How to Deceive a Duke (21 page)

Chapter 49

M
eg let the soft air flow over her, wishing it could blow away heartache and confusion and fear. Without a child, the dowager would ruin her. Her mother would be destroyed when she learned the truth about her husband’s death. Nicholas was right. She did not want to give a child to such a woman.

Being back at Wycliffe simply reminded her of her father’s disappointment in her. He’d always said she’d make a dreadful wife.

And he’d been right.

She let the wind take her tears. The only reason she was married at all was that she had tricked Temberlay. He must fear that any child he sired upon her would turn out like her. Imagine, the handsome Devil of Temberlay, lover of beautiful women, with an ugly wife and an equally unattractive child. The scandal sheets would have a field day.

It was easier to tease her, tempt her until she was half out of her mind with longing, and walk away.

The pain of that brought tears of self-pity to her eyes, and she slowed the mare by the river and dismounted. When the news came out, would the disgrace of her father’s suicide provide enough grounds to end their marriage? And then what? She leaned on the mare’s strong shoulder, and swiped away her tears. She stared at the dark smear on the buff leather of her glove. She would never be the same after Temberlay, but she would go on, somehow.

“Is this land part of Wycliffe?” he asked, and she turned to find Nicholas seated on Hannibal and dressed for travel. He looked as cool and elegant as if he were out for a ride in Hyde Park. She brushed a lock of hair out of her face.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see you,” she said, hating the fact that he’d found her crying over him like a ninny.

“I did escape from much sterner prisons during the war,” he said, and swung down from Hannibal’s back.

“How kind of you to bid me farewell, or did you come to gloat?”

He stood beside her and looked out across the broad surface of the river. “Wycliffe is beautiful. No wonder you didn’t want to lose it.”

“I’m not sorry I married you. I did it for my family, but I owe you an apology for this, at least. It was a—mistake,” she managed.

“We’re not so different, Maggie. I agreed to marry for my family too. I believed my grandmother was heartbroken when David died. I wanted to make her happy. Since my brother left Temberlay bankrupt, I married you for money as well. My grandmother offered to provide the money to run my estates if I married where she wished.” He brushed another lock of hair over her shoulder. “I will always protect my family—you, and eventually if we are so fortunate, our children.”

She pursed her lips. “Perhaps it would have been different—better—if you’d married Rose.”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t met your sister, but from everything I’ve heard, I got the best of the whole garden of Wycliffe beauties.”

She met his eyes with a final plea. “Couldn’t you just—pretend—I’m what you want?”

“God, Maggie, I don’t have to pretend. I know what I want.”

She turned away. “Yes, but she’s in London.”

“That isn’t it, but I can’t stay. I have to go back. There are things I must see to that can’t wait. Will you come back with me?”

She imagined the pain, the agony and pretense of balls and parties and gossip, looking the other way every time he went to his lover, or took a new one. “I can’t.”

“Amy told me you spent hours reading about me in the scandal sheets. Every word. I think you were smitten with me before you even met me, curious to see if I was really as wicked as you’d heard, and if you could tame a rake like me.”

She tossed her head. “How vain you are!”

He rubbed his thumb along the curve of her lower lip. “You melted the first time I kissed you. You turn to flame in my arms.” He leaned closer and she stared at his mouth, inches above her own. “Why else would you be so jealous of other women, women who mean nothing to me?”

“I’m not—” she began. But she was.

“You won’t share me,” he murmured against her lips.

“No,” she agreed on a sigh, curling her hands into his lapels, pulling him closer.

“I won’t share you either,” he said, and she looked into his eyes. “This marriage is for two. There isn’t room for anyone else. Do you understand?”

“I have no other lovers,” she said. “If that’s what you mean.”

“I mean anyone who tries to dictate how things will be with us, Maggie. Not your mama, not the gossips, and especially not my grandmother.” He nuzzled the skin beneath her ear, nipped her earlobe. She kissed his jaw, wound her arms around his waist under his cloak.

“When we have children, they will be our children, is that clear? I won’t give them over to my grandmother. They will be raised with all the love we can give them. You have to trust me, Maggie.”

He kissed her deeply, gathering her into his arms. “How the hell can you think I don’t want you?”

M
eg gasped wordlessly as he closed his hand on her breast, and teased the nipple through the thin muslin of her gown. “Come back to London,” he murmured against her ear.

