How to Deceive a Duke (25 page)

Chapter 63

M
eg watched the long strokes of the brush as Anna combed her hair.

The dowager had sent a new pile of scandal sheets to her rooms that afternoon, and Meg had burned them without looking. Other images of her husband burned in her mind as the fire devoured the paper—Nicholas at the altar on their wedding day, Nicholas in Angelique Encore’s arms, Nicholas’s face as he rode away from her at Wycliffe, and riding toward her on Hannibal on the London road.

She had gambled and lost. She’d married him to save her family, to give them a future. What of her future? If she were honest, she’d married him because she’d wanted love, children, and a home of her own, a family that would adore her as much as she did them, and a man who looked at her with the kind of admiration that Rose got, or Flora had seen in her husband’s eyes.

“May I?”

She opened her eyes. She hadn’t heard him enter the room. He took the brush from Anna, and took up where the maid had left off.

“You have beautiful hair,” he said softly. He stroked his hand over it in a slow, sensuous caress, and raised a lock of it to his lips, meeting her eyes in the glass.

“I don’t want any other woman, Meg.”

She swallowed the knot in her throat. “I thought, that is, I was afraid—”

He put the brush down on the table. “It doesn’t matter now.”

She could feel the warmth of his body, smell the scent of his soap.

She saw the desire in his eyes, the sadness. He touched her face, and she pressed her cheek into his palm and shut her eyes.

“I am sorry,” she said. “For everything. More than you can know.”

She rose and laid her cheek on his chest. His arms came around her, held her, and she felt safe next to the sound of his heart.

“Nicholas—”

He put a finger against her lips. “I know. I’m not the man you imagined, the one from the scandal sheets.”

She looked up at him. “No. You’re much . . .” She hesitated.

“Worse?” he joked.

“No, not at all,” she said, her voice husky. “Different.” Where was her courage now? Her boldness had deserted her when she needed it most.

He rested his chin on the top of her head. “The chances of this match succeeding came with very long odds, I’m afraid.”

She curled her fingers against his shirtfront, her heart rising in her throat. Would he say good-bye now, walk away? He stroked her back through the silk of her robe.

“Perhaps if Rose had stayed . . .” She couldn’t bear to think of that. This man belonged to her. And yet he did not.

“Meeting your sister made me glad fate took her in a different direction,” he said dryly. He looked down into her eyes, his own dark with desire, and stroked her lower lip with his thumb. He lowered his face to hers. “Perhaps we’ve done enough talking for tonight,” he whispered against her lips.

His kiss was gentle, teasing, seductive.

She stood on tiptoe, deepened the kiss as she slid her hands up and clasped them behind his neck.

He undressed her, untying the sash of her dressing gown, pushing it off her shoulders to drop at her feet. He unbuttoned her high-necked nightgown, let it fall too, leaving her naked before him.

“So beautiful,” he murmured. “Wife.”

She fumbled at the buttons of his shirt, caressed the hard warmth of his muscles. His hands were on her hips, pulling her against the jut of his erection. She fumbled with the flies of his breeches, wanting his flesh against hers, no barriers between them.

When they were both naked, she rubbed her body against his, reveling in the heat, the sensation of his flesh on hers. There were no titles, no others, just Meg and Nick.

He carried her to bed, their lips still joined, and laid her down, sinking into the mattress with her.

“You’re beautiful,” he told her again.

She felt beautiful. He touched her as if she were the most enticing woman on earth, caressing her limbs, kissing her lips, her breasts, her hips, her legs.

She ran her hand over his body, memorizing every inch. He caressed the curls between her thighs, dipped between, stroked her until she cried out, and slid into her body as if they were old hands at this, knew each other well. She welcomed him, wrapped her legs around his hips, savored the sensation of their two bodies joined, lost in the terrible sweetness, her eyes on his as he made love to her. If she never experienced this again, she had this night, this moment.

She gripped his shoulders, held on as he increased his pace, heightening the pleasure, until they both cried out. She felt tears sting as he poured himself into her in one last deep thrust.

They lay together for a long time, their hearts pounding, their bodies still joined.

He kissed her gently and moved away, got up from the bed.

“Stay,” she said.

He looked at her from the shadows for a long moment, and she reached for him, drew him back to bed, held him tight as he loved her again and again until the dawn rose and she fell asleep in his arms.

