Confessions From an Arranged Marriage (28 page)

Chapter 31

M
inerva was transformed, not into a different person but a new, better version of herself, all her rough edges rubbed away. Seated on a sofa, wrapped in his arms, she felt as soft and tender as a kitten.

“Why didn't I know how wonderful it is to be in love?” she mused, languorously unwinding his neck cloth because gentlemen's clothing swathed him too thoroughly and she wanted to soak in the warmth of his skin. “If I'd known I would have tried it before.”

“I'm glad you waited.”

She cast aside the muslin strip and drew back a little to admire the effect. With his shirt open he looked younger and ridiculously handsome.

“You're too far away,” he said and held her close as though he couldn't bear to have an inch of space between them.

She stroked the corded column of his neck and traced the line of his jaw, relishing the masculine abrasiveness. He gave a smile of unalloyed joy, having lost the guardedness she hadn't known existed until it disappeared. Blake was all hers now: hers to love and hers to know. And she wanted to know him, every inch, inside and out.

“How did it happen?” she asked. “Why didn't you learn to read? I want to understand.”

“It's a long story.” He caught her hand, kissed the fingertips and she glowed with pleasure that he finally trusted her.

He described his early struggles, his utter bafflement at the sight of the alphabet, and his eventual limited success with Amanda's help.

“What did your tutors do?” she asked in wonder. “They must have been incompetent fools.”

“They beat me. Unable to believe I was almost incapable of learning the most fundamental skills, they complained to my father that I was lazy. More beatings. I lived up to my reputation for idleness and refused to pay any attention to my lessons.”

“Better to be called lazy than stupid?”

“Exactly. I did the minimum amount of studying to get by.”

Her heart aching for the misunderstood boy, she tightened fierce arms about his waist. “The neglect of those in charge of your education is appalling. I'd like to meet some of those tutors and give them a piece of my mind.”

“I can't blame them. Everyone else learns to read without any difficulty.”

“You went to Eton and Oxford without Lady Amanda, how did you manage?”

“Oxford was ridiculously easy. I was heir to a dukedom. I don't believe a single one of those dons ever uttered a peep when I spent three years without reading a book or writing a word. Eton was harder.” His voice darkened. “That's where I had the great good fortune to meet Geoffrey Huntley.”

“So that's the reason for your friendship. He helped you at school.”

“It's not as simple as that. We met when we were both placed in the Lower Greek. For me Latin was bad enough, but Greek was impossible. How could I learn a second alphabet when I had so much trouble with one? We were set a test and I left my page blank. To this day I remember the schoolmaster's words, his cane already in hand. ‘Your ignorance is exceeded only by your impertinence. Come here.' I was ready to take my punishment and, I hoped, be ejected from Greek class forever, when Huntley spoke. ‘That is my paper, sir. It is I who deserves the beating, not Blakeney.' ”

Minerva knew how her brothers would react to another taking blame for their offenses. “What a filthy thing to do.”

“Naturally I couldn't let him do it and both of us were beaten, he for lying. But I was grateful to him for trying to help. We became friends and I confided in him. With his assistance I did just enough to convince my masters that I was merely the laziest and worst behaved boy in the school. I trusted him.”

“And he betrayed you.”

“I thought he was my only true friend. I'd have done anything for him.”

Minerva heard the pain in his voice. “And so you hesitated to trust anyone else with the secret. How horrible for you.”

His mouth twisted into a humorless grin. “I'm the last person to deserve pity. I was born to every advantage. There's no reason in the world I shouldn't be completely happy. And I was, once I left Oxford and no longer had to pretend to read and write. I had a few good years. The sporting Lord Blakeney, hard riding and hard playing, always up for a lark. You hated him.”

She kissed his cheek. “That's because I didn't know him. What happened with Huntley?”

“After Eton we remained on good terms, though our intimacy was less. We met in London from time to time but he got in with a gaming set. I heard his losses were heavy, and he'd been cut off by his grandfather. I didn't pay much attention. You know how one hears these things. A couple of years ago we ran into each other and he invited me to dinner in his rooms. I was reluctant—had a more attractive invitation that night—but he pressed me.”

“And you couldn't say no.”

“We dined, we drank—a lot—and we played piquet. I lost.”

“A lot?”

“Not more than I could afford. He wrote up my vowels for me. Joked that he knew what a piece of work it was for me to write even the simplest letter. I signed it.”

“Without reading it?”

“I looked it over. The sum looked right. The next afternoon he came to collect his debt. I had the bank draft ready. ‘Blake, old fellow,' he said. ‘You're missing a nought.' ”

“He cheated.”

“Yes. He'd written the I.O.U. for ten times the amount and I hadn't noticed.”

“Surely you didn't have to pay him! He
cheated
.”

“It was a debt of honor.”

