Forbidden to Love the Duke (11 page)

James frowned. “How do you know about this?”

“It's all over London. Poor Curtis. I hope you're arranging for a divorce.”

“When the time comes, of course, I'll help him with the proceedings. It isn't a matter of merely closing a door. I imagine he'll have a say in the matter.”

Her eyes flashed. “You aren't going to encourage him to keep her?”

He realized then what it was that he had sensed was missing between them and could not name. Elora had attended every one of his family's functions since he could remember. Conceited donkey that he was, he'd assumed she loved him and had been willing to settle for being his mistress when she secretly wanted to be his wife. “Does this mean that you have loved Curtis all this time and demeaned yourself with me because he was married, and you couldn't have him?”

She sat up, sighing, and pushing a comb back into her hair. “He wouldn't have married me, even if he'd never met Cassandra.”

James grunted. “It would have been a blessing had they never met.”

“Except for Mary and Walker. She did give Curtis beautiful children.”

James mulled this over. In his opinion the children had become little hellions, but he didn't wonder why. Unsupervised, left to their own devices. It was a wonder that they hadn't caused an accident before today. Or perhaps they had. The servants who'd cared for them wouldn't tell. Even Ivy had begged him to spare them punishment.

“I don't understand anything, Elora.” He forced himself not to look into his bedchamber again. “Why didn't you at least give me a hint of your feelings for Curtis? I might have furthered your cause.”

“You might be the finest lover in London. You might be the duke of every woman's dreams, but you're selfish and see only what affects you. My reputation was ruined years ago, James. If you weren't so self-absorbed, you might have noticed.”

“Well, if I didn't know about it, then I'm sure Curtis
didn't, either. We were at war, Elora. Who in the
ton
was hopping from one bed to another like frogs on so many lily pads was the last thing on our minds.”

She heaved another sigh. “Then it would only be a matter of time. How did you think that a lady of my background fell into the half-world? One day I was a debutante, the next I was consorting with rogues and actresses. Didn't you ever wonder what happened to me?”

“I suppose I did, once or twice. But the war changed everything, and I wasn't sure it was polite to probe into what might have been a distressful subject.”

“But it is polite to sleep with me?” she asked, rising from the chaise to approach him. She reached out her hand.

He shook his head. “Don't do that now.”

She smiled and lifted her fingers to his disheveled jacket. “Do what?”

“Touch me,” he said in an undertone, turning from her hand. “What do you suppose is taking that physician so long?”

She lowered her hand. “There could be a hundred reasons,” she said, smiling tightly. “But it won't matter when he arrives if your patient has run away.”

“What?”

He brushed past her to the door in time to hear the precise click of heels echoing through the outer hallway. Ivy had made his bed. And abandoned it. He should have guessed by that mutinous look on her face that she wasn't going to obey him. Neither was she about to sit there listening to him and Elora discuss the death or resurrection of their arrangement.

“I was only trying to restore your appearance before anyone else sees you,” Elora said, breaking into the
bedchamber after him. “Really, James, I think you're overreacting. She's injured. She was embarrassed by what happened. I don't suppose my turning up helped. Where could she have gone? To the kitchen, or the garden?”

“Home,” he said, afraid he'd driven her away. “She could have misinterpreted the conversation you and I had and taken offense.”

Elora laughed. “Aren't I the one who should be offended by finding a woman in your bed?”

He disappeared into the hall, scowling, and stared down the empty staircase. “You're the one who admitted being in love with my brother and using me as second-best,” he said without looking around. “This isn't a good time to talk about it.”

“Did you love me, James?”

“Of course I didn't love you,” he said in exasperation. “That was understood.” He spied a figure at the bottom of the stairs. “Mary! Have you seen your governess?”

“She didn't come down this way, Uncle James. What's wrong with her?”

“Her hand is deeply cut.”

Mary clung to the banister. “She would use the back stairs, wouldn't she?”

“You're right, Mary,” he said in relief. “You and Walker go to the kitchens or to your rooms.”

