When You Give a Duke a Diamond (22 page)

Well, she supposed she was a whore, but he certainly hadn’t paid her.

She reached her room and threw the doors open, startling the maids cleaning the chambers. “Good day, madam,” one of them said.

“No, it’s not,” Juliette answered. She spotted her trunk at the end of the bed, flipped the lid open, and began piling clothing into it. Her second trunk was still at Pelham’s residence in London. She’d send a servant for it when she returned to Town.

Oh, but she didn’t have any servants at her town house…

Well, then she would send one of Lily’s servants or Fallon’s. She was going home. She’d heard Lord Henry say Lucifer was gone. She needn’t worry about him anymore. She really had nowhere to go but London, and she wanted to be with her friends right now.

“Is there anything we might help you with, madam?” one of the maids asked.

“No.” Juliette swiped at an errant tear. “Yes. Fetch a footman and tell him to carry this trunk downstairs. And I need to know where the nearest coaching inn is located.”

“Yes, madam.” The girl hurried away.

Juliette emptied the clothespress and pushed the top of the trunk down. It wouldn’t close, and she pounded it fiercely until she could latch it. She had to admit, the physical aggression had made her feel a little better, especially as she imagined Pelham’s face where her fists landed.

Finally a footman arrived and informed her His Grace had offered the use of his carriage for her return trip. Juliette shook her head. “How magnanimous of the duke,” she said. “That makes my departure all the more convenient.”

She donned a spencer and hat and breezed out of the room. Coming down the stairs, she half expected—perhaps even hoped?—the library door would open. She wanted Pelham to beg her to stay. She wanted to tell him she’d rather sleep in a rat-infested hovel than under his roof. Oh, she could think of a great many things to tell him.

But the library door did not open, and Pelham did not tell her good-bye.

***

Will had known the precise moment Juliette was gone. It wasn’t simply that the bustle associated with her departure quieted or the hooves of the horses pulling his carriage faded away. It was Rothingham Manor that alerted him.

Without Juliette, the house felt colder, emptier, darker. He kept expecting to hear her tinkling laughter or see her open his door and admonish him not to spend so much time inside. He expected to see her around every corner—her captivating eyes, her contagious smile, her glorious hair.

Slowly, as the day wore on, little realizations came to him. He would never kiss her again. He would never touch her again, sleep beside her, dine with her, tickle her toes. He might have a passing glimpse of her in London, but even that possibility was remote. She would not stay in Town now. She said she wanted to start over.

His one solace in allowing her to go was that she was safe from Oliver and Lucifer. Oliver was going to prison, and from all accounts, Lucifer had fled the country. Whatever she did with her life, she would be safe doing it.

He’d been wandering the house rather aimlessly and ended up in the drawing room. He stood there, looking at the drapes on the windows. Were these the draperies she had wanted to change? He had to admit the heavy brocade in gold silk was rather outdated. He glanced at the hearth and noted the large portrait of his father staring at him. The duke’s mouth turned down in a frown.

“I suppose you approve of my letting her go,” Pelham said to the portrait. “She wouldn’t have made a suitable duchess.” He moved closer to the painting, noting the small details, like the signet ring on his father’s hand. Will wore it now. He looked down at that finger, knowing the ring he wore had been passed down for generations. “I suppose you finally won.” He looked at the portrait again. “Because now I’m as much an ass as you ever were. More of one. You threw your wife out, and I allowed the only woman I ever loved to walk away.” He took off the signet ring and flung it at the portrait. “God help me if I’ll become a barbarian like you. Richards!” Will marched to the door. “Richards!” he bellowed. He looked back at the portrait. “I don’t want to look at your face ever again. I’ve sold my soul for your bloody duty and title. The devil take me if I have to look at your face every time I turn around. Richards!”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Richards was running. Will did not think he had ever seen the man run before.

“There are thirty-nine portraits of my father in this house.”

“Are there, Your Grace?”

“So I have been informed. I want every single one taken down.”

Richards’ brows lifted slightly. “Every one, Your Grace?”

“Yes. Get the staff and begin now.”

“Now?”

“This minute. You may begin with this one.” He pointed to the portrait in the drawing room. Richards stood looking at it, and Will clapped his hands. “Haste, Richards! That is what we want.”

“Yes, Your Grace!”

