No Dukes Need Apply (The Impossible Balfours Book 4)

by Gemma Blackwood

  As he let go of Mr Forrester’s hand, his eyes found Selina.

  It only lasted a moment, but it happened. The duke vanished, leaving an exhausted man in his place. The ashes of doused fire darkened his eyes. She felt the chill of the rain dripping from him as though it were running down her own neck.

  There was no way to embrace a man with only a gaze across a crowded room. Selina tried, all the same. Her heart was burning and frozen, pounding and still, overflowing and empty at the same time.

  Malcolm straightened his shoulders and turned back to the Returning Officer as a cacophony of protests and cheers erupted around him. “Sir, you must see that Sir Roderick does not have the votes.”

  “That appears to be the case,” said the officer. Triumph flared in Malcolm’s eyes, and he seized Mr Forrester by the shoulder. “That is, if your claims are true.”

  “If?” Malcolm all but choked on the word. “If? Are you accusing a peer of the realm of lying?”

  “With all due respect, Your Grace, you have but moments ago confessed to buying an election. I am afraid it is not in my power to dismiss voters from the register without a proper investigation.”

  “He can’t,” Selina whispered. Her fingers dug into Anthea’s arm, jolting her busy pencil so that it left a long dark streak across her notepaper. “He can’t let it stand. Not now.”

  Anthea looked at her sister, winced, and slipped her notes back into her reticule. She took Selina’s hand and tucked it into her arm. “Whatever happens next,” she said quietly, “you can be sure of one thing –”

  “What is in my power is to declare the election void,” announced the Returning Officer. “Under these circumstances, it would not be proper to accept any votes at all. An investigation must take place to ensure all the registered voters are eligible. The Twynham seat remains vacant.”

  The room was so silent that Selina could hear her own heart beating. The Returning Officer blinked, astonished to find himself the centre of such rapt attention, and pushed his spectacles up his nose. “That is my final decision,” he said, in more muted tones.

  The uproar that broke out was a thousand times louder than the racket which Anthea had taken for a riot. One half of the room was cheering, another half shouting at the tops of their lungs. The two men who had been restrained from fisticuffs finally broke free and descended on each other in a frenzy.

  Malcolm’s loud “Ha!” of triumph sounded above it all. He flung his arm about Mr Forrester’s shoulders and said something that Selina could not hear. Mr Forrester, as flushed as though he had already won, was fielding a crowd of well-wishers who swarmed up to shake his hand and slap him on the back.

  Sir Roderick was bellowing at the Returning Officer, red-faced, but the constable who had been watching the drama unfold from a prudent distance recovered his sense of duty enough to put a stop to that. Sir Roderick was last seen being firmly escorted out the back of the Town Hall, casting one despairing glance back at Malcolm as he went.

  Selina stayed where she was, letting the tide of impassioned men flow around her, as Malcolm and Mr Forrester descended the dais with their arms about each other’s shoulders. They made their way slowly back towards her and the other ladies, hampered by well-wishers and protestors alike.

  Just before he reached her, a shiver passed through Malcolm’s body. It was hardly perceptible. Only someone unable to tear her eyes from him would have seen it.

  Mr Forrester must have felt it, however, and his grip around Malcolm’s shoulders shifted. The duke leaned against him. Again, not enough for someone to notice. Just enough to give a dog-tired man the strength to move.

  Now that he was standing before her, Selina could see the blue shadows under his eyes and the ragged heave of breath in his chest. Rain had battered him so completely that his clothes were sodden and ruined. The gold of his hair was soaked to a dripping brown. He was smiling, yes, but it was a weary smile, and one that did not reach his eyes. Especially when he looked at her.

  And how he looked. It was a wonder that the air between them did not burst into flame.

  “Forgive me for appearing before you in this state, ladies,” he said, shrugging away Mr Forrester and making an attempt at his usual easy stance. “Some fool drove my carriage into a ditch a few weeks ago, and as it turned out, it was not fit for the road any longer.” He bowed to Mrs Forrester and Anthea, and then his eyes darted back to Selina. The heat fading now, uncertainty in its wake. “At least, not at the speeds I drove it.”

