A Belated Bride (12 page)

“Where was James when all this was happening?” “Father was involved in a horse venture at the time, and

he wasn’t at Rosemont for weeks on end.”

“James was a fool.” Jane looked down at the tangled yarn in her lap. “I suppose you were indiscreet.”

Another tear slipped down Arabella’s cheek. “I thought he loved me.”

Emma reached out to grasp her niece’s hand. “Dear!
Don’t
say another word. We know all about it. Your father wrote us some time after . . . after your friend returned to London.”

Jane nodded, her own throat tight. “He didn’t name the man, of course, or we’d never have placed the duke in your path.”

The dark head drooped, a dusky curl following the line of her cheek. “I should have known you’d heard some- thing; Father told everyone.”

Emma patted Arabella’s hand. “How uncomfortable for you, dear. Though I have to wonder . . . are you
sure
it was the same duke? I mean, there are other dukes, and—”

“Of course I’m sure it was him! He was twenty at the time, but except for being more.. .” She flushed, then continued doggedly, “Except for being older, he is exactly the same.”

Jane sighed. It certainly sounded damning. And if it was true, it ruined everything.

Or did it? All of the signs had pointed to the fact that Arabella and the duke belonged together. Why, Jane’s bad luck was already beginning to turn for the better. And then there was the way the duke looked at Arabella, his green gaze intent, as if fascinated beyond his control. Jane pursed her lips. “Perhaps he is sorry.”

Emma nodded, her face brightening. “I daresay he is
very
sorry! It is wretched knowing one did something as a youth that one should not have. Why, I remember once when I stole a kiss from old Mr. Frothington and I—”

Jane started. “Our tutor?”

Emma nodded, a beatific expression on her plump face. “But he was married!”

“Yes, well, as I said, one does things that one might not be proud of.”

Some women, perhaps, but not Arabella. Not un- less . . . Jane raised her brows. The child must have been incredibly in love to have so heedlessly thrown propriety to the winds. In fact, now that she thought about it, there was reason to believe that Arabella’s feelings were still engaged. It would explain why she hadn’t shown the

slightest interest in any of the eligible young men Jane had planted in her way over the past four years.

Arabella gently untangled her hand from Emma’s and stood. “I just felt I should tell you so you would cease your efforts to throw Lucien and me together. It is unten- able.”

Jane saw the hurt in the dark eyes and it made her own heart ache.

As if realizing she was revealing too much, Arabella straightened her shoulders and turned toward the door. “I need to see Cook about dinner.” She stopped by the door and smiled weakly. “Thank you both.”

The door closed behind her.

“I suppose this changes things,” Emma said dolefully. “I feel sorry for the poor duke; he seems so smitten.”

“And how could he not be? Arabella is the most beauti- ful, the sweetest—”

“The most capable,” added Emma helpfully. She reached down to untangle her embroidery where it had fallen to the floor and twisted about her boot heel. “Do you think he did it on purpose? Just rode in, took advan- tage of her, and left?”

“I daresay. I understand he was quite a rake at one time.”

“But what rakehell would stay so quietly in the coun- try? He seems content here.”

“Exactly,” Jane said. “I think the duke has changed and Arabella has not yet realized it.”

“I don’t think she
wants
to realize it.” Emma’s round shoulders slumped. “Oh, sister, I wonder if she can ever forgive him.”

Jane and Emma sat silently, one plucking absently at a loose thread, the other chewing on her lip. Finally Emma sighed, reached into her pocket, and withdrew her bottle.

She took a thoughtful swig. “Perhaps she still cares for him.”

Jane nodded. “My thoughts exactly.”

“Despite his past, I cannot see how a wealthy, titled suitor could make her anything
but
happy. Especially one who is so well hu—”

“Developed,” finished Jane hastily. Before Emma could offer more insight, Jane reached across to take the bottle. Pinching her nose, she took a quick swallow. Cognac burned its way down her chest. She coughed, handed the bottle back to Emma, then took out a lace handkerchief and delicately wiped the corners of her mouth. The fiery liquid infused her with energy. “This calls for action.”

“What can we do? She won’t have him. Perhaps Mr.

Francot could be convinced to renew his suit.”

“I’d rather have a rakehell for a nephew-in-law than that mawkish worm.”

