The Dastardly Duke (18 page)

Chapter
Sixteen

Julian ran Charles to ground at White’s. The baronet was slumped in a chair clutching a bottle of port and looking very much the worse for having consumed most of it.

“I wish to call off the wager,” Julian said, signaling for a glass.

Red-rimmed eyes regarded him contemptuously. “What happened? Did your
protégé
e finally show her true stripes—proposition Lord Greeley, p’rhaps? Hear he has a roving eye, you know. ’Tis said he is a regular customer of the Covent Garden set.”

Julian made an effort to rein in his temper. “Hannah conducted herself superbly. If you had been at Lady Greeley’s musicale, you would have seen for yourself.”

“Not fond of musicales. Not fond of making a fool out of myself, either.” Charles glowered into his glass.

“My little sister driving you a bit mad, eh?” Julian arched a sardonic brow.

“Oh, it is not funny. Not at all. But that is another story. At the moment I am more interested in why you are trying to weasel out of our bet. Mayhap you are finally showing
your
true stripes.”

Julian’s eyes narrowed. “If you were not foxed, I would be tempted to call you out.”

“I am overcome with fear,” Charles drawled.

Making an impatient sound, Julian rose. “You are past reasoning with. I will come round to see you in the afternoon.”

“Good,” Charles replied with a lopsided grin. “You will meet my splendid surprise.”

“Surprise? What are you talking about?”

“It seems that my uncle has decided to visit.”

“What uncle is that?”

“The old recluse you killed off when you decided to make him Hannah’s father.”

Julian stilled. “I see.”

“Puts a different light on the subject, does it not?” Charles drained the last of his port. “Dropped in yesterday, he did. In town on business. Delighted to accept his only nephew’s offer of bed and board.” He grinned, waiting for Julian’s reaction. As none was immediately forthcoming, Charles continued. “I was thinking of taking him round to the parties tomorrow—just to make a few introductions, you understand.”

“You promised not to sabotage my plan.”

“True. But I did not promise to save you from your foolish mistakes,” Charles retorted. “I warned you Uncle Erasmus had not gone aloft, but you would not listen. You think everything will go your way, simply because you wish it.”

Charles did not seem to notice Julian’s rigid
features, or the sudden clenching of his jaw. “Uncle should be delighted to meet this daughter of his—especially since he never married,” he continued in a goading voice. “Lady Huffington should be intrigued, as well.”

“Do not forget Lucy,” Julian added softly. “I imagine she will be especially interested.”

Rising from his chair, Charles reeled slightly. “Lucy will not think well of me for cooperating with your lies, but you cannot scare me with that threat. I would far rather endure Lucy’s anger than her giggles.” He sighed forlornly.

“Whatever the reaction of my aunt and sister, the fact remains that Hannah has proven herself,” Julian said,
marshaling
the last of his patience. “I do not care to continue with the wager.”

“Ah, yes. The wager. You were about to tell me why you have had a change of heart.”

“I intend to make Hannah my mistress.”

Charles’s mouth fell open. Then he burst into laughter. “That is rich!”

R
ailing
his hands into fists at his side, Julian stared at him. “I fail to see anything amusing about it.”

“Can you not? A duke who disdains whores decides to pass one off as a lady, then set her up as his light o’ love. From Covent Garden to Mayfair to the demimonde—all in a few weeks! My lit
tl
e ‘cousin’ must be quite talented.”

Julian fought against the growing urge to plant his friend a facer. “That is neither here nor there,” he said evenly. “I have simply decided to keep her.”

‘“Simply decided to keep her,”’ Charles echoed, nodding sagely. “How pleasant it must be to decide a woman will be yours and have your wish instantly gratified. Tell me, Julian, do you always get everything you wish for?”

“You know the answer to that,” Julian said through gritted teeth.

“Yes, of course,” Charles drawled in a tone of mock pity. “I must remember to feel sorry for the poor bastard who never had a true fath—”

A blazing uppercut to the jaw halted the baronet midsentence. Charles blinked in amazement, turned slowly around, and collapsed in a heap on the floor.

“You know, Higgins, I do like that girl. She has spunk and courage.”

“Rather like you, madam.”

Lady Huffington started. “I beg your pardon?”

Hi
g
gin
s
poured out the countess’ tea. “It took courage to ask Miss Gregory to play for you and to take her under your wing.”

“I—I never thought of it like that,” she stammered.

“She is good for you,” Higgins said gently. “She has started a healing process that should have occurred years ago.”

Bleakly, the countess stared into her teacup, seeing in the depths of the amber liquid other faces in other times. “I do not wish to talk about that,” she murmured. “Let us speak of my niece instead.”

“Lady Lucille?”

“It seems that Sir Charles is in love with her, but Lucy views him only as a trusted friend and confidant.”

