When a Duke Loves a Woman

by Lorraine Heath

  “You misjudge the damage that chit’s disappearance will cause to your reputation and place in Society. I recommend you allow me to select the girl who will make you a proper duchess.”

  Just what every man wanted: his mother choosing the woman he would bed. With a sigh, he shoved aside his plate and stood. “Seems I wasn’t so hungry after all. If you’ll excuse me—”

  “Do be sure to bathe before joining me for dinner. The wretched smell threatens to make me ill.”

  “I’ll be dining at the club tonight.” Heading for the doorway, he signaled to his butler. “Boggins, I’ll have a word.”

  “Certainly, Your Grace.”

  Once in his office, he walked over to the window and gazed out on the colorful gardens. He’d awoken to sunshine and now dark clouds were moving in. He couldn’t help but believe it was the different way each of the women with whom he’d spoken that morning viewed the world. Gillie, who had been raised with nothing, viewed it with hope while his mother, who had always possessed every advantage, took a more dismal view, one that quite honestly made it a chore to be in her presence.

  “You’re to increase each servant’s yearly salary by ten percent,” he told Boggins, thinking of Gillie’s decision to open her business in Whitechapel because folks needed employment.

  “Beginning when, Your Grace?”

  He heard a myriad of questions in that one query. “Immediately.”

  “The staff will be most pleased, sir, by your generosity.”

  “If they’re having to deal with my mother I believe they’ve earned it.”

  “She can be quite trying.”

  He turned around. His butler blushed, shifted from one foot to the other like a school lad caught doing something he ought not. “I meant no disrespect, sir. The duchess—”

  “Is more than trying. She’s in my world, too, you know.”

  “Perhaps once she has a grandchild, she’ll mellow.”

  “I’d have a child tomorrow if I thought there were any chance of that.”

  Standing with her legs akimbo, her hands on her hips, Gillie surveyed her surroundings. If she didn’t lovingly know every nook and cranny, she wouldn’t have been able to tell a brawl had taken place the night before. Bless her brothers, her staff, and anyone else who had worked hard to put her establishment back to rights in such short order. “Two tables, twelve chairs.”

  “Bugger it,” Roger muttered.

  Looking over her shoulder, she watched as he handed a grinning Finn, leaning against the bar, a fiver. “I told you she’d know exactly what had been broken last night,” her brother fairly crowed. “Give her a few more minutes, and she can probably tell you how many mugs were smashed.”

  “I’m not going to go to that bother,” she retorted, having accepted his earlier challenge to identify how much furniture was missing. “Just see that they’re replaced.”

  “Will do,” Roger said, before disappearing into the kitchen.

  Shifting his stance, Finn knocked his knuckles on the wooden counter twice before meeting and holding her gaze. “Heard you had a fellow staying with you last night. Wouldn’t be that duke, would it?”

  She sat on a stool. Her head was no longer hurting, but staying awake until nearly dawn had left her drained. “I know you have no love for the nobility, but he’s not a bad sort.”

  “Watch your heart, Gillie. They see us as toys, to be played with for a while, tossed into the rubbish bin when we start to bore them or they spy something shinier or cleaner.”

  She lifted a shoulder slightly, not completely able to shake off the sorrow. “I was helping him with something and the situation has changed. He has no reason to come around here any longer.”

  “As though the nobs need a reason to do anything.”

  Chapter 17

  “I think Trewlove is Hedley’s by-blow.”

  In the library at White’s, enjoying a drink following dinner, Thorne looked discreetly to the side in the direction where Collinsworth’s gaze was fastened. On the far side of the room sat the elder duke with his ward’s new husband. “I can’t deny there’s a resemblance.”

  “Why else would Hedley allow Lady Aslyn to marry a bastard?”

  “Perhaps because she loves him.” That fact had been obvious during the wedding. The couple had barely been able to tear their gazes from each other.

  “Still, to then ensure he was granted membership in the club as though we have no standards here was going a bit far.”

  “Trewlove might not have the lineage, but he’s remarkably wealthy and getting wealthier by the day if rumors are to be believed. He could no doubt purchase the place if he wanted.”

  “Still, I find it deuced strange the duke seems to be spending more time with the fellow than he does his own son. I’ve heard he even handed some of his estates over to Trewlove.”

  “No doubt he fears Kipwick would lose them. The man has a terrible gambling habit.” Thorne returned his attention to sipping his whisky, again finding himself wondering why what had once been so pleasing to his palate was now lacking in flavor. “Sometimes I wonder if we are too quick to judge a man by the circumstances of his birth rather than the strength of his character.”

  “That sort of talk would give your mother and mine the vapors.”

  “Indeed.” He studied the amber liquid in his glass, wondering why Society found such fault in those born of sin, when they’d had no say in the actions that had led to their conception. If not for some man and woman coming together when they shouldn’t have, Gillie would not exist, and without her, he might have died. It made the subject of bastardy rather personal of late.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a movement and suddenly the Earls of Eames and Dearwood were standing in front of him. Apparently not everyone had left for the country, but then these were young men and the city no doubt offered far more excitement than their estates. “My lords.”

