When You Give a Duke a Diamond (21 page)

She did the first thing she could think of, which was to strike at him. She hit his nose with her hand, and he reared back. She rolled over and tried to climb to her feet. Oliver caught her shoulder and pulled her back down. He wrapped his hands around her neck, and she tried frantically to catch her breath. But he was squeezing hard, strangling the life out of her.

She tried to claw at him, but he was above her, out of arm’s reach. She flailed and writhed, and the world went gray then charcoal. He was straddling her now, leaning in close as her movements began to weaken. He wanted to be close when he squeezed the life from her. She opened her eyes and measured their positions. And then she took one last chance, brought her knee up hard, and caught him between the legs.

He howled but didn’t release her. She dug into her reserves, into every last ounce of strength she possessed, and fought him. His grip loosened, and she rolled away. When he didn’t catch her immediately, she began crawling. Her fist closed on another rock, this one long and jagged. She rose to her knees then climbed to her feet. Slowly, she turned to face Oliver. He was staggering toward her, his face a mask of pain and rage, his bloody cheek making him look grotesque and evil. He reached for her, and as his hands closed on her throat, she brought her hand up, stabbing the rock through his jaw.

He stilled, his eyes widening, and then he released her and grabbed for the rock embedded in his flesh. He fell to the ground, clutching the rock, and she stood over him, feeling no pity, feeling no triumph.

Feeling nothing but the hard rain pelting her back.

Will saw Lucifer coming for Juliette. He saw him reach for her, and Will knew he would be too late. He was running now, running through the punishing rain and sliding on the wet grasses. He heard someone screaming, “No, no, no!” over and over. After a moment, he realized it was he engaging in this completely undignified behavior. It was not the kind of behavior one would expect from a duke.

And he didn’t care. He ran and he yelled, and it was entirely futile, because he saw Lucifer had her. And then he was afraid he imagined what he saw next, because Lucifer fell to the ground and Juliette stood over him, fists clenched, face set in a mask of stone.

“Juliette!” he called. He was close enough for her to hear him now, but she didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge him whatsoever. “Juliette!” He reached for her, touching her shoulder, afraid to believe she was real and not a figment of his imagination.

She jumped when he touched her, hissing and turning defensively. He put his hands up, shocked at the anger and coldness in her eyes. And then all of that melted away, and she was Juliette again. “Will?”

He didn’t have time to respond before she fell into his arms. She was cold, but she was solid. She was alive. He held her tightly, whispering words she could not have possibly heard, words he did not even understand himself. She buried her head on his shoulder, and he caught a glimpse of Lucifer over her bright hair.

Except it wasn’t Lucifer. He didn’t recognize the man, and not only because he had a large chunk of rock protruding from his chin. “Who the devil is that?”

Juliette lifted her head and peered around. “It’s Oliver, my former husband.”

“I don’t understand.”

“All this time we thought it was Lucifer who attacked me, only Lucifer who was after me, but it was Oliver, too. The night of Lady Elizabeth’s murder, my cook told me a man had come looking for me, and I assumed it was Lucifer. But it must have been Oliver. And then the day we went back together, the day we were in the attic. Your men saw a man lurking about the alley. Again, we assumed it was Lucifer, because he had been there earlier, but your men didn’t see any man matching his description. Because it
wasn’t
Lucifer that time. It was Oliver.”

“Then where is Lucifer?”

“I don’t know.”

Oliver made a moaning sound, and Juliette shrank away. Will pulled her close, turning at the sound of another voice. “Your Grace!”

Will wrapped his arms around Juliette’s waist and started back toward the house. “Let’s go.”

“We can’t leave him here, like this.”

He pointed toward the house. The rain was still steady and strong, but it no longer pelted them with a vengeance. Mr. Pittinger trudged toward them. “We’ll give him over to Pittinger,” Will told her. “You needn’t think of him anymore.”

She gazed at Will. “I stood up to him. I didn’t run this time. I stood and fought.”

He thought of the man’s bloody face. “I never had any doubt.”

