Duke Ever After (Dukes' Club Book 5) (17 page)

Apparently, his mouth refused to cooperate with his brain. And his idea of punishment.

“Captain?” Bates prompted.

Derek forced a laugh. “I’m having far too merry a time to weigh anchor just yet, Bates.”

“Too much wenching will drain your manly powers, Captain. You’re looking a bit worse for wear.”

The apt judgement nearly had Derek coughing on his own irritation. There was a woman and he did feel little better than a walking corpse. Still. . . He wasn’t about to admit it. “Yes. Well. I haven’t quite had my fill of the ladies just yet.”

Better for Bates to think he couldn’t quite let go of tarts yet, than to think he’d been entirely laid low by a lady.

“Well, you’re looking under the weather, Captain. In my opinion, the putrid town air is affecting you. Perhaps a bit of time in the salt air would set you to rights.”

“Soon, Bates. Soon.”

“Where’s the young rascal?” Bates glanced about. “I thought he might be on your heels.”

“Tony’s in the tavern if you must know. He spotted a wench and followed her in.”

“Young devil,” Bates said with a heavy groan that was half exasperation, half pride.

Bates had been as much of a mother to Tony as any boy might hope for. It might seem odd to those that didn’t know them, but Derek’s crew loved the young man as if he were the son of every single one of them.

Tony had quite the diverse group of men to learn from over the years and none more loyal and kind than the rough and tumble Bates.

“You really should discourage taverns, Captain,” Bates tsked after a moment. “Those women are as likely to gut you as tickle your—“

“Bates, you taught Tony as well as you taught me to be on the lookout for such games.”

It was true. Bates had made deuced sure when he’d been barely older than Tony, himself, that one never forget that the world was a dangerous place and what might seem like a soft pillow of pleasure was actually a knife waiting to sink into one’s guts.

He’d learned the truth of that in the back streets of Port Royal and since, Derek had forsworn tavern wenches who often worked for toughs waiting to murder men for their purses after being lured into a shadowed alley.

Tony was still game.

Derek was fairly certain that Tony loved the excitement that such chance brought. If there was one thing that ran in their blood, it was that need to walk the edge of respectability and safety. Life was far more thrilling when one threw caution to the wind, after all.

“A pint then to decide what be next?” Bates suggested.

Derek nodded. With each step he took aboard his ship, he felt more at ease. More like himself and yet, the peace he was accustomed to was not appearing.

In fact, he felt a decidedly unpleasant feeling at the idea of heading off across the seas in the near future. Away from that woman. Away from protecting her from the multitudes of men who would wish to seduce her and the women who’d wish to gossip about her.

He grimaced as he headed for his quarters, Bates in tow.

“Forgive me, Captain, but are you in pain? Should you see the sawbones?”

“No and no, Bates. Stop acting like a nanny.”

“Well, then stop acting like a little boy that needs his medicine, Captain.”

He whipped around. “I beg your pardon?”

Bates didn’t back down. If anything, his barrel chest puffed with indignation. “You’ve a sulk about your person as strong as any boy’s about to have his Sunday bath. No use denying it.”

Derek bellowed with laughter at being told what was what. “Thank God for you, Bates.”

Bates grinned and followed Derek into the small but well-appointed quarters that had been Derek’s home for many years.

Oh, he visited his estates and London residence, but this was truly his home. It was where he had escaped when his father had finally made his life too unbearable to survive. And it had been a grand escape, indeed.

“I thought you needed a bit of truth, Captain,” Bates observed warily. “You’ve such an unlikely look about you. Not like yourself at all.”

He contemplated lying but Bates was someone he was not accustomed to keeping secrets from. And as tempting as it was to keep up the ruse that he was still up to his neck in doxies, apparently Bates was not to be deceived.

“I’ve met a lady if you must know, Bates.”

“And she won’t have you? Daft lass.” Bates grinned again. “Or perhaps all too clever. You’re a tricky bastard, Captain.”

The term bastard was applied by Bates as a fondness. . . The man had no idea to its truth. Even Bates had been left in the dark in regards to that secret. It was a heavy burden to keep from his oldest friend, but there it was.

