Between the Duke and the Deep Blue Sea (14 page)

He also found it vastly confounding that she alternated between taking seduction into her own hands and allowing him to take the lead. It was reducing him to infantile-like behavior whenever Sussex or Barry’s name came into play. It was absurd. He had thought the two gentlemen decent enough sorts when they had caroused London’s dens together. Nothing had changed since then. He would just have to regain control of his thoughts and immediately stop acting like a fool.

He stalked to the place Roxanne had retrieved the gelding and ridden off. She was out of sight now. Alex went after his own horse, who was munching on a patch of withered grass nearby. Bacchus turned his magnificent head and gave him a baleful stare as Alex threw his leg over the stallion’s back. His horse looked like he wanted to nip him for being forced away from his shady respite.

Blast it all. He could not stop thinking about Roxanne. So much for his new resolve. And now he was reduced to lying to her. He had never had to do such a thing. He had absolutely no idea who he was going to ask to marry. The lead mare was Isabelle, of course. Beautiful, amusing, intelligent Isabelle—a very rich duchess in her own right.

There were only two problems. First, of course, Isabelle was convinced she was in love with bloody Candover, and second, she was not the sort who would allow him the freedom he required. Isabelle was a true lady who would have to be pampered, and squired about by a husband like the long-suffering sods he saw at events in Town. Yes, if he married the pretty duchess, he feared he would feel guilty, God rest his soul, at the idea of pursuing any of his former solitary late-night pleasures: clubs, gaming, and flying to a ladybird’s nest on occasion.

It would be a marriage in a lovely, hellish prison. The alternative was to choose . . . Hell and damn, there were no alternatives . . .

Two hours later in his own study at the Mount, a host of alternatives were placed before him by the very man Alex wished least to see.

“It’s been well over a week. Surely you’ve narrowed the possibilities.” Candover studied the latest express from the Prince Regent. “His Majesty is insisting upon a name. He’s gone so far as to promise an important announcement to the public in less than a fortnight. He is being heckled at every entertainment he attends, and has been reduced to staying in his gold-dipped apartments most every day given the unruly crowds.”

“He’s one to make promises. Has he given up Lady Jersey and Mrs. Fitzherbert? Has he invited Princess Caroline to return to her rightful, wifely place by his side at Carleton House?”

Candover stared at him and replied not.

“Of course he hasn’t,” Kress retorted for the both of them, while wearing a path on the new Aubusson rug, paid for with the Prince Regent’s money. Candover had had the audacity to install himself at Kress’s own desk this morning. “And what of Barry and Sussex? Are they not required to give names?”

Candover returned his attention to Prinny’s missive and studied it without meeting Alex’s eye. “No, they are not. Although that has not stopped Sussex from making his choice.”

Alex’s blood ran cold in his veins, and a sudden pain bloomed in his chest.

Candover pursed his lips. “It seems you can’t take the romantic fool out of a man after all. I tried to tell him—”

“Tried to tell him what?” Alex interrupted in a rush when his mouth finally began to work properly.

“I will tell you,” Candover said acidly, “if you will exhibit a bit more patience.”

A few seconds drifted by and the tension mounted.

“Look, Kress, this will go easier if you just tell me the truth of it. Is Tatiana Harriet Barclay your cousin or is she not? Honestly, I couldn’t give a whit who she is, but His Majesty will not condone a marriage if she is not a true lady. Perhaps he will allow Sussex to have her if she is a penniless third-tier aristo as long as he is the last to trot down the aisle, after all of the rest of us have made spectacular matches. You, however, must go first. And it must be a marriage without a breath of scandal, the most proper of unions. So is it to be Lady Christine, then?”

A feminine, authoritative voice with an old French accent answered before Alex could. “
Mais biensûr,
it is Christine.” Mémé swept into the room, along with Alex’s intrepid valet, Jack, who delighted in accompanying Mémé whenever he had a free moment.

Alex pointedly looked at the open door and Jack retreated for a moment to close it.

“Well?” Candover asked impatiently.

Alex stared down Candover and Jack. To Mémé he spoke.
“Si tu veut guarder les émerauds du famille, ne dites pas un mot de plus.”

Candover shook his head. “Madame, don’t let him intimidate you. I shall give you a lovely set of emeralds from my coffers, should he dare to withhold his newly acquired family jewels. Please speak freely.”

“I cannot be bought, young man,” Mémé lied and then turned to Alex. “And since when have I given you liberty
de me tutoyer, cheri
?”

Alex was going to strangle all of them before this was through. He felt just the smallest tinge of embarrassment for having addressed his great-aunt in an informal fashion instead of formal address, which showed deference to the one person he respected under all his jaded layers.