Several hours later, half of the portraits had been removed, and Will was supervising the removal of one in the music room. The entire staff seemed to be enjoying the activity. Maids and grooms would rush in to inform him they had found another portrait in the yellow room or the conservatory. Will had tallied the total as closer to fifty than the thirty-nine Juliette claimed. He stood and watched as three footmen wrestled with a large portrait of the duke. While he supervised, Will listened to the chatter and laughter of the servants around him. He did not recall ever hearing them laugh or talk around him before.

“You’ve almost got it,” he said. “Lift the left side.”

“Redecorating, Your Grace?” someone asked.

“Hmm? Now the right side,” he directed.

“It looks like a mammoth project to me. Perhaps that explains why no one answered your door.”

Will turned to stare at the woman standing beside him. She was at least sixty and very likely older. Her white hair coiled neatly on her head, her sharp blue eyes were clear and assessing, and her small frame bony and frail. But she held her shoulders back, even as her hand trembled on the walking stick she held. Will’s first thought was that she had been a handsome woman in her time. She was still a handsome woman.

He voiced his second thought. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” She held out her hand. “I am the Countess of Sinclair. I believe I’m better known as the long-suffering wife of the Earl of Sin.”

Will did not know what he had done to bring this deluge of visitors upon him. He knew Juliette must take some of the blame. After all, before he met her, he never had visitors he didn’t specifically invite. And since he almost never specifically invited anyone—save Fitzhugh once or twice and the odd cousin or nephew—two unexpected visitors in one day qualified as a deluge.

He was at a loss as to what to do with the Countess of Sinclair, and fortunately, Richards stepped in to aid him. “Your Grace, shall I show her ladyship into the drawing room?”

That sounded like the correct thing. “Please. And have Cook…” He waved his hand around.

“Of course, Your Grace. Tea and cakes will be brought immediately.”

Richards led them to the drawing room, and Will wondered why he suddenly felt as though he were a guest and this was the countess’s home. She sat in one of his blue silk chairs, and he sat across from her on a couch with similar upholstery.

“So,” she began after perusing the room, her gaze pausing on the empty space where his father’s portrait had hung. “Where is my protégé?”

“Your protégé?”

She tapped her walking stick. “Pay attention, Pelham. Where is Juliette?”

He leaned back. “She’s not here.”

“I’ve deduced as much, which is why I asked where she was. Really, Pelham, I had been told you were an intelligent man.”

Will opened his mouth but wasn’t quite certain he could make any response that wouldn’t get him into more trouble. The term
protégé
was a strange one to give to the mistress of one’s husband, but Will could definitely see where Juliette had adopted some of her brashness. Finally, he said, “I don’t know. She left this morning.”

“I thought as much.” The countess leaned forward, her weight on her gold-tipped walking stick. “And what precisely did you do to make her leave?”

“I?” He had the urge to glance at his signet ring to remind himself he was still the Duke of Pelham. Unfortunately, he had thrown it at his father’s portrait. “I did nothing to her.” Perhaps doing nothing was exactly the problem.

The countess gave him a long look. Will wondered how she managed not to blink for such a lengthy period. Her blue eyes never left his face. Will squirmed. He had not squirmed since he was eight, but he was squirming now. She raised a brow.

“She might have overheard something that upset her.”

The countess tapped her stick once. “Continue.”

Will didn’t particularly wish to continue, but he didn’t see as how he had any choice. He could not exactly throw the countess out. She was a woman, and she was elderly. “My uncle paid me a visit this morning.”

“Lord Henry,” she interrupted.

“Yes. Do you know him?”

“He’s an insufferable ass, much like your father. Much like you.” She pointed the stick at him. “Unless Juliette has been able to bring about any change in you.”

Will shook his head. “My lady, we have never before met. I do think characterizing me as an
insufferable
ass
is a bit premature.”

“Oh, really.” She raised her brows, her blue eyes piercing him through. “Did you or did you not run off my lovely Juliette?”

“I didn’t run her off, I—”

“Then, pray tell, where is she?”

Will frowned. “I didn’t want her to go. I tried to explain.”

“Did you now? How hard did you try?”

Will clenched his jaw. Truth be told, he had not tried very hard at all. Could he have tried harder? And if he had?

The countess sat back. “That’s what I thought.”

The door opened, and Mrs. Waite brought in the tea service. While his housekeeper fussed over the sugar and cream and made sure the cakes were placed just so, Will wondered how the Countess of Sinclair should know his father. Will had never heard this woman mentioned until he met Juliette, and he had never seen her at any of the house parties his father held. Admittedly, those had been rare.

