The Duke (24 page)

“My dear fellow, you've always told me she wasn't at all like Marianne, that she wasn't malleable, that she wasn't particularly kind or gentle. So now I believe you. I should have believed you long ago. Aren't you pleased that I've been rescued from a life of domestic horror? Damn, I was such a blind ass. One must never try to recreate the past, it's folly, particularly—” He paused, a deep smile lighting his eyes.

“Particularly when, Ian?”

“Ah, nothing, Giles. I was just thinking out loud.
Now, if you would grant me a huge favor. Please take Felicity back to London.”

“Very well,” Giles said, and he was smiling. How he could actually smile at the thought of spending six days in Felicity's company amazed the duke.

“Your medicine, your grace.”

“Ah, Mabley. See, Giles, he refuses to leave my side. As long as I remain abed, I am protected better than the king. Don't worry.” He stretched out a large hand toward his cousin, who grasped it firmly. “I thank you, Giles. Do take care. No doubt I shall see you in London in the not too distant future.”

“Very well, Ian, I'll get Felicity out of here in the morning.”

“I just hope she doesn't carry you kicking and screaming from Penderleigh this very afternoon.”

Giles gave his cousin one long last look. “You look like the devil, Ian. You must rest now. No more excitement. No more broken engagements. Take good care of your master, Mabley,” he added, and took his leave.

The duke gave Mabley a big smile. “You know, Mabley, I'm much more in the mood for a celebration. Fetch some claret, man. Surely there must be some in the wine cellars.”

The duke thought he saw a decided sparkle in Mabley's rheumy old eyes as he turned to leave the room.

T
he duke caused a stir when he came into the drawing room late the following afternoon.

“Good God, Ian.” Bertrand rushed to his side, ready to give him an arm. “Surely this is too soon for ye to be up and about. Shouldn't ye still be in yer bed? What did Wee Robert say?”

“I have slept nearly the entire day,” the duke said, grinning at Bertrand, though it was just a bit forced, “and have grown quite tired of my bedchamber as well as my own company.” He turned from Bertrand and bade the assembled company an easy greeting, though his eyes were hooded. He looked at Brandy, but all she did was stick up her chin. He couldn't very well walk up to her and kiss her, so he just nodded at her.

“Well, lad,” Lady Adella said from her high-backed chair by the fireplace, “Bertie told us ye were rather white about the ears this morning. How is this ye appear nearly fit again this afternoon?”

“Lady Felicity is long gone,” Constance said. “Seeing the back of her would make anyone feel better.”

She received a sharp look from Lady Adella, but then the old lady laughed and thumped her cane. Constance looked to be quite pleased with herself.

“Yes, I know,” the duke said, his eyes again going to Brandy's face. “I must agree with Constance. There is a new lightness about the place now, an easing of tension, don't you think so, Brandy?”

“It's true my fingers aren't itching to slap any faces,” Brandy said, grinning at her sister. “Och, and she was trying, she truly was.”

“Ye don't appear too terribly cast down to me, Your Grace,” Claude said. “Is it as ye say? Ye are pleased the lady's gone?”

“More than you can imagine, Claude.”

“I beg ye to sit down,” Percy said, making room for the duke on the sofa. “I have no wish to bear yer weight again. It's powerful big ye are, Ian.”

Crabbe appeared in the doorway to announce dinner. Ian turned to Brandy and held out his arm. He said nothing, merely waited. He quirked an eyebrow at her. He wanted to wink, but knew that if he did, she just might bolt.

She gave a quick little nod and placed her hand in the crook of his arm.

Amid the usual confusion that attended Lady Adella's preparation to quit the drawing room, Ian leaned down and said quietly to Brandy, “You know, do you not, that Lady Felicity has broken off our engagement?”

“Aye, I know. She was delighted to tell us all what she thought of us. She went on for a good ten minutes. Constance was a brat, Fiona remained vulgar with her red hair. On and on until she got to me. I thought she would pop her stays. I escaped with just a simple slut, and that was even a bit garbled, so if she'd been called on it, she could have denied it. I think she was afraid that if she truly went after me that I would leap on her and smash her. I was tempted, but she did draw herself in. She has some control, at least when it comes to her own survival.”

“She saw the blood in your eye.”

“I think so because it was surely there, blood and my hands were good fists.”

“I never believed Felicity was stupid. She was herself and that, unfortunately, was a different woman than I believed. I've had more luck than a single man deserves.” He raised his eyes to heaven, then said to her in a very quiet voice, “I would speak to you, Brandy.”

