Forbidden to Love the Duke (22 page)

James looked down at his desk. “And you heard him command that she yield the treasure?”

A pause. Sir Oliver frowned as if he had to relive the memory, word for word, moment by moment, and James understood why. It wasn't every day a man interrupted another man in the act of rape and was obligated to make sure that this would be the last woman he ever assaulted.

“I can't remember the exact order of how everything occurred,” Oliver admitted. “I believe I swore. I—I think I said, ‘Jesus, Joseph, and Mary.' My voice startled him. He turned to me. I wanted his attention. I needed him to step back from Lilac so that I could have a clear shot. And I—I had asked Rosemary to stand away. I shot to kill, hitting him in the chest. I ran after the other man. Then I came back to Lilac to cover the bloodied corpse.”

James was silent. It made sense, and yet he
wanted
to find fault. “You covered him in dirt?”

Sir Oliver grimaced. “I don't remember. It might have been Lilac's shawl or the jacket I'd been about to put on when I ran down the stairs. Remember, I'd been in a dead sleep myself.”

“How did the other one escape?” James asked, picturing the garden, the slope to the bridge, the impediments, gone now, thanks to Oliver's intervention.

“He had a small carriage on the bridge. I didn't see it,
but I heard the snap of a whip, the rumble of wheels and hooves.”

“You didn't think to run after it for at least a look?” Wendover said in a faint reproach.

Sir Oliver answered him with a cold stare. “No. I thought to draw Lilac away from the dead body that had fallen on top of her. Was that wrong of me? Should I have left her there in shock? You were an officer, Your Grace,” he said to James. “You are better trained than me in these matters. What would you have done?”

“No doubt the same thing. But you have killed a man—two men—before, Sir Oliver.”

“On a dueling field. There might have been a woman involved, but she was not being assaulted in my sight.” Oliver's voice rose. “Am I on trial for protecting a woman's virtue?”

“Of course not.” James glanced at Wendover for a moment before speaking further. “I don't think they should return to that house.”

“You will have a job persuading them, I fear.” Sir Oliver came to his feet. “With your permission I will return to Fenwick and leave for London before it is dark. I might even come across a drunken man in a tavern who is lamenting the death of his partner.”

James rose. “Then unless the magistrate requires a formal report from you, we are finished.”

“Perhaps.” Sir Oliver nodded in Wendover's direction. “Good day.”

James stroked his jaw. He waited to speak to Wendover until the footman in the hall closed the door. “What do you think?”

“From what little I know of Ivy and her sisters, the two ladies won't leave Fenwick of their own volition.”

“Perhaps we can convince them that a temporary stay in the park is a good idea.” James flipped another coin in the air. “Heads or tails?”

“Heads.”

James caught it in his left hand. “It's tails. He's hiding something, and I don't know what.”

“He's a cocksure bastard. Perhaps he knows more about the other assailant than he's willing to tell. He might even be going after him to make himself more the hero.”

James grunted. His arm had started to hurt. He swore it was because he wanted to reach across his desk and throttle the weasel. “This was supposed to be a day of celebration,” he mused.

“Which I interrupted,” Wendover said.

James released a sigh. “I was showing her the library.”

“The hell you were.” Wendover shook his head. “I know the difference between the sound of pages being turned in a book and bedsprings.”

“I'm not the least bit interested in good manners.”

“I've noticed.”

They walked toward the door together.

“Come to think of it,” James said, “I'll need more than good manners to put her back in a receptive mood. I wanted to give her my mother's diamond and sapphire necklace while we were upstairs. Remind me later to look for it again.”

“Offer her comfort,” Wendover said. “She'll need it more than jewels. She isn't like Elora.”

“I'll have the devil's time taking her mind off what happened to Lilac. No doubt
she
will want to comfort her sisters.”

“Allow me to assist.”

James grinned. “They are beautiful, aren't they?”

“Why did you hide them from me for so long? You could have invited them to dinner or a picnic at the lake.”

“They hide themselves from the world.”

Wendover frowned. “Four women of reduced circumstances couldn't keep up a manor that grand forever. What sustained them through the years?”

“Wits, a strong heritage, the revenues from Rosemary's writing, plus a bountiful supply of fruits and vegetables from the back gardens.”

“That's all?”

“And, I gather, sisterhood.”

They had reached the doors to the drawing room, from which drifted warm voices and laughter. “I hope I don't offend you, James, but your fiancée and her sisters are not the ‘usual' sort of gentlewomen one encounters at a country assembly. Or anywhere that I would think to look.”

“I know.”

He only wished he'd known years ago when he first met Ivy and assumed she was too desirable, too young and vivacious, to wait for a man who aspired to climb the military ranks. He should have wed her before going to war. With luck he'd have left her with his father and an heir to keep them contented until he came home. Perhaps, if he'd had the wisdom to marry her then, he would have had a reason to return home sooner.