Chapter 64

N
icholas watched dawn creep into the room, and turn her skin to gold.

Meg was fast asleep in his arms, her hair covering both of them like a blanket.

He kissed her forehead, and she sighed as he slid out from underneath her. One last look, and he covered her with the blankets.

An hour later, he was at the docks with Hannibal, boarding the ship that would take them back to a world he understood, to honor and respect.

He watched the sun rise on the city as the ship slipped her moorings and headed out into the Channel, seeing the blaze of her glorious hair in the sunrise.

Chapter 65

M
eg woke when Anna opened the curtains to let the sun into the room.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” she said. “Lovely day. The troops are marching through the streets this morning, taking ship for the continent. They do look handsome in their scarlet coats!”

Meg touched the empty bed beside her. The sheets were cold. She missed him. In the night, she had only had to turn, and he was there. He’d held her, murmured against her hair, but she was too sleepy to listen.

She loved him. She smiled. She would find him and tell him.

“Has His Grace gone riding already?” she asked eagerly, getting up.

“I’ll go and inquire of Mr. Partridge,” Anna said. “All is quiet in his rooms.”

Meg hummed as she went to the wardrobe and took out the blue-gray riding habit, and went to bathe.

She would start the day with an apology, and admit how much she loved him.

She spun in a circle, grinning.

They would go riding, and—how many hours before they could return to bed? They’d made a new start last night, and she was eager to go . . .

“Your Grace, Mr. Partridge says that His Grace has gone,” Anna said.

Meg smiled at her. “No matter. Ask one of the grooms to saddle my horse, and I’ll catch him up.”

Anna shook her head, her eyes wide. “There’s a roomful of folk downstairs to see you. Mr. Gardiner is quite beside himself. It’s not the hour for callers, but he could not keep them out. The Countess of Wycliffe is threatening to come upstairs to find you if you don’t appear at once.”

“My mother is here?” Meg asked.

“With Lord Bryant.”

“Is something wrong? My sister? Is His Grace with them?” Anna helped her dress quickly, choosing a morning gown instead of the riding habit.

“Gardiner didn’t say. He only asked—respectfully—if you would hurry.”

Flora leaped off the settee when Meg entered the salon scarcely ten minutes later. “There you are at last! Did you intend to lie in bed all day?” she demanded.

Meg glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was barely eight o’clock. “I am surprised you are up this early,” she said. “Is something wrong?”

“Is that a bruise?” Flora asked, grasping Meg’s chin and turning it to the light. “Did Temberlay—”

“Of course not. I had a slight accident yesterday in a curricle,” Meg murmured. Hector frowned at the lie. “I’m glad you’re safe. Nicholas sent me a note to say you were. He also sent some other documents, Meg.” He held up a thick file. Meg felt her stomach drop to the floor. She clasped her hands together.

“It’s bad news?” she asked.

Hector nodded gravely. “He asked me to give it to you this afternoon, to advise you that he—”

“No,” she said, and sat down heavily on the settee, shutting her eyes.

“I came as soon as they arrived, Meg. I was hoping to change his mind, but Gardiner tells me it’s already too late.”

“Too late? How can it be too late?” Meg whispered. “Is he sending me away? Is it to be divorce?” she asked.

“Divorce?” Flora said. “As if this isn’t scandalous enough!”

“He’s provided for you very generously,” Hector said. “But only in the event that he—”

The door opened again and the dowager entered, her eyes fiery. She too was waving a letter. “How could you allow this to happen?” she demanded.

“I—” Meg began. Her head was buzzing. She wanted to run to him, find him, beg for an explanation. How could he make love to her with such passion, only to dismiss her in the morning? She had made dreadful mistakes, but she had thought—hoped—he had forgiven her.

“I have not yet spoken to Nicholas this morning,” she said to the dowager.

“Spoken to him?” the dowager snapped. “He’s gone!”

“Meg, Nicholas has gone to Brussels,” Hector said gently.

“Brussels?” she murmured.

“You mean he did not even tell you?” the old lady demanded. “He must detest the sight of you!”

Shock vibrated through her.

Flora rose to her feet. “I will not have you speaking to my daughter that way, Your Grace.”

“Why did he go to Brussels?” Meg asked, her heart rising in her throat.

