When a Duke Loves a Woman

by Lorraine Heath

  His expression of warmth and adoration caused Gillie’s chest to tighten. “I’ll make it fun for you, darlin’.”

  Hannah reached up and patted his cheek affectionately. “I know you will, love. Now you’d best get back to work before Gillie has a change of heart and dismisses you for all your naughty behavior.”

  With a wink at her, he started walking toward the door that led to the taproom.

  “Wait,” Gillie called out.

  He swung around, a question in his eyes.

  “I was looking for you to let you know I’ll be leaving for a while.”

  “With your gent?” Hannah asked.

  “He’s not my gent,” she said, wondering how often she was going to have to tell them that before they believed it. “But, yes, the duke and I need to go somewhere.”

  “He’s a duke? Stick a blade in your boot,” Roger said.

  She’d forgotten that only Finn had heard Thorne introduce himself.

  “Are you going someplace dangerous?” Hannah asked, her voice laced with worry.

  “I think he wants me to use it on the duke,” Gillie told her. “He will be a perfect gentleman.”

  Roger appeared skeptical.

  “He will be,” she insisted, trying not to be disappointed by her words.

  Still sitting at the table, Thorne paid a bit more attention to his surroundings. In addition to numerous smaller square tables, there were several long ones with benches where he assumed groups of people found it easier to gather. Some of the men smoked pipes, the smoke filling the room with a heady aroma. Here and there oil paintings depicting a mermaid or a unicorn or both hung on the walls. At the far end of the taproom, an open doorway led into another room, a dining hall. Stairs ascended to a loft with a railing and he could imagine someone standing up there, addressing the crowd below. The place had a much-used feel to it and yet it was also obvious it was very well cared for.

  He wasn’t surprised. It was clear Gillie poured all that she was into any task set before her, whether it was managing a tavern or caring for an injured man. Or helping that man find the woman he was to marry. Anxious to get back to that last task, he was tapping his walking stick repeatedly on the floor, wondering what was keeping Gillie, when the urchin—who couldn’t have been any older than eight—suddenly appeared before him.

  “Caw, blimey, wot’s that?” The boy’s clothes weren’t fancy, nor were they a perfect fit, but they and the lad appeared to be clean.

  Thorne looked to where he was pointing. “A walking stick.”

  “I know that.” He rolled his eyes. “That. The gold part.”

  “Ah.” Thorne tossed the stick up, caught it midway between either end, and swung it toward the lad so he could see the tip more clearly. “A lion.”

  “Is it real or like a unicorn?”

  He couldn’t help but believe that this might be the boy Gillie had sent to fetch the physician. What was his name? He couldn’t recall. But he suspected she’d told the lad all about unicorns. “It’s real. Have you never been to the zoological gardens?”

  “Wot’s that?”

  “It’s a place where they house animals for people to look at.”

  “Wot? Like dogs ’n’ rats?”

  “No, like lions and tigers and elephants. Animals from all around the world. And a giraffe. A giraffe is so tall that his head would break through the ceiling here.”

  The boy’s eyes grew round. “Yer lyin’.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  The scamp seemed to ponder that for a bit and then he narrowed his eyes. “Ye owe me, ye know.”

  Thorne began twirling the stick, over, under, around his hand. “Do I? Why is that?”

  “I fetched the doctor. If I hadn’t, ye’d be dead. I used the money Gillie gave me for a hansom, like I was supposed to so I’d be quick. I could have just kept it.” The boy seemed to be very deliberate in pronouncing the h when he spoke a word that began with one. He wondered how much Gillie might be responsible for that particular mannerism.

  “What would you have done with it then?”

  “I’m saving it, for something for Gillie.”

  “What precisely?”

  “I ain’t tellin’. But you owe me,” he repeated with a bit more confidence, as though he’d latched onto the idea and favored it now that he’d put it into words.

  “How much?” Thorne asked.

  The imp scrunched up his face, then blurted, “A shilling?”

