The Duke's Men [1] What the Duke Desires (34 page)

The words sent him over the edge. He thrust up hard into her, then lost himself inside
her. As she cried out and milked him dry, her sweet words thundered in his head.

I love you, Max.

And in that moment, the fortress surrounding his heart cracked from top to bottom.

♦  ♦  ♦

L
ISETTE LAY IN
Max’s arms, her body curled into his on the narrow bunk. He was still fully dressed
and she was naked, which ought to embarrass her. But she’d passed the point of embarrassment
with Max. Which she supposed was a good thing, since she’d accepted his proposal of
marriage.

She only wished she hadn’t proclaimed her love for him. He wasn’t ready. If she wasn’t
careful, too much closeness would have him pushing her out.

Yet he held her so sweetly, so tenderly, kissing her hair, stroking her hip. “Did
you mean it?” he murmured behind her.

She tensed. There was no mistaking what he was talking about, but she had expected
him to pretend she hadn’t said it. “I promised never to lie to you, remember? Of course
I meant it.”

Turning in his arms, she stared up at his shadowed face and tried to read what he
was thinking.

His expression was pensive. “No woman—other than my mother, of course—has ever said
those words to me.”

She cupped his cheek. “Then you’ve been spending your time with a lot of foolish women.”

A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “Perhaps.”

“Or you’ve locked them out so thoroughly that they didn’t dare.”

He sobered. “That is probably closer to the truth. Though to be fair, no woman has
ever fought
quite so hard to get past my locks as you have.”

She smoothed back his hair. “Does it bother you?”

“Sometimes. I’m not used to . . . letting people close.”

“I noticed,” she said, hiding a smile.

A frown furrowed his brow. “Lisette, I . . . well, it’s just that . . .”

She pressed her fingers to his lips. “You don’t have to say anything.” Although she
yearned to hear
I love you, too,
she wouldn’t rush him.

“It’s just . . . My world has been at sixes and sevens since the day your brother
sent me that note. But there’s one thing I’m sure of: I want you as my wife.”

She caught her breath. “For richer or poorer, till death do us part?”

He nodded. “No conditions.”

With a hitch in her throat, she snuggled into him. “That’s good enough for me.” For
now.

They lay there companionably another moment. Then he propped himself up on one elbow.
“I should go. I should be with Victor.”

His tortured words earlier came into her mind.
I meant to stay in that damned room with him tonight, but watching him d-die is just
too hard. I can’t . . . I can’t . . .

“No,” she said firmly. “Tristan and the doctor are with him. You need rest. You spent
all day fighting for him, and you’re exhausted. If it looks as if Victor really is
at the end, Dr. Worth will come fetch us.”

“Another reason I should leave. It’s probably not a good idea for anyone to find us
here like this.”

“Because they might force you to marry me?” she quipped.

He smiled. “Good point.”

“Come now,” she said, stroking his face. “Sleep.”

“You’re bossy, do you know that?” he said, but he lay back down.

“That’s what my brothers tell me. But I’m really not. It’s just that men think no
one should ever tell them what to do, unless it’s some general brandishing a sword
on the battlefield.”

He chuckled. “A pity for Napoleon that he never had you in his army,” he murmured,
his eyes drifting shut. “He would have won the war. Or maybe just . . . just . . .”

When he fell silent and his breathing slowed, she smiled and curled back into him.
After a while, she too slept.

She didn’t know how long she’d lain there when a knock came at the door. It must have
been some time, though, because she could see sunlight through the porthole. When
the knock came again, a fraction louder, she sat up.

“Yes?” she called out.

“It’s Dr. Worth,” the physician’s voice said beyond the door.

Her heart froze in her chest. She felt Max tense beside her and knew that he too was
awake, but that didn’t stop her from hurrying to the door.

She opened it just enough to see the doctor
standing there. “What is it?” she asked, her blood pounding. “What’s happened?”

