When a Duke Loves a Woman

by Lorraine Heath

  He furrowed his brow. “Why do you think that?”

  “I’m not small and delicate, the sort who makes a man feel all the more manly, the kind he’d like to put on a shelf and look at, take down now and then to play with. Nor am I docile. Men are threatened by women who stand up for themselves. Then the gents get ugly. Makes them difficult to love. I’ve no one to tell me what I can and can’t do. Maybe that’s the reason your bride ran off.”

  “Are you implying I’d have ordered her about?”

  She gave him a pointed look.

  “I assure you that I would not have. One of the reasons I asked her to marry me was because she was a paragon of proper behavior and would not have required my instructing her.” Which was also one of the reasons he hadn’t hesitated to reassure his father as he was dying he would adhere to the terms of the contract.

  “A paragon? Oooh. She must have liked it when you whispered that in her ear.”

  She was teasing him again, but he didn’t much like the implication. “I never whispered in her ear.”

  “Why ever not?”

  He stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Didn’t you do things with her you ought not?”

  “Absolutely not. I respected her too much for that.”

  Leaning back, she crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a steady look. “How much did you love her?”

  Shifting in his chair, he glanced around. This woman’s audacity was not to be tolerated. Yet he couldn’t seem to withhold the truth from her. He brought his attention back to her. “I loved her not at all.”

  The bloody nobility. She knew they had their fancy houses and their posh clothes, their pristine lives that were constantly scrubbed clean, but it appeared they didn’t dirty any aspect of their existence with something as mundane as emotion.

  “Then why marry her?” She closed her eyes, knowing the answer before he spoke. “Because she’s a paragon and you’re a duke. And you needed a proper wife.” A woman with pure bloodlines who could trace her ancestors back generations. Something she would never be able to do. She opened her eyes. “And your pride won’t let her go.”

  “My pride might have been driving me that first night, might have resulted in my idiocy that led me into your care. I’m not sure what I would have done had I found her. Express my disappointment. Demand answers. Haul her back to the church.” He shook his head. “Her brother and my mother are insistent we still marry, but I will not force her, and I don’t want her living in fear that she has no recourse except to hide. I feel something is amiss and I must make it right.” He glanced around. “Why would she come to this area?”

  He seemed sincere in his quest to reassure and help the girl. “It’s easy to lose oneself, to blend in, within these streets because there are so many people about—or to start over. Change a name. No one asks you to prove that’s the name you were given when you were born. Or perhaps she knew someone here.”

  He went remarkably still. “Like whom?”

  “Well, I don’t know. I don’t know her.” She held out her hand. “May I see the miniature?” She’d only caught glimpses of it when she’d handed it over to one person after another. Now she studied the delicate features. The woman looked familiar but she couldn’t recall where she might have seen her. Had she come into the Mermaid? Had their paths crossed on the street? “She’s very pretty.”

  “The wrong sort could take advantage of that.”

  He sounded truly worried, and perhaps a bit guilty, as though he had led this woman here. And he spoke true. An improper sort could use her to fill his pockets with coins. “Why her? Why did you ask her to marry you? I’m sure there are an abundance of paragons among the aristocracy.”

  He gave her a sad sort of smile. “There is a stretch of land that borders my ducal estate. It was set aside to serve as a dowry for the daughter of a particular earl, and every duke before me planned for his son to marry that earl’s daughter in order to gain that land, only no earl ever produced a daughter until she came along. The day after she was born, her father and mine got together and worked out the arrangements, signed a contract that she and I would marry. I was eleven at the time. My opinion on the matter was neither sought nor wanted. When I was fifteen, as my father lay dying, I promised him I would honor the terms of the contract and the land that meant so much to every duke before me would become ours. Therefore, it was always expected we’d marry, but neither of us was in any hurry. Her brother is a friend and had begun pushing of late, because she was quite on the shelf. So we decided it was time. She and I have always gotten along famously.” He shrugged. “I didn’t think marriage to her would be a hardship. Although I am rather upset with myself as I’m coming to realize I might have in fact done her a disservice. I was willing to take her to wife when my feelings for her weren’t stronger. When she didn’t intrigue me . . . as you do.”