  Eames gave a curt nod. “Your Grace.” Then a nod to the man sitting beside him. “Collinsworth.”

  “Eames,” Collinsworth said. “Dearwood.”

  Eames’s gaze came back to Thorne. “We were sorry your wedding did not go as planned. Unfortunate that your bride took ill. I hope your sister has recovered, Collinsworth.”

  “She has,” Thorne said, before Collinsworth, who was shifting uncomfortably in his chair, could respond.

  “Glad to hear it,” Dearwood said. “The wedding will go on then?”

  He couldn’t quite bring himself to admit the truth of it. “We’re still working out the particulars.”

  “We shall look forward to attending once again when the time comes,” Eames said. He bowed slightly. “Do give our best to Lady Lavinia. Your Grace, my lord.”

  They strode away, an arrogance in their strut that made him want to trip them.

  “Impertinent young swells,” Collinsworth muttered. “Did you catch the mocking in their tone?”

  He had, but rather than responding, he simply sipped his whisky.

  “Why did you not tell them the wedding was off?”

  “Because it would start a chain of rumors that would change with each telling until eventually it would be reported I’d murdered her or some other silly nonsense. It would be better to announce it in the Times so one version is read by all. I’ll see to the matter on the morrow.”

  “Good God, Thorne, I’m sorry for this muck up.”

  Oddly, he wasn’t. Certainly, it would be troublesome to sort everything out and he regretted he’d be unable to carry through on his promise to his father, but he had a greater sense of loss regarding the fact he no longer had an excuse to see Gillie. “I don’t suppose you’d sell me the land.”

  “Unfortunately, one of my more cunning ancestors placed it in a trust detailing that it can be used only as a dowry for a daugh—good God, Hedley and Trewlove are heading in this direction.”

  Thorne shoved himself to his feet as the two men approached. Collinsworth followed suit. Seeing the two at su
ch close range, he couldn’t help but believe the earl had the right of it. Trewlove was Hedley’s son.

  “Thorne,” Hedley said. “I believe you met Mick Trewlove when he married Lady Aslyn.”

  “Indeed.” He held out his hand. Trewlove took it, but it was less a shake and more a squeeze. Thorne returned the favor, asserting himself, communicating he was not one to be intimidated. When they finally released their hold on each other, he introduced the earl, but it was obvious Trewlove’s sole interest resided with him.

  “I believe you may have made use of my carriage recently,” Trewlove said, his blue gaze direct as it held Thorne’s.

  “Indeed. I was most appreciative of it and your sister’s tender care.”

  Although Trewlove reacted not at all, Thorne wasn’t convinced his jaw wasn’t on the verge of making an acquaintance with the man’s fist. “She is a remarkable woman, your sister.”

  “She is not as tough as she appears.”

  “I’m well aware.” Based on the muscle flexing in Trewlove’s cheek, he was rather certain that his jaw was in danger. “I would not take advantage.”

  “I should hope not. It would not go well for you.”

  “So your sister informed me.”

  Trewlove grinned. “She does tend to speak her mind. I’m glad to see you’re on the mend.”

  “Thank you.”

  With a brisk nod, Trewlove walked off, Hedley at his side.

  “What was all that about?” Collinsworth asked.

  A warning to stay clear of Gillie. Pity Mick Trewlove didn’t realize his sister was worth the risk of encountering the man’s fist. Ignoring his friend’s question, he said, “You love your wife.”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “How did you know what you felt for her was love?”

  The man looked completely baffled. “I just knew. Not falling in love with your mistress, are you? That’d be deuced inconvenient.”

  “Presently I don’t have a mistress, haven’t had one since Lavinia and I became betrothed.” Which might explain this need he had regarding Gillie. He couldn’t deny that he wanted to bed her—desperately. Yet there was more to his desire than just experiencing the physical, than just lust. “If you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere else I need to be.”

  It was uncanny, the way she became aware of him when he strode through the door. She watched as he made his way to an empty table in the back where there were more shadows. She allowed the dimness there because she was well aware some of her customers preferred a bit of anonymity. Some were lawbreakers, she had no doubt of that, but their transgressions were petty. Sometimes men and women needed someplace to meet that offered some semblance of privacy.

  “Ah, the handsome devil is back,” Polly said, her smile far too wide, her eyes too bright. “I’m looking forward to—”

  “I’ll see to him, Polly,” she stated, already pouring the whisky she was certain he’d want, then deciding to pour one for herself as well.

  Polly’s face fell. “I can see to it.”

  “Some blokes over there are in need of more drink.”

  “They’re bricklayers, still coated in dust.”

  “They’re honest laborers. And they pay as they drink.”

  “I reckon Handsome would, too.”

  “His drink is on the house.”

  “Got your eye on him, Gillie?”

  Ignoring the question, she moved out from behind the bar, wondering why it was that her step had a lightness to it or why it warmed her to the core that his gaze never wandered from her, not even when another one of her serving girls was standing by his table with her hip jutting out provocatively and a good deal of her bosom exposed. She let her girls wear what they wanted because gents tended to slip them extra coins if they enjoyed being served by them—and a bit of flesh always made them enjoy the service more.