“I don’t deserve her, Bates. And no, she wouldn’t marry me if I asked.”

“Ah. Well. Wenches come and go, do they not?”

This was easily said by a man who’d never loved a lass longer than the leave he’d been given by whatever captain he’d served.

Derek threw himself down onto the great, leather chair that was nailed to the floor and looked out the wall of pane glass to the busy waterway.  “Not this one, Bates. Not this one.”

Bates was silent as he poured two brandies.

While the room was Derek’s private retreat, he’d always made it clear that Bates was allowed to come and go as he pleased. To drink as he pleased. To rest as he pleased. And to choose any book from the floor to ceiling, encased book shelves.

“Well, Captain, if she’s so special, why don’t you just do a bit of convincing? You’ve always had a way with the ladies.”

Derek laughed bitterly. “I have, haven’t I?”

“Not with the one?”

Truthfully, he’d never tried to implement his usual charms with Ros. Largely, he simply hadn’t wished to get her into his bed. He’d never actively tried. If anything, he’d done the opposite. Terror at actually having her in his arms on any sort of permanent basis had prevented that.

It was a miracle, though seemingly inevitable, that they’d had one morning together.

“Are you in love with the lass, Derek?”

The use of his given name shook Derek. Bates, no matter how close they were, almost never called him by name.

“People keep asking that,” he said bitterly.

“Then mayhap, they have a point.”

“I don’t know what love is.”

“That’s a bloody lie.”

“I love you, Bates, you great tough. I know that. I love Tony, too. . . But a woman? How does one love a woman?”

“Captain, if you love, you’re being foolish. Hiding behind foolish arguments.”

“Bates, you overstep.”

“Do I, indeed?” Bates held out the brandy. “Then words from one you respect.
A heart to love, and in that heart, Courage, to make love known
.”

Derek groaned then wiped a hand over his face. “Shakespeare?”

“Aye, Captain. He be wise in these matters.”

Years in school could not seduce him to Shakespeare’s pages, but Bates had insisted they read from the Bard on their long voyages and as time had passed, Derek had fallen in love with the characters of those plays and poems. It seemed unfair now, that Bates would use words from the same poet to urge him towards love that he, himself, had used to insist that he and Ros couldn’t be together.

Derek arched a brow and took a swallow before replying, “Are you calling me a coward?”

Bates shrugged.

“The devil you are!” Derek challenged.

“If you will not tell her you love her and you do?” Bates offered simply. “What else are you?”

“Bates, I should throw you overboard.”

“Who’d manage your ship if you did?”

“Bates,” Aston said softly. “You are more valuable than a fleet of ships.”

Bates blushed and he sniffed before drinking his full glass. “Find your courage, Captain. That’s all I say. Ain’t a braver man alive than you when you put your mind to it.”

“I’m surrounded Bates and you’ve joined ranks with those surrounding me.”

“If so many are so certain of this young woman, then you must at least consider it.”

“What? Join the sheep?”

“Captain, you’ll never be a sheep,” Bates pointed out then added, “lest it be a black one.”

Bates cocked his head to the side. “Mayhap your lady is not so snowy? Is that why you do love her?”

Derek shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve yet to confess that I do.”

“If you didn’t we’d have set sail already.”

“Bates, you’re bloody annoying,” Derek growled.

“Thank you, Captain.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“It was, indeed, coming from you.”

And so it was. But he could have none of this. He’d already declared his course to Rosamund and he was not going to turn sail against the wind now.

Derek put his glass down and stood. “Bates?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“I wish to sail in a fortnight.”

“
Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once
.”

“It’s a bloody good thing that I have no fear of death then, isn’t it.”

Bates sighed. “Aye, Captain.”

“Good.” And with that, Derek headed out of his quarters and down to the packed London roads. He had much to do if he was going to depart soon. But most of all, he was going to avoid Lady Rosamund at all costs.

Chapter 18

Over the years, Aston had always claimed loudly, and usually drunkenly, that he loved weddings.

He loathed weddings.

He hated them with an undying passion.

They symbolized what he could never, ever have.