  Her heart fairly galloping, she wished she was drinking whisky instead of coffee. “You like a bit of the rough, do you?”

  “You’re anything but rough. You possess the gentlest touch I’ve ever known. You’re generous, giving out your wooden tokens to anyone you think might be in need. You take a moment to offer a kind word here and there. It’s obvious people think highly of you.”

  She wasn’t accustomed to praises, didn’t like having them showered on her. “They don’t want me to stop serving them.”

  “You’re modest as well.”

  “I need to get back to the Mermaid.” She rose to her feet. He got up a bit more slowly and she suspected he wasn’t nearly as healed as he claimed. “Today gave you a taste of what you’re up against. You won’t find her if she doesn’t want to be found, but we can keep looking tomorrow if you like.”

  “I do.”

  “Right.” She wished he’d given another answer, even as she’d hoped he’d give the one he had. Silly goose that she was, she wanted to spend more time in his company, because the truth was that he intrigued her as well.

  Chapter 10

  That evening, Thorne’s gaze rammed into Gillie’s the moment he strode into the tavern. It was more crowded tonight, yet she didn’t look at all harried. Rather she appeared remarkably happy as she glanced briefly away, smiled at some gent while handing him a pint of beer, before returning her attention to Thorne. She was in her element, comfortable and at ease, very much as the ladies he knew who flittered around ballrooms, delighted to be dancing and visiting for a few hours. It had never occurred to him a woman would find satisfaction in work.

  Perusing the establishment, he noted two gents leaving a table near a window and headed for it. A pretty blonde barmaid got to it before him, gathered up the empty tankards, wiped the table, and flicked her rag at a man who reached for one of the chairs, effectively chasing him off. Then, jutting out a hip, she gave Thorne a saucy smile. “Hello, Handsome. Looking for a place to sit?”

  “I am, as a matter of fact.”

  She patted the table. “Make yourself at home.” Sidling a little closer, she batted her eyelashes at him. “What’s your pleasure?”

  “I have it, Polly,” Gillie said.

  The girl—who he was relatively certain was of an age that if she’d been born into the aristocracy, would have been debuted this Season—swung around, all flirtatious manner evaporating. “I can see to him, Gillie.”

  “I know, pet. But he’s here to have a word with me, and I think all your attention directed his way is likely to leave other fellows without any.”

  “But I’m thinking he’d give a girl something extra to make it worth her while.”

  “You’ll get the something extra. Go on now and see to the others.”

  With a pout, Polly flounced away. He had to bite back his laughter. “I didn’t expect to create such a stir.”

  Gillie set a tumbler of whisky in front of him. “Polly is always on the lookout for a gent to marry her.”

  “I suppose I should tell her I’m spoken for.”

  She angled h
er head thoughtfully. “Are you? Your bride’s actions would indicate you’re not.”

  “Quite right.” Even if Lavinia were still willing, and with her brother’s sweetening of the dowry, he wasn’t certain he could marry her knowing she had misgivings, knowing he would no longer be content with a marriage lacking in any regard. He wanted to find her, speak with her, reassure her, but taking her to wife was unlikely, in spite of the promise he’d made his father.

  “I wasn’t expecting to see you until tomorrow afternoon,” she said.

  “I’ve been doing some thinking.” He pulled out a chair, extended his hand toward it. “Will you join me?”

  With a brusque nod, she scraped back the chair opposite the one he’d indicated and dropped into it. He wasn’t certain if she wasn’t accustomed to the courtesy of a gent dragging out a chair for her or if she was striving to make the point that she wouldn’t be swayed by his charms. He took his seat. She moved the glass she’d set on the table closer to him—always the tavern keeper seeing to the comfort of her customers. “You won’t join me?”