*   *   *

Oliver had intended to drive to the gatehouse and collect his belongings before he set off for London. But when he reached Fenwick, its mystery beckoned to him once again. This might be his last chance to search for the treasure, if it existed.

It was definitely the last time he would be able to poke about without one of the sisters inadvertently trying to end his life or requiring that he save hers.

He brought his carriage around to the stables, identifying himself to the nervous young groom, and walked back to the house, where Quigley sat dozing against the door.

“Quigley.”

“What? I've got a gun—well, it's you, sir. Why'd you sneak up after what happened today?”

“What are you doing?”

“Standing guard.”

“God. Let me in the house, would you?”

“Why, sir? The ladies aren't at home.”

He helped the gardener to his feet, wincing as the man's grimy hand left a soil mark on one of Oliver's fawn riding gloves. The urn of geraniums, bruised and missing most of its vibrant red petals, sat as it had before Lilac had hurled it at Joseph's head. The damned idiot. And Ainsley. How had that fool found out about Fenwick?

“No trouble with the magistrate?”

“Not a bit. I told him to go to Ellsworth Park if he had any questions, and that seemed to satisfy him.”

“That's fine. Be a good man and let me in.”

“Well—”

“Listen to me, Quigley. Trouble comes in threes. I wouldn't be at all surprised if those two varlets hadn't traveled with another man.”

Quigley spit on the ground, narrowly missing Oliver's boots. “The servants would have seen 'im by now.”

“What if, during the mayhem and confusion, the third villain managed to sneak inside the house and hide? He might be lying in wait for the ladies to return.”

“Lying where?” Quigley asked, like a bull about to charge.

“There are hidden passages inside the manor. I know because Lady Rosemary accidentally closed me inside one, and I would surely have expired had her sister not heard my feeble exhortations.”

“Feeble whats?”

“Never mind, good fellow. You know of these passageways?”

Quigley swiped his muddied hand across his nose. “I do. In the time of the Pretender Oliver Cromwell, his soldiers traversed these passages searching for the exiled prince who'd long escaped, as the legend goes. But not all of Cromwell's men were as fortunate. They haunt the house.”

Oliver was in no mood for a history lesson. “I thought it was Anne Boleyn's ghost who came to play in one of the bedrooms.”

“That's true. Her spirit and that of the young lady who lived in the manor at the time are those thought to have trapped Cromwell's men in the tunnels in order for the young king to escape.”

“Which he did,” Oliver said.

“And lived on to rule merrily over England for a good many years, bless his wicked soul.”

Oliver tamped down a surge of excitement. This legend supposedly held the key to the treasure. “Quigley,” he said in a grave voice. “You risked your life today, and I cannot in clear conscience leave this house without ensuring it is safe for the ladies to return. I will search the hiding places before I go, but I need you to stand watch so that I am not closed in and forgotten.”

“I could go down with you.”

“My eyes are probably better than yours, Quigley. Do not fall asleep on me.”

“I'll have the footman sit with me.”

“Excellent idea.”

“One caution, sir.”

He curbed his impatience; he had to gather up candles, flint, and tinder. “Yes?”

“There is a passageway below the staircase that no one has ever searched. It's where the soldiers were thought to be trapped. Be prepared for a skull or two.”

I
vy dashed up the stairs to her room. Not to the Duchess Suite, where James had attempted to render her useless earlier in the day, but to the small chamber befitting her station as governess. Walker had smeared his sticky hands all over her skirts. She might be accustomed to wearing worn clothes, but at least her apparel had always been clean.

She jumped when she saw the figure sitting in the same chair that Oliver had occupied last night. There was no mistaking this handsome intruder for a maid, however. Two glasses brimming with champagne and a half-empty bottle sat on the table beside him.

She put her hand to her heart. “I need to say something, James.”

He stood, lifting a glass to her mouth. “What did you want to tell me?”

She drank the entire glass in one gulp. “You've shaved. And—”

“And?”

And if his brooding gray eyes didn't pierce her like
an arrow to the heart, she would not have ended up beneath him on the bed a half minute later.

“How thoughtful of you to surprise me,” she whispered, slipping her hand inside his shirt to skim her fingers down his chest to his flat belly.

As if to reciprocate, he worked his hand under her gown to the soft tuft of curls that covered her mons. “You're so wet, you must have known I'd be here waiting.”

She squeezed her eyes shut as he pinched her taut pearl between his thumb and forefinger. “That's another quote from the Book of Scoundrels. Have you got it memorized from the front to back . . . or did you edit it?”

“All I have to do is look at you and do what my instincts tell me.”

“My instincts tell me I'm supposed to be dressing for dinner.”

“Undress for me instead.”

