Heartless (6 page)

Derringer shook his head in a rare moment of actual amusement. “I asked if you would be all right. I would feel much better to have this business with the solicitor over and done with.” He reached over and refilled her wine glass then refilled his own, fingering the stem of the glass absently as he watched her.

“All will be well,” she assured him. “I have the reliable Starks to help me over any rough spots and my own sense of adventure to get me through the rest. You go and get your money situation squared away, your grace.”

“Didn’t we decide that you were going to call me something else?” Derringer asked.

“No,” his wife replied laconically.

“I am tired of being ‘your graced’ at every turn, Leandra. Your birth may require such formality but becoming my wife raised your social status. ‘Your grace’ is no longer the proper way for you to address any duke, especially your husband.” He paused, waiting for some sort of acknowledgment, some indication that she was aware of the significant change their marriage had wrought in her life. When she said nothing, he added, “By the time I return, I hope you have decided how you will address me.”

“As you wish, your grace,” she murmured with an impish light in her hazel eyes.

Green and brown with flecks of gold, he corrected. She had pretty eyes, made more so when she smiled, her round cheeks giving her the adorable look of a precocious sprite. When she smiled it was like watching the sun rise over the sea on a foggy morning, shedding its light on all those close enough to be blessed by the occurrence. He liked her smile.

It was a strange feeling for him which made him uncomfortable. He just met this girl the day before and knew nothing about her. She knew nothing about him and yet she seemed to be quite content being married to him.

Of course she is
, he reminded himself cynically.
She’s a duchess now. What girl wouldn’t be in alt over such a coup?

He rose to his feet. “I will bid you goodbye now, Leandra. And do something about your nauseating wardrobe while I’m gone,” he said stiffly. He walked out before he could see the hurt he knew would be visible on her overly expressive face.

4

The Duke of Derringer entered the building above which the sign
Grimsby, Lehman, and Bimm, Solicitors
swung in the slight autumn breeze. He walked to the back of the building, past the whiny solicitor’s equally whiny assistant, and into the main office in the back. He looked from Grimsby to the man who currently sat on Derringer’s side of the wide desk and smiled most unpleasantly.

“I say, Grimsby, what is all this? I had an appointment,” blustered the client, a peer from what Derringer could tell from the man’s dress and attitude, though he could not recall ever having met this particular gentleman before.

The duke turned a bland look on the man who shrank back into his chair as the solicitor rose to his feet. To prevent bloodshed?

“Your grace, may I make known to you the Earl of Harwood?” Grimsby asked desperately in an attempt to ease the tension.

The little man really ought to have known better, but the duke surprised him. “By all means,” Derringer drawled without removing his gaze from the earl. Merri’s brother, he thought darkly without even realizing that he had come to think of her as Merri.

“Lord Harwood, the Duke of Derringer.”

Derringer held out his hand as the other man stood. “Pleasure,” he said with an unreadable look.

Harwood bowed and shook the duke’s outstretched hand. “Harwood, my lord, at your service,” he murmured politely.

Derringer studied his new brother-in-law and decided he did not like what he saw. The man had a truly unremarkable appearance. His hair and eyes were plain brown. His face was that of a cherub, innocent and guileless. Derringer distrusted him immediately. No one was as innocent as this man’s face implied.

And Derringer had found Merri alone at night at an inn having been turned out of her father’s home. Even in the very short amount of time the duke had known his bride, he realized that her sweetness of character was not something that was learned. It was an innate quality. It had somehow survived the stain of her illegitimacy and the probably many petty little indignities she’d had to endure at the hands of her half-siblings and stepmama.

Derringer smiled at his wife’s brother. “Hartley St. Clair, Harwood. Please call me Hart,” he invited with what appeared to be sincerity. “I believe we are bound to become much better acquainted fairly soon.”

The earl gave Derringer a look of pleased surprise. “Certainly, Hart. Please call me Lee.”

The duke turned a malignant eye on the lawyer. He wanted this scoundrel gone before he gave in to his urge to draw his cork.

The lawyer interpreted the look correctly and turned again to the earl. “Lord Harwood, perhaps we can continue this later. Lord Derringer has some urgent business I think.”

“But I had an appointment,” the earl said in confusion.

The duke quirked one black brow at the man’s obtuseness and said in a soft voice that held a menacing hint of steel, “Goodbye, Lee. We will meet again.”

Grimsby shivered.

The earl stared up at the duke with a confused frown. Suddenly his brow cleared and he was out of the office before the realization of exactly whom he was dealing with had fully formed in his mind. A disturbing laugh followed him as he left.

