The Duke's Messenger (29 page)

“Reeves! What are you doing here? Where did you get that uniform?”

“I admit,” he said looking down at it, “it is not the precise fit that Weston would furnish. I did have to borrow it.”

“Borrow! Stole, more likely. Reeves, Rowland is coming back in a moment. You’ve got to leave!”

His hazel eyes quizzed her. “You want Foxhall?”

“No, no, but you will be caught! You’ll be in jail!”

“I think not.” He still held her hand tightly in his.

“There is nothing amusing about being in jail!”

“I have been imprisoned before,” he said. “Does that make a difference to you?”

“That was when you were in the war. And it wouldn’t make any difference anyway!” Her fear for him loosened her tongue and swept away discretion. “I’ll get Fulke. He must be nearby. He’ll help you get out of the palace.”

His smile was odd. He pulled her to him and held her close. He bent to touch her lips gently with his. She moaned in frustration, and some real irritation.

“My dear, I do not wish to leave the palace. I came here purposely to see you.”

“Very well, I’ll go with you. It’s not safe to be here.”

He seemed heedless of any danger to himself. Instead, he seized upon her remark. “You will go with me? How far?”

“Out of the palace —”

“How far are you prepared to go, to be with me?” he persisted.

She was shaken. He was demanding of her more than she could give. She could not see herself as a coachman’s wife, or even the wife of a man who had behaved so badly that he had to wander through Europe, picking up employment where he could.

But, to be quite honest with herself, she could surely see herself as the wife of this man with the hazel eyes, usually so full of amusement.

He was not amused now. His eyes seemed to bore into hers, to pull out of her the truth she did not wish to admit. “I cannot tell,” she said at last, in a pitifully forlorn tone. “I do not know how to do so many things that you would need. I cannot sew or cook, and you would soon detest me…”

“You intend then,” he said harshly, “to marry Foxhall for the advantages he can give you?”

Incensed, she drew back. She lifted her open hand to slap him, but he caught her wrist.

“Shall I bring him back?”

“No. I have turned him down. I cannot marry him.”

The moment was tense. He waited, silently demanding, and she could not answer him for a bit. Finally she looked away. When she spoke, he had to bend to hear her. “Without you, I will go sadly all the rest of my life.”

“Then?” He was still, waiting for her.

“I should not like to be forward. Do you want me?”

His answer was swift and wordless. Gone for the moment was the gentle touch, the sweet tenderness she had known once before. Now his embrace was the exultant expression of a man who had been given his heart’s desire. “Do I want you!”

He released her at last. She caught her breath tremulously and smiled up at him through teary eyes. “I don’t know what will happen, Reeves,” she said, “but I don’t care, if you are with me.”

The door opened with a bang. She would have sprung away from his embrace, but he would not let her go. “Here is your glass of squash,” said Tom. He surveyed them both, grinning. “I thought you had the headache, Nell.”

She looked from one to the other. She had an impulse to stand between her aunt’s coachman in his stolen uniform and retribution in the person of Lord Foxhall. The coachman glared at the intruder. “Tom, I thought I told you to stay out.”

“Doesn’t Nell want her drink? She is thirsty.”

“Are you, my love?” said Reeves, laughing at her appalled expression.

“Tom…” she said faintly.

“It’s no good, Nell,” said her brother, unaccountably chuckling. “No need to ask me to approve this marriage. With what I have just seen —”

“If you had obeyed my instructions, you would have been spared such a sight,” retorted the other.

“Duke,” said Tom, smothering his amusement, “do you wish to ask me something?”

“Very well. I shall ask for your sister’s hand in marriage, you rogue. And I do not scruple to tell you that a refusal will result in your head-first immersion in the nearest horse trough.”

Nell chose this moment to interrupt. “I do not know quite what you two are talking about. Schoolroom japery, no doubt. I have not agreed to marry anyone in this room. Tom, I shall ask for your escort back to our aunt.”

“Now wait, Nell…” began Tom. Upon a gesture from the other man, he slid through the door and closed it firmly behind him.

“Now then,” said Reeves, “my little love, what is amiss?”

“I collect that you and my brother have combined once again to show me up as the fool that I am.” The tears in her voice strangled her. She put her hands to her face. He came to her, but she shrugged away from him.

“If you were willing to come with me into what you supposed to be a life of exile, then I cannot understand why you are unwilling to be my love in a civilized life.” He laughed a little. “I cannot help it, my dear, that I succeeded to the title. It was no part of my plans to become the Duke of Whern.” She whirled in astonishment. “The Duke of Whern?”

“You did not guess? I fear I was not a very convincing coachman. Does it truly matter what I am?”

She could not answer. Shock held her in its grip so that she could not move, or even speak. She could only look at the floor. After what seemed to be a long time, she heard him say, in a dreary tone, “Very well, my dear.” She heard his footsteps retreating to the door. She must not let him go!

She called out, “Reeves — I mean, Your Grace…”

He turned back to see an expression he would never forget on her face. Her eyes brilliant with tears, a pinkly radiant flush on her cheeks, her hands out in an arrested gesture of appeal — he reached her in two strides. “My love, my dearest, my beloved …”

The rest of his words were lost in her hair.

She drew away at last. Shakily she whispered, “Reeves? Truly I do not know what to call you.”

“John will do. If I may make a suggestion?”

“Oh, yes.”

“John
darling
would suit.”

She repeated it prettily. “I shall be easier with it,” she added, sweetly shy, “as I become accustomed to it.”

“You will have every opportunity to practice,” he said, and kissed her again, even more thoroughly.

*

Phrynie, having been brought
au
courant
by her nephew, was consumed by impatience. Imagine, the Duke of Whern her coachman! And she had thought him a product of Newgate prison!

She placed herself now in a position to watch the door behind which momentous events were taking place. While she watched, Tom had gone in and soon emerged, winking at her before he moved away.

Her little Nell a duchess! It was quite beyond belief.

But as the time wore on, Phrynie began to wonder whether it would all turn out right in the end. Always one to turn first to the last page of a novel to see how it came out, now her impatience prodded her unmercifully.

On tiptoe she crossed the carpeted hall and put her hand on the latch. She glanced about. There was no one in sight, since all dear Josef’s guests had gone in to supper. She put her ear to the door and listened. There was no sound. Not even a murmur.

She could no more have resisted her next move than she could have waltzed on the rooftop. She pressed the latch and silently opened the door.

What she saw within the room caused her to retreat at once, entirely satisfied. Now she could look forward to her own concerns. The Emperor was giving a ball on the weekend, and Josef planned at that time to seek permission of the head of his family to marry. If he played his cards right, he had confided in her, there might even be an ambassadorship to London sent his way, and he could take his bride back to her homeland in style.

Coming to Vienna had been the most superb idea, and she was most pleased with herself for thinking of it. She must remember to point out to Nell how well things had turned out after all.

She smiled to herself. She was quite sure that Nell already knew that.

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