St. Raven (18 page)

“I did manage to intercept an irascible old lawyer hurrying to a deathbed—as he made very clear—and relieve him of his gold watch and a few guineas. I hope that does the trick, because I’m not trying again.”

“Yet you offered to do so for me.”

Did he look a little uncomfortable, the sophisticated duke? “Unfinished business.”

Cressida smiled at him, a smile of true fondness. There was much about the Duke of St. Raven that she had to deplore, but at heart he was a generous man who took his responsibilities seriously. Even, it would seem, responsibility for a bastard, foreign cousin.

“What are you going to do about him?” she asked, head resting in her corner of the coach, rocked by the motion to a state almost of peace.

“He should be out of jail soon, and I know where Jean-Marie Bourreau lives and what he does in his ordinary life. He has to return to that to allay suspicions, so he will be easily caged and forced to reveal his true purpose.”

“That sounds positively tyrannical.”

“Am I not a duke?”

“But in this civilized age?”

“This age is not so civilized as you assume, Miss Mandeville of Matlock. I’d have thought you’d just seen evidence of that.”

“Don’t sneer at me.”

“Did I? I do beg your pardon. But the world isn’t tame, Cressida. It comes beaked and clawed. Step carefully. As for tyranny, I do have the power and influence to make life very unpleasant for a Frenchman if I wish.

“Le Corbeau must cease,” he said, as if his word were law. “The sort of scandal that would arise from his capture cannot be permitted. However, my uncle appears to have treated him and his mother abominably. If he wants some sort of restitution, I’ll do my best to provide it.”

“What if he wishes to continue as the highwayman?”

“It can only have been whimsy.”

“A family trait?”

His eyes flashed to hers. “Don’t sneer at
me
, Miss Mandeville. I can be serious and even dignified on occasion.”

She flinched at his anger, but then realized it was something closer to hurt. She was throwing darts at him as if he wore armor, and perhaps he didn’t…

“Being a duke is not a round of pleasure, you know. I’ve spent most of this summer on business, not on Bourreau’s affairs. Or on orgies, for that matter. I spent the past six years officially under my uncle’s tutelage, but we disliked each other so thoroughly that once I came of age we avoided each other. I have much to learn. It didn’t help that, in a fit of funk, I fled abroad as soon as I inherited.”

“Why funk?” she asked, her resistance melting at this more vulnerable side of him.

“The duke died of a heart attack very suddenly. He wasn’t well, but there’d been no sign he would die soon. I wasn’t… prepared. I think in a way I’d been pretending that it would never happen.”

“You didn’t want to be duke?”

Flickering candlelight could play tricks, but he seemed honestly surprised by her question. “Where’s the appeal, except to the sort of person who loves to see others grovel? The responsibilities are huge, and not just in terms of property.”

“Wealth? Luxury? The ability to do as you will?”

“I am not finding that I can do as I will.”

The tone, the look, told her he spoke of her. Of them.

“As for wealth and luxury,” he carried on, “it’s possible to have those without high rank. Wealthy Tris Tregallows would have an easier life, believe me. What use are twelve houses in six countries, vast acres, hundreds of servants, and thousands of tenants? All dependent on me.”

“Twelve houses?” she repeated. “Six countries?”

“England, Scotland, Wales, Ireland, France—I may have repossession of it—and Portugal. A quinta, and I know nothing about producing port.”

“You could do a great deal of good.”

“With what time?”

With the time you waste on debauchery
. But she said, “You could support a great many charities.”

“Which is still work.”

She couldn’t resist a tease. “I see. It’s the hard work that bothers you.”

“Damnation, woman, it is not!” It was all right. He was laughing as much as he was angry. “A duke is a duke, Cressida. People don’t just want my money, they want my patronage. They want my presence at events. My presence generates money as if I were a two-headed pig.”

She couldn’t stop a spurt of laughter, but she could imagine his trials, and she ached for him.

“People pay attention to my most casual words. They seek to please, especially the young ladies. There are some who would rip off their clothes and lie on the floor at my feet if they thought it would win them a coronet. And the men imitate me. Look at Crofton!”