She let him ravish her mouth as his hands roamed over her. She wanted him, and not for anything other than sheer desire. He picked her up, leaned her back against Hannibal, and she hooked her leg over his hip when he reached for her hem.

“Oh, praise the Lord, there you are, Nick!” John called out from the other side of Hannibal’s broad back. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I was afraid you’d left us. You decided to come outside for some fresh air, did you?”

Meg looked at John through glazed eyes. He was grinning as if he’d found Temberlay sitting in a tavern with a glass of ale instead of draped over his wife on the riverbank. She met Nicholas’s eyes, read the plea there to send John away. She looked away. She couldn’t deceive him anymore. She needed to think, needed to find another way to protect her family from the dowager’s threats. Perhaps that would be easier if he wasn’t here. She let her hands drop away from his shoulders and turned to John.

“He
is
leaving, John. He was just saying good-bye.”

“Meg?” Nicholas murmured, still ignoring John, confusion in his eyes. Did he think it was so easy to fix everything? She had secrets she could not reveal, people to protect, if that was possible. She had to make it possible. She pushed him away.

“Please guide him back to the road, make sure he has what he needs,” she instructed her servant.

She mounted her mare. “I wish you a safe journey, Your Grace,” she managed, and set her heels to the horse before she dissolved into tears.

N
icholas stood with John and watched her ride away, and wondered what the hell had happened.

“Sorry if I interrupted anything, Nick. I thought I’d catch hell from Meg if I lost you.”

“Have you ever been in love, John?” he asked as they rode back toward the road.

The big man blushed like a girl. “I’m not the kind of man lasses fancy. Too big and awkward.” Nicholas smiled sadly at him, and John’s jaw dropped. “You weren’t—that is, you weren’t asking for
advice
, were you? From
me
?”

He scanned the green fields of Wycliffe. He understood sex and seduction well enough. Marriage was something entirely different, especially if one had
feelings
for his wife. He might have asked Stephen, but he’d gone to Vienna, and he was a bachelor. So was Sebastian, and he was the last place to look for sensible council. Nicholas realized that he did not actually know any happily married men.

He was on his own, and he’d never been so utterly confused in his life.

He turned Hannibal toward the road. Fixing the situation lay in London. First, he needed to speak to his grandmother.

Next, he wanted revenge for his brother’s senseless death, and for the tragedies that had befallen Meg’s family.

Perhaps it was better if Meg remained here, till he’d worked that out.

He couldn’t imagine being in Town, or anywhere, without her.

He tipped his hat and forced a smile when they reached the London road. “Come to Town, John, soon. Bring Meg home.”

He set his heels to the stallion and rode hard.

Chapter 50

“M
ama!” Rose rushed into Hector’s sitting room and threw her arms around her mother. To his eyes, the two were so much alike it was hard to tell where one blond head ended and the other began.

He was glad to see Rose safe, married, and apparently happy, if the tears filling his home were anything to go by. Mother and daughter soaked each other’s gowns before they exchanged handkerchiefs, as if a small square of lace could stop the deluge.

He edged toward the door.

“Hector, where are you going?” Flora demanded. “Rose has only just arrived. Don’t you want to hear her news?”

Hector pasted on a fond smile and kissed Rose’s damp cheek. “Of course I do. It is good to have you back, and looking so well. I was just going to arrange for tea. You both look like you could use a cup.”

Flora sniffled. “Don’t be silly, Hector. What we need is a glass of sherry. Then tea.”

He crossed to the decanter and set out three small glasses. He poured sherry for the ladies, and filled his own with good strong brandy.

“None for me, Hector. I am unable to take sherry at the moment,” Rose hinted, giving her mother a meaningful glance.

“I can well imagine you’re out of sorts after such a long trip. Jouncing over those dreadful roads all the way from Scotland is enough to put anyone out of countenance,” Flora sniffed.

“No, Mama, I meant—” Rose began, but Flora hadn’t finished.

“I myself cannot bear being in a coach for more than an hour at the most, and that’s on smooth roads. You must be exhausted.”

“Actually, we arrived yesterday evening, and I had an excellent sleep at Admiral Winters’s London home. It wasn’t the journey, Mama. I’m—”

“He has a London home as well? Where? How big is it?” Flora asked.