He smiled broadly. “Mr. Cale has come around. His fever broke a few hours ago, and
he slept a real sleep for the first time last night. He’s still very weak, but he’s
awake and he’s lucid and it looks as if he will fully recover.”

“Thank the good Lord,” she said hoarsely. “That’s wonderful news!”

“I went to tell the duke but he wasn’t in Bonnaud’s quarters.”

She forced a smile. “I’ll find him and tell him.”

“Thank you. I need to return to my patient.”

Shutting the door, she leaned back against it, then smiled at Max, who was sitting
there looking stunned.

“I can’t believe it,” he said hoarsely. “I was so afraid . . .” A smile split his
face. “I may actually have a brother.”

“But that means you might not be the duke anymore,” she couldn’t refrain from pointing
out.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, his gaze warm. “I have you. Unless you’re planning to
throw me over if I prove
not
to be the duke,” he teased.

She pretended to consider that for a moment. “Well . . . I
do
hope you get to keep your yacht.”

When he blinked, then laughed, she relaxed. They both knew their lives would never
be the same after this moment. But if he didn’t care, she didn’t care.

As long as she had him, as long as she had the hope that one day he could learn to
love her, she was content.

A
SHORT WHILE
later, as Maximilian followed Lisette down the narrow passageway to the infirmary,
he wondered why he’d balked at telling her he loved her.

Because he
did
love her. He loved how sweet she could be, and how tart. He loved both the rose and
the thorns. He loved that one minute she could coddle him and the next remind him
that he’d been damned lucky to be born a duke to two parents who’d loved him, madness
or no.

So why hadn’t he said the words to her?

He sighed. Because after laying bare his fears last night, after showing her how desperately
he needed her, he’d felt compelled to keep one part of himself still invulnerable.
One part of himself still under his control.

Coward.

Perhaps so. But baring one’s heart was a risk, even with his dear Lisette. He simply
wasn’t ready to take that risk.

Though when she gave him a soft smile just as he
opened the door to the infirmary, he nearly changed his mind about that.

Then he caught sight of the man he’d wanted to meet all his life, and the moment passed.
Because a gaunt and pale Victor Cale, sitting upright and looking decidedly more lucid
than before, with his brown hair tousled and his beard quite advanced, was the spitting
image of Father in his final days.

Choking down the lump in his throat, Maximilian walked into the room with Lisette
at his side. “Mr. Cale,” he managed to say formally, “it’s good to see you looking
well.”

Victor turned his gaze from the doctor to Maximilian, curiosity in his hazel eyes.
“Who the devil are you?”

This was no time to mince words. “I believe I may be your brother.”

Victor’s face changed, grew even paler, if that were possible. He glanced at Bonnaud.
“He’s the ‘family’ we’ve come to see?”

Bonnaud nodded. “And that’s my sister Lisette there with him. I’ve told you about
her.”

“Yes,” Victor said, casting Lisette a cursory glance before turning to study Maximilian
with an oddly hostile glint. “I always knew that my bastard of a father had another
family somewhere. He was always so cagey with Mother about his trip to England that
one time.”

“Mother?” Maximilian said hoarsely. “What mother?”

“
My
mother,” Victor said.

“You never said you had a mother,” Bonnaud put in, startled.

“You never asked. In any case, she died long before I met you.” Crossing his arms
over his chest, Victor scanned Maximilian coldly. “And yes,
brother
, I’m sure you would consider her far beneath our family’s dignity. I can tell just
by your clothes that you have quite a bit of it. She was only a tavern maid, and my
bloody father never let her forget it. But she loved the bastard until the day he
died, and that ought to count for something.”

Maximilian fought to comprehend the strange turn of this conversation. “Are you saying
that Nigel Cale not only pretended to be your father, but foisted a pretend mother
on you as well?”

It was Victor’s turn to be startled. “There wasn’t anything pretend about my mother,
I assure you. And unless she was lying to me, Nigel Cale
was
my father.”