“I see,” she said, and she did. Crofton had imitated St. Raven’s popular bacchanalia and created that disgusting debauch, and he felt it was his fault.

And he’d sworn at her without even noticing. She saw it as a strange accolade. For this little while, they were friends.

He sighed. “If I took to wearing a fool’s cap, half the men in London would be sporting one the next day.”

“I’d think that would be a strong temptation.”

He looked at her, startled, and then laughed. “You’re a minx at heart, aren’t you, Cressida Mandeville? Did I really just swear at you?”

“Yes, but I don’t mind. My father claims that fussing about language in front of ladies is to pretend that we are a weaker species. My mother insists that it is a matter of respect, but my father’s opinion makes more sense to me. What harm will the word
damnation
do me? It is even in the Bible.”

“Context, Cressida, context. And I swore
at
you, which is outrageous.”

“I was goading you. You are allowed some retaliation.”

His eyes were fixed on her. “You’re a remarkable woman. Why were you goading me?”

She cocked her head, then gave him the truth. “I thought you wanted to talk about these things.”

“You were right. I don’t know why.”

She knew the answer she preferred, but it would never pass her lips. The coach swayed her against him for a brushing moment. She noticed, but it no longer bothered her.

They were at peace.

Cressida smiled at him. “Tell me more about the terrible burdens of being a duke. It will be great comfort to me when I’m stuck in a dull round of poverty and plain living.”

“You will never be stuck in a dull round of poverty and plain living.”

She saw where he was going. “I will not allow you to fund my family, Your Grace.”

“Tris.”

“Tris, I think, is less controllable.”

The words escaped without thought, and she saw him become intent. “Ah, now that is interesting.”

Perhaps not so at peace as she’d thought. “Interesting or not, I will never accept money from you. You have been more than kind as it is.”

“I have been amusing myself, and you know it. The money would let me sleep at night.”

“The Mandevilles are not among your thousands of dependents.”

“But Cressida Mandeville is among my limited number of friends. Is she not?”

“That’s not fair!”

“Dukes don’t have to play fair.”

She met his teasing eyes. “It isn’t possible, Tris. There’s no acceptable connection point between us, and you know it. I could only be your friend if I was also your mistress.”

Did the nickering reaction in his eyes match the one in her heart? Astonishingly tempting, especially if her family were to end up in poverty. All chance of a good marriage would be gone, and by her “sacrifice,” she would earn the money to help her parents…

His lashes lowered, but he still watched her. “I’m the last of the Tregallows, and I must marry. Quite soon. I should have done it years ago, but the more my uncle commanded, the more I resisted. And there are not, in the end, that many young women suited to the rank.”

“Lady Anne?” she said, but then remembered. “No, you said she is in love with someone else. So, who?” She was proud of her calm and level tone.

“I’ve not yet stuck a pin in the short list.”

“Oh, you mustn’t do that!”

He shrugged. “Lady Anne’s mother is fond of saying that anyone can fall in love with a suitable person if they set their mind to it. I have a strong will.”

Cressida felt like a distant witness to a tragedy, but she’d already said too much, and what did she know about life in high places? He wasn’t free to pick as he wished any more than a king or royal duke was.

Except when it came to mistresses.

She looked up to find him watching her.

“I will doubtless set up a mistress,” he said. “One woman for duty, one for pleasure.”

It might be an invitation, but phrased like that, it was unthinkable.

“I hope you don’t. I hope you marry for love. Now,” she added lightly, “list some more of your ducal burdens.”

A wry smile flickered. “Let’s see… Duty obliges me to attend the House of Lords and even—horror of horrors!—to pay attention. I’ve had to inform myself on subjects a lesser mortal is allowed to ignore—export of coal, import of cochineal. Do you know what cochineal is?”

“A red dye used in making pink icing.”

“Do you know it’s made from crushed insects?”

She stared at him. “No! Ugh! You wretched man. I’ll never be able to eat a pink cake again!”