“I’ll add a ruby necklace, madam, if you can marry him off in the next fortnight,” Candover had the audacity to suggest.

Mémé showed the hint of a smile and Alex felt the icy hand of ill ease slide down his neck, rather like a noose. He turned to Jack. “Have we not any news concerning Roman Montagu?”

“I have three Bow Street runners searching for the Duke of Norwich.” Alex’s valet held out both hands in a gesture that silently implied there was little hope. “They have followed every lead. One report suggested Norwich was last seen in Hyde Park at three o’clock in the morning, another insists he was seen at the dueling ground on Primrose Hill at four o’clock, and the last states the duke was at the docks at quarter to five.”

Candover shook his head. “And what has Norwich to do with your impending wedding?” Fury was building on the premier duke’s face. He opened his mouth to speak again but Alex cut him off.

“You might not care what happened to Norwich, but I do. He is a friend, something you are not. He happens to be the one person who can help me recover my fortune. He might have won it from me, but I shall win it back. All of England knows I have not a ha’penny to my name unless this is sorted out. And by the by, I certainly don’t need you to serve as my governess. I shall do what is necessary on my own timetable.” Alex came about the edge of the gilt-framed furniture. “And I will thank you to vacate my desk.
Now,
if you will.”

Candover slowly rose from the chair. “Your desk? Take care, Kress. With the amount of coin the prince has spent on you and the Mount, there is a question as to who owns what here.”

“Et bien alors,”
Mémé said, making everyone turn to her. She was standing like a noble Greek statue, straight and tall, her black hair swept back tightly. “I do not want your emeralds, Candover, after all. Or your ruby necklace. I find your manner insupportable. And I will not stand for my family losing anything ever again. Alexandre, tell him to go away.”

Alex’s heart felt tight in his chest until he suppressed the sensation. “I shall do one better. Jack, you are to go to London and you are not to return until you learn the whereabouts of Roman Montagu, a duke of worth in England. And Candover? I will thank you to stay out of my affairs, and out of my library, for as long as you are a guest here, which will not be much longer. I give you leave to go and remind His Majesty that while I might have provided the means for your botched bachelor evening, I shall only play the whipping boy for as long as it suits.”

He felt a thin wrinkled hand slide into his own, and he gripped it as hard as he dared.

And for the first time in many years Alex allowed his heart to swell with deep emotion, something he avoided at all cost in the past. And yet, here, now, it did not feel so terribly dangerous for his soul.

Chapter 10

A
green stillness always seemed to invade a room before an afternoon storm. And the remains of the day after his confrontation with Candover was no exception. Even the crickets were silent on the Mount.

Alex was certain he heard the first rumble of thunder while he sat at his desk surrounded by architectural renderings of the castle. He examined his pocket watch and realized he had been in the study for nearly four hours.

Entranced by all the possibilities for improvement.

Why, the southern side was crying out for an orangery to brighten the dreary winter months. And the dairy would need to be revitalized if the Mount was to be more self-sufficient. And the dining hall was too drafty. It should be—

A knock sounded at the door, and he finally took notice that there were a great deal of voices on the other side, not thunder.

“Come,” he called.

A jumble of personages fell through the door, opened by his Cossack footman, who had effectively blocked the entrance. Maybe his great-aunt did know a thing or three about servants.

He did not need to know the family name of the first lady who entered. She was a new variation on an old theme—the unoriginal Candover theme. She curtsied, a blush overspreading her dark prominent features. “Your Grace,” she said as Candover pushed forward from behind her.

“My middle sister, Lady Verity Fitzroy,” Candover announced stiffly. “Verity, the Duke of Kress.”

Alex rose and bowed to the young woman with the dark brown eyes and dark brown hair. “Delighted you could join us.”

Isabelle crowded in between Verity and Candover while Roxanne walked past them to stand by the window in the alcove.

Verity appeared embarrassed as she stole a glance at her stern brother. “Stop glowering, James. I fully understand I’m not supposed to be here. I told you I’m for Derbyshire first thing on the morrow. I just need to speak to . . .” It was obvious the lady needed supporting as Candover’s face became darker than a thundercloud.

Alex hastened to fill the awkwardness. “You are more than welcome here, mademoiselle. How may I be of service to you?”

“It’s not your affair, Kress,” Candover insisted. “My sister is supposed to be at Candover Hall, not cavorting about the countryside, all alone, unattended by—”

“I am most certainly not all alone. I’ve brought the archbishop.” Candover’s sister interrupted and then turned and answered Alex. “I should like to be granted a private word with the Duke of Sussex”—her voice rose to be heard above Candover’s annoyed sounds—“and my brother will not allow it.”

Alex cleared his throat. “Perhaps I could play the role of intermediary, if it would help.”