  It sounded like a boast, but it fell flat. The echo of his customary pride had no substance behind it. Malcolm’s voice was as hollow as his eyes.

  “Your Grace, please take my coat,” said Mr Forrester, shrugging it off. “You must be frozen stiff.”

  That brought Selina back to herself again. Here was a crisis, after all. A man shivering himself to death after running through a winter downpour. And what did she do, if not solve the crises facing the people she loved?

  She turned to her maid. She should have done it sooner. The sight of Malcolm had rendered her stupid. “Run back to the inn,” she said, her voice crisp and calm. “Tell the innkeeper to have a room prepared at once for the Duke of Caversham. If he has none immediately available, he must use one of those set aside for our party. A hot bath must be drawn up straight away, and a set of clean clothes laid out. The duke has arrived with no attendants, so will require a man from the inn’s own staff.”

  Malcolm had returned his weight to Mr Forrester’s arm, but he was watching Selina still. The smile on his face was very like the one he had worn so many nights ago, at the ambassador’s ball.

  It was pride. And at last, she saw it was a different kind of pride than she had always thought. He was proud of her, and judging by the gentle shake of his head as she met his eyes again, he knew he had no right to be. Selina’s lips parted, knowing the shape of what she had to say, but with no idea of the words to express it.

  “I’ve brought my valet,” said Lord Louis, shattering the moment with his usual bull-headed enthusiasm. “He’ll look after you nicely, Caversham.” He clapped Malcolm on the back, withdrawing his hand quickly as cold water soaked through his delicate glove. “I must say, I cannot tell you how much I – how surprised – how pleased –” Louis pulled out an embroidered handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes, overcome with emotion. “I should have had faith in you!” he cried. “I should have known you’d do the right thing in the end! You’re a fine man, Caversham. A fine, fine man.”

  Malcolm’s jaw clenched tight. Selina started forwards, afraid he was in pain, but the suppressed laughter that shook his shoulders revealed quite the opposite was the case.

  “I, ah, am glad I have proved myself worthy of your friendship, old boy,” he said, coughing once or twice to disguise his mirth.

  “Oh, Caversham, Caversham!” Louis blew his nose noisily. Malcolm caught Selina’s eye, and she could bear it no more.

  “In fact, I will come with you,” she said to her maid, who was poised to leave. “I must see that everything is done properly. Come along, quickly now!”

  Anthea said something as she hurried back out into the rain, but she did not dare stop to hear it. Nor did she dare look back at Malcolm.

  The world which had been so grey as she made her way across the square only a few minutes earlier had entirely transformed. The still-falling rain sparkled from the cobblestones with unbearable brightness. Its steady patter filled her mind with music. She was sure that if she looked up at the sky, it would be bright with rainbows from horizon to horizon.

  But she did not dare look up. Not now. Not yet.

  A celebratory meal was called for – by Lord Louis, chiefly, but with the firm agreement of everybody else. Mr Forrester’s supporters had mysteriously swelled in number after the afternoon’s revelation, and the inn’s kitchens were busily preparing a feast to feed them all. In the meantime, there was brandy, claret, sherry in every glass, and a cheerful buzz of laughter rising to the rafters
of the private dining room.

  Selina sat in a corner, understanding at last how Isobel must feel at every ball. The gathering was by every measure a success, and yet the joy in the room oppressed her. She felt stifled each time a friend asked after her health. Her mind was somewhere in the rooms above her head, in a room which she hoped was warm and full of hot bathtub steam. She’d had a tray prepared to send up to Malcolm. He was not expected to join the party.

  “Ten miles, he ran!” Lord Louis’s deep voice boomed above the rest. “Ten miles, in calfskin boots and driving rain! But that is Caversham’s true nature, gentlemen. Once he has his mind set on something, nothing will stand in his way.” He raised his glass, tipped it back and drained it. “What a day!”

  Selina closed her eyes and ran her fingers lightly over the silver pins in her hair. Every one in place. All as it should be.

  Apparently, the wanton desire to run upstairs and interrupt a duke in his bathtub was not outwardly visible.

