Silver Splendor (42 page)

Though touched by the offer, she hesitated. “I’m not sure the duke will allow that.”

Hazel eyes darkening, Owen spat, “Hugh Sterling always was a law unto himself. But don’t you worry, I’ll have a word with him if he refuses me.”

Alarmed, she sank to her knees beside him. “Please, don’t start another argument with the duke. He has a bad heart; he mustn’t be overexcited.”

Owen sat as still as a statue. “You… care for him, do you?” he said, his voice breaking with emotion. “Was he… everything you’d hoped to find?”

Deeply moved, Elizabeth saw his agonizing fear that she would renounce him. She threw her arms around him, pressing her cheek to the familiar rough tweed of his coat. “Oh, Papa, I care for him, but no more than I would for an acquaintance. The duke may be the father of my blood, but you’re the father of my heart.”

His arms tightened; she felt his chest expand with a deep intake of breath. When at last he drew back, tears sparkled in his eyes. “I’m sorry for failing you, Libby. But at first I didn’t realize you
needed
protection. I never imagined even Hugh Sterling would stoop so low as to harm his own daughter.”

“But
is
the duke the culprit? Somehow I can’t see him in the role of murderer.”

Grim lines creased Owen’s whiskered face. “He’s capable of anything, Libby. ‘Be vigilant because your adversary, the devil, walks about, seeking who he may devour.’”

The gruesome words made Elizabeth shiver. Should she fear the duke, or was her father’s prejudice born of jealousy? “Why didn’t you tell me you’d gone to see the duke in London, to warn him to stay away from me?”

He lifted a graying eyebrow. “Would it have made a difference to you?”

“Of course,” she said, gently gripping his hands. “Because you did it for me, Papa.”

The door opened and Nicholas strode inside. From his swift steps and disgruntled expression she guessed the interview with Cicely had not gone well.

Owen surged from the bed. “I trust you’re not angry with Miss Eversham, your lordship. Short of using brute force, neither of us could convince Lady Cicely to return home.”

Nicholas grimaced. “On the contrary, I’m grateful to you both for putting up with her pranks. This time she’s gone too far.”

“She told you of the other incident, then?”

Nicholas gave a curt nod. “Under duress.”

“What other incident?” Elizabeth asked, glancing back and forth between the two men.

“I’d best let your husband tell you,” Owen said, dropping a peck on her cheek.

‘‘You’ve the last bedroom at the end of the hall,” Nicholas said distractedly.

Nodding, Owen bid them good night. The instant the door closed quietly behind her father, Elizabeth repeated, “What incident, Nicholas?”

Removing his frock coat, he sent it sailing onto a gilt Queen Anne chair. “My sister behaved abominably toward Charles Garforth — and half of society, too, it seems.”

“What did she do?”

“It happened yesterday at the Henley Regatta, a rowing competition. She was watching from the bank — alone apparently, because Miss Eversham had gone to fetch their tea and Aunt Beatrice was off greeting some friends.”

“And?”

A dull flush seemed to tint his cheeks… or was it a trick of the candlelight? “Cicely was sitting in front of a screen of bushes. When she spied Charles’s rowboat far in the lead, she… lifted her skirts and showed him her backside.”

A giggle rose in Elizabeth’s throat. “You’re joking.”

“No. Cicely claims to have acted on pure impulse, as if that should excuse her unseemly behavior.”

Consumed by gales of laughter, she collapsed onto the bed. “Oh, Nicholas… can’t you imagine… the look on Charles’s face…”

“It’s hardly amusing,” Nicholas said, though the corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly. “A boatload of people came around the bend and caught her in the act. The tale must be all over society by now.”

“Oh, come now. She had her drawers on, didn’t she? No one actually saw any bare skin.”

“That isn’t the point,” he said, frowning. “Her reputation is surely in shreds.”

Perching on an elbow, Elizabeth watched him unbutton his shirt. “Where’s your sense of humor, Nicholas? I thought you’d gotten over being ashamed of the human body.”

He flashed her a withering look. “I don’t want my sister making an exhibit of herself. What man would want to marry a woman who’d behave so indiscreetly?”

