The Dastardly Duke (6 page)

Julian tried again. “It will be simple enough in the morning, but if we tried to find our way out now we might get hopelessly lost. I suggest we seek shelter in a stalwart tree and make ourselves at home until dawn.”

She simply stood there with that expectant air.

Julian disciplined himself to patience. “We are better off staying in one place until dawn,” he said, speaking slowly and distinctly. “Then we can see where we are going—” He broke off.

Good God. She was swaying like a reed in the wind. Instinctively, he put out his arms. In the next moment she tumbled into them.

“What
the...”

Her lashes fluttered shut.

Holding her like a rag doll, Julian could not help but wonder whether this was some new trickery. In a scant few hours, she had shown him so many different aspects of her temperament that he scarcely knew what to make of this one.

On the chance that she was truly ill, however, he decided that now he had no choice but to try to get them out of this cursed forest. Lifting her to his chest, he registered a moment of surprise at how light was his burden. Carefully, he began to make his way along the path toward what he hoped was the forest’s edge.

Brambles tore at his face, but he shielded her when he could. Without a torch, he could see almost nothing. Several times he stumbled, but he quickly adjusted his balance to avoid falling with his delicate burden.

Delicate burden?
Julian shook his head in amazement. Miss Gregory was about as delicate as steel. She fought like a hellion and possessed a barbed tongue that was itself a formidable weapon. Despite her deafness, he had long ceased
thinkin
g
of her as infirm.

And yet, in his arms she was as light as a feather. Her form was thin as a leaf but decidedly feminine. She might have been any woman he carried in the dark of night—except that he had always known what to do with
those
women. This one had him stymied.

“Put me down.”

Julian felt rather than heard the words as her warm breath graced his face, and he looked down to find Miss Gregory’s unnervingly direct gaze mere inches from his. But instead of releasing her, he pulled her protectively to his chest to avoid a large branch.

She began to twist and turn in his arms.

“I demand that you put me down!” she cried, straggling so furiously that Julian was tempted to drop her on the path and leave her there. Instead, he forced himself to set her carefully on her feet. She swayed momentarily, then took a deep breath. “I am fine now.”

“
Then perhaps you would care to take over the task of leading us to safety,” he snapped, all patience gone. The woman was as prickly as briars.

A
gain,
that black, uncomprehending stare. With a muttered curse, Julian strode ahead, pulling her after him. The sooner they got out of this forest, the better.

“Your Grace!” she protested. He did not answer. The only words that came to mind were a tirade about what a nuisance she was.

Then she stumbled. Her hand pulled desperately on his. He turned. And saw that her eyes were wide with fear.

Guilt ripped through him. He tried to imagine what it must be like to be dragged pell-mell through the unfamiliar black woods, unable to hear the whipping of the branches or the cry of the
night
birds or even the solid thud of their feet on the dirt path.

Frightening.

“Are you all right?” he asked, bringing his face close so that she could understand. Slowly, she nodded.

With a gentleness that surprised him, he took her hand. Schooling his pace to hers, he began to lead her more slowly. Soon the path began to widen.

When they emerged from the thick curtain of forest and saw the stone cottage ahead, Julian sighed in relief. Somehow he had managed to bring them home—or what passed for home on a hellish night like this.

Inside, he settled her into a chair and moved quickly to the hearth to stir the embers to life. She did not say a word as he tromped past her to bring in some large logs. But when the hearth was at last blazing with light and warmth, he heard her expel a deep sigh.

“Thank you for bringing me out of the forest,” she said. “It was ... it was childish of me to go charging off. My temper got the better of me.”

Julian turned. The tirade that had sprung to mind in the woods somehow now eluded him. Instead, as he stared into
those somber gray eyes, he found himself removing a blanket from the nearby divan and handing it to her.

A look of surprise swept over her face. “Th-thank you,” she stammered, gratefully tucking the blanket around her.

“How long has it been since you have eaten?” he demanded.

“I am not sure. Yesterday, I think.”

Julian walked to the small larder his servants kept well-stocked. Without a word, he prepared a plate of cheese, bread, and cured ham.

“Eat this,” he commanded as he set the food in front of her then turned to tend the fire again.

After a time, he risked a glance and saw that she was hungrily finishing what he had given her. He returned to the pantry and opened a bottle of wine, which he poured into two glasses.

“Do you often faint like that?” he said, handing her a glass and drinking deeply from his own.

She did not reply. Julian knew she had understood, for she was staring intently at his face.

“I asked whether you were given to fainting spells,” he repeated impatiently.

