The Dastardly Duke (22 page)

“I am perfectly happy, Aunt.” Lucy crossed her arms over her chest.

No less pleased to be a member of Lady Huffington’s captive audience, Charles glowered. “As your niece has chosen not to accept my apologies, there is really very little else to say, madam.”

“How like a man to ignore the obvious,” the countess retorted.

Charles frowned. “The obvious? I do not understand.”

Lady Huffington regarded them both in disapproval. “I have never seen such stubbornness—or such faint hearts. You do not speak, you do not touch, you do not even look at each other, when it is very plain that you wish to do all of those things—and more. By Jove, Charles, if you really cared for Lucy, you would not let a little quarrel get in the way.”

“
Little quarrel
?”
Charles eyed her in amazement. “Your niece has made it clear she cannot stand the sight of me.”

“Lucy’s pride is hurt. That is all,” the countess explained briskly. “You must get her to rise above it. It is obvious she truly wants that which pride has made it impossible to have. Women often do, you know.”

“That is odd,” Charles said in a musing tone. “Julian said much the same thing back when we made our wager.”

“I wish both of you would not speak of me as if I am not here,” Lucy snapped.

Lady Huffington ignored her. “Seize the moment, Charles,” she said sternly. “Make her see that she loves you. This is no time to play the gentleman.”

“I demand that we change the subject,” Lucy said fiercely, her face flaming.

Charles seemed lost in thought. “I am not so much the gentleman as you believe, madam,” he confessed. “I truly intended to take her to Scotland if Julian lost the wager. I thought if I could get her alone—truly alone—for a time, she would be mine forever.” He paused. “I still believe that.”

The countess eyed him sympathetically. “Poor man,” she said. “Lucy has led you a merry dance, has she not?”

“I will
not
be talked about like this!” Lucy cried. “Please, may we speak of something else?”

“Certainly,” the countess said easily. “Do you see that cove of trees up ahead? I believe we have almost reached our destination.”

Suddenly, the carriage lurched to a halt.

“Stand and deliver!” came a raspy voice.

Lucy put her hand to her chest. “Oh, no! ’Tis a highwayman!”

Charles frowned. “But it is not even dark.”

“What does that matter?” Lucy cried. “The bandit is here is he not?”

Still puzzled, Charles turned to the countess. “Do you have a pistol hidden somewhere?”

“A pistol?” The countess looked horrified. “Certainly not! He merely wants to rob us. You cannot mean to shoot him!”

Charles stared at her. “How else do you propose that I deal with him, madam?”

Just then, the door flew open. A man dressed in black, a mask obscuring his features, stood before them. “I will take your jewelry, if you please, ladies,” he said in a muffled voice.

Calmly, Lady Huffington unfastened the clasp on her gold-and-emerald bracelet. As she handed it over, the
man
suddenly reached out and yanked her from the carriage.

“Aunt Eleanor!” Lucy exclaimed, horrified.

“Do not worry, children,” the countess called, as the carriage wheels suddenly jerked forward.

Charles had been on the point of dashing to the countess’ rescue, but Lucy shrieked and pulled him backward onto the seat just as the carriage took off. Struggling to right himself, Charles rapped frantically on the roof to get the coachman’s attention.

“Stop! Stop this vehicle, damn it!” he barked—to no effect. Indeed, the crack of a whip indicated the driver had spurred the team on.

“The man must be scared out of his wits,” he muttered.

“What shall we do?” Lucy cried. “We must save Aunt Eleanor!”

As the enormous coach careened around a curve, Charles stuck his head out of the window to see if he could catch a glimpse of Lady Huffington and her fate. To his surprise, the countess was standing at the highwayman’s side, waving good-bye to them with her handkerchief. The two figures on the road grew ever smaller as the carriage raced away, but Charles could distinctly see Lady Huffington’s expression.

She was smiling.

“Do you think this will do the trick?” Lady Huffington asked. “John Coachman will not stop until the inn, but what happens then?”