Exasperation rippled through Elizabeth. “People will forget the incident the instant another scandal crops up. Society is likely gossiping more about the Earl of Hawkesford marrying an American artist. As for Cicely, it’s only a matter of time before she accepts the fact that she loves Charles.”

Nicholas’s fingers froze on the last button. “She despises him.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t believe that.”

Hands on his hips, he strode to the bed and stared at her. “What makes you so sure?”

She gazed boldly back, admiring the breadth of his bare chest. “What would you have done if I’d acted the way Cicely did?”

“Paddled your behind, by God.”

“And then?”

Smiling, he came down on the embroidered coverlet and folded her in his arms. “Kissed you until you begged for mercy.”

His lips brushed hers, his tongue seeking an entry she willingly allowed. He tasted of wine and warmth, and she closed her eyes as desire melted her limbs and ignited her blood. She felt herself sliding into a vat of sweet, familiar pleasure, relishing the scent and feel of him, reveling in the knowledge that they belonged to each other.

After a time, he drew back. Running a forefinger over her moistened lips, he eyed her skeptically. “You truly think this is what Cicely wants from Charles?”

Nodding, Elizabeth let her hand drift over the dark, curling hairs on his chest. “Deep in her heart, yes. But she ran here, to her big brother, because she’s afraid to face her feelings.”

“Female logic,” Nicholas scoffed.

“Ah, but remember how we resisted each other at first.”

He grinned. “You do have a point there. I hope you’re right.”

She smiled softly. “Trust me. I trust you.”

The light left his face, and he rolled onto his back to stare at the canopy with its gilded garlands and swans. “How can I allow Cicely to stay? I’ve my hands full keeping you safe.”

A fist of fear squeezed her heart, but she kept her voice even. “Your sister isn’t in any danger, Nicholas.”

“I know,” he said, his voice agonized. “But you are.”

He pulled her onto the hard wall of his chest, his embrace desperately tight. Tucking her face into the crook of his neck, Elizabeth tried not to think of what lay beyond the safe circle of his arms. She longed to reassure him, but knew not the words. She could only wait and hope and pray…

Regret twined around her heart. “Nothing has happened the way I’d thought,” she murmured. “I came here wanting to find love from the man who fathered me. Instead, he’s using me to thwart Philippa and Drew.”

Eyes silver in the candlelight, Nicholas shaped his hands around her cheeks. “In his own way, Hugh Sterling does love you, Elizabeth.”

“I tell myself that. But I can’t help feeling hurt by what he’s done.”

He smoothed a strand of hair from her temple. “We’ll talk to him tomorrow, love. Perhaps we can persuade him to change back the will.”

“Yes, I’d like that.” Cheered by the prospect, she lay her head on her husband’s shoulder and began to plan the words she would use to convince Hugh Sterling.

The Duke of Rockborough stood before the suit of Persian armor in a corner of his bedchamber. Candlelight glinted off the perfectly polished metal, yet something didn’t seem quite right. With the care of a connoisseur, he adjusted the long pike held in the gaunueted hand, aiming the wickedly sharp tip at the angle a knight would have used. There, the duke thought, satisfied with his handiwork.

Leaning heavily on his cane, he hobbled back to the tester bed and gingerly crept between the fine linens, his bones creaking as loudly as the bed ropes. Tonight he felt every one of his sixty nine years. Perhaps he should have taken his sleeping draught instead of dumping it into the chamber pot when Marsh’s back had Been turned.

Yet once he’d settled against the plump feather pillow, Hugh Sterling smiled with glee. He’d wanted to stay awake tonight, to savor his triumph. Those leeches, Philippa and Drew, were like weapons; easy to manipulate if one possessed enough money and guile. Rubbing his knobby hands, Hugh reflected upon the events of the evening. By Jove, everything was shaping up so neatly —

Suddenly the door opened. “I see you’re still awake,” came the familiar voice, sounding not at all surprised.

The duke started. “What do
you
want?”

“I came to talk about Lucy.”

“Lucy!” he snorted. “You must have been nipping at my store of brandy. What makes you think I’ll speak of her to you?”

The visitor took a step closer. “I have to know if you truly loved her.”