“She didn't mean to break the window, Uncle James,” she called up to him. But he didn't respond.

Elora had already anticipated his next move, and hastened down the stairs to talk to Mary.

James wondered what was wrong with him. He might have felt more shocked at Elora's admission had he not realized himself that even a sexual arrangement
between them wouldn't work. Thank God he had never slept with her. A steamy hour here and there, yes. But he needed a woman soon or he would lose his sanity. Not just any woman, either. Not for an uncomplicated affair.

He couldn't simply seduce the governess, as much as he wanted to, because she wasn't just any governess. He realized a solution existed, and he thought he was ready to explore it.

He had waited five years for the perfect woman. He could wait a little longer to repair the poor impression he had made. For now he could keep Ivy under his roof, his guard, and he saw no reason why she would resist him once he proved that he could be redeemed. There wasn't any question of an “arrangement” with Ivy, except for the contract she'd signed. He was grateful for that, as devious as it sounded. She was bound to him for a year.

Neither of them was to blame for losing each other the first time. She'd come back into his life for a reason. He wanted her more than he had on the eve of war. But this wanting went deeper than anything he'd known. A half decade of waiting, lusting, and dreams hidden away for the right woman.

She wanted him, too.

All he had to do was to persuade her of the obvious.

I
vy had no intention of remaining in the duke's bed while he and his lover quarreled in the next room, even if—especially since—his lover was one of her oldest acquaintances. To be fair, Ivy couldn't accuse the duke of pushing Elora onto the path of ruin. Obviously, however, he had led Elora further astray.

But their affair wasn't any of Ivy's business. Furthermore, from what Ivy could glean from their conversation, the duke's brother had played a pivotal role in Elora's life. Had he been at the masquerade ball on the night that Ivy's world had collapsed? She found that she couldn't remember. One man's kiss had taken precedence over everything else that evening, except her father's disgrace and subsequent death.

It was possible that the same fate could have befallen Elora, too. Until now Ivy had always thought that she and her sisters had been singled out for their wretched destiny.

The moment she sensed that the duke wasn't watching, she slipped from the bed, drawing up the covers as neatly as she could, and sneaked into the hall.

She'd taken only four steps toward the staircase before he emerged from another door and strode forward, his frown so wrathful she froze in her tracks.

“How dare you disobey me,” he said. “Do you realize that you could faint and fall down the stairs from the amount of blood you've lost?” And he swept her up once again in his arms.

Ivy could well have fainted, but more from the sinful thrill of those wonderful arms embracing her than from any loss of blood. Besides, her fate was sealed. Elora had left the sitting room to close ranks in case Ivy made another attempt to escape. That seemed an impossibility considering the physician loomed at the bottom of the stairs, looking harried and self-important.

How strong James was. She let her cheek rest against his shoulder. “This is very heroic of you.”

“Isn't it?”

Her hip brushed his groin with every stride he took. Heroic and hard, she thought. “I've failed as a governess already.”

“Those children could take down an entire army.” He paused outside his bedchamber doors, boosting her up higher in his arms. “When I saw you sitting in the windowsill like that, I admit I felt—well, I don't want to ever feel like that again.”

And she wanted to feel his arms around her forever and make him forget any other woman existed.

*   *   *

Night had settled over the house and things were finally quiet. Ivy heard the rustle of unfamiliar sheets and felt a weight across her ribs. No. She didn't want to remember what had happened with the children and the shattered window.

She was in his bed again. With him? She couldn't seem to fully awaken. “Your Grace . . . please.” She reached out beside her and her fingers touched soft hair. Was it Lilac? Was she home?

“It's me, my lady. It's Mary. I'm ever so sorry.”

“It was an accident.” Her eyes refused to stay open. Minutes or an hour passed. She couldn't tell. She drifted.

“It wasn't an accident,” Mary whispered, and Ivy jolted awake again. “I always wanted to behead Henry.”