“What will,” Higgins said, ripping the mask off his face. “Deuced uncomfortable getup,” he muttered.

“But what if Charles has an attack of conscience?” the countess persisted. “It will soon be dark. What is to stop him from turning the carriage around and driving them back? He is a gentleman, after all.”

Hig
gins
stared at the fading silhouette of the departing carriage, which was just making the next rise in the road. “From the look in that young man’s eyes, I imagine he will not let that fact get in the way.”

The countess smiled. “You are positively brilliant, Higgins.”

Higgins sighed. “Not at all, my lady. But I do know the face of lust when I see it.”

Startled, Lady Huffington stared at him. “I see.”

“No, madam,” Higgins corrected, his tone strangely aloof. “I do not believe that you do.”

Chapter
Twenty

Outwardly calm, Hannah sat on the treatment table in Dr. Itard s office in Little Argyle Street. The doctor pulled a large needle from a case and smiled.

“We will begin with the eardrum piercing. If there is a blockage, this should clear it.” He hesitated. ‘There may be some pain.”

Hannah took a deep breath. “I do not fear pain.”

“Do you wish a sedative? That may lessen the discomfort.”

She shook her head.

“Very well.” Itard inserted the needle into a long, probe
-
like instrument. When he finished, the thing looked like a huge knitting needle. As he turned toward her, the kerosene lantern flickered wildly.

Nervously, Hannah wondered whether the uneven lighting was sufficient for such a delicate procedure. An evening appointment had been all he could give her, as the days of such an important man were far too busy to see patients. She was glad that her aunt and uncle were attending a house party in the country, since she would probably be in no condition to see anyone after the procedure. Eyeing Dr. Itard’s needle, Hannah forced herself to put her fears aside. To hear again, to once more know the song of the birds and the joy of Mozart, was worth any price.

“It is important not to move, no matter how uncomfortable
the
procedure may be,” Dr. Itard cautioned, his features ste
rn
. “I should not wish to inflict unnecessary damage.”

Mutely, Hannah nodded. As he moved closer, she willed herself to perfect stillness.

His eyes gleamed in anticipation. “I feel very good about this, my dear.”

“Yes,” she murmured with a tremulous smile.

Slowly, he inserted the needle into the outer part of her ear. Its cold, sharp metal felt like ice against her skin. Hannah focused her gaze on a spot above the doorway. It was a technique she had learned in the hospital. If one concentrated all one’s attention on a single unmoving spot, one could sometimes keep pain and discomfort at bay.

Just as Dr. Itard moved the probe deeper into her ear, the door swung open, breaking her concentration.

The Duke of Claridge stood at the threshold, arms crossed over his chest, like an arrogant king regarding a rebellious subject who had dared to displease.

“Your Grace!” Hannah exclaimed.

Startled, Dr. Itard dropped the instrument. It fell to the floor and rolled under the examining table. He whirled. “What is the meaning of this?”

Julian merely returned him a chilling gaze. In one fluid movement, he strode past Itard, snatched Hannah’s bonnet from a chair, plopped it on her head, and lifted her into his arms.

“What are you doing?” Itard sputtered. He made a belated grab for her, but Julian stepped them deftly out of his reach. “You cannot take her!” Itard shrieked. “I will not allow it!” He reached out again, and this time his hand touched the ducal sleeve.

An icy gaze was Julian’s only response. Cold, murderous rage lurked within those black depths, and the scar on his cheek seemed to pulse with a fury of its own. Instantly, the doctor withdrew his hand.

Without a moment’s pause, Julian carried her out of the office and down two flights of stairs to the street. Tossing her into his waiting carriage, he climbed in beside her, barked an order to his coachman, and they were off.

Flung none too gently against the squabs, Hannah could scarcely catch her breath. It was not so much the force of her
landing
that robbed her of air as it was her own anger.

“How dare you!” she demanded when at last she could speak.