  She shook her head. “I have a good part of the night still ahead of me. I don’t want to get into a bad habit of nipping before the doors are locked.”

  Some considered drinking a sin; she invited people to indulge in it, yet worried about bad habits. He didn’t know why that delighted him, but so much about her did.

  “Have you decided to give up your search?” she asked.

  “No, but it occurred to me that no matter how much allowance she’d saved, she would need to replenish it.” He didn’t want to think of her sleeping on the ropes or holding out her hand in hopes of a wooden token that would give her a bowl of hot soup. “This afternoon I came to realize my knowledge regarding her was quite lacking. However, I can’t see her doing needlework or teaching or”—he glanced around—“serving a gent his beer. But I do recall a recital earlier in the summer where she performed on the pianoforte and sang. She was rather talented, so it struck me, she might, quite literally, sing for her supper.”

  “We don’t have a lot of opera houses in Whitechapel.”

  “But there are other places where people are entertained.”

  Her eyes widening, she leaned toward him. “You think she’d perform in a penny gaff?”

  It had been years, a decade and a half at least, since he and his mates had sought out bawdy entertainments. He wasn’t even certain the place they’d frequented still existed or how to find it, as generally he’d been well into his cups. “If she were desperate. And I have to imagine she is since she ran off without a word. I need her to know there will be no repercussions, she can return home and we can sort this hash of a mess out like civilized people.”

  “I suppose you want to look tonight.”

  “If you can spare the time.”

  Her gaze swept over the room. “I don’t like shirking my responsibilities.”

  “I realize I’m asking a lot. I could pay—”

  She snapped her head back around to glare at him. “Don’t you dare offer to give me money.”

  “I feel a need to make it up to you some way, as I’m becoming quite the bother.”

  “You will owe me. We’ll figure out exactly what when we find her.”

  “I don’t generally go into a situation without knowing the cost.”

  Crossing her arms over her chest, she settled back. “Then find her on your own.”

  The devil of it was that he could probably find Lavinia on his own, but it would take considerably longer as he didn’t have Gillie’s resources or know all the people she knew. It was also much more enjoyable searching with her at his side. “I’ll trust you to be fair with your demands.”

  She smiled, a victorious, seductive, wily smile that caused heat, desire, and longing to thread their way through his entire body and into the depths of his soul. “Ah, you silly man.” She slapped her hands on the table. “I’ll let Jolly Roger know I’ll be leaving for a bit.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Jolly Roger?”

  “My head barman.”

  “His name is Jolly Roger?”

  She shrugged. “So he says. That’s something else you have to consider. She could change her name, move elsewhere. Just because she asked someone to bring her here doesn’t mean she stayed. People escape their circumstances in all sorts of ways.”

  He understood that. But he wanted to locate her before her brother or the men he’d hired did. “Still I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t at least try to find her.”

  “Very well. Give me a few minutes.”

  He watched as she walked toward the bar. Unlike the women who worked for her, she didn’t sway her hips provocatively or offer cheeky grins. Here and there, she offered a word, placed a hand on a shoulder, or picked up an empty glass. Her movements reflected a smoothness, a casualness, a naturalness that indicated she’d done them all a thousand times, more. They adored her, these men and women who came in here for a chance to relax at the end of a hard day.

  It was an odd thing to realize he was beginning to adore her as well.

  She couldn’t believe she was going to take more time away from the tavern in order to help a duke, but he’d sounded so sincere in his need to find this woman that how could she not do what she could to assist him in his efforts? When she reached the bar, Jolly Roger was nowhere to be seen. “Davey, have you seen Jolly Roger?” she asked one of the bartenders they’d recently hired.

  He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Back in the kitchen.”

  But when she walked into the kitchen, the only person she saw was Robin, sitting at the large oak table, slurping down his soup. “Robin, have you seen Jolly Roger?”