An honest, open, equal, loving union.

Since he could never be honest, he could never have the sort of love that, say, the Duke of Blackburn and Lady Cavendish had found. And try as he might, he could never quite get rid of his bitterness over this fact.

So, he masked it as he did with most things.

Today, he’d worn his biggest, wine red hat, covered in feathers with a diamond and silver buckle. The thing was atrociously out of date but it was absolutely splendid. Distracting people with it, twirling it, doffing it. The thing had magical powers of its own, he was certain, and it kept the world from noticing the cold glint in his eye and the hidden pain in his forced, jovial tone.

As he grabbed a bottle of champagne from a passing silver tray, he knew that a fortnight couldn’t pass fast enough. Carefully, he retreated towards the hedge rows where he might have a few moments alone.

The past days, since he had determined to go abroad, had gone by like treacle in winter. Slowly. So terribly, terribly slowly.

And in that time, Derek seemed left to only one recourse. Somehow, he’d managed to fulfill a role he was least suited for.

Cupid.

And, God, how he hated that plump little devil. . . Though he seemed rather good at the fat-cheeked little fellow’s job.

He’d attempted to hide away from the world but his fellow dukes would keep coming to the Dukes’ Club, wailing and gnashing teeth that their lady loves were beyond their reach.

Most recently, there had been Duncan, Rosamund’s brother. The man seemed a cold fish, but in truth he was just one grand, hard shell hiding a particularly soft center. Derek quite liked the Scot. Far too easy to needle. But a good sort.

Then there was the Duke of Roth. A man he had wenched with and wrought hell with all over the world for many years.

Roth was a man who largely just liked to have a good time but was trapped by the grief of losing both his parents when he was but a child.

Becoming a duke when one was still in leading strings was no easy thing. It was a miracle Roth hadn't turned out to be a total ponce what with everyone scraping and bowing from his earliest years. But Roth was also a good sort and eager to start a family of his own. . . Unfortunately, the lady of Roth’s choosing didn’t quite meet his qualifications for an ideal life mate. Which, of course, was total bollocks.

Suffice to say, with the travails of those lovelorn fools, it was apparently impossible for Aston to hide. No matter how often he tried to find a quiet corner, he either spotted one of his friends in the turmoil of love or said friend found him.

In truth, all his fellow dukes had needed was a little push in the right direction. Men could be such tossers about love. Derek was no denier when it came to that conclusion. Still, both men were on their way to embracing connubial bliss.

Well, Roth hadn’t quite managed his happily ever after just yet, but Aston had every confidence that Roth would convince his lady that all would be well if she just married him.

Which was all very well, except he was twisting in the wind, utterly sans romance.

It would be wonderful if his own affair could end as simply as his compatriots had done. Alas, he was nowhere near as simple a fellow as his companions and thusly. . . There’d be no happily ever after for him.

Today he was filled with his own grating unease. Today, he was almost certainly going to see Lady Rosamund. It was her brother’s wedding, after all. Logic suggested she had to be somewhere about the giant and well-manicured garden. He’d tried to make his excuses, but Duncan had been insistent in his invitation and Derek hadn’t been able to refuse such enthusiasm.

He should have found a way. Devil take it. When had he become so soft?

Since blasted Rosamund. That’s when.

He hadn’t seen Rosamund in several weeks; long, empty weeks, nor had he tried to. . . Well that wasn’t entirely true. He’d gone to that one ball in the hopes of glimpsing her. He’d planned on hiding in the shadows but before he’d even spotted her, he’d spotted her brother looking like he was about to kill the Duke of Roth. The duke had been in deep conversation with Lady Cavendish and it was clear that the Scot had gotten a very wrong idea.

Whilst Aston had swept in to keep murder from happening in such a public forum, it had also meant that he’d been kept from a sight of Rosamund. Glorious, beautiful, tougher than granite stone, Rosamund.

It was almost certainly for the best.

If he could just survive the next few days, he’d be gone. Halfway around the world. And he’d never have to be tempted by her again.

He lifted the dark green champagne bottle to his lips and took a drink that looked far more deep that it was. He needed his wits about him just now.