Not Quite A Duke (Dukes' Club Book 6) (10 page)

“Well done!” cheered the Duchess of Hunt. “I see you belong with us.”

Patience stared at the expectant, yet kind, faces.

This was so entirely far away from what she’d expected and so very kind that to her horror, she felt tears stinging her eyes.

The Duchess of Hunt reached out and very gently touched her hand. “No need to worry. My father wagered
me
away in a card game, you know.”

Patience shook her head, then whispered. “No, I didn’t know.”

Smiling now, the Duchess of Hunt patted Patience’s hand. “All too true. Loved my father dearly, but what a thing to do I ask you? But it all worked out in the end. That card game got me my husband and a beautiful child to boot. So, perhaps all is not lost for you.”

“You have friends now, in any case,” added the Duchess of Roth. “Women must stand together.”

“Exactly,” agreed the Duchess of Hunt in tones so passionate one might have thought she was about to profess her passion for king and country.

The Duchess of Darkwell smiled, her gray eyes flashing like a sea storm. “Don’t you worry. We’ll handle all those wicked gossips, my dear.”

The Duchess of Blackburn waved her small hand towards the footman who was standing in the shadows of the entrance. “More champagne, Jonathan. Lots of it. We ladies must drink to the absurdity of men.”

Patience suddenly grinned, wondering how her life had turned about so strangely in such a short period of time. “They are absurd, are they not?”

“Oh, my dear,” said the Duchess of Hunt, leaning forward and giving a conspiratorial wink, “You’ve no idea.”

Patience’s grin suddenly broadened. How shocked would the Duchess of Hunt be if Patience admitted that she did have an idea. A very good idea, indeed.

Chapter 10

Charles stared at his mirror image, lifted his sword and lunged.

The Duke of Hunt laughed and stepped easily out of the blade’s reach.

It had seemed a good idea, to practice with his brother at The Rapier Club. A club he’d opened some years go which permitted only the most skilled with a sword to breech its gates. The club also served as a private meeting place for the five dukes that had become inseparable allies against the world and who sometimes needed to come together and find advice or bemoan the women in their lives.

Charles was not a duke and was the only one of them not married.

He felt no envy. None at all, though all five of the fellows seemed nauseatingly happy.

Oh no. At present, he was relieved in the extreme to have remained free of the marital mess. After all, an affair with Lady Patience, while possible, would not have been to his taste if he were married.

There was something inherit in his mind to the importance of fidelity in a married couple. It seemed to him that once one had committed oneself to hell, one really should commit. Not constantly be sticking one’s toe in and out of those responsible waters.

His own parents though wild sorts had not been unfaithful.

He realized this was deucedly hypocritical of him, given the amount of married ladies he’d bedded. But, innocents were almost entirely off limits to him. A worse sin than a married lady.

Jack, his twin, thrust his blade forward.

Charles grimaced as it pierced his linen shirt but not his flesh.

“What the devil is wrong with you man?” Jack demanded, gaping.

“My mind is on loftier things than you.”

“Ha!” Jack rolled his eyes. “Keeping your skin intact is lofty in the extreme.”

“Good point.”

“Usually, it’s I who must worry. Damned good swordsman that you are.” Jack leveled him with a hard stare. “But you seem. . . Deuced distracted.” 

Charles repositioned himself, then rushed forward, looking for an opening.

As their blades flashed, clashing together, Charles quipped, “I am ever thinking of how to avoid the plague.”

“Plague?” queried Jack.

“Marriage.”

Jack let out an ecstatic sigh as he parried. “Marriage is surprisingly marvelous.”

“Tell me that in five years’ time.”

“I shall,” Jack said with supreme confidence. “Cordelia is heaven. Without her, I’d be miserable in the extreme. She and our child have given me purpose.”

Charles choked exaggeratedly. “Devil take a newly married man for he spews treacle in his sentiments.”

“Say what you will, you can’t detract from my happiness. You need a wife, I say. You’ve been looking damned melancholic ever since Aston married.”

“He was the last of our band and I was certain he’d never do it.”

“Ah. You thought the two of you would be arm in arm, crusty bachelors and all that.”