“How did you know my father?” he asked when Mrs. Waite had left them alone again.

“Oh, I met him here and there. We ran in the same circles. He was even a suitor of mine for a short time.”

Will blinked. It was difficult to imagine the hard, angry man he’d known as any lady’s suitor.

“Of course, he didn’t stand a chance, seeing as he was an insufferable ass.”

“And your current husband?” Will knew he was pushing the boundaries of propriety, but the countess did not seem to observe the social niceties anyway. And he did wonder how a woman whose husband had three mistresses and who had been given the nickname the Earl of Sin by the
ton
could call
his
father an ass.

“Oh, no, no, no,” she said, waggling a finger. “I see where you are going, and I admire you for it, but that is Juliette’s secret to tell.”

“What secret?”

“We are discussing you. Allow me to conjecture as to what occurred.” She studied him. “You are a man who grew up under the thumb of a cold, heartless man. I can imagine that experience did not leave you completely unscathed.”

Will bristled. He was no victim. “I beg your—”

“Shh. I am speaking. Now where was I?” She tapped her chin. “Oh, yes. Knowing my Juliette, she fell in love with you. She not only has a weakness for powerful men—a detrimental weakness considering her former husband—she also has a propensity to want to save animals, plants, and people. You needed saving, and she decided she was the one to do it. Along the way, she fell in love with you because, presumably, you have some charms.” She narrowed her eyes at him as though this was a matter of some dispute. “And you fell in love with her.”

He started. “I never said—”

She snapped her fingers, and Will clenched his jaw.

“I am
still
speaking. Now where… oh, yes! You fell in love with her. Don’t deny it.”

He narrowed his eyes. He was
not
in love with Juliette.

He liked her. A great deal. But love her? He thought of those bruises on her cheek and the consuming fear he’d felt when he’d seen Oliver move to strike her down. Very well, he was a little in love with her.

“Everyone falls in love with her,” the countess was saying. “But you were too proud to tell her you loved her and too proud to offer her marriage because she is a courtesan and you are a duke, and so she left. Is that correct?”

Will glared at her. “Oh, am I allowed to speak now?”

She pointed a bony finger at him. “Do not be insolent with me!”

Will knew he was fighting a losing battle. “Your synopsis is more or less correct,” he said through clenched teeth.

“I know. Now, what are you going to do about it?”

Will shook his head. “I’m not going to do anything about it. She left me.”

“Can you blame her?”

“Yes!” Will stood. “I never made her any promises. I never told her I loved her. I made it very clear I could never marry her. Why should she be upset when I say as much to my uncle? She’s no green girl. A courtesan shouldn’t fall in love, shouldn’t expect marriage.” Will paced the room, fists clenched.

“No, a courtesan shouldn’t,” the countess said quietly. “But Juliette… is different. She wants a husband, a family, a man who will be a father to children they might have together.”

“I am not that man. I made that perfectly clear.” And he had. He had been perfectly direct on this point with her.

“Well.” The countess rose. “I suppose there is nothing more to say.”

“You came all this way to tell me there is nothing to say? Could you not have written a letter?”

“Do you want to hear what I have to say?”

Did he? Not particularly, but he might as well. Devil take him, but he wanted Juliette back. Perhaps the countess could speak to her, tell her to return to him. “Yes,” he said, his jaw clenched again.

“Very well. You, Pelham, are a fool.”

Will blinked.
That
was what she wanted to say?

“You had a chance at happiness, a chance very few people ever have. You had a chance at finding true love, and you threw it away with both hands. And why, I ask you?”

“You know why.”

She waved her hand about, encompassing the room. “For a title, for family honor, for form’s sake. Let me tell you something, Your Grace. Your title and your honor and your form will not keep you warm at night. It won’t stave off the loneliness. It won’t be by your side, holding your hand when you’re old and frail as I am. It won’t give you children or grandchildren. It won’t make you laugh or cry or stare in wonder. But you hold your title close, Your Grace, because you’ll never hold Juliette again.” And with that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the room.

