The Reluctant Duke (Love's Pride Book 1) (20 page)

Sighing, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, but it is too late. Nothing would make me happier than for you to be my duchess. But … I’m sorry. I must do this.”

“I promise you, Thomas Marshall. If you step through that door, I will never speak to you again. I will leave Aunt Celeste’s service. I will move so far away you will never find me.” A single tear burned as it fell down her cheek. There was so much she wanted to tell him. Her heart was breaking one again. What was it about this man that caused her so much pain?

His lips grimaced in pain. Pulling himself together, he leaned heavily on his walking stick as he walked back to his desk. How was the man going to fight a duel, he could barely walk.

“Here, I want you to have this. Don’t open it. Not unless something bad happens.” He said as he handed her the envelope he had retrieved from Woods.

“What is it,” she asked as she took it from him. Her hands shook so much she had difficulty gripping it.

“Don’t worry about it for now. If it becomes necessary, then open it, and it will explain itself.

She looked down at the plain document folded and sealed in wax with his ducal crest. On the front a single word written in his hand. ‘
Guinevere
’

“Now dear, I must be off. It wouldn’t do to be late.”

“I won’t be here when you return,” she said with a whisper.

“I understand,” he said reluctantly. “We each have our own sense of honor. You must do what you think is right.”

She was going to beg and actually thought of falling to her knees, but she wouldn’t do that to him. The man hated drama. She did not want his last memory of her to be on her knees pleading for him to stay. Sighing once again she stepped aside as tears silently fell.

Tell him, she thought. Tell him you love him. Tell him that he is the world to you. Before she could muster the courage, the study door clicked closed. He was gone. Into the night, and her world crumbled as she fell to her knees to pray.

A bird whistled in the distance, the first of the morning. The still night sky was beginning to turn that light gray that would chase the stars away. The Duke of Bathurst stared up at the night and smiled. No matter what, it had been a good life. Miss Gwen Harding had been the best of it. He could live with that.

“Here they come,” Somerset said.

The Duke turned to watch the two men approach.

“Bathurst,” the Earl said with a frown. He looked tired, pasty face. Even in the cool morning air a small bead of sweat ran from his temple down to his jaw.

“Grainbell,” The Duke said with a slight nod before he marched to the center of the field. He brought the pistol to his chest and waited. There would be no chance at reconciliation or satisfaction. The only way this would end would be when one of them were dead.

The Duke attempted to slow his heartbeat. A steady hand was rather crucial for the next few minutes. Sighing to himself, he thought of Gwen. Of how she looked when she told him she was leaving. Her pleading eyes, sun-kissed hair. The way her dress emphasized her curves. All of her.

Finally the Earl of Grainbell stepped up behind him, placing his back next to the Duke’s.

“You know,” the Duke said. “In a few minutes, when you are dead. One of two things will happen. Either you will be burning in hell or buried six feet under the ground. Either way, you will never see another sunrise, never feel the kiss of a fresh wind nor feel the thrill of cheating another man. All of it will be replaced by either pain or nothingness. Are you ready?”

He could feel the Earl tremble behind him as Lord Somerset began to count.

“One,” The lord yelled. Both men took one step forward. The Duke had left his walking stick with the Sergeant Major, Telling him to hold onto it until he returned.

“Two,” Another step. Only eighteen more to go. The Duke of Bathurst fought to keep Gwen from his mind. Fought to not think of Elizabeth.

“Three,” The Viscount said.

He continued to count. Solidly, in time, as if he were guiding a company of soldiers across the battlefield. The Duke was proud of him. There was no hesitation in his voice.

“Fifteen,” Lord Somerset said. It was getting close now. They would be at least eighty feet apart when they turned at the number twenty.

“Sixteen,”

“Seventeen,”

“Eight … “

“NO!” Someone yelled as a fist slammed into his shoulder. What … How? The sharp explosion of a distant pistol sang through the night.

He stumbled but caught himself. That had been the Sergeant Major yelling. He would know that voice on his death bed. Turning, he looked back down the field. Grainbell stood there in the early dawn light. His now empty pistol still pointed at The Duke.

The cheating bastard had turned early. The Duke glanced over at the witnessing party. The Doctor and the Earl’s second were both agog with shock. Somerset was pulling his own pistol from his waist.

“Hold!” the Duke yelled, throwing up a hand to signal that Somerset should take no action. Once he saw that his orders would be complied with he slowly turned to face his attacker. He brought his pistol of eye level as he sighted along the barrel. The front sight centered on the Earl’s forehead.

A smile slowly creased the Duke’s face. “Thank you Grainbell. Your cowardly act is going to make it so much easier to avoid a murder charge,” he said as his finger slowly pulled back on the trigger.

.o0o.

Gwen continued to pace His Grace’s study. She should leave. She had said she would leave. But she couldn’t, not yet. Not until she knew how he was. Once she saw he was well she would leave.

Aunt Celeste, Isabel, and Elizabeth had joined her soon after the Duke had departed. None of them had blamed her for failing to hold him. There had been no secret looks or whispered comments. Instead, each woman sat quietly in her own little world trying to imagine what their life would be like without the Duke in it.