  “Are you unwell?” Anthea’s soft voice woke her from what would have become a dangerous daydream. Selina forced a smile.

  “I am a little tired, I suppose. It has all been so…” She realised that Anthea’s grin was far too knowing. “The whole election has been much more than I expected.”

  “Yes. I can see that.” Anthea tapped her finger against her own small glass of sherry. “How would it be if there were a matter which required your urgent attention?”

  Selina’s heart sank. She was very nearly at the limit of her forbearance as it was. “How urgent?”

  Anthea’s eyes flicked up towards the ceiling, just for a second. “I suppose it might keep, if it had to, but in your shoes, I would not want to leave it long.” She leaned closer. “Lord Louis’s valet is a very diligent man. I saw him leave a moment ago with the duke’s ruined clothes in a basket. He is going to find a tailor to rustle up something more appropriate for His Grace than an innkeeper’s Sunday wear.”

  “Anthea…”

  “The innkeeper is quite a large man,” she continued mercilessly. “I do hope he provided the duke with a belt to keep his trousers up. If I were His Grace, of course, I wouldn’t bother putting on such ill-fitting clothes. I would be tempted to lounge around completely deshabillé.”

  “Anthea!” Selina’s hands clenched in her skirts, knuckles turning white. “I can only imagine you think I will find this type of talk instructive. I assure you, the lesson is not needed.”

  “Not instructive, exactly. Tempting, perhaps?” Anthea dropped her teasing grin. “Selina, the duke is upstairs. Alone. I will make excuses for you if I need to.”

  Selina did not move. A line of concern formed between Anthea’s brows. She took the seat beside Selina and laid her hand on the fist Selina had made of her own. “I am sorry for teasing. It’s only that you may not have another chance to talk to him. Not in the way I suspect you want to.”

  “I shouldn’t.” Selina swallowed, avoiding Anthea’s eyes. “I can’t abandon our guests.”

  “I am a woman grown and married, in case you had not noticed, and I am perfectly capable of hosting a dinner. I outrank you, in any case. I’m the foremost lady in the room – for now.” Anthea hesitated a moment, her hand warm on Selina’s. “Nobody will notice your absence. I will see to it.” Her voice dropped to a low murmur. “What I was going to say to you in the Hall – you will always know that he…”

  “I know it already.” Selina relaxed her hand and unfurled her fingers. “I knew it before.”

  Anthea held her eyes for a moment, then got to her feet and turned to intercept an approaching voter with a dazzling smile. “Mr Howard! Yes, a shocking turn of events indeed! I could not agree more – it will all make an excellent column.”

  Selina smoothed out her skirts and reminded herself to breathe.

  Anthea’s encouragement was kind, but unnecessary. There weren’t many lines of proper behaviour left for Selina to cross with Malcolm, after all. And as for the few that did remain, well…

  By the time Anthea glanced back over her shoulder, the quiet corner was empty.

  19

  “Come in.”

  The door swung open under Selina’s hesitant touch, balanced more delicately than its iron-barred oak suggested, and revealed Malcolm standing naked to the waist, a pair of ill-fitting trousers belted on below, and a ruminative expression on his face as he ran a hand over his already-rough jawline in the mirror. He held a towel in one hand, and his hair was rumpled as though he’d just finished rubbing it dry. His back was to her, nothing between her and the taut lines of muscle but air. A line of dampness the towel had missed glistened from one shoulder to the nape of his neck, caught in a light sprinkling of hair darker and coarser than the golden tousle on his head.

  Malcolm caught her frozen stare in the mirror and his eyebrows rose in cool surprise. “Ah. Thought you were the valet.”

  He tossed the towel onto a chair but made no move to dress. He turned to face her, hands resting easily on his hips as though it were perfectly natural to be half-unclothed in front of a lady. “If you’re coming in, you had better do it quickly and shut the door behind you.”