“I stood and fought, Will,” she said again, swaying on her feet. “Just like the dukes of Pelham. I didn’t run.”

“Juliette—” She swayed again, and he caught her before she could fall.

***

Juliette woke to the sound of snoring. She didn’t know where she was, but she knew she was warm, comfortable, and safe. Something heavy lay over her midsection, and she reached up gingerly to touch it. Her arm muscles were sore. Every part of her body was sore. She touched an arm—a man’s arm. And then she knew, before she even opened her eyes, it was Will’s arm.

She opened her eyes slowly, smiling when the first thing to greet her was Will’s face. He was asleep beside her, fully dressed, lying on the counterpane. Though the drapes had been drawn, she could see strips of sunlight on the ceiling and knew it was full day. A quick glance about told her she was in the ducal chambers at Rothingham Manor. Why should she be here? She was not the duchess.

She had no recollection of how she had come to be in the bedchamber. She didn’t even recall how she had come to travel from Nowlund Park to Rothingham Manor. She did remember Oliver. She shuddered at the memory of the rock jutting from his flesh, and Will pulled her closer. She smiled. Even in his sleep he comforted her.

She traced a finger over his stern cheekbones, so perfect even when he was in repose. She touched his eyelashes lightly, marveling at how they lay so straight and still on his skin. She traced his eyebrows, the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips.

His lips moved. “You’re awake.”

“I don’t remember falling asleep.”

His eyes opened, and she felt as though she could stare into their dark blue depths forever. “You fainted.”

She blinked. “I don’t think so.”

“I know so. I was the one who caught you.”

She shook her head, tried to sit, but he held her down with light pressure from his arm. “But I’ve never fainted. I’m no delicate flower.”

“I think it’s safe to say you were exhausted and traumatized. I had you brought back here.”

To his bedchamber, not her room. Did that mean there would be no more pretensions? No more acting as though they would occupy two chambers and then sneaking in to see each other? She was afraid to hope that it might mean more.

She swallowed. “And Oliver. Is he…?”

“He’s alive, unfortunately,” Will said, lifting his head and leaning toward her to kiss her cheek. “You didn’t kill him, but I dare say he will have a nasty scar to remember you by.” He caressed her hair as though she were a child to be comforted.

“Where is he?”

“Jail, I should hope. Pittinger called the magistrate, who said he would take care of the matter. I don’t believe you will need to give a statement. There were enough witnesses. I imagine he’ll be tried and hung. We’ll keep it quiet. No need to have the news reach London. You’re finally rid of him.” He kissed her again. “No need to think of him again.”

Juliette stared at the ceiling. She was rid of Oliver. He would not bother her ever again. She would never have to look over her shoulder for fear of finding him coming for her. Suddenly, she felt as light as one of those balloons that lifted people high in the sky. She felt so light she thought she might fly.

“One of the footmen I brought with me from London recognized him.”

Juliette glanced back at Will. “How?”

“You were right. He was the man at your town house in London. The footman saw him outside that day we waited in the attic. He didn’t match Lucifer’s description, so they didn’t stop him or question him, though his appearance in the back alley caused them enough concern so that they notified me. But he gave them some story about a coal delivery, and they let him go.”

“All this time we thought it was Lucifer after us.”

“I don’t think we’re rid of Lucifer yet. He may still be in London, biding his time.”

“He knows the diamonds are there.”

“Well, they sure as hell aren’t in Yorkshire,” Will said. “We searched everywhere.”

“Then where are they? If we didn’t find them at Nowlund Park, and Lord and Lady Nowlund didn’t find them at their London town house, and the diamonds are obviously not hidden at my town house, where are they?” Juliette asked.

“Only Lady Elizabeth knows that. We may never find them, but we won’t have to contend with Lucifer forever. The magistrate will apprehend him. If I need to supply additional men and funds, we’ll catch him.”

Juliette nodded. Then they were going back to London, back to their old lives. She knew this couldn’t last forever, knew she was a fool to allow herself to fall in love with Will. She took a deep breath. “So what now?”