  Her heart gave a little lurch when he stood as she approached. The gents who frequented this place didn’t get to their feet when she neared, as it wasn’t a courtesy they bestowed on workers. It astounded her how much it pleased her that he’d extended such politeness toward her. “I have his drink, Lily.”

  She didn’t miss the disappointed look the girl cast her way, had a feeling Lily would have given Thorne her name, directions to her lodgings, and a peek beneath her skirts. She set the tumbler before him. His eyes glistened with humor.

  “Are both for me?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Good.” Reaching around he pulled out a chair for her, another polite gesture she wasn’t accustomed to receiving. It wasn’t a good thing to have him spoiling her like this, treating her as though she were special. She might take it into her head that she was. Still, with a measure of grace, she accepted the courtesy.

  When they were settled, he lifted his glass. “To a night without incident.”

  They both sipped. He closed his eyes, licked his lips. “Why is your whisky so good?”

  “It’s excellent quality.”

  “I drink excellent quality elsewhere. No, it has something to do with yours specifically, your presence. You simply make it taste better.”

  “You’re mad.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Shouldn’t you be at your club?”

  “I was at my club. I was bored. Your brother was there, by the way.”

  “Mick?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “He always wanted a membership. I suspect he spends a great deal of time there.”

  “The gent I was with hypothesized that the Duke of Hedley is his father.”

  She kept her face impassive.

  He grinned. “I wouldn’t want to play cards with you.”

  “You’d lose if you did.”

  “Would I? That may be a challenge I’ll have to accept.”

  She wished she’d offered another challenge, had dared him to kiss her again, to take her hand and lead her away from here into darker shadows, press his mouth to hers and rekindle the fires he’d begun the first time. They hadn’t extinguished completely, but remained glowing embers that could again flare up into a consuming conflagration with very little effort.

  “How is your head?” he asked.

  “A bit sore if I touch it. I strive not to touch it. And how are you faring? After the missive you received yesterday . . . it had to have been a devastating blow and last night I didn’t even think to ask how you were holding up.” Perhaps because quite selfishly, her first thought had been, “He can’t possibly marry her now.” As though his being free of her somehow made these unwanted feelings for him swirling around inside her not quite so improper. Not that there could ever be anything proper between her and a duke, but if something improper were to happen it wouldn’t be quite so improper.

  “Last night our focus was on more important things, and rightfully so.”

  “Ensuring I didn’t sleep. You’re avoiding the question.”

  “To be quite honest, I’m a bit relieved as her reasons for not walking down the aisle were not because of any fault she found with me—other than she could not find it within herself to love me more than she did this other fellow.”

  “But then you did not love her.”

  He nodded slowly. “That is true. Land, not love, bound us, and she found it a poor substitute, I suppose, when it came right down to it.”

  “Do you have any idea who this other bloke is?”

  “No. Her letter was short and to the point, although her brother did confess that in her youth she had been friendly with a commoner.”

  A commoner who quite possibly lived or worked in Whitechapel. That was an interesting tidbit she would store away.

  “While I intend to place an announcement in the Times, I don’t know that she’ll have access to the newspaper, and I need to get word to her that things between us are over. That she can return home without fear of being forced to wed me. I’ve informed her brother to those facts and I need to alert her. But I haven’t a clue how to go about it. Her missive came without a hint
as to where she might be residing.”

  She wished it didn’t please her so much to know he was definitely not going through with the marriage. “You could have handbills printed up, alerting her regarding her change of status. Hire Robin and his mates to see them distributed. It’s one of the things he does from time to time to earn a bit of coin. He rather enjoys the task.”

  “Then I shall see it done.”

  “He’ll be pleased. He likes to feel useful.” As much as Finn abhorred the aristocracy, she was beginning to think they weren’t so awful after all. “I should probably get back behind the bar.”

  “So soon? It appears your staff has everything well in hand.”

  “They’re good workers.” But then she paid wages higher than most and that encouraged them to be.

  “So good in fact I daresay they could manage for another day without you. I seem to recall when I was hovering near death—”

  “You’re exaggerating how badly you were hurt.”

  The rascal grinned. “I seem to recall you warning me that I was on the brink of expiring. Besides, it felt like it at the time. Anyway, I believe I promised to take you riding and give you a greater appreciation of horseflesh.”

  “I’m not going to shirk my responsibilities for a day of riding.”

  “You shirked them when you were caring for me.”

  “That was different. You were in need.”

  “I’m in need now.”

  The way his eyes delved into hers made her feel as though he’d somehow managed to wrap a rope around her chest and was pulling her toward him. She thought he was flirting with her, and she knew naught about flirtation or teasing or how to go about letting a bloke know she would be receptive to a kiss, maybe even a touch of her breast, a squeeze. A strange sensation was occurring between her thighs and she had a strong urge to press up against something firm. “In need of more whisky?” she asked stupidly when some still remained in his glass, when she knew he was referring to other needs, darker needs, naughty needs.

  “I need to spend more time with you. My estate is four hours away by coach. I have horses there. One is extremely gentle.”