She looked up at him and frowned. “Are ye certain ye're feeling all right?”

“I'm tired, but that's to be expected. My shoulder hurts, but it's bearable. I just hope I won't fall asleep over my soup.”

If the duke thought he'd detect guilt on a Robertson face during dinner, he was doomed to disappointment. Although each Robertson, with the exception of Claude, had paid a short visit to his sickroom, full of clucking outrage and concern, none had in any way betrayed himself. And if he had believed that dinner would be a subdued affair, with the pall of mystery hanging heavily in the air, he had to grin to himself, for the Robertsons showed no hesitation in discussing the affair.

“I tell ye, my boy,” Lady Adella said over a fork of boiled salmon, “I'm convinced it was a worthless tinker who shot ye.”

“In which case, lady,” the duke said lightly, “the fellow would be long away from Penderleigh. We must trust that he was not also eyeing our sheep.”

“I see ye've still yer sense of humor about ye,” Claude said, smacking his lips over a mouthful of bannocks. “I can't say I'd be up to much wit if someone had shot me.”

“What would ye, Claude,” Percy said with that patented sneer of his, “that the duke accused ye of being a bloody killer, albeit a poor shot?”

Claude choked on his bannocks, and Bertrand thwacked him soundly on the back. “Ye'll hold yer tongue, Percy,” Bertrand said, furious now. “I'm tired of yer snide barbs that do nothing except make others feel miserable and angry. Keep yer trap shut, else I'll take ye outside and turn that pretty face of yers into pounded meat.”

“It's all a piece of nonsense, Percy,” Constance said, “and well ye know it. Poor Uncle Claude can scarce get about with his gouty foot. Do be quiet, else I'd be tempted to help Bertie pound ye into the ground.”

“Ye see what a good lass she is, Bertie?” Claude said to his son.

“I see,” Bertrand said, gazing briefly at Constance's red face.

“This is all quite interesting,” Percy said. “I'll hold my peace. I don't want Constance upset.”

Bertrand turned to Ian. “Ye must know that Trevor is leaving no stone unturned. Though what stones there are appear to have nothing at all under them. It's a puzzle, a mystery that none of us like.”

“Aye,” Lady Adella said, “that ass Trevor has turned every stone over except the one that hides the scoundrel. Maybe it's a boulder and that's the problem. Trevor hasn't the ability to turn it over.”

“It's possible,” the duke said. What else could he say? That one of them was a bloody liar?

“What do ye intend to do, yer grace?” Percy asked, his voice for once perfectly serious, with not a single hint of a sneer.

Ian paused a moment, then said, “That depends upon several things. I should know my plans by tomorrow.”

Lady Adella said, “At least ye're free of that whining little chit. What a pain in the arse that one was. She complained and whined that no one cared about her and her overset nerves. She wouldn't have made
ye a good wife, Ian, not at all. Good riddance, I say.” Lady Adella added somewhat wistfully, “Though I don't conscience to tell ye that I shall sorely miss Mr. Giles Braidston. A dandy lad that one is. He knew all about Lord Brainley. Fancy that, Adolphus died some thirty years ago, I heard, but his wickedness lives on in the minds of young men. Aye, I wish I'd known Adolphus.” Lady Adella fell silent then. Brandy was glad she didn't know what her grandmother was thinking about.

“Lord Brainley was one of the founders of the Hell Fire Club,” Ian said to Brandy.

She looked at him blankly, cocking her head to one side in question.

“No, I don't think I'll answer that,” he said, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut. He saw that she wouldn't let it go and said with a shrug, “Let's just say it was a group of wicked young men with too much money who delighted in hurting others.”

It was with some relief that Ian greeted the end of the meal, for his wound was beginning to pain him beyond what he could control. He wanted his bed and the oblivion the laudanum would bring.

“Ye're not looking at all the thing, Ian,” Bertrand said when they rose to follow the ladies to the drawing room. Ian nodded briefly, and Bertrand continued in a low voice, “I know this is a nasty business and that there is no one that ye feel ye can really trust. For so long as ye remain here at Penderleigh, be it a day or a month, I think it wise to let everyone be told that ye will never be alone.”

Ian said, “Really, Bertrand, I do appreciate your concern, but I have Mabley—”

“A tired old man, Ian. None of us want to take chances and nor should ye. When ye leave the castle, I want at least two of us to be near ye all the time. It's a wise precaution, and I'll not argue with ye more.”