“Now? I was thinking we might try some of this.” He rose on one elbow and kissed her gently on the mouth. She responded, but her mind was still conjecturing. Will must have known she had been asking about returning to London, but he’d evaded the question. Did that mean he wasn’t anxious to return either?

She would have loved to continue kissing him, but she had to know where they stood. “Will, wait.”

He pulled back, looked down at her. “What is it? Are you still feeling unwell? I should have—”

She put a finger over his lips. “I’m fine. But I was wondering, do we return to London?”

His brow furrowed. “I’m in no hurry. Are you anxious to get back?”

“Not exactly.”

“Good. Then for now, we stay right here.”

She stared at him. “You mean, you have no plan, no schedule, no timetable?”

“Oh, I have a plan,” he said, pulling her tight against him. “I plan to seduce you.”

She stared at him, and he raised a brow.

“Am I growing horns?”

Who was this man who was suddenly amusing and carefree? What had happened to the rigid, stodgy duke? “No. But I’m amazed at how much you’ve changed.”

He grinned. “Perhaps I can amaze you in other ways, as well.”

“Do you think so?”

“A man can hope.” He kissed her again, and this time she put all thoughts of London and the future aside. Oliver was gone. She was free of him forever. She was in Will’s bed, in Will’s arms. That was all that mattered. He moved on top of her, careful to support his weight so she would not bear it. He kissed her nose, her chin, her eyes. He was so tender, so gentle, and then he kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear, “I thought I’d lost you. I saw him reach for you, and I thought I’d lost you.” His voice sounded so raw and anguished.

“You didn’t lose me, Will. You’ll never lose me,” she said.

“I don’t think I could bear it.”

For a long moment, they simply held each other, and Juliette thought she had never been happier. This was what she wanted; this was what she had dreamed of—this closeness, this tenderness, this love.

She had a moment of doubt, but it was fleeting. She pushed it away just as Will kissed her again. It was so easy to get lost in Will’s arms, in his mouth, in the caress of his fingers. It was easy to forget everything but the two of them.

Slowly, carefully, Will stripped off her nightshift until she was laid bare before him. The way he looked at her, with such reverence, made her catch her breath.

“He hurt you,” Will said, tracing the bumps and bruises she’d garnered during her fight with Oliver. He touched her knee, her hip, her elbow, her neck. She winced. “That looks tender.”

“It’s nothing.” And it wasn’t. She didn’t even feel the lingering ache from Oliver’s fingers when Will looked at her this way. She was eager to look back. Will still wore a linen shirt and trousers. She pushed up slowly and sat with her legs crossed. Reaching for his shirt, she pulled it up, revealing that hard bronze abdomen little by little. She allowed her fingers to skate along Will’s flesh, teasing both of them. He lifted his arms, and on his skin, she saw the play of the streaks of sunlight escaping the wall of curtains. And then she pulled the shirt off, and he was naked to the waist. She touched his broad shoulders, his muscled chest, his flat abdomen. “How is it you are so tan? Do not tell me a duke works outside without his shirt.”

“I think it is that you are so pale. Either that or it is from my mother. I’m told she was part Italian.”

“Ah, then that explains why you are sun-kissed here.” She tucked her fingers into the waistband of his trousers. “I had images of you outside in nothing but your boots.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint.” His voice was husky as she released the fall of his trousers.

“Oh, you haven’t disappointed me yet.” She worked the trousers over his hips, and he sat back so she could pull them off. She tossed them on the floor in an unorganized heap, glanced at him, and raised a brow in challenge.

He smiled and tossed his shirt on the floor after the trousers. She laughed. “You are too wicked, sir.”

“Let me show you just how wicked.”

He loved her. He hadn’t said the words, but Juliette knew he must love her. The way he kissed her, touched her, held her. Will loved her—she was sure of it. And when they lay, sated and spent, in each other’s arms, Juliette was happier than she’d ever been in her life. She fell asleep to dreams of their future together.

And woke to a nightmare.

Will stared at a ghost.