“Did I think we’d whore and drink until Kingdom come? Yes. Yes, I did.” It had never occurred to Charles that he might be lonely when the last of his friends had wed.

After all it wasn’t as if any of them had moved too far off Araby. No, they were all just down the road in ducal palaces in West London. And yet. . . Now, that they were all happily shackled, Charles was, indeed, lonely. For none of the men seemed to wish to go out at all hours gambling or finding women.

He admired them for it. They no longer had some empty void to fill and while others might try to protest that they had no void, that there was nothing missing, Charles knew his soul was dark and that his heart was empty.

It was why he didn’t permit himself to mope in his rooms alone. The long, dark hours of the night enticed a fellow of his nature to the most morbid thoughts. . . Especially when he considered that self-slaughter was. . . Well, it was in the blood.

He was damned glad Jack and the rest of the family had no idea that their father hadn’t died in a hunting accident but by his own hand.

Charles had lied through his teeth. He’d told everyone that his father had stepped wrongly just as Charles had fired his rifle.

Thankfully, there’d been no inquest. No one to discover that there was no way his father’s wound could have been made by his rifle and not the pistol his father had taken deep into the woods that day.

“Charles?”

“Hmm?”

“You look pale,” Jack said. “Are you about to be sick?”

Charles gasped. He’d been holding his breath as he recalled the scent of gunpowder and blood. They were odors he’d grown accustomed to on the continent but never in conjunction with a loved one.

And he had loved his father. Desperately.

Jack had seemed to avoid the bouts of melancholia that their father had been prone to. The whole family had been aware of the old duke’s black spells as they had called them.

Only Charles seemed to have them occasionally. Their sister, Gemma, and young brother, Lockhart, had avoided them entirely and well. . . Their eldest brother was dead and gone of drowning. They’d never know if that beautiful boy would have been bright or touched by sadness’ brush.

Whatever the case may be, it was the death of that beautiful eldest brother, a boy that he and Jack had worshipped, that had set their father down a tragic road from which he could never quite return.

Jack lowered his blade and wiped the fine sheen of sweat from his brow with his linen shirt sleeve. “I’m worried about you. Come and stay with Cordelia and me for a few days. The baby will give you no end of pleasure.”

Charles smiled softly. He couldn’t help himself. He adored being an uncle and, as far as he could tell, the baby adored him in turn. “The baby is beautiful beyond compare, it’s true and I shall visit tomorrow to be suitably awed by all his feats. But tonight I have plans.”

Jack arched a brow. “Ah a pack of ladies, is it?”

“Something like that.” In truth, there was one lady. One lady of most intriguing person.

Jack pointed the tip of his blade. “Just see to it I don’t get any more notes about you dancing madly atop a building, champagne bottles in hand.”

Charles laughed, but when he saw the seriousness of his brother’s face he stopped. That night had been particularly bad. He’d longed for fate to take him. Yes, he’d danced drunkenly on a towering rooftop and he’d looked down at the pavement, balancing precariously as he’d looked below.

He’d dared the gods then to take him.

Those first months after their father’s death had been almost entirely intolerable. After all, how did one survive the loss of such a great man, a man who was wounded inwardly so deeply, a man who had ended his own life? And Charles had been unable to share that burden with anyone.

In fact, all had looked upon him with pity since they all believed that he had been the accidental means of the duke’s death.

All society wasn’t entirely sure what to make of him. His family had been kind. Even as he had descended into a pit that resembled the mires his father had fallen into.

At long last, he said, “I promise. No more dances with the devil.”

“Good. I know your nature. I know it isn’t to sit quietly at home,” Jack admitted. “Damned me, I wouldn’t want you to be anything but yourself, but I could do without such terror.”

“I don’t want you to live in fear, Jack,” Charles said. They were hard words to say, acknowledging his brother’s concern.

“You’re my brother, my twin, and I love you more than I can possibly say.”

Charles groaned and went to put up his sword on the wall. “Don’t be maudlin.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So, am I.”

Jack glared daggers.

Charles raised his hands in appeasement. “I love you, too, you old bastard, even if you did leave me on the battlefield of bachelorhood.”

