When You Give a Duke a Diamond (18 page)

There were two. One was manicured and shaped to perfection. It had been laid out precisely to conform to the standards of what an English garden should be. She spent all of a quarter hour there, admiring the flowers and forsythia shrubs and staying on the graveled walk. There was much to admire—pink and red Lenten roses; Solomon’s Seal with its white flowers swaying from arching branches; pansies in blue, purple, orange, and more. She saw violas, dog’s tooth violets, and the crocus and daffodils were coming in, too. And she adored the hyacinths, especially in blue. No tulips yet, but she knew another fortnight would bring those.

Finally, she wandered to the wild garden behind the house. It too had been planted and maintained, but it was not sculpted; instead, it retained much of the natural landscape. A small brook ran through it, shadowed by scrubby trees, and Juliette found the whole atmosphere quite peaceful. Of course her boots and hem were a muddy mess, but after yesterday’s rain, that couldn’t be helped.

She found the remains of an old Roman wall and sat on top, kicking her feet to and fro and staring up at the cloudless sky. Nearby, the brook babbled and birds chirped. She closed her eyes—and fell backward.

Juliette started, but the hand clamped about her mouth muffled her scream. And then she hit the ground and the air was knocked out of her lungs. She gasped and tried to focus, but the man holding her hauled her up and moved behind her, out of her sight.

“I could kill you right now,” he hissed, his voice low and disguised and yet familiar. Lucifer? “I’ve been watching and waiting for this chance, and you, like a fool, gave it to me. Where’s your lover, little whore? Where is he now that you need him?”

She shook her head, tried to free her mouth, but he held fast. To her horror, she realized he had her arms pinned behind her back.

“So now the question becomes, how should I kill you?” The rasp of his voice made his words difficult to decipher, but she understood
kill
well enough. “Should I murder you now or rape you first?” His hand clenched painfully on her breast. “Hmm. I think rape first.”

“No!” she managed, though the sound was hampered. She writhed and squirmed, and he was forced to use both hands to subdue her.

“Help!” she screamed. “Help me!
Will!
”

He hit her hard on the back of the head, sending her sprawling forward. Her vision dimmed briefly, but she refused to lose consciousness. She could feel his hand on the back of her leg, feel his weight on top of her. He was pulling up her skirts to take her from behind. He had one arm pressed into her neck, holding her head down, and even though she tasted dirt, she screamed again.

He jabbed something into her back—his knee perhaps—and she let out an
oof
. And then he yanked her head back and slammed it down. The world dimmed then, and the sound of the brook seemed too loud as it rushed in her ears.

She felt his hand on her bare thigh and closed her eyes.

“Your Grace, I believe she is waking.”

Pelham turned from his steward and crossed to the bed where Juliette lay. Her eyelids were fluttering, and she moved slightly.

“Lie still, madam,” the doctor admonished her. “Open your eyes but don’t move as yet.”

Pelham stood over her, frowning. She looked so deathly pale. He thought he could see the bluish tinge of her veins under her eyelids. And even though she was tall for a woman, she looked tiny lying immobile in the guest bed.

Her eyes opened slowly and focused on the ceiling. Pelham wanted her to look at him, wanted to see the flicker of mischief he was used to, but she didn’t turn her head. “Where…?” she began. Her voice was hoarse and low. She had what would be a nasty bruise on one side of her face. Now it was red and swollen, but the doctor had told him it would yellow and then darken to blue-black.

She reached up and touched her cheek gingerly. Pelham clenched his fists. If he could take the pain from her, he would. This was his fault. He glared at his steward, who looked down at the floor.

“Will?”

Pelham started and jerked his attention to Juliette.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He knelt beside her, partly because her voice was raspy and partly because he wanted to be close to her. “I am fine. You are the one who has been injured.”

“Do you remember anything, madam?” the doctor asked.

“Yes. I was in the gardens and… he tried to rape me, but I hit my head, and I don’t remember.”

“Devil take him!” Pelham roared. “When I get my hands on him, I’ll reach down his throat and rip his lungs out.”

The doctor patted Juliette’s arm. “Your screams were heard before the man could do his worst. Your face is bruised, but otherwise you are fine.”

Juliette smiled at Will, her lips a little crooked where it obviously hurt her to curve them. “Will. You heard me. You came for me.”

How he wished it had been he who had saved her. He would have murdered Lucifer and disemboweled the man on the spot. “It wasn’t me,” he said through his clenched jaw. “The gardener heard you.”

“Oh.” She glanced about. “Thank God. Is he here? I want to thank him.”

“I will make sure he knows of your appreciation.”

Pelham’s steward stepped closer to the bed. “Madam, I want to offer my most abject apologies.”

She blinked at him. “Why? I’m sorry. Who are you?”

“This is my steward,” Pelham said. “Mr. Cargrove.”

“I don’t know how he got past us, madam,” Cargrove said. “His Grace instructed me to have sentries stationed along the roads and at the posting houses. No one saw a man meeting this Lucifer’s description.”