“Heavens, Jane! Mr. Francot has always been very kind.”

“He isn’t right for Arabella. But the duke . . . that is another matter altogether.” Mr. Francot didn’t have the ability to shake Arabella’s confidence. Nor could he make her flush with a mere indolent smile, yet Jane had wit- nessed the duke doing all of these things. There was a bond between her niece and their visitor, and she was not about to ignore such a promising opportunity. Of course, it would take a good deal of address to smooth over this little bump. But Jane had faith in the duke’s ability to win her stubborn niece. A man with a face like that, and such a fine figure—all he needed to do was make an effort. But he would have to use all the weapons at his disposal— every last one.

Perhaps she should have word with their duke. Yes, that

was what she would do. And once she explained what his responsibilities were, she was sure he would know exactly how to go about winning his way through Arabella’s defenses. After all, there were two hearts at stake in this game, and Jane was determined that neither would go to waste.

Satisfied, she picked up her abandoned knitting and began untangling the knots.

nm

Chapter 9

B

uoyed by the duke’s brooding glances at her niece during dinner, and further encouraged by Arabella’s

frigid refusal to acknowledge those glances, Jane waited for Arabella to retire and then marched into the library. Lucien stood by the fireplace, staring into the flames, a cheroot in his hand.

He turned when she came into the room and hastily tossed his cheroot into the fire.

“I wish you hadn’t done that,” she said, sending him an encouraging smile. “My husband enjoyed his cigars. I miss the scent of fresh tobacco.” She took a chair and pat- ted the arm of the one beside her. “Come and sit, Your Grace. I wish to speak with you.”

It was amazing how quickly his face shuttered, but he did as she invited and took his seat.

Once there, he leaned back and regarded her, his hand- some face inscrutable. “Yes?”

The man certainly had a gift for being direct. Jane liked

101

that almost as much as his title. “I have come to warn you.”

“Oh? Am I in danger of some sort?”

“Arabella told me about your . . . past relationship.” He went very still, lines of white bracketing his mouth.

“What did she say?”

His voice held an edge that made her sit a little straighter. “Not much, really. Only that you knew her, took advantage of her, and left.” Jane met his gaze straight on. “Is it true?”

“Yes,” he answered harshly. “It is all true.” She sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

Lucien stood abruptly and turned away to stir the fire with the toe of his boot. “I will not lie to you. I was young, a thoughtless cad, and—there are not enough names for what I was.” He made a gesture as if to push the memory away, his mouth thinned. “I went heedlessly through life, ignoring my responsibilities. I was unprepared to step into my father’s shoes and I suffered for it, as did Arabella.” His green gaze rested on Jane for a moment, burning with intensity. “But I never forgot her.”

Jane’s disappointment softened. There was such sin- cerity in his gaze, such a depth of emotion that she felt her own eyes grow damp. For Arabella’s sake, Jane pressed on. “Did you love her?”

His hand fisted at his side. “Yes.”

Do you love her still?
The words burned on Jane’s tongue, but she held them back. She doubted whether he knew what he felt.
Yet
. Instead, she said in a mild tone, “You hurt Arabella quite badly.”

He gave a short, bitter laugh. “I have a history of hurt- ing all of the women in my life.”

“But Arabella did not deserve it. She loved you dearly.”

He turned away, but not before Jane saw the agony in his gaze. “I know she did.”

She waited for him to say more, but he stood, silent, head bowed. Finally she said, “Surely there were extenu- ating circumstances. Perhaps you fell ill and could not return?”

“If you are searching for an excuse for my behavior, you will not find it here. What I did was inexcusable. At the time, I thought—” He stopped, desolate lines carving his face. “It doesn’t matter what I thought. Suffice it to say that I did irreparable harm to an innocent girl and I have regretted it every day since.”

His pain was almost palpable. Jane regarded him silently for a long moment, thoughts tumbling through her mind like water over a fall. “I won’t say you are wrong, but fortunately it won’t be a matter for either of us to worry about. I expect Arabella will wed shortly.”

“To whom?” The question snapped across the room like the crack of a gun.

Jane hid a smile. “Lord Harlbrook has been most insis- tent lately—”

“No.”
The duke’s jaw tensed. “Good God, Harlbrook is a pig! Even I saw that, and I was in his company but a moment. You cannot let that happen.”