They had at least changed to day dresses even though it was just barely dawn. Gwen meanwhile still wore her evening gown from the night before.

Pacing wasn’t working. The energy and fear bubbling through her needed to be let out. Some physical action to release the pressure.

“How can you sit there so quietly?” She demanded of Elizabeth, immediately regretting the tone of her voice.

Elizabeth smiled up from her needlepoint and said, “Because, nothing can hurt my brother. I am sure he will be well.”

Gwen huffed and turned away. Nothing ever hurt her brother. Really. Elizabeth had not seen the ugly scars across his chest and back. Nor the twisted knee. She had not held him at night while the man tossed and turned with nightmarish dreams.

Gwen’s stomach turned over for the thousandth time as she turned to repeat her steps across the study’s floor.

They should have heard by now, surely. If the news was good, he would have sent word wouldn’t he. What if he was lying in some field somewhere needing help, needing care?

Aunt Celeste sat stoically as if without a care in the world, but Gwen noticed that she had been working on the same stitch for almost fifteen minutes.

This was so ridiculous. All of it. She thought of the document he had given to her before he left. He had told her not to open it unless things had not worked out as he had hoped. In other words, unless he was lying dead somewhere.

She wondered what it was. Could it give her some idea of why he had insisted on this folly? It would at least provide some minor diversion while she waited.

Without thinking, she marched to his desk and retrieved a small letter opener. She ran her fingers along her name written on the front then quickly slid the knife into the document breaking the seal.

Each corner of the tan parchment was folded into a tight square with the wax sealing the center. She slowly unfolded it. Two pure white pieces of paper were folded inside.

What were they she wondered but put them aside when she saw her name at the beginning of the letter?

Gwen glanced at the first document. It listed several ships, warehouse, and what appeared to be cargos. She didn’t have any idea what it all meant, but her heart began to soar at the thought of finding out. That sad, sinking feeling of impending doom that had hung over her for years was gone.

She owned a business, a rich, thriving business. It didn’t matter she realized. Not if Thomas wasn’t here.

“Woods,” A deep male voice yelled from the front door. “A Doctor, the bloody fool refused to be treated on the field.”

The Sergeant Major’s voice vibrated throughout the house. Gwen’s heart jumped to her throat as she flew to the door. Crossing the threshold she saw the Sergeant Major holding onto Thomas. He was alive. Thank you, god, he was alive.

His face was pale, but his eyes lit up when he saw her standing there in shock.

“I thought you were leaving,” he said with a silly smile.

“I thought you were dead,” she said in reply as she slipped under his arm to help him into the parlor.

“Yes, well, It seems we were both wrong,” he said.

Gwen helped him into a chair and glanced around. “Elizabeth, ask the cook for her bag of medicines. Wood’s send Goodwin for...”

“He’s already left my lady.” No one seemed to notice his slip. Turning, she gently helped remove Thomas’s jacket. Sliding it over his arm she gasped. His white shirt was soaked in deep red blood. How much?

“We need to talk,” he said to her. His eyes pleading.

“Shush, we will talk in a minute. Let me fix this.” She said as she carefully pulled the shirt linen from the congealed blood. Where was that doctor? If Freddy didn’t hurry, she would skin him alive.

“It’s fine Gwen, really,”

Deciding she couldn’t wait any longer, she tore his shirt at the seam exposing a gouge several inches long and deep enough to see white bone. Her stomach turned over as she examined the wound.

He winced when she probed and pushed. Good, maybe he’d learn. She had never been so mad in her life. How dare he do this?

Finally convinced that it was not too serious, she stepped back and let her chin sink to her chest in relief.

“See, I told you, not serious,” he said that silly smirk of his.

A tumult of emotions bubbled through her. A night of stress and fear erupted before she could stop it.

“Don’t you ever do that again. Do you hear me, Thomas? Never.”

Aunt Celeste and Isabel gasped at her use of his given name. She ignored them as she placed her hands on her hips and stared at him. Daring him to ignore her demands.

“Gwen …”

“Don’t you Gwen me. I am serious.”

He stared back then looked at the open-mouthed crowd behind her. “If you will excuse us. Miss Harding and I need to talk.”

“I mean it, Thomas.”

He sighed. “I know you do. Hold on. Let’s have this discussion in private. All right?”

The crowd of onlookers began to file out of the parlor when Aunt Celeste turned at the door to ask, “What of Grainbell. Is he dead? Should we expect a visit from the authorities?”

Gwen’s heart fell. It hadn’t occurred to her that Thomas might be wanted for murder. How would he fare in prison? His wounds? His leg?

The Sergeant Major laughed. “Don’t worry Lady Celeste. The scoundrel is halfway to France by now. Running so fast, even hounds couldn’t catch him. The coward cheated, turned early. We all saw it. When he failed to kill His Grace, he was left with nothing but an empty pistol and dim prospects.” The ex-soldier smiled at the memory.

“The Duke looked down his barrel as blood dripped onto the wet grass and calmly said. ‘Die in England or live in France.’ The bastard chose the latter.”

