The Dastardly Duke (24 page)

And only a
man
capable of great tenderness would take care of her with such gentle strength, as he had done over and over
a
gain
—
from the moment he rescued her in the forest to his behavior during the debacle at Lady Greeley’s and in the carriage afterwa
rd
. Even last night, when he had swept her away from Dr. Itard’s needle, she had sensed that his anger stemmed from concern as much as outrage over her defiance. And just this morning, he had gently tucked the covers around her as sleep overtook her.

Yes, she thought, perhaps he cared just a little. His touch betrayed him. And, foolish woman that she was, she wanted to be with him for the rest of her days.

Hannah shook her head. She did not belong with Julian. She would return to London and, with the help of Lucy’s money, live on her own until she found work. That was the lonely life that stretched out before her—not some coddled existence with Julian.

She sat stiffly on a small bench to wait for the mail, careful to make her face a blank so as not to invite unwanted attention. She was grateful for the cocoon of silence that shielded her from the bustling of the stableyard. If any of the ostlers thought a solitary female an inviting target for their rude comments, she would never know. There was comfort, at least, in that.

Suddenly a shadow loomed over her. She did not need to look up to know who stood there. Julian’s hand touched her shoulder. Against her will, she met his gaze.

“Hannah.”

Just once, Hannah wished she could hear how her name sounded on his lips. Hating that self-pitying thought, she forced a smile. “Your Grace,” she acknowledged politely.

“I thought we were at ‘Julian.’” He sat beside her, his gaze probing hers. “Can you not say it?”

Hannah swallowed hard. “Julian,” she repeated.

“Are you traveling somewhere?”

“I am returning to London.” To her surprise, he did not take her to task. Instead, he stared at the ground, seeming to find something riveting there in an ant’s struggle to move a seed ten times its size.

Gradually, Hannah became aware that his lips were moving. She touched his sleeve. “I am sorry. I did not catch your words.”

Now he looked directly at her, and Hannah was surprised at the bleakness in his eyes. “I wish to explain—” He broke off and muttered something she could not make out. Then he took a deep breath and began again.

“Unlike Charles, I have never been given to honorable intentions,” he said grimly. “The closest I have ever come to marriage was with a certain woman—a respectable lady, one of many I tried to seduce. Her uncle caught us in a compromising situation.”

“Oh.” Hannah did not know what to say.

“In the normal course of things, she and I would be long wed by now.”

Of course. He would marry this respectable lady he had compromised. Perhaps this was the friend that Lucy had hoped he would wed. Hannah waited, holding her breath.

“She would not have me.”

“What?” Hannah eyed him indignantly. “Why ever not?”

His
m
outh twisted bitterly. “Because I was deemed so beyond redemption that even a compromised woman would not take me on as a husband.”

“Oh.”

He gestured to his scar. “I had the temerity to cross swords with the man she would eventually marry, one of the finest swordsmen in England. Though I gave as good as I got, you can see the result.”

Hannah stared at the jagged bolt of lightning that bisected his cheek. “I see.”

“I am not proud of my reputation or my past, Hannah. Any woman would be insane to link her name to mine.”

Hannah did not speak.

“But that is not why I do not marry,” he continued, his expression hooded. “It is because of the cloud over my own lineage. I do not know whether the title I possess is mine by right. What if I can never prove my legitimacy? What would that mean for my wife, for our children?”

“I suppose it would be difficult for them.” Hannah looked away.

She felt the bench move as he rose. He was leaving. A wave of sadness engulfed her, but she girded herself against the tears that threatened. There was, after all, nothing else to do.

His hand touched her chin, forcing her to look up at him. She eyed him resentfully. Must he prolong this ordeal?

“Will you ma
rry
me, Hannah?”

Hannah blinked.
“
What
?”

“Will you marry me?”

“I ...
you just explained why that is impossible.” She stared at him.

He just stood there, looking down at her with an unreadable gaze.

“B-b-besides, we are so different,” she stammered. “I am nothing and you
are ...
you are a duke!”

He shrugged. “And perhaps I am not.”

“I lived among prostitutes.”

“And I may be a bastard,” he returned.

A river of panic washed over her. He was toying with her, making her believe when she should not, must not. “I am deaf!”