Candover clenched his hands. “I shall see to my own sister, thank you.”

A lovely warm laugh echoed from the doorway. The most ravishing woman Alex had ever seen stood on the threshold. She had bountiful locks of beautiful russet hair piled high in a fashion that made a man want to run his hands through it. And her mouth was sin itself. Pouty, and lush, it was made for kissing. Her catlike green eyes slanted slyly. “I rather think it’s the other way around, James Fitzroy. Your dear sisters see to you.”

“Mary,” Candover breathed. “My God, how came you to be here?” The duke was so blinded by her beauty that for the first time in Alex’s memory Candover forgot the formalities of an introduction.

The lady sauntered forward, her slim hips elegantly swaying in a sheer pale green silk gown. “
Enchanté
, Your Grace,” she offered her hand to Alex.

Alex’s chair, behind him, crashed to the ground as he came around the side of his desk. He took her gloved hand in his and bowed over it. “Your servant, Lady Mary . . . ?”

“Haverty.” Her voice was as sultry as her form.

Candover regained his wits first. “I thought you were a McGregor now.”

She sighed, and a lovely sadness invaded her eyes for the merest second. “I thought I would be, too. But Laird MacGregor succumbed to a sudden lung fever the day before I arrived for our wedding in the highlands.”

“My deepest condolences,” Alex said.

“Thank you. While I did not know him—it was an arranged marriage, you see—I admired his family very much, for he was a maternal cousin.” She glanced toward Candover. “James, I took the liberty of stopping at Candover Hall on my return journey to London. Your sister invited me to stay. But I must say, James, I am unimpressed with your behavior toward Verity. Why, it is positively medieval. A true gentleman doesn’t lock away his sister.”

“I did not lock her away. She is there to ponder her . . . her predicament.”

All eyes turned to Verity Fitzroy. “I am pondering. And I shall continue to ponder in Derbyshire until I am withered and gray. But I must speak to the Duke of Sussex. James . . . for a quarter of an hour at most.”

It was rather like a game of badminton, watching these two siblings do battle.

“I rather think you should be requesting an audience with the Duke of Abshire, if you are to speak to anyone,” Candover said dryly, and with a hint of disgust upon mentioning his archrival’s name. Everyone knew Candover and Abshire loathed each other, even if no one knew why.

“And I told you I have no interest in speaking to that person.”

“I have less than no interest, but that is rather beside the point, don’t you think, Verity?”

“Ahem,” Lady Mary Haverty interrupted. “James dearest, I would have a word with you, if I may.
In private
.”

Isabelle’s face fell, but Candover failed to notice it.

“Of course, Mary. As soon as I—”

She dared to interrupt him. “Actually, it’s quite urgent. A message from His Majesty.” She pulled a sealed royal dictate from her reticule and tapped it with an elegant fingernail.

Candover narrowed his eyes at his sister and gave up his post with a sigh. Kress did not miss Mary Haverty’s pointed glance at Verity Fitzroy before the twosome departed.

“I’ll find Sussex,” Isabelle said quietly before following the others.

“Thank you, Isabelle,” Verity whispered.

“You are cold,” Roxanne said behind him. She came forward to offer her shawl to Candover’s sister. “Allow me to introduce myself—”

Alex quickly stepped in to do the proper. “May I present my cousin Roxanne, or rather Tatiana Barclay? Tatiana, Lady Verity Fitzroy.” Thank God the young lady was too distraught to notice his slip. Roxanne eyed him with a frown as she curtsied and placed her shawl about the young woman’s shoulders.

“Look, your hotheaded brother will most likely try to shoot me if I leave you alone with Sussex, but I shall honor your request if you allow Tatiana and I to remain on the other side of the room to give you the privacy you desire.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said softly. “You are every bit as kind as my four sisters said in their letters. And it is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Barclay. Faith and Hope have mentioned how much they enjoy your friendship and great spirit.”

“Is there anything I can arrange for you? Tea perhaps?” Roxanne was everything gracious, to Alex’s chagrin. He should be—

“No, thank you. Mary and the Comtesse de Chatelier have already called for a tray to be delivered.”

An awkward silence descended, and Alex glanced at Roxanne for help.

“I do believe we are to be great friends. Please call me Tatiana as your sisters do already. Allow me to show you a seat by—”

A quick knock preceded Sussex’s entrance. The man looked completely flummoxed. So much so that Alex almost felt sorry for him. Sussex darted a worried glance toward Roxanne and then Verity.

“I was told I was needed here . . . Verity, such a surprise. How do you do, my sweet? How did you manage to escape the dungeon? When we left London, your brother told me he had forced you to—” He stopped and glanced at Alex.