Gwen whipped around to see Thomas nod his head in confirmation.

“I still say that the Lords would neer have convicted His Grace. He had every right to put a bullet between the man’s eyes,” Lord Somerset said.

The Duke shrugged his shoulders and winced in pain at his error in moving.

Before the others could leave, Elizabeth made her way through the throng and handed Gwen rolled bandages and a small jar.

“Cook said to spread this liberally throughout the wound.”

Gwen looked at the young woman. Her eyes were red and big with worry as she stared at her brother, focusing on the bloody shirt. Her confidence and non-concern had obviously been an act.

“Don’t worry. He is going to be fine. It is only a small wound,” Gwen said as she accepted the items.

Once everyone was gone, and it was just her and Thomas she sighed as she slowly wrapped the bandages around his shoulder. For the first time she thought things might be all right. Her mind flew into a thousand different thoughts. The letter, his wound, how close they had come to losing him. The disappearance of the Earl. Did she truly no longer have to fear him? All of it tumbled and churned inside of her.

For some reason, she couldn’t look him in the eye. Instead she focused on his arm, afraid of what she might see.

“The Doctor will have to take this off once he gets here,” she said as she tied the last knot.

“You opened the letter didn’t you,” he said.

Her heart jumped as she nodded weakly. “I thought you were dead. It got so late.”

He sighed heavily. “Traffic. Who knew there were that many vehicles this time of the morning in London,” he paused for a moment. “I wanted to talk to you first.”

“I can’t accept your gifts, Thomas. It wouldn’t be right. I thank you but no. I am ever grateful to know that the servants are all right, though.”

He scoffed and smiled. “Nothing would be more right. Besides you have to accept.”

Her eyes flashed as she felt her face grow warm. It was her life. He couldn’t force her. When would he ever learn? Wisely though she kept quiet.

“You have too,” he continued. “I won’t be able to ask you to marry me if you don’t.”

He was serious she saw. “Thomas. Oh my Thomas,” she said as she brought a hand to caress his cheek. She could become lost in those eyes. She desperately wanted to become lost. But it would never do. The Ton, his Aunt. No it couldn’t work. People like her did not become Duchesses.

He scooted forward on the settee and gently guided her to sit next to him. She placed her hands in her lap. How could she make him understand?

“Thomas, I wish … I wish with all my heart that I could. But it wouldn’t work. Your friends. The nobility. They would never accept our marriage. You should marry a Duke or Prince’s daughter. Someone of your rank.”

His face cringed in pain as if she wounded him again. “Is it that you don’t love me? I understand. But believe me in time I am sure I could make you care for me.”

“Oh, Thomas it is not that. Never that.”

He sighed in relief and nodded. “I realize that your new property will afford you a good living. You do not need me. That is how I wanted it. But I can assure you, being a Duchess does have its advantages. Responsibilities, but definite advantages.”

“You don’t understand,” She said. “I don’t desire a title. That has never been important to me.”

“Then what. What do you want?”

Now it was her time to sigh as she fought to contain her tears. Finally, looking up from staring at her hands she said. “To marry a man who loves me as much as I love him. Not a gentleman who feels obligated or someone rescuing me. I want a partner, a lifelong friend.”

His face blanched in shock. She had really done it now. This was something she didn’t think they would overcome. You can’t ignore such a statements. Her shoulder’s slumped in defeat.

“I thought you said you read my letter?” he asked.

Her heart skipped a beat. “Just the first part. Someone interrupted me by bleeding all over the entryway.”

He scoffed and shook his head.

“Oh my Gwen,” he said as he pulled her into a deep, soul warming hug. “If you had finished the letter you would have read that I love you. More than any man has ever loved a woman. I love your smile, the way you always know what to do. I love the way your body sends a thrill down my spine and churns my insides. I love your kisses and the way they make the world seem like a good place. I need you, Gwen. I can’t do this alone. The Ton, My family. Society, none of it matters if I don’t have you by my side.”

Her heart soared. He meant it. She could see it in his eyes. He really did love her. How was it possible that a man like this could love her?

“Gwen I love you. Will you do me the honor of being my wife and the Duchess of Bathurst? I promise to spend my life trying to make you as happy as you make me.”

She paused, unable to speak. A new world had opened before her. A big, beautiful world.

“Please Gwen, An answer, I’ve asked you several times. It is un-manly to beg but if that is what it takes.

She laughed. “You told me three times and asked me once. There is a difference.”

He frowned but held his tongue while he waited for her answer.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I will marry you. Yes, I will be your Duchess.”

His smile lit the room. His eyes twinkled then slowly changed to longing. He lowered his lips to hers in a sweet, possessive kiss. She was his, and he would be hers. Life would be good.

His hands started to slide from her waist up to her breasts sending a warm tingling feeling throughout her body.

“Thomas,” she gasped, “Your family, the doctor?”

“To hell with them,” he said. “I’m a Duke; rank has its privileges. They can wait.”

“Oh Thomas,” she said as she succumbed to the man she loved.