“That,” he replied, scowling, “is your feeblest argument yet. Do you suggest that your inability to hear has impaired your intelligence?”

“No, but—”

“Perhaps you would have me believe it affects something else—your desire for me?” He gave her a rueful smile. “I can safely assure you that mine is not affected one whit by whether or not you can hear.”

Hannah blushed. “I did not mean—”

“Then what is left?”

“We come from two different worlds.”

“And are outcasts from each of them. Marry me, Hannah. You have no choice.”

Hannah started. “What do you mean?”

“Our night together thoroughly compromised you in a way no one will overlook.” Amusement crept into his gaze. “You are bound to become my mistress or my wife, and since you have refused to do the former, it will have to be the latter.”

“My reputation does not concern me,” Hannah declared, her chin high.

“Ah. Now
that
is where we are different.” He arched a brow. “For it does concern me. A great deal.”

Hannah frowned. “This is all very baffling. Why should you care about my reputation? And why should you feel compelled to take such a drastic step?”

“Because any other course is simply unthinkable.” He shook his head, as if to say he did not understand either.

Hannah took a deep breath. Marriage! Surely, it was impossible. And yet, there it was. But for the wrong reasons.

“I cannot, Julian” she said sadly.
“I cannot marry you.”

He did not immediately reply. That curious bleakness again swept his features. He stared at her. In that heartstopping moment, Hannah saw straight into the stark beauty of his soul.

And there in the stableyard in front of the ostlers and his own coachman, he got down on his knees in the dust before her. He spoke only one word, and if Hannah had not been so skilled at lipreading she would have doubted it herself.

“Please.”

Chapter
Twenty-Two

Everything has turned out splendidly.” Lady Huffington positively beamed in the glow of countless candles that had been set to burning at Claridge House for Julian’s wedding to Hannah.

“It would seem so, my lady,” Higgins agreed tonelessly.

“I always say that what is meant to be, will. One cannot thwart the Fates.”

“One does feel compelled at times to give them a bit of a hand,” he noted grimly.

The countess bestowed a dazzling smile on him. “Are you not as happy as I, my friend? I declare, you seem a bit out of sorts.”

“I was only thinking of my own state, madam.”

Lady Huffington frowned. “What state is that?”

“A solitary one.”

Her face fell. “I am sorry, Higgins. Does all this wedding merriment remind you of a lost love?”

“No, madam. Only one that is not quite found.”

“I do not understand.”

“Nor do I expect you to, my lady. If you will excuse me, I have some duties to attend to.”

Lady Huffington stared after him, a puzzled and slightly hurt expression on her face.

“Is something wrong, Aunt?” Lucy’s radiant smile brought the countess out of her reverie.

“Higgins seems rather sad tonight,” she said. “I wonder if he regrets going into service years ago rather than seeking his father’s seat in Parliament. I fear it has meant a lonely life.”

Lucy eyed her curiously. “I imagine his was a decision of necessity, rather than preference.”

The countess sighed. “I sometimes forget that money is far more important to those who do not have it. It was that way with your father. He always resented the fact that I had married into more wealth than he did. Oh, I beg your pardon, Lucy. I did not mean to suggest—”

“It is all right, Aunt. I am well aware of why Octavius married my mother.” Lucy smiled. “It is one of the reasons why the state of Charles’s finances does not bother me. I have seen quite vividly that money does not guarantee a happy marriage.”

“No.” Lady Huffington’s tone grew thoughtful. “I wonder if I have properly appreciated all that Higgins has done for me.” Lucy fell silent. After a moment, Lady Huffington smiled and shook her head. “I have been woolgathering, dear. Do not regard it. We are here to celebrate a wedding.
Two
weddings,” she amended. “Julian and Hannah’s nuptials were so hastily arranged that I never had the opportunity to give you and Charles a proper party.”

“And I never had the opportunity to thank you for arranging my elopement.” Lucy smiled mischievously.

Lady Huffington looked shocked. “I do not know what you mean.”

“I know that you do,” her niece said, laughing. “What is more, I have my suspicions about Julian and Hannah, too. You schemed to get all of us together, did you not? And you succeeded splendidly.”

“Not at all,” Lady Huffington replied modestly. “Oh, I admit to some connivance, but Julian would never have allowed himself to be led into such a drastic state as marriage if he had no wish to go there himself.”