He turned, his face hard as stone.

The issue is not my behavior, but yours. I forbade you to go to that charlatan. Yet tonight I find you calmly sitting on his bed in near darkness, waiting for him to mutilate your ear with a needle so enormous as to be absurd.”

“I was
not
sitting on his bed!” Hannah eyed him indignantly.

His brows met ominously. “You disobeyed my order.”

“It was not your order to give,” she retorted, “I am no longer in your employ.”

Suddenly his brow relaxed, as if the storm had somehow abruptly passed. “No,” he agreed. “You are not.”

Hannah eyed him uncertainly. “You admit that you have no authority over me? That you had no right to do what you did?”

“On the contrary. I had every right.”

“On what basis?” she demanded.

He looked surprised. “Why, as your lover, of course.”

“
Lover
!”
Hannah stared at him, anger giving way to confusion. “You are mad. We are nothing to each other.”

“As to that,” he said, holding her gaze, “I must disagree.”

“What?” Hannah blinked, then flushed deeply as she discerned his meaning. “Because of that time in your carriage?”

He appeared to consider the matter. “In part.”

“In
part
!
What do you mean?”

“I have not yet worked that out.” A contemplative look softened his features. “I will inform you when I do.”

Dazed, Hannah sank against the squabs. Discussing anything with this man was pointless. He merely did what he wished and ignored any questions. She supposed that was what came with being a duke.

Of course he might not be a duke, after all. Perhaps that was what he was trying to work out. Her heart skipped a beat. What if he were just an ordinary man, without the burdens and obligations of a dukedom? He would not care that she was nobody, without money or respectability. Perhaps they might even have a future together.

Then again, any man would want a respectable wife—not one who had lived among prostitutes. There was no future for her with this or any man. She had known that all along. Anyway, she had never wanted anything other than a chance to re
gain
her hearing and to survive without selling herself on the streets as her friends had done.

Now he had robbed her of even that chance. She ought to be furious, but the fury had somehow drained out of her and all she felt was a profound fatigue that came from the sheer hopelessness of her plight

“Where are we going?” she said at last.

‘To my home.”

“I live at my uncle’s now. I would rather be taken there.”

“We are going to Claridge House.”

Hannah sighed. There was no reasoning with him, and she would not even try. Closing her eyes, she sank into the solace of silence, letting it keep everything else at bay.

At Claridge House, Julian lifted her from the carriage, crushing her possessively against his broad chest as he carried her inside. Hannah did not bother to struggle.

Higgins did not betray by so much as an eyelash that there was anything unusual about seeing her in the duke s arms. He merely handed Julian a missive, which forced him to set her on her feet so that he could read it

Julian read the contents, crumpled the note, and tossed it back to Higgins. The majordomo looked alarmed at such treatment of what was evidently a very important piece of paper.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” he said, “but you intend to
do
something, do you not?”

Julian eyed him blandly. “Just what would you have me do, Higgins?”

“Why, go after them, sir. I am certain that is what Lady Huffington wishes. She has taken this very hard. Even at this moment she is confined to her bed...”

“With a case of the megrims,” Julian finished. “Yes, yes, Hi
ggins
. I am certain she feels dreadful. But I have no intention of racing after my sister just because she took it into her head to elope with Charles. Best thing for them, anyway.”

Hannah gasped. “Lucy and Charles have gone?”

“This afternoon,” Julian confirmed. “Seems they persuaded my
a
u
nt
to accompany them to Richmond, then put her out of the carriage and drove north.”
Arching a brow, he studied the majordomo. “My aunt must have been quite inconvenienced,
Hi
ggins
.
Just how did she manage to find her way back?”

“Her ladyship had requested that I follow along in another carriage with extra provisions,” Higgins replied hastily. “Fortunately, I spied her on the side of the road and rescued her.”

Hannah frowned. “It is not like either Lucy or Charles to take such a drastic step.”