He was no fanciful child—had not been fanciful even when he was a child—but the man’s resemblance to his father was striking. Will’s shock began when Richards, who had finally arrived from London, stepped into his library and announced the arrival of Lord Henry Cavington.

“Who?” Pelham asked, looking up from his ledgers. He’d been up since six, and it was only half past eight at present. To the best of his knowledge, Juliette was still asleep. He would have preferred to stay in bed with her, but they had spent the afternoon, evening, and night talking, eating, and making love. If he stayed by her side, he would want her again, and he knew she needed her rest.

And so he had decided he would work until she woke, and then they could make plans for the day together. It was a strange feeling—not knowing what he would do that day, not having it planned out—but he was gradually getting used to the idea. He was even considering what artwork he might like to hang in place of his father’s portraits. Juliette had been correct. There were far too many images of his father gazing down, with disapproving eyes, at him. Will idly looked over his ledgers, checking the accuracy of his steward, and thinking of Juliette’s lovely mouth, her long legs, the freckle on the third toe of her left foot…

He had been imagining kissing that freckle when Richards knocked then entered, announcing a guest. “Lord Henry is your uncle, Your Grace,” Richards said. “Your father’s brother.”

“Of course.” What was his father’s brother, a man Will had last seen at his father’s funeral over ten years ago, doing at Rothingham Manor at half past eight in the morning? The man must have ridden all night. “Show him—”

“I don’t have time for these formalities,” Lord Henry said, pushing past Richards and shouldering his way into the library. Will had been in the process of standing, but he all but sat again when Lord Henry entered.

The man looked almost exactly like the fifth Duke of Pelham. Will felt as though he was seeing a ghost. Immediately, he stood, straightened, and reached for his pocket watch, worried he must be late for something.

Richards gave Will a look, indicating he would show Lord Henry right back out if Will wished it, but Will shook his head slightly.

“I have been riding all night,” Lord Henry was saying. “I came as soon as I heard. And I want to know what the devil you think you’re about.”

Will opened his mouth to respond then closed it again. First of all, he had no idea to what his uncle referred. Second of all,
he
was the Duke of Pelham, not this interloper. He should begin to act as such. Slowly, with deliberate casualness, Will sat back in his seat, leaving his uncle to stand before him. “Hello, Uncle. To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?”

Will made a gesture dismissing Richards, and the butler left, leaving the library door open slightly in case Will should call for his return.

“It is no pleasure, I assure you. No pleasure at all. I have come from London to find out for myself whether the rumors are true.”

Will noted his uncle did not address him as
Your
Grace
, did not give him any courtesies at all. In his belly, a slow fury began to simmer. Will steepled his fingers, showing none of his emotions on his face. “Rumors? I don’t really have time to discuss all of London’s rumors. If that’s all you came for, you might as well go back again. I am happy to provide you a fresh horse.”

Lord Henry frowned, and the little boy Will had been wanted to cringe. His father made that same expression when he was displeased, and it usually led to violence. Will shook his head and could have sworn his deaf ear was ringing.

“Even if the rumors concern you and a certain courtesan?” Lord Henry gave a slight smile.

He should have known this visit would be about Juliette. He could not deny his relationship with her, and yet he did not want to confirm it. Will looked away.

“I see it’s true, then. These aren’t rumors at all. You have taken up with a Cyprian.” The disapproval in his uncle’s face was clear in the heavily etched lines about his mouth. Will opened his mouth to—he knew not what… give excuses?—and then closed it again. What was happening here?
He
was the duke, not his uncle. And while Will had respect for Lord Henry, he did not answer to him.

“I fail to see how what I do in my private life is any concern of yours.”

“Allow me to enlighten you, then,” his uncle said, placing his hands flat on Will’s desk and meeting Will eye to eye. Will did not blink. “I am a Cavington, as was your father, my father, my grandfather, and his grandfather before him. My sons are Cavingtons and third and fourth in line for the dukedom, after myself. What you do reflects not only on the Cavington name but also the future dukes of Pelham. You have a responsibility to honor and distinguish the name, not disgrace it by taking up with a harlot.”