“I see.”
Higgins
busied himself with the tea tray.

“He has little money,” the countess continued. “I suppose many would cavil at marrying a duke’s daughter to a man so far beneath her.”

“Yes,” Higgins replied gravely, “many would.”

“Martin Luther tells us that a man determines his own worth,” Lady Huffington said in a contemplative tone, “and Charles is possessed of a great deal of self-respect. Yet he is not one of those toplofty dandies, filled to excess with his own self-importance. Lucy needs a man like him.”

Higgins considered this. “You are saying that Sir Charles is a worthy man, if not a wealthy one.”

“Yes.” The countess seemed pleased at his understanding. “Lucy has her own money and need not marry for wealth or title. Sir Charles is kind and decent, and the love he offers her seems strong and pure.”

“You wish her to marry for love?”

The countess nodded. “No one in our family has ever done so. Octavius had to marry an heiress, and
I...
”
Her gaze took on a faraway look. “Leon was good enough to marry me after I was with child, but he did not love me. He had so many mistresses that I knew he could not—”

“Please, madam,” Higgins said, startled. “It is not necessary to—”

“In any case,” the countess continued briskly, “our passion faded quickly.”

Higgins was too tongue-tied to reply.

Lady Huffington sighed. “Well, that was long ago, so I suppose it does not matter.” She eyed him consideringly. “It is easy to talk to you, Higgins. Perhaps that is because you are a trusted friend as well as my majordomo.”

Higgins cleared his throat. “Thank you, my lady.”

“As I was saying, I want Lucy to know something more than I had, something lasting. Charles can offer her respect, faithfulness, and a solid and abiding love that has developed over half a lifetime.”

“But you said that she does not return his love,” Higgins pointed out.

“I think she does, but does not yet know it,” the countess replied, a speculative tone in her voice. “Deep friendship can be a strong foundation for love, you know.”

Higgins did not speak.

“Unfortunately,” she added, “Lucy fears altering their relationship and losing his friendship forever.”

“There is much to risk in taking such a step,” he agreed.

“But much to gain,” she pointed out. “Sometimes in life we must take chances—embrace the unknown.”

“Yes. Sometimes we must
.
”
Unexpectedly, a tear trickled from her eye. Lady Huffington reached for her handkerchief. Higgins looked away.

“All this blathering about love and passion—it is not like me,” the countess said, shaking her head. “Sometimes I wonder if I am coming apart at the seams. I do not know what has happened to me lately.”

“It is the healing process,” Higgins said gently. “You must give it time.”

“My niece does not have time.” She dabbed at her eyes. “Charles is weary of waiting for her to fall in love with him. I
think
we must do something, Higgins.”

“
We,
madam?” he echoed in surprise.

“Yes, indeed,” she replied. “I have given the matter some thought. In your younger days you must have been quite the ladies’ man. I am depending upon you for ideas.”

Higgins’s mouth dropped open in amazement. “I assure you, madam, I was never—”

“Nonsense. Even at your age, you are still quite handsome. You have all of your hair, and you have not let yourself run to ruin as many men do in their upper years. Your eyes are quite the nicest shade of brown.”

A coughing fit had Higgins grasping f
o
r the water pitcher. The countess shook her head. “Do not gammon me, Higgins. I imagine you know all of the tricks there are to know.”

When at last he had himself under control, Higgins looked up to find the countess regarding him in wry amusement.

“I do believe I have embarrassed you, Higgins.”

“Not at all, madam,” he insisted.

“But you were quite the man about town, were you not?” she persisted mischievously. “I often wonder why you did not wed.”

There was no frivolity in his gaze as it met hers. “Perhaps it is because that I, too, have come to believe that one must marry for love.”

“And you have never loved?”

“Once.” He paused. “But she was wed to another.”

“Oh, dear. I am sorry.” The countess smiled brightly. “I had no right to question you about something so personal. Let us turn our attention to the young people, shall we?”

Higgins bowed and poured his employer another cup of tea.

It just might be possible to get through the drive without looking at the Duke of Claridge. There were interesting sights in the park, people to greet and the brisk afternoon air to enjoy. One could sit right next to a person and never find reason to meet his gaze.

But that would be the coward’s approach, and Hannah had never been a coward. And so, she looked the duke in the eye for the first time since last night, when he had tucked her under the quilt.

“I wish to thank you for your support at Lady Greeley’s,” she began. “But I also wish to say that I—I regret what happened in the carriage afterward.” Her face flamed, but she held his gaze. It was important that they understand each other.

“You expect an apology?” His penetrating black eyes held a question that seemed rather deeper than the one he had spoken. He looked away only briefly, to direct the curricle toward an isolated area of trees.