  “I daresay, I shall hope my life is worth a good deal more than that.”

  “A half crown?”

  Odd to realize what he considered pittance, could be treasure to another. “I should think at least a full crown, surely.”

  The lad’s face split into a wide grin as he held out a hand.

  Reaching into his jacket, Thorne pulled out his purse. “Who is it that I’m paying?”

  “Robin.”

  “What is your full name, Robin?”

  “Robin, like I said. Ain’t no more to it.”

  An orphan then, or another left on a doorstep. He located a crown and placed it on the waiting palm. The boy’s fingers closed around it and he pressed his fist to his chest. “Thanks, guv.”

  “What’s this then?” Gillie asked.

  He hadn’t heard her approach, but he immediately shoved himself to his feet. She was wearing a plain cloak and he assumed her fetching of it had delayed her return to him. “Master Robin and I were negotiating how much I owed him for saving my life.”

  He hadn’t expected her to look so sad or disappointed. Slowly, she shook her head. “Robin, we don’t take money for good deeds.”

  “He’s a toff. He can afford it.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Give it back.”

  The lad unfurled his fingers and looked longingly at the coin.

  “Surely—” Thorne began, but her sharp look cast in his direction abruptly stopped him from attempting to convince her to let the boy keep it.

  “It’s only a crown,” Robin muttered as he slowly set it on the table.

  “Now, don’t you feel better?” Gillie asked.

  He lowered his brows, pushed up his lower lip. “No.”

  “Some day you will. Go ask Hannah to dish you up some pudding.”

  He dashed off.

  “The lad wanted the money to purchase you a gift,” Thorne said quietly, picking up the coin and slipping it back into his pocket.

  “Better he learn to be generous in helping others than learn to take advantage of others’ generosity. Shall we be off?”

  “Indeed. My carriage awaits in the mews.” Leaning on his walking stick, he picked up his hat and offered her his arm.

  “It’ll give the wrong impression,” she whispered before heading for the door.

  He followed. Once they were outside, he said, “That I’m a gentleman?”

  “That there’s something between us.” She glanced over at him. “We should probably wait until tomorrow night. Give your leg time to recover from our earlier outing.”

  “It needs the exercise. Do you go to penny gaffs often?”

  “No, but I hear things. We’ll go to one of the more popular ones. If she’s not there, perhaps someone knows something.”

  Once they were in his carriage, on opposite squabs, she said, “I hope you don’t think I found fault with you paying Robin. I know you meant well—”

  “Is he your son?” He couldn’t believe he’d had the audacity to ask. With his dark hair and dark eyes, the boy resembled her not in the least, and yet there was this possessive streak running through Thorne that made him want to search out every secret she might harbor, to have confirmation she’d never been intimate with another man.

  “Do you think I’m the sort who wouldn’t acknowledge my own child?”

  She left no doubt she had found fault with his question. He rather regretted asking it but there was not a single thread of her life he didn’t want to weave into a tapestry that gave him the whole picture
of her being. “No, no, I don’t. I simply don’t understand your relationship, why you seem to be mothering him and yet not.”

  She glanced out the window. “I’d given a group of lads some tokens. He was one of the boys. After that first bowl of soup, he came back every day whether or not he had a token, and naturally we gave him a bowl of soup either way. We never turn away anyone who is hungry. One morning I went down to open up and he was asleep on the stoop. I took him to a home for orphans that my brothers and I have set up and the next morning, I found him once again asleep on my stoop. The boys with whom he’d been running about taught him how to pick pockets. I taught him how to wash dishes.”

  They were traveling without the indoor lamp being lit, but the lantern on the outside of the coach swayed, causing light and shadows to ebb and flow over her face. Her gaze was back on him. “I tried to convince him to live with my mum, but he wouldn’t have it. We talked about him moving into my apartment, but he prefers sleeping in the kitchen. I don’t know why. Perhaps because when it’s locked up for the night, it’s all his. He’s a good lad.”