  “Yeah. He’s down in the cellar with Cook, helpin’ her pick out the best sherry fer tomorrow’s soup.”

  She was glad to hear he was finally remembering to put his h’s to use, but what he’d said made no sense. She furrowed her brow. “I beg your pardon?”

  “They go down there every night ’bout this time. She don’t know nuffink about sherry, ye see, so he has to help her find the best one. That’s not easy to do. Takes ’em a long time usually.”

  Customarily Jolly Roger took some time now and then in the evening to go outside to puff on his pipe for a while. She allowed her customers to smoke their pipes inside the taproom, but not her employees. She hadn’t known about him helping Hannah select sherry for her soup, hadn’t even known sherry was going into the soup. “Thank you, pet.”

  He gave her a salute before going back to his dinner. She crossed over to the cellar door, surprised to find it closed. Opening it, she stepped inside. They must have only brought in one lamp because no light radiated up. She started down, heard a laugh and a snicker, and stopped in midstride.

  “Do you like that?” Hannah asked seductively.

  “I’ll give you twenty minutes to stop.”

  Hannah’s laugh was filled with joy, humor, and teasing. “Oh, Rog, you’ll never last that long.”

  She heard her cook whisper something else but was unable to distinguish the words.

  “Ah, you saucy wench,” he growled.

  Gillie crept back up the stairs, closed the door, and leaned against it. Jolly Roger was smitten with Hannah? How had she not seen that? She was grateful Robin was no longer around. No doubt he was making his way through the taproom, hoping to find some odd jobs for tomorrow. He liked running errands for people, and her brothers—although none were visiting tonight—were good about hiring him to deliver messages and such.

  Sitting at the table, she drummed her fingers on the wood and waited, finally hearing footsteps on the stairs echoing up from the cellar. Hannah had been correct. He’d lasted only about half of the twenty minutes. When the door opened, they walked through it and both came up short at the sight of her sitting there. She pushed to her feet and arched a brow. “Did you find the sherry you were looking for?”

  Jolly Roger turned so red she thought his face was on the ve
rge of exploding. He cleared his throat. “Damn. I forgot the bottle. I’ll go down and fetch it.” He disappeared back the way he’d come.

  Fearful her face might be just as red as his, Gillie took a step forward. She wasn’t looking forward to this conversation but it needed to be had. “Hannah, I overheard you two in the cellar.”

  Hannah’s eyes flattened as she reached back to untie her apron. “And now you’ll be letting me go.”

  “No, no.” She touched her cook’s arm to stay her actions. “I just want to make sure you were down there willingly, that what was happening was what you wanted.”

  “Ah, you’re a sweet lass. Of course it was what I wanted. I know you don’t fancy menfolk and have no experience with them intimately, but what Roger can do with his tongue . . .” Leaning in, she whispered conspiratorially, “He can make a woman forget her name.”

  Why would a woman want that?

  Hannah looked over her shoulder. “You can come back in, Rog. Everything’s all right.” She winked at Gillie. “He gets embarrassed talking about intimate things.”

  Roger appeared, sherry bottle in hand, and gave it to Hannah. “There you are, darlin’.”

  “Ta, Rog.”

  “I didn’t know our soup has sherry in it,” Gillie said, although she never had taken an interest in preparing food.

  “It doesn’t. But we had to tell Robin something. The lad is far too curious,” Hannah said.

  “Robin says you go hunting for sherry every night.”

  “Why do you think I’m Jolly Roger?” her barman asked, apparently quite pleased with himself, puffing his chest out like some rooster.

  “Has this been going on for a while then?”

  They both shrugged noncommittally. “Not so very long really,” Hannah finally offered.

  “Maybe you should find someplace else to do the hunting,” Gillie suggested.

  “Right,” Roger said. “Will do.”

  “It won’t be as much fun as sneaking in a bit of loving here and there,” Hannah said.