“Once in a great while, I experience a dizziness,” she said slowly, as if reluctant to confess this small weakness. “It seems to go along with a terrible ringing in my ears.”

“Ringing?”

“More like a clanging or crashing sound, actually.”

Julian frowned. “Have you ever been examined by a doctor?”

“Dozens of them. They can offer no explanation.”

Julian tried to avoid
imagining how a woman of Miss Gregory’s meager means had managed to pay dozens of doctors for their skills.

“When we get to London, I will have you examined by my physician,” he declared gruffly.

“No.” She took a sip of wine. “You have hired me for a job, and I will do it to the best of my ability. But I will not incur any monetary obligation that I cannot discharge.”

Julian stared at her in exasperation. “A quack’s fees are hardly worth sneezing at.”

“I will grant that they must be insignificant to you, Your Grace,” she returned. “They are not to me. I will not be in your debt.”

“I have already said that you will not be asked to tender your services as payment for anything,” Julian snapped. Her haughty stubbornness irked him. One would
think
she had not readily serviced scores of men.

“Yes. You have said that.” She took another sip of wine. “Thank you for your considerateness.”

Even a “thank-you” from her lips became a condemnation. “Never mind,” Julian said wearily. “I believe we have had enough of each other’s company for tonight. We will continue our work tomorrow.”

Wistfully, he eyed the solitary bed in the small alcove that held her trunk. He had slept upon it many nights and knew it to be exceedingly comfortable. He also knew it sported fresh linens, for his servants were most efficient.

“I trust you will find the bed satisfactory,” he said. “I will sleep on the divan.” Where his feet would hang off and he would be unable to roll over without tumbling onto the floor. “I regret I cannot offer you anything more private, but—”

“As you have said, I am not accustomed to privacy,” Miss Gregory finished, meeting his gaze.

Julian snatched up the blanket. “I shall see to things outside.” He stomped out to afford her all the privacy any missish whore could want.

By the time he returned, all was dark inside, save for the dying blaze in the hearth. He stirred the fire and added another log to keep it going through the night. Then he removed his boots, lay down on the divan, and covered himself with the blanket.

Belatedly, he recalled his resolve to treat her more like a lady. “I apologize for my words this evening,” he called awkwardly across the room. “I should not have referred to you as a who—as a loose woman.”

Unaccustomed to making apologies, Julian decided that would have to do. “I wish you good night, Miss Gregory,” he added stiffly.

Feeling oddly virtuous, he pulled the blanket over him. Later, as he began to drift into sleep, he realized that she could not have heard a single word of his noble apology.

Chapter
Six

“We must devise a fitting background for you,” the duke said, drumming his fingers on the table.

Hannah bit into one of the fresh biscuits that had appeared at the cottage door this morning as if by magic. His servants came and went with such stealth that she supposed he must be accustomed to entertaining females without intrusion. The thought of being viewed as one of his women brought a flush to her face.

“Your Grace,” she began, “there is a great deal about this arrangement that I do not understand.”

He looked up in irritation. “It is not necessary for you to understand. For five hundred pounds, surely you can simply cooperate.”

“It is my right to ask
some
questions,” she persisted.

“And my right not to answer them,” he replied curtly.

Hannah bit back a retort. His arrogance made it hard to keep a civil tongue, but he was right about the importance of the money to her. She would try not to incur his displeasure—though it would not be easy, for the duke was a moody sort. Last night, for instance, he had seemed almost solicitous, but this morning there was no trace of softness in him. If anything, the sunlight only underscored his ferocity by illuminating that jagged scar and the impenetrable bleakness of those dark eyes.

She wondered about the circumstances in which he earned that badge of violence. Had it resulted from a dispute over a woman? Impugned honor? A slanderous remark? The duke did not strike her as a man who cared enough about such things to fight for them. He must have been challenged, then. Sabers at dawn.

Had he won? Hannah could not imagine him losing. Beneath that civilized ducal costume lay a very uncivilized power—dormant now, perhaps, but Hannah had no illusions: the duke was not a man to be crossed. That cruel mouth and brooding eyes radiated cool contempt for anyone foolish enough to confront him.

She wondered why the duke seemed so embittered and whether that harsh face ever relaxed its watchful cynicism. Certainly not when he regarded her, as he was doing now, with suspicion and distaste—as if he expected her either to steal everything in sight or throw herself on him like some tawdry seductress.

As if a man like that could be seduced. Hannah suspected he was thoroughly immune to feminine wiles and regarded women as necessary evils to be used and discarded. He was reputed to have a notorious appetite for pleasure and none whatsoever for lingering in female company once that appetite had been satisfied.