“Aye,” Ian said with a tired smile. “If you fancy to be Saint George, I'll not quibble with you. It would appear that, like Trevor, I will also fail to discover the identity of the fellow. No, Bertrand, say no more. Like you, I also have my suspicions, but they are only that, suspicions, not tangible proof.”

When Ian looked around again to find Brandy, she was gone. He'd not believed her to be a coward. On the other hand, he wouldn't have believed either that she would have given her virginity to a man whose mind was raging with fever. Why had she done it? He said brief good-nights to the family and walked thoughtfully to his room.

 

The duke rose early the following morning, felt deep pain in his shoulder, chose to ignore it, and walked down that interminable corridor to the main staircase, Mabley arguing with him the whole way.

“Give it a rest, Mabley,” he said finally when he reached the huge Robertson entrance hall. “When I'm tired, I'll come up and lie down. Go drink a strong cup of tea.”

He didn't see Brandy, and he'd expected to. He ate his breakfast, then went in search of her. He didn't find her in the drawing room or in Fiona's nursery. She wasn't outside lurking behind the rhododendron bushes.

He left the castle and walked quickly to the beach, aware that Bertrand and Mabley, his morning protectors, were trailing not far behind him. He saw her standing on the beach, staring out over the water. He was relieved that Fiona was some distance away, squatting on her haunches, playing with some driftwood and sand. Bertrand and Mabley remained at the top of the cliff. He didn't give a good damn what either of them thought when they would see him speaking to Brandy.

He made his way quietly down the cliff path. He called out, “Don't run away from me. It wouldn't be fair since you know I can't catch you. That's right, just stay put and let me talk to you. At least you owe me that much, don't you? You had your way with me and left me without a word of reassurance. You don't like the sound of that? Now you're looking hunted. That's all right. I can deal with hunted. Just don't move.”

She didn't move but she wanted to. She wasn't embarrassed. No, it went much deeper than that. She was frightened, it was that simple. He didn't realize he had the power to smash her into the ground. No, she had to hear him out, endure his words, his excuses, his apologies, his attempts to make things right—she knew he'd try to make things right—and then she could escape him. Then she could hide and will herself to forget. He came right up to her, not a foot away, and he looked down at her with a strange smile.

He was pale beneath his Scottish tan. Immediately she raised her hand to his face and lightly touched his chin with her fingers. “Surely ye shouldn't be up so early. Isn't your shoulder paining ye? Shall I call Wee Robert? Ye shouldn't have climbed down the cliff path.” Oh, God, what was she doing, touching him, acting like he was hers? She slowly drew her hand back to her side.

“Anything else? No? All right, I will see Wee Robert this afternoon. If you take one step backward, I'll believe you a coward. Now, don't move, Brandy.”

“Ye're giving me orders, and I've never liked orders. Just ask Lady Adella. When I was younger she'd bellow out that I was a stubborn stoat.” Chatter was good for the soul, but, oh, it was harder than she'd begun to imagine. She made a harsh sound in her throat, whirled about, and ran toward the rock path back up the cliff. She'd gotten no more than three steps when a strong arm closed around her waist and
she was lifted and tucked like some sort of package under the duke's right arm.

Her anger gave way immediately to fear. “Don't, Ian. You might make the wound start bleeding again. Please, I swear I won't run again. Please, put me down so you won't hurt yerself.” But he paid her no heed, just tightened his arm about her waist.

“I'll survive, but I have serious doubts about you, in my current mood. You'll obey me now and I'll hear no more about it.” He dropped her on the wet, sandy beach, very near the lapping waves. “Now, do you wish me to tie you down, Brandy? I will, you know, if you don't face up to what we've done. You're acting like a girl, not a woman. And I know now that you are a woman. So act like one.”

She looked up at him standing over her, his hands on his hips. “Did ye hurt yer back?”

“Not yet, but if I do, it will be your fault.” He looked down at her, on her back, up on her elbows, her face flushed. From embarrassment? From anger at him? He didn't know, but he fancied he was going to find out soon enough. Ah, and that splendid thick blond hair of hers, all pulled back slick into those boring fat braids, fit only for a schoolgirl. A memory stirred. Masses of thick, soft hair swirled over his face. Damn, just as he caught the memory, just as he knew he could breathe in the scent of her and her hair, it was gone, leaving an elusive scent just beyond his senses. So much of that night was gone, but he hoped someday he would remember it again, every single moment. He'd held her hard against him, he'd been inside her—oh, God, he had to stop it. At least for now.