Jack shook his head. “The fallen have a far better time than those still standing on those fields.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m sure there are several miserable married men.”

“I’m sure you’ve the right of it.” Jack joined him by the swords against the wall and put up his blade as well before he declared, “But with the right woman? Ah. Bliss.”

Charles rolled his eyes, a mirror of his brother’s earlier gesture, and headed over to the tray of wine and fresh linen.

“It’s all well and good for you to spout matrimony,” Charles pointed out. “Cordelia is a marvel.”

“She is that,” Jack said, smiling like a fool. “A general and a half and a delight. And most enthusiastic in bed sp-“

Charles snapped up a hand. “You’re my brother and I love you, but if you say another word I will trounce you.”

“You can try,” Jack sallied as he poured himself a large glass of wine.

Charles narrowed his eyes. “Cordelia would never forgive me if I bloodied you.”

Charles would never forget that night on a country road when Cordelia had made the mistake of believing he was Jack. It had been quite the experience. Truthfully, his sister-in-law was one of his favorite people in the world. And those he could count on one hand, if one didn’t include family who he was duty bound to love in any case.

“You know, as long as it was a fair fight, I don’t think Cordelia would mind,” Jack said. “She’s a bit of a fighter herself.”

Charles laughed. “So, she is. Even so, you best get back to her. One should never keep such a lady waiting. Make her feel appreciated. I’m acquainted with far too many wives who’ve been left on their own.”

“I haven’t forgotten them, either.”

Charles nodded and poured a glass of fine burgundy for himself and his brother. Once, he and Jack had been quite a pair sleeping with half the young married women of the
ton
and raking hell wherever they may. It had been a damned good time.

But all things had to come to an end.

He just hadn’t counted on how. . . Well, jaded he would become.

It had never occurred to him that ennui would hit him. He’d always enjoyed wine, women, and song too much.

“I can see it on your face, you know,” Jack said just before he took a drink.

“What?”

“You’re starting to look like those old roués.”

Charles scowled. “Do you want me to run you through?

“No,” Jack protested, brandishing his wine glass. “Hear me out. You’re not having fun anymore, running about. Like those old rakes who never knew when to stop.”

“I beg your pardon,” Charles drawled, “but I am not even in my prime.”

“That’s a matter of opinion.”

“Well, I’m hardly ready to be put out to pasture.”

Jack choked on his wine. “No. I wouldn’t go that far. But I really do think you should try to find one lady to devote your talents to. . . And she to you. If you’re not careful, you’re going to become a bitter old uncle, the one with a fat belly who has to undo his trousers after dinner and belches.”

Charles arched an astounded brow then looked down at his own physique which matched his brother’s.

The two of them were as lean and muscled as Apollonian Greek statues.

“You think it absurd, but it’s not,” warned Jack. “Look at Lord Roxby. The fellow was an Adonis in his day. Now look at him”

“Roxby has no hair,” Charles pointed out.

“I’m just pointing out,” Jack returned.

“Are you saying I’m going to lose all my hair because I haven’t wed?” Charles asked.

Jack shrugged. “I don’t think it’s worth the chance. Do you?”

“Mad. Marriage has made you mad.”

Jack grinned, his eyes glowing like a besotted school boy’s. “A magnificent madness.”

“Stop. I beg of you to stop.” Charles put his wine down. “What time is it?”

Jack frowned.” After eleven and the opera must be done.” He waggled his dark brows. “Time to go home and pay attention to my wife, as you advise.”

“Thank God. I’m not sure I could take another moment of your sickening sentimentality or dire warnings about my hair.”

“There’s nothing sick about happiness, old man.” Jack winked. “And one’s hair is a serious business.”

“Hmmph.” Charles took one last drink, put the glass down again, then hauled off his linen shirt. He’d need a bath. “As it turns out, I’ve an appointment and I mustn’t be late.”

Jack frowned. “Tarts are well and good but they won’t make you happy.”

“She’s not a tart and if you say happy one more time, I’m going to pop you one.”

Jack grinned. “Not a tart? Perhaps marriage bells are nigh after all.”

“Jack, I’m going to kill you.”

“No, you won’t old boy. You’re too afraid of Cordelia.”