Had disappointment in love sent him on the road to dissipation? But no. The duke would never allow a woman to affect his actions. Whatever pain radiated from that bleak gaze started somewhere deep inside him. He needed no other person to make him miserable; he managed well enough himself.

“Charles had an uncle somewhere,” he said absently. “Something of a recluse, I believe. We will make you his daughter.”

“Will not people wonder why I am staying with you and Lady Lucille instead of Sir Charles?” Hannah frowned. “Ought not Sir Charles himself instruct me as to his family background? Why is he not here?” The duke scowled. Too late, she remembered her vow not to provoke him.

“Charles has decided that his interests do not coincide precisely with mine,” he said coolly. “As for the other, surely you know that an unmarried lady does not share a roof with an unmarried gen
tle
man. Or perhaps you do not know,” he added with a speculative gaze.

“I am sharing this cottage with you,” she pointed out. “What if that should become known?”

“It will not. Even my servants do not know who is here with me. They have been instructed to leave food at the door twice a day and make themselves quite scarce at all other times. My orders are always followed precisely.”

“I see.” Hannah supposed the duke’s servants were accustomed to the strangeness
o
f those orders. “Well, then, perhaps we should return to the question of my identity. Did you say that Sir Charles’s uncle is deceased?”

“Let us assume so.”

Hannah thought him remarkably cavalier about the matter. “But what if he is not?” she persisted. “What if this uncle should suddenly present himself in town? We should be found out!”

“Less than two months remain of the season,” the duke said, looking bored. “I daresay that Charles’s reclusive uncle, if he lives, will not take it into his head to visit London during the height of the season when he has not done so in decades.”

“You seem remarkably confident of that.”

“Enough questions.” He stroked his chin. “Charles’s father was not a rich man, and his younger brother would have had even fewer resources. Therefore, you would have been raised in near-poverty—in the country, let us say.”

“The country,” Hannah repeated slowly, suddenly feeling inexpressibly sad. “That would have been lovely.”

Rolling hills, clear streams, and proud trees had dotted her father’s small property. They had kindled a yearning deep inside her for the stability they represented but which her father could never provide.

“I have always been fond of nature,” she said, smiling at the memory. “It is as if a part of me is connected somehow to
...”

“
Perhaps,” he continued, lost in concentration, “your father would have lost his meager inheritance
...”

“In a card game,” Hannah supplied softly. “He would have lost everything in a card game.”

The duke regarded her approvingly. “I believe you may have a talent for this sort of thing.”

Hannah did not reply.

‘Then your father died,” he said slowly. “Perhaps he would have been so mortified at losing what little funds he could pass onto you that he would have—”

“
Taken his own life,” Hannah finished dully.

“Excellent!” He beamed. “He was a coward—unable to face the consequences of his reckless behavior. His death left you an orphan, and you would have had to seek out other relatives. You lived with them for a time, but the situation grew difficult.”

“Most difficult.” Hannah shuddered.

“You lost
you hearing...” He
furrowed his brow. “You say you fell out of a tree?”

She nodded.

“We shall not dwell on the tree-climbing incident, so as not to horrify my aunt.” He paused. “Naturally, after you became deaf, you viewed yourself as a burden and generously departed—”

“Not at all.” H
ann
ah eyed him indignantly.
“
They
viewed me as a burden and turned me out. I was delighted to go. I held them in no regard, nor they me.”

He frowned. “We must endow you with a noble nature, Miss Gregory, or no one will understand why you have reached the age of twenty
...”

‘Twenty-one.”

“Twenty-one, then. No one will understand why you reached that advanced age without imposing upon Charles to help you
fin
d a husband.”

“Perhaps I never thought one necessary,” she replied.

“Every woman needs a husband.”

“I see.” She paused. “Do you feel yourself in need of a wife, Your Grace?”

Cold ice glittered in his gaze. “I do not intend to marry.”

Hannah wondered why one of society’s most notorious bachelors had no desire to wed. Perhaps he did not care to abandon his wild ways. But there were many women—like her cousins—willing to overlook a husband’s excesses in exchange for becoming a duchess and having a fortune at their disposal. Looking at his rigid features, Hannah knew better than to pursue the topic. Still, his high-handed manner irked her.

“Rather than be a burden to your relatives,” he continued after a moment, “you retired to a small cottage to live independently, perhaps supporting yourself by teaching poor children or taking in laundry, or—”

“Selling myself in the streets?” she offered helpfully, schooling her expression to innocence.