Will stood in the empty room with fists clenched and a thousand cutting ripostes on his tongue. He glanced at the empty spot where his father’s portrait had been, lifted a vase on the table beside his couch, and flung it at the wall. He stared at the shards of broken pottery and the mark on the wall until his breathing slowed, and then he walked out of the drawing room and slammed the door closed behind him. Down the corridor, he could hear his servants working, removing another of his father’s portraits. But it didn’t really matter. Even if all the portraits were gone, his father was still here. Inside him.

Will’s footsteps echoed on the hallowed floors as he walked through room after empty room. He found himself in his bedchamber—the last place Juliette had occupied. It was partially cleaned and straightened, but he must have called the servants to assist in removing his father’s portraits before they could finish.

Will walked to the bed and touched the counterpane. Then he leaned down and smelled the pillow Juliette had slept on. It still carried her lavender scent. A pang of regret hit him so hard he all but doubled over. He stood beside the bed, jaw tight, and tried to obliterate the craving he had for her.

The problem was that it had grown over time. Yes, he’d wanted her the first time he saw her, but that desire was nothing compared to now. Now he didn’t simply want her physically—though what sane man wouldn’t want her physically?—he wanted her in every way. He wanted her smile, her laughter, her teasing. God help him, he even wanted her tears.

He knew what was wrong with him. The bloody countess was correct. He’d fallen in love. He’d broken his cardinal rule and fallen in love. And the devil take him if he still didn’t think it was one hell of a good rule.

Love was not ordered or disciplined. Love was not logical or stately. Love made fools of everyone it touched. He hadn’t thought he could fall in love—that was the chink in his armor. That was where love had found an entrance and pried it open. He thought that as the Duke of Pelham he was above the mundane act of falling in love.

And he had additional armor, as well. He’d never been loved. His father certainly hadn’t loved him. His mother, if she had loved him, never showed it that he could recall. His friends might like him a great deal, but he doubted they loved him. No one loved him. No one had
ever
loved him. No one
would
ever love him.

Except Juliette.

And now he’d driven her away.

It was exactly as the countess had said. He’d driven away his one chance at love, at happiness. At one time he had thought his role of duke would bring him happiness. He had estates to oversee, parliamentary duties, social obligations. But for the first time in his life, Will wished he was not the Duke of Pelham. He wished he had never even heard of the man.

What was Juliette always saying?
You
can
make
your
own
destiny.

But could he? Could he really? Could he silence his father? Could he rid the man in his head as he’d rid the house of his portraits?

Will sank onto the bed, head in his hands. Juliette would accept nothing less than marriage. He knew that. Could he marry her knowing she had been a courtesan?

His family would be appalled. His servants would be appalled. His friends would be… mildly amused. Society would be all atwitter. He hated twittering.

But he loved Juliette more. He could not exist without her. Damn what she had been in the past, what she had done, whom she had known. He cared about who she was now and who she would become—the sixth Duchess of Pelham.

She would make a glorious duchess. She was born to be a duchess.

Will had one small problem. How was he going to convince
her
she should become his duchess?

***

Juliette did not go home to her town house. She could not bear to see the havoc Lucifer had wreaked in her bedroom and throughout the house as he searched for the lost diamonds. She would deal with it later. In the meantime, she would write to her servants and ask them to return, and try and find some way of paying them. She needed a protector. As much as she didn’t want to endure a man’s caresses, to have to close her eyes and pretend he or she was someone else, she had little choice.

She had fallen in love. She would love Pelham—the arrogant bastard—forever. But love would not pay Rosie or Hollows or keep a roof over Juliette’s head.

She thought about going to Lily’s or Fallon’s. She knew both would welcome her with all their hearts, but Lily and Fallon had gone to Somerset. Or so she assumed. Their staffs would not allow her to take up residence while the ladies were away. It did not matter how close the three were.

But there was one place she was always welcome. There was one place she knew she would be granted entrance and a home for as long as she needed it. The Earl of Sinclair’s residence.

And so when she arrived in London, she went to Sinclair House directly. She was pleased when their old butler, Abernathy, opened the door. He had not changed at all since she had last seen him. He still had the same white hair, the same crinkled brown eyes, and the same ruddy cheeks. She felt as though a hundred years had passed. Upon seeing her, Abernathy’s face lit up, and he all but pulled her into a hug. “Miss Juliette! I am so glad you are here.”

“You won’t be when you hear all the rumors swirling about concerning me.”

He waved his hand. “Pish posh. I don’t care about rumors. Come in, come in. Lord and Lady Sinclair are not in residence.”