“So did Rosemary.” Ivy's wrist throbbed. Now she recalled that the physician had given her eight stitches and a dose of laudanum. She managed to pull her hand to her chest. “She's one of my sisters.”

“May I meet her?”

The bed-curtains parted, and Ivy felt another presence in the room. A husky voice said, “What are you doing in here, Mary? Haven't you caused enough trouble today? Go back to your own bed.”

The pressure lifted from Ivy's ribs. A cool hand stroked her cheek. She wanted to rouse, but then the caress would stop. “Does it hurt?” he asked her gently.

“Mmm, no. It feels wonderful.”

He laughed, his face close to hers. “I meant your wrist. But I'm happy to act as a substitute to ease your discomfort.”

He kissed her lightly on the lips. She floated away again, compliant, lost, her last sensation one of contentment until later in the night, when she stirred again, her hand aching, and realized she was alone.

*   *   *

James sat with Elora at breakfast the next day, feeling like a simpleton for not realizing the obvious. She had loved Curtis all her life. She might have considered him
as a suitor if a married rake hadn't ruined her the night of the masquerade ball. Of course she hadn't advertised the news in the papers. She would have done everything in her power to hide her disgrace. But she was discovered by a pair of debutantes, and their malice had marked her for life.

Elora considered herself only good enough to become a man's mistress, and the man she had chosen was the brother of her true love, who presumably was as oblivious to this imbroglio as James had been.

“How did Ivy help you?” he asked her over the plate of buttered toast the butler passed across the table.

“She was the only debutante at the ball who stood beside me. We knew each other from boarding school. I never met her again after that night.”

He tried to hide his sudden eagerness to see Ivy and casually pushed back his chair. “She should be awake by now. It's only courtesy that I check on her. After all, she could have fallen out the window.”

“She's been up for hours, James. You'll find her upstairs with the children.”

He attempted to look detached. “Well, that's fine, then. I don't see what I was worrying about.”

“You worry about everything. I know your secrets. Do
you
still suffer that terrible pain in your arm?”

“Do I act as though I'm in pain?”

She stared at her toast. “Not at all. But before you escape, I would like your permission to take the children to my sister's house for a few days. She has two sons of her own, and it would be good for Walker to play with the other boys. I'd like the chance for the children to know me as something other than the woman you were considering to be your bedmate.”

He flushed. “Now that everything is out in the open, the idea sounds a little obscene.”

“What we had in mind certainly was.”

He laughed at her teasing tone and left the room, in the best mood he could remember since he had returned to Ellsworth. It was a fine house, he thought, large enough in which to lose one's way. It took an eternity to cross through the corridors to the staircase that climbed upstairs. On the way he passed so many Ionic columns and Greek statues he could have been in Athens.

At last he reached the stairs, only to be flagged down by Perris, the butler. “Your Grace! Your Grace!” Perris said, bending over to catch his breath. “A letter has arrived.”

“It can wait. No. It can't. It might concern my brother Curtis.”

The butler handed him the letter. James tore open the seal before realizing it was addressed to Ivy. “Perris, this is not for me.”

“I never said it was, Your Grace. It was sent to our poor Lady Ivy, who went through such an ordeal yesterday. A footman from Fenwick Manor delivered it only a minute ago. I wonder if her family has heard of her horrendous accident. . . .”

James looked first to the signature to verify that the message hadn't been written by Ivy's admirer. He quickly scanned the letter while Perris, the biggest gossip in the house, droned on. He felt like a kitchen girl for reading it. But then word could arrive any day from Curtis or his faithless wife.

How innocent Ivy's life was in comparison to his. Or perhaps not. His brows knotted at the enigmatic note.

Dear Ivy,

I know your employer will not allow you another day off, but if there is any chance he might grant you a few hours of freedom, I shall be forever grateful.

I need to confess to you what I did in London. Until I share this burden with you I cannot sleep or eat. I am so full of morose thoughts that I burst into tears when even a leaf falls.

I had an interview yesterday with a viscountess who is seeking a companion. She has promised me the job. And I have accepted. I expect to start work soon.

