Gayle Buck (28 page)

Another of the group began the proceedings ponderously, “Of course, with the repudiation by his grace of his recent marriage, you were reinstated as heir presumptive before the time of his death, my lord.”

Lord St. John nodded curtly. “What of the babe?”

The solicitors nearly all allowed themselves prim smiles of satisfaction. “The late duke made it quite clear during the divorce proceedings that the unborn child was not of his issue. In addition, we have in our possession several depositions from numerous witnesses that the former duchess herself attested to that fact. There is no question of your own legitimate claims to the dukedom, my lord.”

Lord St. John’s expression did not change, though his eyes gleamed with a strange expression. “I believe that will be all, gentlemen.”

The solicitors glanced at one another. One of them ventured to question their dismissal. “My lord—your grace, there are details that should be discussed at some length.”

Lord St. John, Viscount Weemswood, now Duke of Alton, rose to his feet. “I am certain that there are. You may do so with my man of business, Mr. Witherspoon, in whom I repose the fullest confidence.”

Mr. Witherspoon quickly took his cue. “Gentlemen, if you please. Allow me to show you to my office.” Without a moment’s loss of time, he ushered out the solicitors and gently closed the door.

Lord St. John stepped around his desk to the occasional table and decanted a measure of wine into a glass. He picked up the half-full glass and slowly swirled the brandy, his thoughts meditative.

Odd how his destiny had come round full circle. He possessed both a wife and a dukedom, as he had taken for granted that he would. Matters had not unfolded quite as he had anticipated; but it had been for the better that his road had taken its unexpected turn.

Otherwise he would not have married Mary.

Lord St. John tossed back the brandy. Setting down the glass, he went in search of his wife. Upon inquiry, he entered the sitting room.

His wife welcomed him with a smile. “My lord, I was just thinking of you.”

“Were you, my lady?” Lord St. John shut the door and advanced toward her. “I am informed that you had a visitor.”

Mary’s smile dimmed a little. “Yes, Lady Althea. I was never more surprised than to learn she had called on me. She came to return your gloves, my lord.”

Lord St. John frowned as he took the gloves that she held out to him. “My gloves? I don’t recall—”

His expression cleared, before his eyes narrowed on his wife’s composed face. “Yes, I remember now. I dropped them on the last occasion I called on Lady Althea. It was the day that she informed me that she no longer wished to become my wife.”

Mary appreciated what he was telling her without words. He had not visited Lady Althea since before their own marriage. She smiled up at him, her own eyes beginning to dance. “I think the lady was quite piqued that that was so.”

Lord St. John regarded her a moment, then said softly, “You baggage. You gave her the roundation, did you?”

Mary found that, whereas the term had been insulting in the extreme when it dropped from Lady Althea’s lips, she did not in the least mind that form of address from his lordship. “My lord, I was completely circumspect, I assure you.”

Lord St. John flicked her nose with his finger, an arrestingly caressing gesture. “You are a wonder, my Mary.”

Pale color flew into her face as her startled eyes fastened on his. As though he realized that he was indulging in love-making with his wife in the middle of the day, he drew back.

“I have just this moment come from consultation with a flock of solicitors, my lady. It seems that I have come into a dukedom.”

Several things hit Mary all at once. She had become a duchess, a very frightening thought for she was entirely devoid of social ambition. Lord St. John had ascended to the title that he had been denied, that denial having directly led to his seeking a marriage to her. And Lady Althea had more than likely known of Lord St. John’s newly exalted state through the ever-present London gossip, thus explaining her ladyship’s sudden desire to wreck Mary’s marriage as thoroughly as possible.

The last thought brought a flush of real anger to her face. “I suppose that Lady Althea intended that I should divorce you on the evidence of your gloves.”

He went very still, though his expression registered only polite interest. “And could you have done so?”

“Of course not. I am not such a noddy to believe every tale that is brought me,” said Mary with asperity. “Especially from a lady who is vain, arrogant and so spoiled she believes that she has only to wish a thing for it to be so.”

“I possess a wise duchess,” said Lord St. John.

She presented a dismayed face to him. “A duchess. I do not know how I shall go on.”

“You shall go on just as you have done, my dear. I could not ask for more than that,” said Lord St. John. He was at once amused and obscurely grateful that she did not seem to attach a great deal of importance to her sudden ascension.

Mary looked at her husband doubtfully. “I hope that I may accept that as a compliment, your grace.”

“Consider it so, my love. However, pray do not address me so formally. I prefer that we return to the easier style that we fell into at Rosethorn, do you not?”

The expression in his eyes made Mary blush again. “Yes, indeed I do.” She attempted to recover her composure under the warmth of his gaze. “I-I do not think that I shall ever become used to being addressed as ‘her grace.’ “

“My poor Mary. Will you divorce me for forcing you into such an unpalatable position?” he asked softly, sliding his hands up her arms.

“It is a consideration, indeed. Our original agreement never touched on such an eventuality,” said Mary teasingly, though acutely aware of the touch of his hands.

His eyes darkened. His fingers tightened upon her shoulders. Almost in anger, he asked, “Would you let something of that sort come between us, Mary?”

Mary raised her hand and laid it lightly against his tense jaw. “You can be such a fool, Sinjin.” She said it so gently that it took him a moment to absorb her words.

Lord St. John flashed a grin. “A fool, am I? We shall see about that!” He caught her up in a fierce embrace, his lips descending upon hers for a heart-stopping kiss. When he raised his head, he said rather raggedly, “It is true. I have been a fool, Mary. I won’t deny it. I feared what I felt for you and so I tried to distance myself from you. It was the bitterest moment of my life when I thought that, because of my coldness, you had turned from me to someone else.”

“So you accused poor Nana,” she said, curling her fingers about his lapels.

Lord St. John laughed, albeit without amusement. “Yes. I would have killed him, too, if you had not brought me to my senses.”

“And Mr. Lawton? And Sir Nigel?”

“Are you going to parade all of my follies before me?” he complained.

“Well, I suppose that I must, for you have not given me reason to stop my mouth,” said Mary with a sly upward glance.

“Mary,” he breathed, staring down at her through narrowed lids. “Are you
flirting
with me?”

“You did wish me to become more a lady of fashion, after all,” Mary reminded him.

“As long as you confine your flirtations to me, my dear, we shall get along splendidly,” he said in mock anger. “I do not intend to watch the wife that holds my heart in her hands make sheep’s eyes at every male who crosses her path.”

Mary smiled up at him. Her eyes lit up like a thousand candles. “Do I truly, Sinjin? I shall not break it, I promise you.”

She gasped at the sudden strength of his arms about her. Then his mouth captured her own and she slid her hands round his neck.

Copyright © 1993 by Gayle Buck

Originally published by Signet (ISBN 0451177436)

Electronically published in 2009 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.