“I may have no choice. Things are not well at Rose- mont and Arabella feels responsible for us all.”

He turned to pace before the fire. “Perhaps I can make some arrangements . . . send my man of business with a draft—” He stopped and turned a bleak gaze on her. “She would refuse.”

“Most likely. She has the Hadley pride, you know.”

He gave a wry grimace. “I had noticed. It is one of the things that annoy me the most about her, yet at the same

time, I cannot imagine her otherwise.” A smile softened his mouth. “She is the most damnable woman.”

Jane had to bite her lip hard to keep from jumping from her chair and rewarding him with a fierce hug. Whatever had happened to the boy who’d once been Lucien Dev- ereaux, it had made him into an exceptional man.

The perfect man for Arabella.

Jane kept her face blank. There was still much to do. “The past is the past. What I want to know, Your Grace, is what you intend for the future.”

He was quiet for a long time, staring into the fire. The light flickered across his face, softening the planes with a golden touch. Jane sighed. He was indeed a most beautiful man. Her gaze traveled across his broad shoulders and down to his snug breeches. One day, Arabella would thank her for her help. And if she didn’t, then her niece was a bigger fool than Emma.

Lucien sighed. “You are right, Lady Melwin. I will do what I should have done when I first arrived.”

Jane leaned forward in her chair, her throat tight with hope. “Yes?”

He shoved himself from the mantel with a fluid move- ment. “I will leave immediately. I had planned—” He shook his head abruptly. “But you are right. I will tell Hast- ings to pack and we will leave this evening, if possible.”

“Bacon-brained fool!”

Lucien stopped, unsure he’d heard her right. “I beg your pardon?”

Bright spots of color touched Jane’s thin cheeks. “You cannot leave.”

Resentment flared, followed by hollow amusement. “As much as you might wish it, you cannot order me about. I will leave tonight.”

“No, you will not. It is time you stopped running from

your responsibilities. You, sir, will fix what you broke all those years ago.”

“And what is that?”

“Arabella’s heart.” Jane regarded him with a martial light in her eyes, her back ramrod straight, her feet planted firmly on the floor.

Lucien shook his head. “She won’t allow it. You are greatly mistaken if you think otherwise.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you would leave Arabella here, to rot in this rambling house with her crippled brother, whilst you go gallivanting back to your amuse- ments? Your gambling, and your drinking, and your bits of muslin?” Jane sniffed. “Hardly the gentlemanly thing to do.”

It was hardly the ladylike thing for her to mention “bits of muslin,” but he prudently didn’t point that out. “There is nothing I can do to help her if she won’t let me.”

“I disagree. It is time you set things right.”

“Set things right? You don’t understand. She cannot stand the sight of me. I would gladly give her a draft to cover the complete renovation of this place, but she’d throw it in my face.”

“My niece has yet to recover from what happened ten years ago, and if you don’t do something, she never will. Look around you. Her situation is desperate.”

Lucien glanced about the shabby room. Jane was right: he owed Arabella too much to just walk away. Perhaps he could begin here, with the house she loved so much. For a short time, he could relieve her of some of the weighty responsibilities she’d assumed. Determination settled between his shoulders and he straightened. “You are right, Lady Melwin. I owe her too much to leave. If she’ll let me stay, I will.” He saw the quick flare of excite- ment in Jane’s eyes and held up a hand. “I am not talking

about marriage. I am the last man she would ever want to wed.”

Jane frowned. “Then what are you talking about?”

“I will convince Arabella to let me assist her in reno- vating Rosemont. The least I can do is make sure she has a decent house over her head.”

“She will try to force you to leave.”

“I will refuse. Until she agrees to accept my help, I am fixed at Rosemont.”

A pleased flush rose in Jane’s cheeks. She stood and measured him with a narrow gaze. “Excellent. I’m sure a man of your considerable . . .”—her gaze dropped to his legs—“address will find a way to win her over.”

Lucien looked down to see if perhaps he’d spilled gravy in his lap at dinner, but saw nothing. He frowned. Had the gaze been from anyone other than Arabella’s prim, elderly aunt, he’d have thought she meant . . . He yanked his gaze back to Aunt Jane, but she was already gone, the door closing behind her.