“I do not expect anything,” she said firmly. “I do not imagine you are the kind of man to make apologies.”

“No,” he agreed.

“But I do not want you to think that I am the sort of wo
man
who”—Hannah took a deep breath—“who indulges in such behavior,” she finished quickly.

His lips curled into a provocative smile, and he fixed her with a probing gaze. “Did you not enjoy my touch, Hannah? You seemed to—very much, I might add.”

Hannah looked around, hoping no one had heard him—for there was no doubting his meaning. But he had driven the carriage into a cove of trees that shielded them from any curious eyes or ears.

“You know that I did.” She closed her eyes in humiliation. It was typical of him to reduce those breathtaking moments in the carriage to one of simple physical enjoyment. For her it had been much, much more. That foolish kernel of joy inside her that had been planted that night in his study had found nourishment and even now was straining to send out roots.

When he covered her gloved hand with his, she opened her eyes, surprised to see a pensive look on his face. “Let us have done with these games, Hannah,” he said. “Your body told me more last
ni
ght than any words. You want me. We want each other. It is very simple.”

“No.” She shook her head in denial.

“I will take good care of you,” he said, impatiently pushing that unruly shock of hair back off his forehead. “I imagine you are used to a very different, cruder sort of protector, one who does not care for your pleasure. But I am not unkind. I will not hold your previous life against you. I will set you up in a fine house and clothe you in fine gowns, and you will never want for anything again.”

Hannah eyed him blankly.

“You will be safe,” he continued, leaning close, his breath wa
rm
ing her earlobe. “You will be mine alone. You will never have to sell yourself again.”

The import of his words suddenly became brilliantly, humiliatingly clear. “You are offering me carte blanche?” she demanded in amazement.

He smiled. “It is more than you could have hoped for, is it not? But it is what I want
.
We will enjoy each other, Hannah.”

Hannah tried to remain calm. “No, sir, we will not.”

“What?” He frowned. “Perhaps you do not understand, my dear. I am offering you every advantage to which the mistress of a duke is entitled. You will have a splendid house, many servants, and all the money you need.”

“I understand perfectly, Your Grace,” Hannah replied g
riml
y “It is you who are having difficulty. I will not be your mistress.”

Those midnight eyes flashed like lightning amid gathering storm clouds. The scar on his cheek seemed to redden. “If you are holding out for a better offer,” he said, his posture stiff with anger, “you will not get it.”

“What I am holding out for,” Hannah said distinctly, “is a husband. Failing that, I will be quite satisfied as a spinster.”

“
Husband
?”
He looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “What hope does a woman like you have of securing a husband? In a few short weeks you will collect your five hundred pounds and be on your way. None of the men who gather around you so eagerly now will know your name this time next month.”

“I know what I am,” Hannah retorted. “I know that I have no hope of finding a husband among your class. But that is not the point. The point is I do not intend to give myself to anyone other than the man I love.”

“Damnation, woman!” he thundered. “You are a
prostitute
!”

Hannah drew herself up with as much dignity as she could muster. “Since I lack the ability to tell whether you just shouted those words to the heavens, I cannot judge whether anyone else heard. But if you expect me to continue playing the part of a lady, Your Grace, I advise you to refrain from such public utterances in the future.”

She turned to stare fixedly at the leaves of a bay laurel. For a long time she felt his eyes on her, though he made no move to catch her attention. At last, she could take it no more. “Perhaps you will be good enough to take me back,” she said stiffly.

Immediately, the curricle jerked forward. Hannah gripped the seat to avoid falling against him. They drove the rest of the way without speaking. Hannah could feel the anger emanating from him.

Finally, they rolled to a stop in front of the duke’s town house. Several footmen rushed toward the carriage, but the duke waved them away. He placed his hand on her chin, forcing her to look at him. The wind had blown his hair every which way, giving him a wild, Satanic air.

“Your bluntspokenness has always intrigued me.” His black gaze bored into hers. “I did not realize you were at heart a hypocrite.”

Hannah flinched.

“I will not be played for a fool,” he continued, scowling as he brought his face closer, letting her see the masculine sensuality in his brooding gaze. “You want me. I could feel it last night. I can feel it now.”

“Yes,” she whispered, unable to deny the truth.

His fingers touched her jaw, and she wondered if he were about to kiss her, here on the drive in front of his servants and passersby.

But that was not his intent. His gaze filled with wrathful promise as it held hers.

“Your false virtue notwithstanding,” he said, speaking slowly so that every word burned into her, “I will have you, H
ann
ah. I will indeed.”

With a curt nod at the footmen, who quickly came scurrying to do his bidding, he leaped from his seat. As one servant assisted Hannah, the duke tossed his whip to another. Then he swept past her into the house.

Rage radiated from him like smoke from an angry volcano.