“Nor I. You see—a burden of my rank. What other exciting subjects have I had to read about? Port, of course. I enjoy the drink, but the production is dry stuff. Transport between the Island of Newfoundland and a place called Labrador—a problem with ice, I gather. The peace establishment of the army—important, but stunningly tedious. I was pleased, I must say, to have a part in abolishing punishment in the pillory for most cases, and in a bill for easing the situation of bankrupts.”

“I suspect most of the peers do not pay such close attention.”

He shrugged. “And perhaps in time I’ll grow too bored or cynical to bother. At the moment, I find I can’t slide away—though I’ll confess to abandoning the cochineal debate in favor of more enlivening amusements. There are too many important matters. The situation in Ireland, agricultural distress, and a restless population. See? If I weren’t a duke, I could ignore all this and enjoy my orgies.”

She laughed, wanting to hug him. “I don’t think so. You are cursed with a sense of responsibility, you poor man—especially when you lack the sort of pride that would delight in the groveling rewards.” She cocked her head. “But dare I say that it will get better? In time we do become accustomed to almost anything. Do you have a secretary to help you with all this?”

“I inherited my uncle’s. Leatherhulme’s a dried-up old stick, and thinks he knows everything. He does, in fact, but he also thinks everything must go on as it has since the king was a lad.”

He sighed. “I probably should overhaul the whole administration. It’s antiquated and rooted in the idea that the duchy exists for the duke’s satisfaction. But all the people there are doing their jobs as best they know how. Am I to throw them out?”

Such a thoughtful man. The right wife could turn his restless energy to good works…

He raised a hand and rubbed the back of his neck, dislodging his turban. He pulled it off and tossed it and his mask on the opposite seat. “I can’t believe I’m boring you with all this.”

You could never bore me
, she thought, wanting to smooth his tousled hair. “Perhaps you don’t have enough people to talk to like this.”

“Enough? Any. No, that’s not true. I have friends, but should I bore them with cochineal when they live in blessed unconcern?”

She would be a good listener for him. She could be a good helpmeet in so many ways. She already took an interest in political matters and would enjoy delving deeper. She was seriously involved in charitable works. She’d always been a good organizer. She was enough of her father’s daughter to love the thought of helping to run a duchy in a modern, efficient manner.

But she knew that what he’d said about the pressures of rank was true. Her dreamy image of their life together was of them in their slippers by a comfortable hearth in a house like Nun’s Chase, talking over the day’s events. It was not of occasional meetings in an echoing mansion amid hundreds of servants and thousands of dependents, and a whole world fascinated by their smallest doings.

Perhaps he’d raised those things in order to make that clear to her, though she did hope not. It would mean that he’d detected deeper feelings in her than she even wanted to admit to herself.

A duke did not marry a provincial nobody, and for good reason.

She shuddered at the thought of having her every word hung upon, her every folly imitated—of having people groveling for the favor of her company. It was the reality, however. It was the reality in Matlock with the local lions such as Lady Mumford and Lady Agnes Ferrault. In London she’d seen it in all its blatant glory. The terms
toad eater
and
lickspittle
were not gross exaggerations.

He broke the silence. “So, what of you, Cressida Mandeville? When you have your jewels, what will you do with your life?”

She made sure to smile. “Return to Matlock with my parents and help take care of my father.”

“Hire a nurse.”

“We probably will, but Matlock is my home. I have a full life there.”

“You were in London looking for a husband.”

“I was in London because my father hoped that I would find an impressive husband. I had nothing against the idea, but”—she shrugged—“it didn’t happen.”

“All London is blind?”

She gave him a look. “I’m no beauty. After all, you never noticed me.”

“We met?” He might even have blushed.

“No, but I was in the same room with you a time or two. You were not drawn irresistibly to my startling beauty and charms.”

She meant it as a joke and was relieved when he laughed. “I was probably so busy avoiding the fashionable pursuers that I wouldn’t have noticed you if you’d had a glowing halo around your head. But I’m sorry.”

He took her hand and kissed it.

After a frozen moment, she pulled free. “Don’t, Tris.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t flirt with me.”

He didn’t look away. “I will never hurt you, Cressida. My honor on it.”