Lucy grinned. “I have never seen him look happier.”

Julian felt their gazes from across the room. Cursed matchmaking females—no doubt congratulating themselves on their cleverness. But no one had manipulated him into the marital state. He had walked into it with his eyes open, fully aware of his crime.

Looking at Hannah, he tried to banish his doubts about the future and his guilt at saddling her with a title that might not be his to give. In the moment that he had knelt in the dirt and pleaded for her hand, doubt and guilt had given way to the blinding need to keep her with him. He had known that his life hung in the balance; when she nodded, giving mute assent to his wildest dreams, his heart had been so full that he wanted to shout his joy to the heavens.

Nevertheless, the doubts were real. He could not wish them away. What would become of their children if he did not resolve the issue of his birth? Would they someday become objects of ridicule? And what of Hannah? How would she endure the scandal?

The sin he had committed weighed heavily. He had no ri
ght
to marry until he discovered the truth. But with Hannah, there was only one truth—he had to have her. Once again, his selfishness had prevailed.

As he watched her chatting with their guests, some of his guilt began to give way to hope. How could any man look into those unflinching gray eyes and know anything but hope?

He frowned. He had not noticed the tiny lines of fatigue at the
corner
s of those eyes. He had been too busy congratulating himself for finally possessing the only woman who had thoroughly enthralled him that he had not thought of her comfort. She must be exhausted. The week since they had returned with Lucy and Charles had been filled with arrangements for today’s ceremony. She had been surrounded by a bevy of seamstresses, hairdressers, maids—not to mention his aunt and Lucy, both issuing commands. It was enough to strain the patience of a saint.

It was time to retire. The knowledge produced a self-satisfied grin. He would make her wedding night special. He would not be too demanding—he would see to her pleasure without a thought for his own. She would know that he could, for a time at least, set selfishness aside.

Most important, he would banish the memory of those other men she had known. Part of him wished that he was to be the first, but what mattered was that she was his now.

Julian smiled down at her and was delighted to see a blush steal over her features. Yes, he would give her something she had not had with the others. He would drive her wild with passion. He had it all planned.

But when at last he had her alone in their chamber, Julian had difficulty remembering just how he meant this moment to go. Impatience raced through him, and he could not bear to leave her to the ministrations of her maid.

Instead, as she watched him with wide eyes, he set himself to the task of removing the pins from her hair and brushing that flowing mane until it shone. Their gazes met in the mirror. His composure deserted him.

“Hannah,” he rasped, stunned at the force of his need.

She could not hear the strangeness in his voice. Perhaps that is why her gaze did not flinch from his. Perhaps that is why her eyes held no fear, only shyness, as she turned into his embrace.

As quickly as that, he was undone.

Gone were his plans to set his own desire aside. Gone was his control, disintegrating in the flames that burned within as he fumbled with the infernal little pearl buttons the seamstress had seen fit to sew securely up the back of her gown. Gone were his good intentions, evaporating in the heat that caused his desperate hands to seek the cool smoothness of her bare shoulders as the gown fell away.

And gone was the confidence that came with having made love to countless women. As her nakedness unfolded under his hands, Julian felt utterly at sea.

Her breasts were small and beautifully formed. The thought of another man’s having seen them thus, nipples proudly erect and the soft roundness waiting to fill his palm, knifed him with despair. With a savage growl, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

Not once did her solemn eyes show anything but trust as he fumbled with the fabric at her waist, freeing her of the voluminous wedding gown and the thin lawn chemise underneath.

When her nakedness was complete and she reached out for him, Julian could only marvel at the conviction that burned in her eyes.

She did not speak. Julian had never made love to a woman in so complete a silence. It covered them like a blanket, cocooning them in a pleasure made all the more intense by the sudden acuity of the other senses.

The fresh, seductive scent of her hair tingled his nostrils. The rapid rhythm of her breathing spurred an answering breathlessness in his own chest. The faint salty taste of her skin pleasured his tongue with a cornucopia of delights no edible feast could hope to match.

And when he joined their bodies, her eyes gave him more than words, more than sound, more than all the other senses combined. Abandoning all hope of restraint, he accepted the gift of the silence that enveloped them and
the
gift of her body that completed him at last.