Her blood boiled. “Dishonor, you mean.”

“Indeed. But he had my signed note.”

“You could tell people he miswrote it, expose him as a villain.”

“And if I did that I would have to expose my inability to read.”

“You could say you were drunk.”

“I considered that, but Huntley said if I accused him of cheating he'd spread the tale of my illiteracy to the world.”

“Perhaps you should have let him.”

“I didn't want my father to know.”

“I see.” Picturing herself in a similar situation, she knew she could have gone to her parents and received nothing but support and love. “You couldn't trust him not to despise you.”

“I wish I had. But at the time I couldn't go to my father for the money. I couldn't bring myself to tell him that his son, in addition to disappointing him in every possible way, had managed to lose a fortune at cards. So I borrowed it.”

“From Diana. She told me last week.”

“It took me two years to repay her but I came back this spring, free of debt. My time away from London wasn't all bad. After years of self-indulgence, looking after the estate gave me something worthwhile to do. My plan was to come up for the season, take a holiday from responsibility, and enjoy having money again. I intended to spend a lot of it at Tattersall's, then retire to Devon and breed horses.”

“Poor darling,” Minerva said. “You found yourself a beautiful mistress and ended up with a scold of a wife instead.”

“Perhaps I should thank Huntley. He was at your ball, that night at Vanderlin House. If he hadn't upset me I wouldn't have got so drunk and I might not have mistaken you for the Duchess of Lethbridge.”

“Thank goodness I had a migraine. Otherwise I might be betrothed to Mr. Parkes now.” She almost made a provocative remark about the loss of the M.P. from Gristlewick, but caught herself in time. Their love was too new and Blake's self-regard too battered. It would take time before she could make that kind of joke without danger of hurting him. Shifting around, she threaded her arms round his neck and gave him a long, lingering kiss. “I love you, Blake,” she whispered. “I am so happy we found each other.”

“I love you too, Minnie.”

“I'm proud to be your wife.”

He pulled her on to his lap and reveled in the way she fit against him. He was light-headed, floating on air, dizzy as the bubbles in champagne. A corner of his mind knew his troubles weren't over. The terrible truth that had dogged his life hadn't gone away, but for an hour he could pretend nothing would ever go amiss again. Minerva's head rested on his shoulder, her hair tickled his chin, and her scent flooded his senses, telling him he was at home.

“Huntley will tell the world. Ever since I took the Warfield Castle seat from him I've been expecting it.”

“You did that for my sake.”

“For yours, but also because you convinced me it was the right thing to do. I have responsibilities beyond my own pride. This evening I saw exactly what I can achieve through the respect my position inspires. I'm afraid that will disappear once the party discovers the new Duke of Hampton is a dolt. You've allied yourself to a declining power.”

“We'll come up with a way to stop him, together. You're not alone anymore.”

“I've probably made things worse.” He described the morning's encounter with Huntley and to his pleasure Minerva crowed with delight.

“I wish you'd done worse than knock him out. I wish you'd torn him limb from limb.”

“Is this my sensible Minnie speaking? I thought you believed in a rational and humane approach to criminals.”

“That's all very well in theory, but if anyone attacks the man I love I have no mercy.”

To which there was only one response, and it didn't involve speech.

Chapter 32

B
lake liked to ride before breakfast. His wife did not. Even in her short tenure as duchess she'd developed the habit of drinking copious amounts of chocolate while reading in bed. He had no doubt he was about to become accustomed, for the first time in his life, to a bedroom strewn with reading matter of all descriptions. The morning after his great confession he returned from his dressing room and found her supported by a bank of pillows, cup in hand and her nose in a newspaper. Her perfect nose. Bending down to salute it, he somehow got involved in a much more thorough kiss.

“Lucky my cup was almost empty,” she said when she was able. “Have a good ride. I shall go down shortly and find Gideon. See if your good work last night has paid off and everyone's ready for compromise.”

“Come with me.”

“Oh, why not? Our guests will still be here in a hour or two.”

“Worse luck.”

What a great day it was, hardly a cloud in the sky. He loved and was loved and in a day or two his unwanted guests would all leave and he could settle down and enjoy the resumption of his honeymoon. Meanwhile he had Minerva all to himself. She looked splendid in a dark blue riding habit and a pert feathered hat.

“You ride well,” he said as they pulled up at the apex of the avenue and looked down at the sprawling mansion.

“My mother's approach to girls' education may have been unorthodox, but she didn't tolerate a bad seat on a horse.”

“I'll have to find you a worthier mount. The stock I bought in Paris should be here any day, and I intend to buy more. My father's judgment of horseflesh was no more than adequate.”

“I'd like that.”

Her smile made him want to sing. “It was on this very spot, yesterday morning, that I realized I loved you.”