Maximilian was all out to sea. “No, your real father was Sidney Cale, and your real
mother was Tibby Cale. Nigel kidnapped you when you were nearly five.”

“Kidnapped me!” Victor said. “The hell he did. I remember when I was five, and Father
had already left the navy to—” He froze. “Peter,” he whispered. “This is about
Peter
.”

Lisette moved up beside Maximilian. “You’re not Peter?”

“No,” Victor said. “He was my half brother. My father told us that . . . Peter was
a by-blow of his whose
mother died.” His expression grew bleak. “I should have known that was a lie.”

Grief struck Maximilian so hard he could hardly breathe. Victor wasn’t his brother.
Victor wasn’t Peter! Maximilian had been so sure—“But you have Peter’s handkerchief,”
he said hoarsely. “I assumed that . . . that . . .”

“You assumed wrong,” Victor said, turning belligerent again. “Peter left it in his
bureau when he headed off in a temper to see Father at Gheel.”

“You didn’t live in Gheel?” Lisette asked.

“No,” Victor said tersely. “The three of us—Mother and Peter and I—lived in a cottage
in the next village, where Mother made a little money doing laundry to pay for Father’s
‘cure,’ which never came.” He paused to cough a bit. “Peter and I were carpenters’
apprentices . . . but we talked about joining the army and fighting Boney together.”

Maximilian heard all of that as if through a fog. Peter, a duke’s heir, had been forced
to work as a carpenter’s apprentice? Holy God, what had Uncle Nigel been thinking,
to carry him away from his family for
that
?

“The day Peter went to Gheel,” Victor continued, “something he’d seen or read had
set him off. He said he was going to get the truth out of Father about who his mother
was.” Victor wheezed a bit, grief shining in his eyes. “He never came back. Somebody
at Gheel later told me that he and Father argued. The general opinion was . . . that
one of them knocked over a candle that set fire to the cottage.”

Somewhere in the midst of Victor’s recitation, Lisette had taken Maximilian’s hand,
and he realized he was squeezing it hard enough to imprint his nails on her palm.

She didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes were filled with tears. For him. Because of him
and his loss. “I’m sorry, Max. I’m so sorry.”

Victor began struggling for breath, and Dr. Worth looked at Maximilian. “Could we
continue this later?”

“No,” Victor choked out. “I just need . . . a moment. I came all this way . . . to
find my family. Now I want to know the truth.”

With concern in his face, Dr. Worth pressed a glass of wine into his hand. Victor
swallowed some and his breathing calmed. He then stared up at Maximilian. “So you’re
Peter’s
brother,” he said in a hollow voice. “Not mine.”

“Yes,” Maximilian managed.

Clear disappointment crossed Victor’s face. “I thought perhaps Father had . . . another
legitimate family in England. That I might even have another half brother.” His expression
looked as empty as Maximilian felt. “But I have no one.”

“Actually,” Maximilian said, sympathetic to the man’s grief, “since Nigel Cale was
my great-uncle, if you’re his legitimate son, then you’re my first cousin, once removed.”

“Am I?” Victor said, a sudden hope in his voice. But then he scowled. “That hardly
counts, does it?”

“What do you mean?”

“This has all been about Peter. Finding Peter.” He coughed a few minutes. Then his
voice lowered. “No one ever gave a damn about finding
me
.”

Irritation scraped Maximilian’s nerves raw. “I didn’t even know you existed until
now. No one did.”

Victor shook his head. “That investigator must have made a report to your father.
Which he ignored. And
you
ignored.”

“What investigator?” Maximilian asked sharply.

Suspicion lined Victor’s face. “Don’t pretend you don’t know about him. He showed
up in our village a month or so after the fire.” Victor breathed heavily a moment,
then pressed on. “He came to question Mother and me about Father. When Mother asked . . .
if we had any relations, the man said he didn’t think so, but he’d let us know.”