“I’ll be questioning each of those men,” Pelham said. “I’ll find out who was asleep instead of doing his duty and have his head.”

“Wait a moment.” Juliette put her hand on his arm. Her fingers were cold. “Mr. Cargrove?”

“Yes, madam?”

“Is there any way Lucifer might have found a way around the men?”

“Madam,” the doctor said, “you should not overtax yourself. This is not your concern.”

Her brows shot up, and Pelham was glad he was not on the receiving end of the glare she gave the doctor. “Excuse me, sir, but I believe I was the one attacked. That makes it my concern.”

“As you wish, madam.” The doctor shrugged as though washing his hands of the matter.

Juliette glanced back at Cargrove. “As I was saying, perhaps the men are not entirely at fault.”

“I did put my best men on this job, my lady—excuse me, madam. I don’t understand how Lucifer could have gotten by them. Yorkshire is rough terrain in these parts. It’s unlikely he would have been able to travel off the main road.”

“And yet he managed not only to evade the sentries on the road but also make it onto my estate. How do the men I have on the perimeter explain that?” Pelham demanded.

“Good grief!” Juliette exclaimed. “I had no idea we were living in a veritable fortress.”

“Apparently, we are not.” Pelham eyed Cargrove.

“But surely someone would have seen Lucifer,” Juliette said, “and reported it.”

“Unless he came in disguise,” Cargrove added. “A man who did not match Lucifer’s description might not rate a mention. Could you see his face at all, my la—I mean, madam? Was he in disguise?”

Pelham watched as Juliette considered. His steward knew she was a London Cyprian. Why did the man continue to mistakenly address her as a highborn lady?

“I didn’t see him,” Juliette said finally. “He grabbed me from behind.”

“Then he very well could have been in disguise,” Pelham said. “We shall have to change the orders. Anyone not known should be reported.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Cargrove said. “I will relay the change immediately.” He bid Juliette farewell, and soon thereafter, the doctor left.

Pelham gave the maids a frosty stare, and they, too, found occupations elsewhere. When it was the two of them, Pelham sat down beside her.

He expected her to say something, one of her witty quips, perhaps, but she was staring distractedly at the window. After several minutes, he took her hand. “Are you tired? Should I leave?”

She didn’t answer or turn her head.

“Juliette?”

She glanced at him. “Yes? Oh, I’m sorry. I was lost in thought.”

“What were you thinking?”

“Nothing. Only…”

He waited, and she returned to staring at the window again.

“Only… the mention of disguise made me think.” She glanced at him, her gaze meeting and holding his. “What if the man who attacked me wasn’t Lucifer at all? What if it was… someone else?”

Pelham frowned. “Who?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I just thought…” She shrugged. She didn’t even know why the idea it was Oliver crossed her mind. Their divorce had been so long ago. Why would he come for her now, after all this time? And why in Yorkshire? Oliver had never even been to Yorkshire.

“Who else would want to attack you? The gardener didn’t recognize the man, though he admitted he didn’t get a very good look. But he would have known the man if he was local. It must have been Lucifer.”

She nodded. “You’re right, of course.” She glanced about. “Where is everyone?”

“They found other places to be.”

She smiled. “Do you intend to scare me away as well?”

“Can you blame a man for wanting a little time alone with you? Besides, you need your rest.”

“I’m fine. I have a slight headache but am otherwise unharmed. Perhaps you could climb into bed beside me?”

He would have liked nothing better, but she should sleep now. “Why don’t I sit here”—he pulled a chair beside the bed—“while you rest.”

“That’s not quite what I had in mind,” she said.

“It will have to do for now. Close your eyes and sleep.”

She laughed. “I can’t just go to sleep at the snap of a finger. Perhaps you could tell me a bedtime story.”

“I don’t know any stories.”

She frowned at him. “Then make one up.”

He opened his mouth, closed it again, at a loss for words.

“
You
wanted me to rest.”

He sighed. A story, a story…

“I’ll help you begin. Once upon a time…”

He stared at her.

“Once upon a time,” she prompted.

“Once upon a time.” He cleared his throat. “There was a young boy named…” No name came to mind. He was horrible at storytelling.

“Named Will,” she supplied for him then yawned. At least that was a good sign. She might fall asleep and save him from continuing. “Will lived in a fortress.” When he didn’t speak, she said, “Now you continue the story. Good grief, Will, I can’t do everything.”

And it was a good thing she was incapacitated, because once she felt better, he was going to throttle her. “There was a boy named Will.”

She yawned again and motioned for him to continue.

“Will lived in a fortress. He’d lived there all his life, and he liked this fortress. Until he met…” He glanced at Juliette. Her eyes had been closed, but she opened them now. That ice-blue gaze seemed to look right through him. “A princess.”

She raised a brow in a skeptical expression and closed her eyes again.