“Oh, it’s quite fine and elegant indeed. Edward’s aunt and sister traveled down with me, and they insisted I rest before visiting you because I’m—”

“His aunt and sister?” Flora said. “You should have brought them with you. We must have a dinner party for them, Hector, or perhaps even a ball.”

Hector frowned. His largest reception room seated ten, and only if everyone sat very close together.

Flora crossed to the desk for a sheet of paper. “We’ll make a list,” she said.

Rose got to her feet. “I’m afraid that won’t do at all, Mama.”

Flora set the pen down. “Why? Don’t these new relations of yours like parties?”

“Of course they do, but—”

“We’ll bring everything back to a simple dinner party, then.”

Hector snatched the pen out of her hand. “For pity’s sake, Flora, hold your tongue. Rose is trying to tell you she’s pregnant!”

Flora stared at him balefully and snatched the pen back again. “There’s no need to yell, Hector. I could see right off that Rose is in a delicate condition.”

“Well, aren’t you pleased?” he asked.

“Of course I’m pleased! How could I not be pleased? Look at her, she’s radiant, the very picture of loveliness!” She gave her daughter a look of pure maternal pride. “I was only thinking of poor Marguerite. Marriage has not agreed with her at all.”

“Oh?” Rose’s eyes widened with curiosity.

“We don’t know that,” Hector said. “We haven’t seen her in almost a fortnight. Things could be going quite well by now. She might even be —”

“I suppose it’s all my fault,” Rose said, and helped herself to a cream bun as the maid brought in the tea tray. “I don’t regret not marrying that dreadful man. It is unfortunate that Meg married him in my place, but if she is unhappy, then she only has herself to blame. She should not have stolen my bridegroom.” She popped the cake into her mouth.

Hector tried to make sense of her logic. Even Flora was frowning at her daughter.

“Still, to be so miserable, must be—miserable,” Rose finished.

“Well!” Flora said indignantly, and got up from Rose’s side and crossed the room to sit next to Hector. Rose helped herself to another cream cake.

“Meg and Temberlay are at Wycliffe, on their wedding trip. I’m sure they are quite happy.”

“No they aren’t,” Rose said.

“Aren’t happy?” Flora asked.

“Aren’t at Wycliffe. At least he isn’t. The
London News
said this morning that he was back in Town. I met him at the opera last night.”

“Did he make any mention of Marguerite, or her family?” Flora asked.

Rose shook her head. “No, but I’ve read there’s a certain actress who is very glad to see him. Are there more cakes?”

“Was he alone?” Flora asked. “At the opera?”

“Not at all! He was surrounded by people!” Rose said, and Hector clenched his jaw and refrained from rolling his eyes.

“Was he escorting anyone?” Flora asked.

“A Lady Delphine St. James, I believe. Is she one of his mistresses?”

“No,” Hector said, feeling relief. “The St. Jameses are old friends of Temberlay’s.”

“I should write to Marguerite at once,” Flora said, rising to go to the desk again. “I am surprised she hasn’t sent word to us herself.”

“Perhaps Devil murdered her on the way to Town, or left her to die among strangers. Perhaps she sent a note, but the messenger met with a terrible accident, and the letter was lost,” Rose said.

“You’ve been reading those dreadful novels, haven’t you, Rose?” Flora asked.

Rose pouted. “It was a very long trip from Scotland to London. They helped pass the time.”

Hector looked longingly at the brandy decanter across the room.

Flora looked worried. “I must write to Marguerite at once,” she said, and picked up the pen again.

“Surely you don’t think—” Hector began, but she shook her head.

“Of course not, but there must be some reason she hasn’t returned to Town, or come to see me if she has.”

Rose got to her feet. “If there are no more buns, I really must be getting back. Emma and Charlotte will fuss. They don’t want me overdoing it in my delicate state, but I just had to come to Town for at least part of the Season.”

Hector smiled at her. “It’s good to see they are taking such good care of you, my dear.”

Rose laid a hand on her little belly. “Yes, they are. We have a party to attend this evening, but they’ve insisted that I must not even consider taxing myself by attending Lady Samson’s supper party before it. We’re going to the Kendalls’ ball instead, and I am strictly forbidden to remain there past three! I believe Temberlay will also be there.”

Hector’s smile crumpled.

Flora handed him the note. “Take this to Hartley Place for me, if you would, Hector, see if Marguerite is there.”

He made good his escape as Rose began to chatter about the latest London fashions.