  She did, and turned the key in the lock, too, before she had a chance to think about it. Malcolm’s eyebrows rose again. She was half-expecting an impudent remark, but he said nothing.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, blurting it out thirty seconds too late and much too fast. “I should not have disturbed you. I…”

  “I’m glad you did.” He lowered his eyes momentarily, a world of troubled thoughts passing across his brow. “I won’t be joining the celebrations. Whatever it is exactly that they’re celebrating. I haven’t the heart for it.”

  “You lost an old friend today.” She wondered whether she might soothe that furrowed brow if she could only navigate the endless stretch of space between the door, where she stood with one hand still on the key, and Malcolm.

  He nodded, slowly, as though it had only just occurred to him. “Yes. But I think I truly lost Roddy when I first heard him bribing the voters. And I should have been rid of him long before then.” He rolled his shoulders, easing out the long-held tension. “It’s not the only thing I didn’t realise until it was too late. Well, almost too late. A void election’s better than a rotten one.”

  “Ten miles.” Selina stopped to moisten her lips. “Lord Louis said you ran ten miles to reach Twynham in time.”

  “Ha! It was five. Though it’ll be fifty before the night’s through, knowing him.”

  “Through the rain.”

  He shrugged. “It didn’t bother me as much as it would have done letting the election go ahead.”

  “That was noble of you, Malcolm.”

  “Ha.” His mouth twisted ruefully. “You’re wrong, and Louis’s wrong. I didn’t do it because I’m noble. I’m no more a good man than I was before.” His eyes scorched her. “I did it because I’m in love with you.”

  Selina took her hand off the key. Malcolm’s eyes followed her every movement as though she were a ship and he was adrift in the ocean. His jaw was tight; the edge of bitterness in his voice was carefully controlled. “There’s no obligation on your part. I don’t expect you to reciprocate. It’s just that I didn’t want to win if it meant that you would lose.”

  Her heart ached for him. “You have no idea,” she said softly. “No idea of the man you are.”

  He shrugged, feigning carelessness, and doing it badly. “I have… hopes. Of who I might become.”

  “You are already wonderful.”

  “Kind words, for the man who lied to you.”

  “Stop.” Selina couldn’t bear the regret on his face. She took a step across the room, and found the space between them shrinking again, becoming manageable, traversable – dwindling to inches, and then smaller still.

  She took his face in her hands and brought it down until by rising on tiptoe she could press her lips to his forehead. “Stop. You are enough. Do you understand me? You are…”
<
br />   His bare arms brushed against the inch of skin between her gloves and her sleeves. He brought his hands up to her shoulders. Luxuriating in the feel of him, she sank down from her toes. Slowly. Her eyes catching in his as she went. She was suddenly aware of the scent of him, half-hidden beneath the aromas of bergamot soap and fresh cotton. He was so warm, every part of him – his hands and his scent and his shining eyes.

  “You are everything I want,” she whispered. “I should have told you before. I knew what you were offering me, even when you didn’t quite say it. But I…”

  “I said it badly,” he said. “I made a hash of it all. I couldn’t bring myself to admit what I needed from you – how desperately I need it, Selina.”

  His lips were so close to hers that she could feel their heat as he spoke. His hands moved to encircle her, pressing her to his bare chest.

  “I was afraid,” she admitted.

  “Are you afraid now?”

  All her long-ago-bolted doors remembered how to open. All the things she had locked away emerged into the sunlight. She shook her head. “I’d forgotten how to hope for this.”

  His voice was husky. “I don’t think I ever knew how.”

  He kissed her so tenderly that Selina felt every closed-up part of herself unfurl like leaves in the spring. Each time they broke apart she heard herself sighing his name, and she wondered at how natural it felt.

  Soon Malcolm’s fingers were tangled in her hair, the hairpins pushed hopelessly out of place. He drew one out, twirled it in his fingers a couple of times, and brushed the errant lock of hair carefully back from her face. “I could have fallen to one knee in the Town Hall,” he said. “But I thought you might not appreciate me making a show of it all.” He paused, grimacing. “Besides, I’ve asked you often enough to know what the answer will likely be. It’s one thing to have a proposal rejected privately and quite another to endure the snubbing in public.”

  Selina winced, the memory of his face when he last left Twynham coming back all too clearly. “Malcolm, I…”