Obviously, there was something afoot that Alex knew nothing about, and he would prefer it remained that way. He had more than enough problems to sort through in the overfilled dish of his life.

“Please, don’t let us disturb you. Tatiana and I require a word ourselves,” Alex suggested and nodded toward the other side of the chamber. “Over there.”

Verity grabbed Sussex’s arm before he could answer, and dragged him to the bookcase while Roxanne pulled Alex to the alcove.

“She is quite pretty,” Roxanne murmured as they settled in the window seat across from each other.

“The prettiest of all Candover’s sisters,” he agreed.

“Oh, give over, Alex. You know I’m not speaking of Verity.” It was the first time she had used his given name. He took it as permission to do the same.

“Roxanne, why, whatever do you mean?”

“Lady Mary Haverty,” she said, her eyes studying him like a half-blind person using a quizzing glass. “She is simply the most beautiful creature ever created. And it is obvious she is not only lovely, but also kindhearted and intelligent. The Lord forgot to add anything distasteful at all, probably in an effort to humble the rest of us mere mortal females.”

“I didn’t notice,” he replied, vastly pleased with his ability to keep a smile from his face.

“Thank you for lying,” Roxanne murmured. “You do it quite well—almost as well as my dear husband.”

He turned to look at Sussex, whose face had turned as white as the hen with whom he shared his name. Alex nodded toward Sussex and Candover’s sister. “What do you figure is afoot?”

The two were huddled together, Verity on tiptoe, urgently whispering something into Sussex’s ear.

“I’m not sure, but I’m almost certain I just heard the name ‘Amelia’ cross her lips. Do you know anyone by that name?”

“No.” He returned his gaze to Roxanne, and noticed the beauty of her even profile. A lock of her dark blond hair had escaped her loose chignon and was resting on the side of her long neck. Unconsciously, he reached to touch just the end of it. She swiveled her head and her sapphire blue eyes met his.

“Sorry,” she said, and repositioned a pin to tuck the curl back into place.

“I’m not. I—”

Before he could utter another word, Sussex’s voice carried across the space. “You must be joking. But she’s your . . . sod it. Why on earth would I ever agree to . . .” Sussex halted and followed Verity’s gaze, which now rested on Alex and Roxanne. “I beg your pardon,” he muttered darkly.

Verity’s guilty expression added to the mystery. Candover’s sister cupped her hands and again whispered something in Sussex’s ear.

Alex looked away, his gaze retreating to the sill where Roxanne’s hand rested on the ledge. Her nails were trimmed short, the white crescents visible. He had not noticed how lovely her hands were. Capable, yet feminine—very like her character.

“Oh dear,” Roxanne said. “I do believe he’s going down.”

Alex swiftly turned his head. In that same instant, Roxanne rushed to the other couple and helped Verity catch Sussex just before his head hit the floor.

Alex made his way to the threesome and fell to his haunches. “Give him some air.” He loosened the other man’s neckcloth and looked at Verity. “What did you say to him?”

“Pray do not ask, Your Grace,” Verity whispered. “He must leave as soon as possible.”

“As you wish,” he replied a little too quickly.

Roxanne shook her head. “You could be a little less obvious about how this pleases you, Alex.”

“You’re glad he’s going?” Verity’s face was innocence itself. “But, I had heard you and Sussex got along famously.”

“Really?” Roxanne inserted, a small smile teasing the corner of her lips.

“Look,” Alex ignored the question, “the important thing is that I will arrange for my dear friend’s affairs to be packed, and his carriage and horses readied by tomorrow.”

Verity smiled. “Well, that is a refreshing change. Most dukes I know don’t take orders.”

“Yes, he’s not really like a duke at all,” Roxanne said with a grin as Sussex began to flop like a fresh-caught fish. “But I would rethink your ideas concerning his great bond with the Duke of Sussex.”

“How very odd,” Verity said as Sussex rose to a seated position. “Everyone I know loves Edward.”

“When did you meet my dog?” A tiny crease appeared between Roxanne’s brows.

“I haven’t seen any dog,” Verity replied.

“Then how did you know that everyone loves Edward?”

“Stop,” Kress ground out. “Edward is Sussex. Edward Godwin, remember?”

“No, I do not remember. How am I to remember everyone’s Christian name when I can barely remember their title and family name?” Roxanne moved a flounce of her gown to cover her trim ankle.

“I’m certain I would love your dog, Tatiana. I find pets are such a balm for the strain gentlemen bring to our lives. Don’t you agree?”

“No truer words have ever been spoken,” Roxanne agreed with a chuckle.

“In that case,” Alex inserted, “I shall go and find Tatiana’s dog and the tea tray since you both obviously have no use for me here.” He regained his feet and helped Sussex to his.

The latter groaned most impressively. “Got to arrange for—”