His hand moved so quickly that Hannah felt the wind in its wake. She flinched, expecting a blow, but his fist merely slammed down on the table in front of her.

“Spare me your tasteless attempts at levity, Miss Gregory.”

“I assure you, there is nothing amusing about the world that a prostitute inhabits,” she retorted.

His jaw clenched. “I will not tolerate insolence,” he said as his fists slowly uncurled. “You will mark my words closely and commit this background to memory.”

Hannah did not say a word. He studied her for a moment. “You retired to the country for a time, but loneliness finally led you to write your cousin Charles to inquire as to whether he could assist you in finding a husband.”

“Loneliness,” she echoed. Yes, she had plenty of experience with that.

“Regrettably,” the duke continued, “Charles was not possessed of sufficient funds to sponsor your come-out but offered to prevail upon the family of his dearest friend to do so. You, of course, were ove
r
joyed.”

“Overjoyed.”

He eyed her with suspicion. “I trust I do not have to remind you that sarcasm is unbecoming in a young lady.”

“No.”

“Charles and I personally came for you—hmm, where can we put your country home?”

“Cheshire.” Hannah brightened at the memory of crystalline skies and purple mountains silhouetted against the horizon.

“Too far away,” he said dismissively. “We shall put you close to town. Kent, perhaps. Or Essex. Yes, Charles and I fetched you one afternoon from Essex.”

“But will Sir Charles go along with your tale?” Hannah did not know what to think of the baronet
.
He appeared to be the duke’s friend, but she had also seen the two men argue heatedly. There was something wary in Sir Charles’s gaze.

“It is in his interest to do so,” he replied curtly. “Let us move on to other matters.” He gave her an assessing gaze. “I forbid you to wear mobcaps in the future. That one is ugly.”

She opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought of his order, but he was already onto another topic. “Your table manners are surprisingly adequate, so we will dispense with those and take up dancing. Do you have the slightest notion how to dance?”

Hannah flushed. Was he deliberately holding her up for ridicule? “Let us just say the music eludes me,” she replied pointedly.

His face was a blank. Then his mouth curved into that familiar sardonic smile. “Never say you intend to let a small defect like deafness prevent you from joining in society’s little amusements?”

“You are hideous.” The words were out before Hannah could stop them, but strangely, no answering anger blazed in his eyes. Instead, he merely extended his hand as if he fully expected her to take it.

Was this man the soul of cruelty? She could not dance in a fancy ballroom. She would be ridiculed if she even tried. She had learned a few dances before she lost her hearing, but that was years ago, when she could hear an orchestra and appreciate the way a violin’s plaintive tone swelled like a cry on the wind.

Did he have to remind her that Mozart and Haydn would never again bring her delight? Did he have to taunt her with memories of Beethoven’s searching restlessness and the torment that mirrored her own?

He meant to humiliate her, to vanquish her self-respect, the
thin
g at the core of her being that had sustained her during the time with her hateful relatives and the subsequent years of silence and degradation.

“Come,” he commanded, his gaze brooking no refusal. “I will teach you to dance.”

With tears of hopeless anger burning in her eyes, Hannah took his hand.

For one moment, Julian had forgotten that she could not hear. She was simply a difficult woman who had made it her mission to infuriate him. Her lack of hearing in no way
stemmed her sharp tongue, nor dampened the angry sparks from her uncompromising gray eyes. She carried herself with pride, even though she must have had precious little of that left at this point in her life. He had never met a woman so determined to meet the world on her terms.

Inquiring about her dancing skills had been tactless, but at the time he had been imagining her in that flowing batiste gown, moving gracefully to the music of a waltz.

Music she could not hear, of course.

Julian felt like a fool. How in the world would he teach her a Scottish reel or the complex tempos of the new quadrille? Lucy was right: she would not be able to do the things other women did.

Yet her lithe form was meant for the waltz. Her hand fit lightly into his, her elegantly tapered fingers curled naturally around his own. Though her skin was roughened, there was something delicate about the shape of her hand, something almost regal in the way it rested in his palm.

Perhaps this was possible, after all.

The three-quarter beat was simplicity itself. She would feel the moves as he guided her in his arms. She had only to follow his lead. The thought of being able to partner her in a dance pleased him. Society would be charmed. Charles would be apoplectic.

“Look at me.” Julian touched her chin. Slowly, she raised her gaze. He chose not to see the shimmering moisture there. “Let us not quarrel. With a little work, I believe you will find the waltz not at all beyond you.”