“For me it took a little longer. It had been coming on for a while, but I knew at dinner last night, just before your big speech.” He found it deeply moving that she'd loved him even before he made his big political gesture. “You beat me by a few hours,” she said with a provocative little grin.

“It's not a competition.”

“No, it isn't.” The glance they exchanged singed him to his toes.

“I'll race you to the grotto.”

T
hough long familiar with the Mandeville Park, Minerva hadn't considered its possibilities for erotic encounters. Not so her husband. A grassy glade behind the lakeside folly provided privacy and a comfortable surface for a heated joining that left her boneless.

With clothing in disarray, they lay hand in hand, staring up at the inconsequential clouds while they recovered their breath.

“How have you managed all these years without reading?” she asked, breaking the contented silence. “I can't even imagine how hard it must have been.”

Blake rolled onto his side to look at her. “Once I accepted that I would never be able to learn things from the written word, I found other ways of gaining information. When I concentrate I can remember almost anything I hear.”

“Is that how you learned French?”

“My father hired a native French tutor for conversation. But I can't read a word of it.”

“I know. You made me order dinner from that impossibly long menu.”

“While you flirted with the waiter, you minx.”

Minerva discovered she enjoyed flirting, with Blake. “He was very handsome. Especially the moustache with the twirly ends.”

His eyes told her she would pay for that remark later and she looked forward to it. For now he continued in a serious vein. “At least we were taught to
speak
French. The classics were hopeless. I became very good at appearing not to pay attention in class, but in reality I listened closely so I know enough Greek and Roman history not to appear completely ignorant.”

“That was clever. Throwing in the occasional classical allusion would reassure anyone who suspected.”

“I've expended much ingenuity devising means of disguise. I'm so glad you know, Minnie. I should have trusted you. I thought you'd despise me when you found out.”

“Never,” she said, reaching up to stroke his jaw. “What you've told me fills me with awe.”

He shook his head. “But, Minnie. Reading is the first thing every child is taught. How come I'm the only one that couldn't do it?”

Realizing he voiced his deepest fear, that he was inherently damaged, she sought to reassure him. “There are lots of things that lots of people can't do. I can't carry a tune. What about you?”

“I can sing well enough.”

“Can you shoot straight?”

“Yes.”

“I can't.”

“You're a girl.”

“Diana can. Will and Rufus taught us both to use a pistol. I was hopeless.”

“But anyone can read.”

“How do you know? Perhaps the world is full of people who can't and cover it up, just as you have.”

Never had it occurred to Blake that others might be in the same position. He'd always believed only the poor were unlettered and that he, with all his advantages, must be deeply flawed. That it might not be his fault was hard for him to grasp. Yet Minerva, with her brains and knowledge, said it could be so. Better still she accepted him as he was.

“Let's hope our children will be like you,” he said.

“If any of them are like you I shall be even prouder of them. Any child of ours will have the help of his parents that you never had. You aren't alone anymore.”

She stroked his hair absentmindedly as her features set into the frown that betokened deep thought. He couldn't believe his luck that he'd won the love of this amazing woman. “I've been thinking,” she said finally. “If Huntley exposes you he'll get the satisfaction of revenge, but nothing more. Far more likely he'll come back with another demand.”

“I made myself fairly clear when I told him I wouldn't pay him a penny.”

“He won't dare approach you in person, that's certain. The demand will come by some other means, which means we have time to come up with a plan. After our guests leave, we'll hunt him down and crush him like the worm he is.”

“I can't wait. Speaking for myself, I wouldn't mind the opportunity to pound him into the ground like a fence post.”

“Much as I share the sentiment, if we're going to keep your secret, we'll have to be more subtle. Let's look into
his
private affairs. He'd had large gaming debts in the past. If he's short of money again we could push him over the edge into debtor's prison, or drive him out of the country.”

“He could still talk.”

“He must be persuaded not to. Let's discover his guilty secrets. Threaten to expose them if he talks.”

“I'm not sure there's anything to be found. I know him well, remember.”

“Then we'll meet fire with fire. Spread some really appalling rumors about him.”

“Do they have to be true?”

Minerva smiled happily. “This, my darling, is not a moment to be honorable.”

M
inerva returned to the house alone to resume her hostess duties, while Blake saw to some estate business. He returned at midday and went to look for her. He expected to find her chatting with happy politicians, intently discussing the coming election and their plans for its victorious aftermath. He threaded his way through the library, shaking off some overblown praise for his speech at dinner, but couldn't find his duchess. He emerged at the other end of the room and found Sebastian Iverley alone in the librarian's office.

“Have you seen Minerva?” he asked. He'd seen little of his cousin in the course of the house party. Sebastian, it occurred to him, had been guardedly cordial during a few brief exchanges.