  “So I gathered.” He studied her, sitting across from him, taking up hardly any room at all. When he had traveled with Lavinia, her voluminous skirts and petticoats had taken up most of the seat and all of the space between her legs and his. If this woman wore any petticoats at all, it was only one. “It took you so long to return to me that I thought perhaps you were changing your attire.”

  “I’d rather have been doing that. Instead I discovered my head barman and cook in the cellar stores. Roger had told me that he was smitten. I just hadn’t realized it was with Hannah. They sounded as though they were having a jolly good time, and I couldn’t bring myself to disturb them. It was rather awkward when they finally emerged from their tryst.”

  “Getting caught usually is.”

  “So you’ve been caught before?”

  “In my youth when I was bit more . . . randy and a lot more reckless.”

  “Do you have any by-blows?”

  “No. I was never careless in that regard.”

  “I’m glad.”

  So was he. While he’d taken precautions because he hadn’t wanted the responsibility of children born out of wedlock, he couldn’t help but feel now that his actions had raised his esteem in her eyes. Strange how he didn’t want her to find him lacking, but how could she not when he hadn’t been able to hold onto his bride?

  Chapter 11

  She’d ridden in her brother’s coach on several occasions, but it was very different when traveling with a gent to whom she was not related. His legs were a bit longer than Mick’s and he’d spread them slightly so her booted feet rested between his, the way a man’s body might nestle between a woman’s. She might have never experienced that sort of coupling, but she wasn’t so naïve as to not know how procreation worked. Her mum had taught her early about what went on between men and women so she would know if a fellow was striving to get her into a position where she might find herself in danger of getting with child. Ettie Trewlove was of the belief that many girls found themselves in the family way simply because they’d been too ignorant regarding the act that led to the condition.

  “If girls were educated about fornication instead of stitchery, people like me might not be needed,” she’d lamented.

  Not that Gillie ever regretted being taken to the baby farmer’s door. Her life had not turned out so poorly. She’d learned her letters and numbers at the ragged school, attended the full four years that were permitted. It had been with a bit of sadness that she’d celebrated her eleventh year, knowing it would be her last at the school. Her mum had explained the need that they continue learning, so she and her brothers had pooled their earnings until they had a guinea to pay yearly to a lending library. Through the books they’d borrowed, they’d discovered a lot about the world and people. And they’d learned so many marvelous words, even though sometimes they had a time of it finding someone who could tell them what the word meant. But someone at the lending library usually knew. Most of the people with whom she communicated each day didn’t use big, fancy words, but because she at least knew a host of them, she didn’t feel out of her element speaking with Thorne. Even if her enunciation didn’t carry a haughty accent, she could hold her own in a conversation with him. Which had led her to a unique opportunity. Not every woman was given the chance to travel in a coach with a duke. Especially one who smelled so lovely.

  No odor of blood mingled with his tart scent as it wafted around her, teasing her nostrils. With the rocking of the vehicle, the shadows moved over him. Whenever they gave way to light, she would catch a glimpse of him watching her. She’d fetched her cloak because she’d expected the evening to be chilly, but he seemed to generate warmth that made her feel a tad too hot. When they spoke, no matter the words, a sense of intimacy was created within the dark confines, as though they were sharing not only secrets but the inner core of their very existence.

  “I’m surprised a lady of quality would know about a penny gaff,” she said quietly.

  “I very much doubt she knows the specifics. If they’re advertising for entertainments, she might believe it will be like a recital.”

  “You think someone might take advantage of her.”

  “Yes. I want to be on hand to lessen the damage. And, yes, I am very much aware the odds are against us finding her or finding the specific place where she might be performing, but I feel this overwhelming need to do something, not to be completely useless.”

  “I’m beginning to think she might have been a fool to run off.”

  “She never struck me as a fool. She must have had a good reason. But to come here? That baffles me beyond reasoning.”

  “Had she gone someplace you expected, you might have been able to find her more easily.”