“The princess showed Will he didn’t have to live in this fortress. He could exist outside its walls.” He leaned back into his chair and stared at the ceiling. The firelight flickered in oranges and yellows. “He could laugh. He could have fun. He’d never had fun before, because this Will was a duke. And dukes were supposed to be serious and act in a manner that befitted their stations. Dukes do not have fun.”

He thought about his childhood and tried to remember if he’d ever done anything fun as a boy. Surely he must have played games at some point. All children did. He did have a vague memory of a nanny who smiled a lot and clapped for him, but that memory was brief. Mostly, the image of his father rose up. He touched his bad ear. No, his childhood had not been
fun
.

“But this princess was always smiling and laughing, and she loved to have fun. Will was skeptical at first, but he gave in to her cajoling, and soon he had fun as well.” He glanced at Juliette and saw her eyes were still closed. Her breathing seemed regular, and he thought she must have fallen asleep. He lowered his voice to a murmur.

“And then one day the princess told Will she loved him. That was even more confusing than trying to have fun. No one had ever loved Will before. He didn’t know why anyone should love him. He didn’t understand why the princess loved him. She was beautiful and witty and popular for her dazzling personality, while he was dull, dreary, and sought after only because of his title.” He leaned forward and took her hand in his. She didn’t stir, and her hand was limp. He stroked the soft skin.

“Will wanted to deserve this love, and so he tried to protect her. He tried to keep her safe. But he failed even at that simple task.” Will lowered his head and touched his lips to Juliette’s hand. “I vow I’ll keep you safe from now on. I’ll find the diamonds and stop Lucifer. It’s the least I can do after you’ve given so much to me.”

***

Juliette’s heart ached at Will’s words. How could he think himself so unworthy of love? How could he think he had to repay her in some form or fashion for her love? All she wanted in return was his love. He didn’t have to protect her or find the diamonds. She wanted him to love her.

But she didn’t think Will understood what love was. How could he, after the way he’d been raised? Perhaps if she’d been the daughter of a viscount or baron, he might have been able to accept her and one day love her. Perhaps if she’d never become a courtesan, they might have had a future. And she so desperately wanted a future with this man who vowed to keep her safe, who pressed his lips so gently to her fingers, who laid his head on her hand as though asking for absolution.

At some point, she must have fallen asleep, because when she woke up, the room was dark and the fire low. She blinked and winced at the pain in her head. The wince only made the side of her face hurt more, and she turned to try and find a more comfortable position. Beside the bed, sitting with his head lolled to one side, was the Duke of Pelham. He’d fallen asleep in that uncomfortable chair and presumably stayed at her side for hours.

For a long time, she watched him sleep, memorizing the line of his eyelashes on his cheek, the curl of his unruly hair on his forehead, the softness of his mouth, which he usually held in a proud slash. He looked extremely uncomfortable. The man had a dozen or more beds in this home, but he’d forgone all of them to sit with her.

She wanted to cry, to reach out to him, to scream for joy. He
did
care about her.

Mostly, she wanted to wake him and insist he come to bed, but she knew he’d only refuse. And then he’d lose the little sleep he’d found. Poor man. How she loved him. How she wished he could see himself as the sweet, thoughtful man she did.

But all he saw was the duke.

The next morning, Juliette insisted upon rising from bed, assuring everyone she felt fine. One glance in the glass told her she did not look fine. She looked a fright. Nothing short of a veil would cover the yellowish-green marks on her face. But since she had not brought one, she did her best to ignore the damage. She had the maid dress her hair simply and donned a plain gown.

And then she went in search of Pelham. One of the footmen outside the library informed her that His Grace was within and was not to be disturbed. Juliette ignored the man, opened the door, and marched inside. Will looked up, rose hastily, and let out a long-suffering sigh.

The man who had been seated across from Will rose as well. He’d been speaking, but his voice died away. When he turned to her, his jaw dropped open.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” she said.

“Yes, it is,” Will answered. “You should go back to bed.”

She wasn’t about to be drawn into that argument. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Will sighed. He had that beleaguered look she was so familiar with. The look that meant she had won this time. She took a moment to glance about the library, as it was the one room she hadn’t been able to explore previously. As she expected, it was a bastion of maleness. Libraries usually were. They were intended to be a man’s sanctuary, his refuge. Her father had spent hours in his every week. Juliette did not know what he did behind those closed doors, but as soon as a caller knocked on the house door, he’d retreated to his worn leather chair.

Her favorite memories of her father were when he invited her inside and allowed her to sit on his knee at the desk. She’d practice writing her letters, and he’d praise her every effort. She remembered going to the library after his funeral and sitting in his chair. She’d no longer been a child, but she’d felt small in that chair. She’d felt safe.

The chair—the room—smelled like her father, and everything in it reminded her of him.

This library was male in its furnishings, but it did not make her think of Will. It could have been any man’s library, with its shelves of books in perfect rows, spines lined up exactly; its large oak desk, clear of any personal effects; and its perfectly serviceable bookshelves, chairs, and similar other trappings.