The fury began to boil. It was true. It was all true, but that wasn’t Juliette’s fault. He stood. “She’s not a harlot.”

“What is she, then?” Lord Henry raised a brow.

Will didn’t answer. What, exactly,
was
she to him? His mistress? His lover? His savior?

“Good God, she’s called the Duchess of Dalliance,” Lord Henry sputtered. “Don’t try to tell me she’s a blushing virgin.”

Will clenched his fists. “Her name is Juliette.”

“William—”

He slammed a hand on his desk. “You may call me
Pelham
. I have not given you leave to use my Christian name.” And he would not. His uncle needed a reminder that Will was the sixth Duke of Pelham, not he. Lord Henry’s disrespect annoyed him, but it wasn’t the real reason for his fury. No. Will knew too well it had far more to do with the topic of his uncle’s conversation. And he, Will, had no excuse. He
had
taken up with a courtesan.

“Very well,
Pelham
. Here is another juicy morsel I learned while in London. The body of your fiancée has been found.”

Shock jolted through him, and Will all but fell into his chair.

Lady Elizabeth’s body had been found. She was really dead. It was the last thing he expected his uncle to say, and the words seemed to echo and spin through the room. Will’s heart was heavy for Lord and Lady Nowlund. They had lost their daughter, their only child.

Lord Henry’s expression was smug, but Will didn’t care at the moment. Why had he ever doubted Juliette?

“My understanding—and this has not yet been released to the papers—is she died from blunt force to the head.”

“She fell against the balustrade at Carlton House,” Will murmured. Juliette had been telling the truth. But he’d known that. He’d always known and simply had not wanted to accept the difficult truth—he had no idea who the woman he was betrothed to was. He had known what she was—the daughter of a marquess—but not the woman herself. And he knew exactly who Juliette was. He didn’t want what she was to matter, but it did. It mattered far too much.

“I do not think the examiner can be that specific as to her demise,” Lord Henry said, “but that is not all.”

Will glanced up at him. “What do you mean?”

“This Lucifer, the man suspected of murdering Lady Elizabeth, has still not been found. The magistrate suspects he’s fled to the Continent. His place of business, if one may call a gambling hell named Lucifer’s Lair a business, was thoroughly searched. The registers have been found and studied. The magistrate believes Lady Elizabeth is the same Eliza listed in the register.”

Will frowned. “Why would Lady Elizabeth be listed in a register for a gambling hell?” It made no sense. None whatsoever.

“Witnesses have been questioned, Pelham. These include the regular patrons of Lucifer’s Lair, many of them gentlemen. Several of them describe a woman meeting Lady Elizabeth’s description as frequenting Lucifer’s Lair. It seems she preferred the game of faro.”

Will shook his head and stood. “This cannot be true.” He paced the carpet behind his desk. “She was a lady, the daughter of an earl. Why would she patronize a gambling hell?” It made no sense. None at all.

“Perhaps she enjoyed gambling? According to the register, she had lost over three thousand pounds at Lucifer’s Lair.”

Three thousand pounds? Will swallowed. It was a small fortune. How did she plan to pay her debts? Perhaps with his money.

Or perhaps she had thought to sell some diamonds…

Will looked at Lord Henry’s face and saw the undisguised glee in his uncle’s expression. The man was enjoying this. He was all but gloating. Will would have liked to smash the grin off his uncle’s face, but he exercised restraint. He was not his father.

“I never saw her gamble,” Will said almost to himself. “I never saw her act in any way even remotely inappropriate. Her behavior was always impeccable.”

“Yes, but as we have established, you are not the best judge of character. After all, you are bedding a prostitute who has been with half the men in London. That is when she is not busy entertaining the Earl of Sin with her two friends—”

Will bolted around the desk, grabbed Lord Henry’s coat, and slammed him against the bookshelf. Two large volumes toppled down, and Will jerked to the right to avoid being knocked on the shoulder. “I don’t want to hear another word from you about Juliette.” In fact, he didn’t want to have to look at the man for another moment. “You said what you came to say, now get out.”