“James, we don't have time for that.”

He bent his head and kissed her into silence, pressing two fingers into her cleft and halting her protests. She stifled a moan. He slid his mouth down the length of her throat, taking small bites of her skin on his wicked way. Her breasts swelled against her corset.

He unlaced her gown and underbindings, rendering her naked to the waist. “I want to suck your nipples again. I know it excites you.”

“You're making a mess of me,” she whispered to him in dismay.

He brushed his mouth back and forth against the tips of her breasts until her lower body softened and she
lifted her hips. “I can't ever seem to get you alone,” he mused. “There's always someone interrupting us.”

His erection pressed against her thigh. He had an insatiable appetite for sex. “Have you forgotten this morning?”

“How could I? It was only a few hours ago.” His hot stare traveled over her wet nipples to the juncture of her thighs, where his hand still played her like an instrument.

“I guarantee that when we are married, I won't be as lenient about your time.”

He didn't look lenient now. He looked wild and tantalizing, a man who held her in his power without any restraints at all. “And how do you propose to solve this matter, James?”

“I believe you missed several years of discipline. You're not a debutante now. I might require a few devices to help me keep you to myself. Handcuffs, silk ties. We can poke around some old dungeons and see if you find anything to your liking.”

“What if I want to keep you for my pleasure alone?”

“It doesn't work like that.”

“Too bad. I—” She lifted her head to see him sliding down her body. He pried her legs apart, and when his mocking face disappeared from view, she dropped her shoulders back on the bed and struggled to find her voice. “You can't do that with other people in the house.”

“Why not? Do you think they'll feel left out?”

His laughter warmed the naked skin above her stockings. He pressed his face into her cleft and ate at her without mercy. She went absolutely still, except for a shiver or two that she couldn't control. “James,” she whispered in utter helplessness.

He paused for a moment. She reached down to stop him, recovering only to submit again as his tongue penetrated her sex one slow stroke at a time. Her nipples tingled, rigid with a tension she felt deep in her stomach.

She rolled onto her side, but his hand promptly turned her back against the bed where he wanted her. “I'm not finished,” he murmured.

“Twice in one day.” She wanted horribly to move against his mouth. “It's not even dark.”

“Yes. Hmm. We still have the night.”

His mouth closed over the most sensitive part of her body; his tongue teased her nerve endings with his merciless talent. Afraid she would cry out, she raised her hand to her face and bit her thumb. The pain failed to counteract the pleasure he was determined to inflict on her susceptible body. Her hips undulated with abandon.

She gasped. “If you keep this up, James, I won't be able to walk to our wedding.”

“I'll carry you, darling.”

He rose up briefly to kiss her. He must have sensed she was on the verge of breaking; he held the power to withhold or give her release, leaving her suspended, willing to beg. “Please,” she whispered, and he went down again, his mouth resuming its deliberate torment. “One day,” she said with a soft moan, “I'll take my revenge.”

“I can't wait. Maybe you'll be able to write your own book on the subject.”

He caught her bud between his teeth and nudged her thighs farther apart with his elbow. Her hips rose. His hand stole across her stomach to bunch her skirts up higher and subdue her restless movements.

She was frantic, shaking with desire. He knew what she needed, how to arouse her basic nature as he satisfied his.

“Do you want something from me, Ivy?”

She heard the bed creak and felt a coolness against the bare skin of her thighs. James stared down at her with a hunger that matched the intense longing she felt for him. He unfastened the flap of his trousers and took his penis in one hand. Her belly clenched in anticipation. The next thing she knew, he had positioned his hands under her bottom and raised her limp legs over his shoulders. She had only an instant to note the size of his erection before the crest of it disappeared into her sheath, then withdrew in a rhythm he repeated until she was ready to pull out his hair in need.
“James.”

At her voice he quickened, pumping deeper until she moved with him and broke with a force that drove the breath from her body. Her muscles closed around his shaft with an uncontrollable instinct that she guessed by his deep groan brought him the relief he needed.

It felt like he was truly hers. Her heart beat wildly as he flexed upward a final time and then fell still at her side, holding her tightly to his damp chest. Her veins throbbed in receding pleasure.

“My dress is a mess now,” she whispered in resigned satisfaction.

“A little more wrinkled than before you arrived, I agree.” He stroked her hair and kissed her with lingering passion. “I meant what I said. I'll give you anything you want.”

She kissed him back and sat up with a sigh. “For now you can give me the apple green silk dress from the wardrobe. My sisters are going to take one look at me and know exactly what we were doing.”

“Were we doing anything wrong?” he asked, smiling at her in all his alluring deviltry.

“Never mind the children, you're the one who needs discipline.”

“You can't discipline a duke.”

“One can try.”