There are great changes afoot at Fenwick. I'm sworn to secrecy, but be prepared. It seems to us that you found love in London.

By the way, today is Lilac's natal day. I wish you could be here. For the first time in years, we are celebrating in grand fashion, and all because of you.

Your loving sister,

Rue

James refolded the letter and handed it back to the butler. Ivy would never forgive him for reading another of her correspondences. “Have Carstairs reseal and deliver it to Lady Ivy upstairs. I should never have opened it.”

The butler bowed. “An understandable mistake, Your Grace.”

“Yes.”

Understandable. But James wasn't sure he understood the contents of the missive.

It seems that you found love in London.

Could Rue be referring to that long-ago incident
between Ivy and James at the masquerade ball? It was possible Ivy had told her sisters how she and James had met. That pleased him, to think he was important enough for her to speak of in those terms to them.

It was also possible that Rue was talking about another man. She could have been alluding to a poet who enticed a woman with her own pearls and words that promised everything and meant nothing at all.

*   *   *

Ivy saw the duke propped against the doorjamb and felt like she was falling again. Not out of a window, it was true, but into a different kind of danger, one that could only end with a pain worse than anything she'd ever imagined. But when he smiled at her, ignoring the children's cries of greeting, she didn't care how or where she landed. She could only hope he would be there to catch her.

“Your Grace.” She stood, edging around the globe, and curtsied. “We were studying the correct forms of address when one is presented at court.”

“Elora is taking me on a visit,” Walker said, sliding off his stool.

Ivy noticed the duke glance at the letter on her desk. She was positive the rogue had read and resealed it. He had no compunctions about uncovering her secrets. And he wasn't subtle at all about his desires.

“How is your hand?” he asked.

“I would never have known I'd injured it if not for this cumbersome bandage. It does make writing difficult.”

His smile vanished. “I understand.”

“I've been a bother,” she said, held hostage by his stare.

“I see that you received the letter,” he said, as if Ivy weren't perfectly aware he had knowledge of the contents. “Is everything well at home?”

“To be honest, I'm not sure. I forgot that today is my sister's birthday.”

Mary barreled around her and anchored herself to the duke's side. “Don't make me go with Elora. I want to stay here.”

He stroked her hair. “Why?” he asked gently. “Are you that attached to your governess?”

“Well, I am,” Mary answered. “But I want to be here in case my father sends you a letter or my mother returns for us.”

His eyes darkened. Ivy doubted he would surrender the children, even if their mother did come home. “Fine, Mary,” he said, but he was still staring at Ivy. He added in a hesitant voice, “Your governess must take the afternoon off. I think we've worn her to tatters in the short time she's been here.”

Ivy studied his stern face. “Are you giving me permission to go home?”

“Only for a few hours. And I shall have my footman escort you and remain on guard outside Fenwick until you are ready to come back.”

So he
had
read her letter.

She sighed. “I don't need guards. There haven't been any highwaymen lurking in the hedgerows for decades.”

“I'm not worried about highwaymen,” he replied. “It's the scoundrels who have been attracted to the area lately that are of concern.”

Ivy almost retorted that it took one to know one. But then he gave her a smile that could have melted iron, let alone a lady's heart. She wasn't about to admit to him
that when it came to scoundrels, he had no competition. She was grateful for the consideration he'd shown her yesterday and again now.

Even if she was becoming hopelessly entangled in the strings that were attached to his generosity.

“Thank you.” She curtsied low. When she rose up, his eyes met hers in a questioning look that threatened to buckle her knees again.
Scoundrel of scoundrels,
she thought. He didn't even have to try. He undid a woman with a glance.

“Be back on time,” he said, and his smile told her he knew she would obey.

“I will,” she said even though she had not a clue what awaited her at the house. “I promise.”

“I might discipline you this time if you're late. Come, Mary.” He took the girl by the hand. “Why don't you run out into the garden and pick some flowers for Lady Ivy's sister?”