Derringer kicked the door shut and reached into the pocket of his black waistcoat. He tossed a folded sheet of foolscap onto the lawyer’s desk and leaned back against the closed door with his arms crossed over his chest.

Mr. Grimsby eyed the hotheaded young lord suspiciously. “What is that?” he asked.

“Open it and look, half-wit,” the duke commanded with a smug grin.

The solicitor opened the paper and gasped. His reaction was all Derringer could have hoped for. It could only get better when he told the man that his bride was baseborn.

“You did it?” Grimsby said breathlessly. “You are wed?” He sat down with a thump, astonishment writ plain across his thin face.

“You doubted me?”

“No, your grace, not at all,” the little man was quick to assure him. “It’s just that the chances of your succeeding were not well to your favor.”

“Were they not?” Derringer’s voice was deceptively polite. “I have to disagree with you for the following reasons. One,” he said as he ticked them off on the fingers of one long hand, “I am attractive to the point of pain or so I am told. Two, I am wealthy beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. Three, I have the power of royalty without actually being related to that blighted family. And four, I’m a bloody duke. How were the odds not in my favor of acquiring a bride?” His voice ended on a cynical note. He waited patiently for the solicitor to speak.

“Well?” he finally asked after several moments of uncomfortable silence on Grimsby’s part.

“Ah, yes, your grace, quite right, I’m sure,” the man muttered expectedly. He was staring at the paper in his hand with an expression of dawning realization mixed with confusion and some horror.

“She’s a Harcourt,” he said finally.

“So?”

Grimsby looked up at Derringer suspiciously. “I know
Debrett’s Peerage
by heart, your grace. There is no Leandra Harcourt.”

Of course there wasn’t. Bastards were not recorded in the peerage. “She is real, I assure you. And she is a Harcourt. Harwood is her brother.”

“But, that means she’s a…her parents…”

“Her parents were not married. She’s a bastard, Grimsby,” the duke growled. He was irritated that the solicitor’s shock didn’t give him quite the pleasurable feeling he had anticipated.

“Quite,” Grimsby mouthed nervously.

“Do I get my fortune or not?”

“Everything appears in order, your grace,” was the solicitor’s reassuring reply. He flushed uneasily. “That is, I mean, provided you have, ah…”

“Spit it out, man. I have other places to be,” the duke snapped.

“The marriage has been consummated,” the unfortunate man blurted out.

Derringer had no words. He just stared at Grimsby, once again deciding the man had no sense of humor, thus he could not be attempting a joke at Derringer’s expense

“Explain.”

“Your father’s instructions specified that there be no legal way for you to dissolve the marriage after you receive access to the money,” the lawyer explained hastily. He sighed in relief when Derringer sank into the chair before the desk.

The duke stared at the man without really seeing him. There was nothing he could do about it at the moment. A part of him had actually considered seeking an annulment and settling a yearly stipend on the girl for her trouble. Clearly, that wasn’t an option now.

“Do you not think that was something to mention before?” he inquired, voice deceptively calm.

“In all the excitement, your grace, I am very much afraid I simply forgot to tell you.” He gulped and scooted further back in his chair when Derringer’s black eyes narrowed. “And I assumed it would not be an issue.”

The duke fixed a minatory glare on the spindly-shanked little man across the desk from him. “What kind of proof do you require?” he asked silkily. “Do you want to see the bloody sheets or is my word enough?” His tone was dangerously mocking.

“I will accept your word, of course, your grace,” Mr. Grimsby was quick to reassure him. “When would you like me to send the announcement to the papers?”

“Announcement? Why the hell does anyone have to know about it?”

“If everyone knows, your grace, it will make it impossible for you to dissolve the marriage without the most shocking of scandals,” the lawyer explained reasonably. “Of course, once it is announced there will be the most shocking of scandals anyway since everyone will know that…” he muttered to himself. “Shall I send it?” he asked louder.

Derringer glared at him for a full five seconds until the solicitor began to squirm again. “No,” he answered finally. “I will take care of it myself.”

He stood up and snatched the marriage lines from the desk, restoring them to his pocket. Then he turned on his heel and walked out.

He had, of course, heard every word the solicitor had mumbled. He had not even thought about what it would do to his bride when everyone discovered who and what she was.

And he was uncertain as to why he said he would take care of the announcement. The words had slipped out before they had actually formed in his mind. If he had just let Grimsby take care of it, he wouldn’t now be on his way to the office of the
London Gazette
. He could be on his way to Nicolette’s instead.

Bloody hell.