To her surprise he stood, refastening his trousers with some trouble, and went to the wardrobe. He handed her the green silk frock and knelt before her. “I should have said this earlier—I love you. And I trust you as I've trusted no one in my entire life.”

She stared down into his face. “I love you, too, James.”

He swallowed. “I think you'd better change or our absence
will
be commented on. I'm going to my room to dress for dinner. We'll try to make Lilac and Rosemary forget what happened, if only for an hour or two.”

“Why would anybody attack Lilac and Quigley?” she asked, holding her dress in her hand.

He came to his feet. “I feel responsible in part. And while I'm grateful that Sir Oliver defended Lilac, I can't seem to like the man.”

“Nor do I,” she admitted. Although he had saved Lilac's life.

“No more grimness tonight.” With that, he put on the rest of his clothes.

She nodded. Broad-shouldered, elegant, and elemental, he was quite the specimen of masculinity. He could infuriate, master her, and brighten her mood, often within the same hour.

He went to the door.

She knew she should call out after him.
James, I have something I need to tell you.

Right after dinner.

*   *   *

Rosemary and Lilac had gone to visit the Duchess Suite after tea and the children had followed. Ivy did not walk into a restful scene at all, but it was a familiar one that filled her with nostalgia. Rosemary and Mary lay curled up on the bed together, oblivious to the boisterous game of checkers that Lilac and Walker were playing in front of the fire.

“You cheated, Lady Lilac!”

“How rude of you to notice, Master Walker.”

“I'll chop off your head.”

“Not if I chop off yours first.”

Ivy cleared her throat. “The children need to have a bath and dress for dinner.”

“They've already been bathed and dressed,” Lilac said without looking up from the game table.

“I'd like to have a bath,” Ivy announced, walking to the foot of the bed.

Rosemary dismissed her with a wave. “Don't interrupt. We're almost at the end of the chapter.”

Ivy sighed. “I'll just go back to my other room and leave the lot of you alone. I thought you might want to spend some time with me.”

“Why?” Lilac murmured. “You haven't spared any time for us lately.”

“And now we know why,” Rosemary said, lifting an eyebrow in accusation. “Whatever happened to ‘All secrets shall be revealed between sisters'?”

“In due time,” Lilac said, then added, “Perhaps they only realized they loved each other a day or so ago.”

Mary raised her head from Rosemary's shoulder. “They met at a masquerade ball five years ago.”

“They what?” Lilac and Rosemary gasped simultaneously.

Ivy stared daggers at Mary. “Traitor. Eavesdropper. I never told you that.”

“Uncle James did.”

Rosemary closed her book and regarded Ivy as if she were a complete stranger. “Five years ago. I attended that ball, and you never mentioned a word.”

“You do remember what happened to Papa the next day.”

Rosemary slid off the bed. “Have you been . . . seeing him in secret for five years?”

“Don't be stupid,” Lilac said. “We wouldn't have been living like paupers if she had. Cover your ears, Walker.”

Ivy shook her head in chagrin. “Don't bother, Walker. I didn't have time to tell anybody. The duke swept me off my feet.”

“She's telling the truth,” Walker said earnestly. “I saw him carry her to his bed when she was bleeding all over the place.”

“That was not a romantic moment,” Ivy said. Although when she thought back on the day of her accident, excluding the shock of what she'd undergone and Elora's arrival, it occurred to her that she had loved James for bearing her off to his room.

She sat down on the bed, Lilac and Rosemary joining her a moment later. “We knew all along,” Lilac said. “I told you the night he put our dragon back on the door that he had eyes for you.”

“Well, I didn't know it would go this far,” Rosemary said. “If I had, I'd never have agreed to become a governess myself.”

Ivy turned her head to Rosemary in disbelief. “You've done what?”

“I can't discuss it yet. It's too distressing.”

Ivy frowned. “Children, go play a game by the fire—but not in the fire.”

“If we'd known you'd end up marrying the duke, Rue wouldn't have taken a job and neither would Rosemary,” Lilac said with a sigh. “They might have met eligible gentlemen among one of His Grace's friends.”

“What about you?” Ivy asked curiously.

“I'm waiting for Terence.”

“Still?” Ivy said, biting her lip in concern.

“Yes, still. And I don't want to hear another word about him after what I went through today.”

“You were quite brave to throw those geraniums,” Rosemary said, curling against her.

“It only made the man angrier.” Lilac stared across the room. “Oliver is quite the marksman. He shot him straight in the heart. I know you didn't want to see, Rosemary. But I did. Any other man might have shot me.”

“That's why I didn't want to take the chance,” Rosemary said quietly. “You and that deranged creature were so close together, I knew I'd miss.”

“I won!” Mary cried from the other room.

There was a knock at the outer door. Walker ran to open it, and a voice announced, “Dinner is served, and His Grace is awaiting your company.”