“I should think she's in there with the mob. That was quite a speech you made last night.”

Blake nodded. Was that approval in Iverley's voice? Before he could reply they were joined by one of the footmen, who appeared agitated.

“Your Grace. I've been following you through the library. It's Her Grace.”

“What about Her Grace?”

“I delivered her a note earlier and she went out.”

“Did she say where?”

“She said she was walking to the Italian Garden and ordered me to report to her in half an hour for further instructions. When I arrived she wasn't there, but I found this paper caught between the fingers of a statue of a Roman gentleman. It's addressed to Your Grace.”

Blake prayed this wasn't what he suspected, that Huntley had contacted her and she'd gone to face him alone. It was just like Minnie to go marching off in a state of righteous indignation without considering the consequences. Hell and damnation!

“Thank you, James,” Blake said. He stared at the letter. Why had she
written
to him? It wasn't sealed, merely folded. The single sheet was filled with words in capital letters. It didn't help having Sebastian Iverley looking on as he tried to read. He took a deep breath and tried to relax.

“HAMPTON,” it began.

Minerva wouldn't address him as Hampton, but he knew who would. Someone who knew he had trouble reading ordinary handwriting. His gut clenched. He dragged his eyes down the sheet and almost at the bottom, because he expected it, he saw the word “HUNTLEY.”

The letters danced a fandango on the page and he knew it was hopeless.

“Sebastian.” He handed the letter to his cousin. “Read this.”

“What?”

Blake took another deep breath. “Read it, damn you. Tell me what it says.”

“The writing seems clear enough to me.”

Blake grabbed his cousin's neck cloth in his fist. “Look here, Owl. Minerva may be in trouble and I cannot read this note. I can hardly read a damn word. I never could. So read the bloody thing aloud before I throttle you.”

Sebastian made a choking noise. “Can't read it if you strangle me.” Blake had to hand it to him. As soon as he was free, without stopping for any tiresome questions, Iverley read the letter.

“ ‘Hampton. I have your bride. If you wish to see her returned to you undamaged, bring five thousand pounds in notes, gold, or jewelry to the Mausoleum. Come alone and unarmed. If anyone else approaches the duchess will suffer. You have until six o'clock. Geoffrey Huntley.' Then there's a postscript. I recognize Minerva's hand, even though it's also written all in capitals. ‘Everything he says is true. He has a pistol. Minnie.' ”

The two most famous educational establishments in the Thames Valley had at least taught him many colorful oaths. Blake made use of them all.

Sebastian didn't waste time with any irrelevant questions. “What shall we do to get her back?”

“I'll get the money together. I'd rather we didn't have to, but I'll pay it if I must.”

“Good. Do you have enough on hand?”

“I think so.”

“You'll have to go alone. That's why he chose the Mausoleum.”

Of all the temples and follies in the five-hundred acre Mandeville Park, the Mausoleum was the only one that stood atop a bare hill. Huntley would be able to keep watch in every direction and see anyone approach long before they reached him. A covert attack was impossible. Or so he believed.

“I will. But the blackguard made a mistake. He doesn't know there's an underground passage from the grotto that leads right into the crypt of the Mausoleum.”

Sebastian nodded. “What do you want me to do?”

“We'll gather some men and you shall lead them through the passage. Then wait. The access from the vault is through a trapdoor leading to a niche on the right-hand side of the building, cut off by a wrought iron gate. It's never locked but the hinges rattle. If you hear them, come out and attack Huntley. But I won't signal unless I can be sure Minerva is safe. I'd rather pay twice as much than put her at risk.”

“Huntley will probably wait for you outside. Could we creep up from below? If he's holding Minerva inside we might be able to grab her there and then.”

Blake considered it, then shook his head. “We can't risk it. Remember, Minnie says he's armed. If I can distract or disarm Huntley I'll try and rattle that gate. And for God's sake, come up if you hear shooting.”

“Before you go may I ask one question?”

“Make it quick,” Blake snapped.

“Does she really let you call her Minnie?” Every syllable expressed Sebastian's incredulity. Blake had just been forced to reveal his lifelong shame to his lifelong enemy and that's all he had to say?

“Yes.”

“She must love you a lot.”

Despite his fear for Minerva's safety and his fury at himself for underestimating the level of Huntley's desperation, he allowed himself a strained smile. “I believe she does.”

And suddenly Blake was glad it had been Sebastian who'd been there when the note was delivered, his cousin to whom he'd had to reveal his inability. Not only was Iverley his first cousin, as his brother-in-law he was doubly kin. There was no one else who had Minerva's interests more fully at heart and her protection was the only thing that mattered.

“You do realize, don't you,” Sebastian said, “that Minerva will probably try to
help
.”

He was right. He knew her only too well. “I just hope, Sebastian, that you are wrong this time.”