  “As I said, not a fool.”

  “So you went to her recital. What other things did you do with her?” She didn’t think his answer would aid in their search, but she was curious about his relationship with the lady, perhaps a tad jealous as well. This woman seemed not to appreciate what she’d possessed.

  “The usual. Balls, dinners, theater, pleasure gardens, parks. We strolled about, we rode, but I am embarrassed to admit I believe I have conversed with you more in the time I have known you than I did with my fiancée during the entire time we were betrothed. We are taught only certain subjects are to be discussed, and they all seem rather superficial now. You are much more skilled at discourse.”

  She laughed lightly. “The people with whom I converse are usually three sheets in the wind which tends to lend itself toward revealing more intimate details about oneself and one’s life. I’m afraid I’m not accustomed to there being barriers regarding what’s appropriate.”

  He flashed a grin just as light chased away shadow, and then the shadow reasserted itself. “I imagine you’ve heard a lot of interesting tales.”

  “I have. Perhaps I’ll tell you about them sometime. But not now, as we’ve arrived.” She’d given his coachman directions, and he’d managed to locate it on the first try, which made her wonder if the man might have visited the place before. The vehicle came to a stop; the driver’s companion opened the door and handed her down. The duke followed. She was rather glad to be in a position to see him gape.

  “A church?” he asked, incredulously.

  “More a chapel, once upon a time. Then it was converted into the Devil’s Door.”

  He had to admit the building lent itself well to a place of entertainment. The pews provided the seating and the spot where the vicar had addressed his congregation, a raised area at the front, now served as the stage. He’d handed over sixpence, three-pence for each of them—the price having gone up since he’d last visited during his youth when he’d paid only a penny—and followed Gillie to a small empty space on a back pew. Only after he’d taken his seat did he realize it provided an intense intimacy, his hip and thigh pressing snuggly up against hers. Their shoulders were fair
ly smashed together, and he had an understanding of how a mummy might have felt—had the corpse had any awareness about him—stuffed into a sarcophagus.

  “Don’t be alarmed, but I’m going to shift my arm up.” Up and over until it rested along the back of the pew, against her shoulders. He was grateful it was his right and not his left. While it was healing, it still ached, and he wasn’t certain he’d have been able to maneuver it to the extent needed to free up a bit of space between them.

  Or that was his theory regarding what he purported would happen. What actually occurred was that his action allowed her to not sit as stiffly, which resulted in her being nestled against his side, the softness of her tempting him to curl his hand around her arm and draw her in even closer. He cursed his jacket, waistcoat, and shirt for providing a barrier between them. Her gaze remained fastened on the stage where a fellow, dressed as a woman—with a bosom so large it was a wonder he could remain upright—was engaged with a clownish fellow wearing a coat at least two sizes too big and whose hair looked like straw sticking out from beneath his black bowler hat. The end of his bulbous nose was painted a red that matched his cheeks, supposedly to imply he was well into his cups. Their words were ribald, their actions even more so as they imitated what could only be described as fucking—the woman figure bent partially over screeching, the clownish one behind her, swinging his hips back and forth while snorting and grunting.

  He’d forgotten how grotesque these performances could be or perhaps he’d been too drunk to remember. Lavinia would not be here. She could not possibly be here.

  Leaning over, catching a whiff of Gillie’s vanilla fragrance that had continually assaulted him in the carriage, he whispered near her ear, “I’ve made a mistake. We can leave.”

  She held up what he supposed passed for a playbill within these wretched walls. “A nightingale is next.”

  “I have no interest whatsoever in listening to birds.”

  She turned her head slightly, and he was struck by the amusement shining in her eyes. The gaslights were dim but their glow provided enough illumination to see her clearly. He’d never seen anyone so serene. She should have been positively appalled that he would bring her to such an establishment. Her lips twitched as though she were fighting not to laugh. “It’ll be a woman, singing. You might want to get a look at her before we leave.”