Lord Henry shook his head. “Your father would turn in his grave if he could see you now.”

Truer words were never spoken. “Good,” Will said and meant it. “I hope he is shocked straight to Hell.”

“You are a disgrace to the title,” Lord Henry said, pushing Will back. “I am disgusted with your behavior.”

He didn’t want his uncle’s words to matter, but they stung. “Get out,” Will ordered, loud enough for Richards to hear.

“Answer me one question first. Do you intend to marry this… this Juliette? Do you intend to sully this house and the title of Duchess of Pelham by wedding that woman?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It is my business, and the business of my sons. We have a right to know from whence the next duke will come.”

Will gritted his teeth. There was no point in dissembling. “No. I’m not going to marry her.”

Lord Henry nodded. “Good.” He straightened his coat and moved toward the door. “Remember who you are and your duty to your title and your family.” He pushed the door open, and Will saw Juliette standing on the other side. Her face was pale, her eyes shuttered, her posture rigid. She looked like a queen of ice.

Lord Henry gave Will a smile. “Good day, Your Grace.” He swept past Juliette without even a nod.

Richards stood beside Juliette, and his expression was torn. Finally, he scurried to catch Lord Henry and escort him out. Will stepped forward. “Juliette—”

She held up a hand. “Don’t. Don’t say a word. I have heard more than enough.”

He went to her, but she stepped back as he advanced. As he reached for her, she jerked away. “Juliette, I didn’t mean—”

“What?” she demanded. “You didn’t mean what you said?” She waited, he didn’t speak. He didn’t have the words. “So you
are
going to marry me?” She stared at him then looked at the floor before him. “Very well, then, kneel down. Ask me to be your wife.”

Will was acutely aware that several of his servants were pretending to go about their duties nearby and were witnessing this scene. “We should speak in private.”

“What need is there for privacy? If you love me and want to marry me, then say so.” Color bloomed in her cheeks, making the harsh bruises on her face and neck less obvious. But still he was aware of them. He could not stop staring at them. He had almost lost her. But now he realized Lucifer—Oliver—had not been his greatest threat. He was his own worst enemy.

“Juliette,” he said quietly. “I have a duty you cannot possibly understand.” Damn his uncle, but he could not put duty aside so easily.

“Oh, I understand all right.” She laughed bitterly. “I know dozens of men like you. They claim to love me, but to them, love is paying me for my favors, setting me up in a house with servants and a clothing allowance. But then you never even claimed to love me, did you?” She took a step back. “All the more fool me for falling in love with you.”

He reached for her again, though he knew the gesture was futile. “No.”

“Good-bye,
Your
Grace
. Our time together was most diverting, but I suppose now I will take my congé and go.” She turned and walked away, the shush of her slippers echoing in the silence that followed her.

Will wanted to yell
Don’t go
. Everything in him wanted to race after her. She was the only person who had ever loved him. The only person who cared about him, not his title, not his wealth.

And she was walking away.

And he was allowing it.

What else could he do? Fall to his knees and beg her to marry him? He was the bloody Duke of Pelham. He did not fall to his knees. He did not beg. His uncle’s words rang in his ears. He could hear his own father saying them.

You
are
a
disgrace
to
the
title. Why have I been cursed with a disappointment for a son? Better you died at birth than act as you do.

Juliette disappeared up the steps, and Will turned. He went into his library and closed the door.

***

Tears ran down her cheeks as she stormed up the steps to her room. Angrily, she swiped them away. She would not cry. He had never said he loved her; he had never said he would marry her. She was a fool, and there was no sense in shedding tears over him now. He was not worth it. She should be too old and too worldly to fall in love so completely with a man who made it perfectly clear not only did he not love her, he didn’t even respect her.

Had he ever apologized to her for cutting her at Carlton House? For calling her a slut or a strumpet? For embarrassing her at the inn after they’d left London? What had he said at the prince’s ball? She was not a lady but a well-paid whore?