“On the contrary,” Julian corrected. “Lucy has always been headstrong, and Charles is a man at the end of his rope.” He turned to Higgins. “I assume that my aunt is indefinitely indisposed?”

The majordomo nodded. “That is why she left this note for you. No one knew when you would be home.” Higgins eyed Hannah uncertainly.

“It is too late to do anything now,” Julian said.

“Oh, no!” Hannah protested. “There will be a terrible scandal. Lucy’s reputation will be ruined.”

“I doubt that. Anyway, by the time I found them, they would have spent half the night together. There would be a scandal in any case.”

Hannah hesitated. “Not if they had been accompanied,” she said slowly.

Julian frowned. “What are you suggesting?”

“That I go with you.”

He eyed her incredulously. “You propose that
we
serve as Lucy’s chaperons? That will not fadge. You will only sully your own reputation by letting it be known that you spent the night gadding about the countryside with one of the realm’s most notorious rakes.”

Perhaps,” she conceded. “But people know you would never involve your sister in scandal. That is why they will believe that the four of us set out for Richmond in Lady Huffington’s coach and had an accident—a broken wheel that could not be repaired until the morrow. We put up at an inn for the night—Lucy and I together and Charles and you together.”

“But
two
carriages would return to London—mine and Aunt Eleanor
’
s,” he pointed out. “That would raise suspicions.”

“You can say that you sent word to Claridge House to have your car
ri
age brought to us as soon as possible, in the event that the countess’s wheel could not be repaired in a timely fashion.”

The ste
rn
set of his features told her that he thought her plan ludicrous. Hannah did not know how to persuade him, but she knew she had to try. Lucy and Charles belonged together, but not in this slapdash scandalous fashion.

S
hyly, she touched his sleeve. “Please, Julian. We have to try.”

He stilled. “What did you call me?”

Too late, she realized that she had breached a boundary between their stations feat should never have been crossed. Mortified, she flushed deeply. “I am sorry, Your Grace. I had no right to use your Christian name.”

Enigmatic black eyes held hers. “I do not mind.”

Strange currents in those dark depths tugged at her, making her dizzy. “Do you not?” Hannah stammered, feeling like the
veriest schoolgirl.

“No.” He turned to Higgins. “Have a fresh team brought out. Miss Gregory and I travel tonight.”

Higgins bowed deeply. “Very well, Your Grace.”

Hannah
saw a smile on Higgins’s face and knew he was relieved to be able to tell Lady Huffington that her nephew had matters well in hand.

“Why do you say that Aunt Eleanor is in no danger?” Grimly, Charles stared ahead, his arms folded over his chest, his mood blacker than the night that was rapidly overtaking them. “Higgins will take care of her.”

“
Higgins
!”
Lucy frowned. “But she is in the hands of that
... that brigand!”

He arched a brow. “Did you not notice something familiar
about that
‘brigand’?”

“His voice was rather odd,” she said slowly, “but I imagine one does get hoarse riding about in the night air robbing coaches.” When Charles let out a derisive laugh, she frowned. “What is so amusing?”

“Did it occur to you that he might have been trying to disguise his voice so that we could not recognize it?”

“Not recognize
it ... Y
ou cannot think
...
”
She paused, then gasped. “Oh, merciful heavens! Never say that
Higgins
was our highwayman?”

Charles’s bland look was confirmation enough.

“Then ... then
Aunt Eleanor must have known!” Lucy shook her head. “But
why
?”

“For the same reason that our driver has seen fit to ignore my entreaties to stop this infernal antique and turn us around.”

“I do not understand.”

Charles made an expression of disgust. “For someone who is normally so intelligent, you are being remarkably obtuse.”

“Obtuse?” Confusion etched two neat little lines over her nose. “What reason could my aunt and Higgins have to stage a holdup and send us barreling alone away from London? Why, it is nearly dark!”

“Just so.” His pointed look was full of meaning.

Lucy blinked. “Oh,” she said in a small voice.