have no cause to kill you.” He sighed. “Sorry, it’s just a woman as beautiful and lovely as you must have had many offers.”

  She hated it when she blushed, but really, how was she to respond? She’d had offers, but usually from men who wanted her large dowry and thought they were doing the scandalized Lady Hestia Cary a favor. So all she said was, “I won’t let Fredrick scare me into a quick convenient marriage that would last my whole life. I want the right to choose my husband.”

  His smile dimmed. “Not many of us get to choose. There are always other considerations.”

  There was such sadness in every syllable. She wanted to ask if he was married, or if he’d been thwarted in love like her, but she could not bring herself to inquire. Instead, Hestia reached across the table and rested her hand on his. “Sometimes life doesn’t go the way we plan, but then sometimes I think it would be rather boring if it did. I always try to look on the bright side. Right now I’m trying to put my fear aside and enjoy this new adventure. Look, I’ve already made a new friend.”

  He placed his other hand over the top of hers, and that beautiful smile was back. “Quite right.” He sat staring at her and finally said, “You are quite an extraordinary young lady.”

  “I asked you to give Hestia food should she wake, not sit holding hands.”

  The voice from the doorway was as hard as diamonds and sparks were flying as he took in the sight of her hand being held by Mr. Foxhall.

  Alex prowled into the stateroom like an avenging angel, his darkening eyes never leaving Mr. Foxhall’s face. “It’s a sorry day in hell when a man cannot leave a young lady in his friend’s company without him taking advantage of her.”

  Mr. Foxhall dropped her hand as if scorched by fire and jumped to his feet. “Now, Alex—”

  “For goodness’ sake, Alex, stop scowling so. Mr. Foxhall has been the perfect gentleman.”

  She could feel her pulse rise at the sight of him. This was the Alex of old. He wore form-fitting dark breeches tucked into his hessians, but only a white linen shirt open at the neck, with the glimpse of a black-haired chest causing her pulse to leap even higher. He had some form of handkerchief or scarf tied around his head and he looked like an angry pirate. This was the man she’d sailed home with all those years ago, only now he seemed bigger, stronger, and scrumptiously masculine.

  What filled her senses and made her stomach somersault was not only his beauty, but because it almost sounded as if he were jealous of Mr. Foxhall’s attentions to her. She dared not hope…

  The woman in her reacted to Alex’s inherent sensuality, yet she sensed a deep sadness in him. She’d hoped that the prevailing years had lessened his memories of his captivity, and her heart hurt knowing she was forcing him back to a place he dreaded.

  The Mediterranean held worse memories for Alex. She did not know what had happened to him during his two years with Murad, but she could imagine. Well…except she couldn’t really. She knew whatever he’d been through was bad because of his nightmares. She’d heard him scream out in his sleep as they had sailed home, and as the boat neared the place they both dreaded, she wondered if he still suffered from the ghosts chasing him.

  His mouth firmed as he turned his scowl her way.

  Hestia turned from Mr. Foxhall, her hand dropping to her side. “Don’t be ridiculous, Alexander. Mr. Foxhall has every right to understand the danger he is sailing into and why I have put everyone in this situation.”

  Alex growled. “This situation is not of your making, and if he implied that it was I’ll call him out.”

  Hestia’s mouth firmed as she took in Alex’s fists clenched at his side. She stared between the two men. Something primal was happening here, and she didn’t quite understand.

  Mr. Foxhall held his ground. With a raised eyebrow he calmly replied, “I would never imply such a thing. I merely pointed out that marrying would make Lady Hestia
less of a target.” He gave her a roguish smile, obviously enjoying Alex’s reaction. “I cannot imagine why some gentleman has not swept her off her feet.”

  “You have only spent an hour with her; ask me again at the end of our trip,” was Alex’s snarky reply.

  Mr. Foxhall’s mouth fell open and Hestia could see he was about to jump to her defense. This would not do. She did not want to make trouble between two obvious friends. The way Mr. Foxhall spoke to Alex…

  Wide-eyed, hands on hips, she turned toward Alex and said, “If I am such a shrew, then why seek me out? I’d be more than happy to stay out of your way and put myself in the safe hands of Mr. Foxhall.”

  She caught the deadly cold look Alex flashed at his friend. She also noted his hands relaxing back at his side. “Mr. Foxhall has his duties. If you must know I did not come to find you; I did not know you were awake. I came to find him.” He directed his words to Mr. Foxhall. “Jacob needs you. One of the men has sliced his hand.” With that, he strode across to the grand mahogany desk and poured himself a drink.

  “Lady Hestia, it has been a pleasure.” Mr. Foxhall bowed low over her hand. “Please excuse me, duty calls.”

  After Mr. Foxhall had taken his leave, Hestia wished her eyes could really shoot the daggers she was sending into Alex’s broad back. “That was uncalled for and you know it.”

  He slowly turned to face her. “We have enough trouble following us to the Mediterranean, without David becoming one of your enamored dogged admirers.”

  Hestia composed her features while all the while imagining the joy of slapping that all-too-perfect cheek of his. “I do not collect admirers; rather those who want my money.”

  “Is that what you think? That you had all those proposals because of the money?” He looked her over like a man who was deciding if she was worth paying for the privilege of undressing. “You can’t be that naïve.”

  He had heard about her proposals? Her heart sank. He obviously hadn’t cared that she might accept one of them. “I realize that because of my time held as a captive of Murad, many men think—how do you say it—I might be prepared to share my favors. They were incorrect.”