It was only afterward, when he held her in his arms and mentally reproached himself for his lack of control, that he realized another truth he had banished in the wonder of fulfillment.

A truth he could scarcely dare to believe.

He stared at her. She was studying the canopy overhead, her gaze fixed on the intricate designs woven there but, he suspected, not really seeing them. Gen
tl
y, he stroked her cheek. Instantly, she turned to him.

“Why did you not tell me you were a virgin?” he
demanded, h
is voice raw with self-reproach.

“
You would not have believed,” she said simply.

Julian did not deny it. He could not believe he had been so blind. Hannah Gregory may have lived among whores, but only a completely self-absorbed idiot would think her anything like them. He groaned at his own insensitive stupidity. “You must be in pain.”

“Some,” she confessed. “It does not bother me.”

Helpless to undo what had been done, he could only promise to do better. “I will never allow you to be hurt again,” he vowed.

“I have learned in my life that one must take responsibility for one’s own pain,” she said calmly. “I do not
shirk
from that duty.”

Julian stilled. “Our lovemaking was
a ...
a duty?”

“
Not at all.” She flushed. “I only mean to say that you need not treat me any different
l
y from anyone else. I am not fragile, despite my infirmity.”

“Good God, woman! You are not anyone else—you are my wife!” Incredulous, he stared at her. “How I made love to you had nothing to do with your deafness. But had I had known you were a virgin, it would have been different.”

Her expression grew curious. “In what way?”

Something in those intent gray eyes sent his heart to his throat. His pulse began to gallop, and suddenly he felt like an untried youth marveling at the sensual possibilities unfolding before him.

“Do you remember that night in the carriage?” he asked softly.

Her face grew scarlet. Part of him wondered that she could blush after what they had just shared; the other part felt as if he were a virgin himself. There was a
newness here so delicate and fragile it filled him with awe.

“It would be impossible to forget,” she confessed.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, nibbling at her earlobe, “you will permit me to create a new memory or two.”

Her brow furrowed. “I did not catch your words,” she said with a little smile of apology.

Carefully, almost reverentially, Julian began to stroke her, his hands seeking new places along with the special ones he had found that night in the carriage.

“They were not important,” he murmured, as she gave a breathless little moan.

But she missed his reply. Her eyes were closed in helpless
pleasure.

Beethoven had not accepted his fate. Why should she? Hannah’s graceful fingers called forth the slow introduction to the composer’s piano sonata
Pathetique,
an elegy for the world of sounds that had begun to desert him.

Sadness and futility dominated the piece, written two decades ago as his hearing deteriorated. The agitated E flat minor theme spoke of fears and restless denial. How deep must be his sorrow now, with music and sound only distant memories?

Yet his later works were even more breathtaking, more radical in their beauty. How had he moved from denial to despair to even greater creativity? How had he learned to accept his loss, yet to defy it?

A tear rolled down her cheek as she began the grand adagio cantabile. It fell onto the clavichord’s luminous ivory keys, which for all her artistry remained resolutely silent to her ears

As in Beethoven’s music, despair and joy warred within her. A week of marriage had brought laughter to her face, blushes to her cheeks, and an embarrassing need to bask in the glow of delicious sensuality Julian had given her. Almost, she could believe that she was like any other new bride,
marve
ling
i
_n
the joys of married life.

But she was not like other women. He said her deafness was not important, but he was wrong. She could not put it aside as if it was some ordinary flaw, like a tendency to put on weight or to snore at night. She wanted to hear again. And that want would burden her marriage forever.

She had spent the last three years in the hope that one day she would find a cure. She wanted to be whole, like the woman he saw at night, when their bodies spoke more effectively than any words.

Julian might feel affection for her, but it was not the profound love that burned within her. One day he would tire of always having to look at her to speak, of compensating in a thousand other ways for her deficiency.

It was not his fault. He was just not a man to settle for second-best. She could not saddle him with a lifelong burden.

Her fingers moved into the classic rondo, coming to rest after the last, soundless notes of the coda. She sat for a moment, studying the music she had just played in useless pantomime. The
Pathetique
was filled with tragedy, despair, hope, defiance. Beethoven had understood.

Her chin high, Hannah rose from the clavichord and walked o
v
er to a small writing table. She pulled out a sheet of paper, dipped the pen into the inkwell, and began to compose a note to Dr. Itard.