“None of your damned business. Now begone with you!”

“She loved you. I saw it in her eyes, so many times.”

Hugh Sterling smiled. He stared into the distance, his aged face wistful with memories. “She did love me, by Jove, she did.”

“Yet she was too virtuous to engage in a sordid affair. It’s time you told the truth.”

The duke’s pensive mood altered to anger. “Who are you to lecture me? I’ll not listen to your prattling!”

“You’ll listen,” the visitor whispered, advancing to the bed. “You owe me that much after all these years.”

Fear invaded the duke. Impatiently he shook off the unfamiliar sensation. He feared no one… least of all the person standing before him. And he’d done nothing to be ashamed of, by Jove!

“I don’t suppose it matters anymore,” he said, shrugging. “All right, Lucy did have ridiculous scruples. Because of that, I could convince her to sleep with me only a few times.”

“You forced her?” Horror weighted the voice.

“Nonsense.” The duke shifted irritably beneath the quilted coverlet. “If she struggled a little, it was only inexperience. She wanted me. Even reached her pleasure, by Jove. I made a woman of her.”

Looking stunned, the figure halted at the edge of the bed. “You raped Lucy. All these years, I believed you loved her, that she went to you willingly…”

Madness shone in those staring eyes. The duke glanced around for a weapon; a medieval dagger lay on the night stand. “I never raped her… and I did love her,” he snapped in his most imperious manner. “Not that it’s any concern of yours. Now get out of here!”

“No,” the visitor said softly. “Your punishment is long overdue. You must pay for your sin.”

The duke lunged for the dagger. With bone crushing swiftness, the caller thrust Hugh Sterling against the mattress. Wheezing, he cursed his wasted body, cursed his weakness.

His heart hammered in terror as he gazed at those familiar eyes. Insane… how had he not seen the truth before?

This must be the person who’d shot at Elizabeth, who wanted her dead! In helpless fury, he fought, determined to protect his daughter.

The visitor seized the feather pillow, pressed it to the duke’s face. Panicked, Sterling struggled harder, his lungs burning, clawing for air. The image of Elizabeth’s lovely face blazed in his frantic mind. He couldn’t die, not yet…

Elizabeth sat with Nicholas and Owen at one end of the massive dining table. Sunlight wandered through the long windows, setting dust motes to dancing and banishing the habitual gloom. Her body sated and her mind contented, she basked in the companionship of the two men she loved. Even the meal tasted better than usual, with steaming porridge, rashers of bacon, grilled tomatoes, and buttered toast with quince preserves.

Somewhere upstairs a door slammed. A few moments later, the sound of running feet approached. Mrs. Drabble rushed inside, her chins quivering with distress and her fingers twisting her apron. “It’s th’ duke,” she gasped. “He’s stone cold dead!”

Elizabeth stared. Her mind reeled in shock. The teacup slipped from her fingers and clattered into the silver edged saucer.

As if from a distance she saw Nicholas’s face whiten.

Tossing down his napkin, he shot to his feet. “Are you sure?” he snapped.

Nodding, the housekeeper sniffed, dabbing at her squat nose. “I went to bring His Grace th’ mornin’ coffee, like I always do. When there weren’t no answer f my knockin’, I went on inside. He was layin’ in the bed wi’ his face white as snow an’ his eyes starin’ —” She blew her nose with the sound of a trumpet.

“Did you summon Dr. Marsh?” Nicholas demanded.

Mrs. Drabble nodded vigorously, her chins jiggling in rhythm. “Aye, right off I rung.” She made the sign of the cross. “I weren’t goin’ to touch no corpse.”

“Does the duchess know?”

“Nay, m’lord. She’s gone. Out for her morning ride.”

“I’ll have to fetch Her Grace, then.”

Bending to kiss Elizabeth’s forehead, Nicholas said to Owen, “Watch out for her, will you? I shan’t be gone long.”

“Of course,” Owen said, his face sober.

Elizabeth watched numbly as Nicholas strode out the door, the housekeeper at his heels. She felt hollow, drained of emotion, sapped of energy. Only a few short hours ago, the duke had been eating dinner at this table, his aging face alight with glee.