“Your daughter had a duty to me, Countess, and to her title. She was to marry my grandson and get an heir. Now it’s too late.” She glared at Meg. “You’ve failed, and you know my price.” Meg scarcely saw, scarcely heard. He was upstairs in his rooms, or in the library, or out riding. He would stride through the door in a moment, and grin at her. There was only one reason to go to Brussels now.

War.

Meg put a hand to her throat. The dowager was yelling at Flora, who was screeching back. Hector was trying to calm them both.

Meg picked up her skirts and raced up the stairs. She went through her chamber, past the bed where he’d lain with her, loved her, kissed her.

It could not have been good-bye.

She opened the door to his room. It was neat, tidy, and silent. She couldn’t breathe. She crossed to the wardrobe and flung it open. She scrabbled through his coats. The bottle green one was there. So were a half dozen other, more sober coats.

The scarlet tunic was gone.

She turned to find Partridge standing behind her. “I wanted to go with him, Your Grace, but he would not hear of it. Other officers took their valets. Some even took their wives and their families,” he said. He straightened the coats on their hangers. “Should I simply wait for him to return?” he asked, bewildered.

She looked up at him. “They took their wives?”

“And evening wear and hunting clothes. It’s been in all the papers. The
ton
is flocking to Belgium to see the final battle with Napoleon. Everyone who can find passage has gone. No one knows when it will be, but there will be grand parties while they wait. There’s hardly anyone left in London.” He sighed. “He won’t be properly dressed.”

She hadn’t read the papers, didn’t want to see her sister on Nicholas’s arm.

She was as blind to what was happening as she’d been under her father’s rule.

“Who else is going, Partridge?” she asked, and crossed to the desk.

“Everyone. Captain Lord Reed sailed two days ago. Colonel Lord Fairlie has been gone for a fortnight. They say the Prince Regent himself had to be prevented—”

“Lord Fairlie, Lord St. James’s brother-in-law?”

She opened the desk, searched for paper and ink.

“Marguerite! What are you doing?” Flora asked, bursting in through Meg’s apartments. “You must come home with me this instant!”

The dowager came in through the sitting room. “Partridge, I assume you helped him prepare for this fool’s errand?”

“I did, Your Grace.”

“And did you not think to advise me of his plans?” she demanded. “Did you think it was yet another idiotic prank, some kind of holiday? You are dismissed without reference.”

“No, I have need of Mr. Partridge,” Meg said. She took out a sheet of paper and scrawled a note. “Take this to Viscount St. James. If he isn’t at home, give it to Lady Delphine.”

He took the note and bowed.

She pulled out another sheet of paper. “What do you think you’re doing?” the old woman demanded.

“I am going to Brussels,” Meg replied.

The dowager laughed. “You mean to follow him to war? Is this some grand gesture of love? I warned you not to be so foolish as to fall in love with him. He destroys everyone who loves him.”

“Come to Bryant House, Marguerite,” Flora said, putting an arm around her daughter’s shoulders, but Meg had no need of comfort. She loved Nicholas. She had thought that he might even love her, but he had gone. It didn’t matter. She would go to him, tell him, before it was too late. She hadn’t dared to tell her father.

“Bryant House?” the old duchess said. “She must go to Temberlay Castle. Is there any chance you are with child?”

Flora gasped at her bluntness, but every eye in the room turned to regard her with interest.

Meg resisted the urge to lay her hand on her stomach. Was that why he’d come to her last night? It was too soon to tell. “If I am, this is my child, and Nicholas’s.”

The dowager thumped her walking stick. “How dare you play games with me? Do you expect more money from me? You won’t get it. You will leave for Temberlay Castle at once, this very day, and remain there until it can be determined if—”

“I’m going to Brussels,” Meg replied, meeting the old lady’s cold stare.

“To war?” Flora gasped, and the harridan sneered.

“Meg, this isn’t a game. It might be dangerous,” Hector began. “Won’t you read his letter?”

She crossed and kissed his cheek, and looked at the papers under his arm. “Is there anything I need do? Papers I must sign, any arrangements for Mama and the girls?”

“I will remind you that if you are carrying Temberlay’s heir, and he is killed, the child will be the next duke,” the old lady objected.

“If it’s a boy,” Flora said. “Wycliffe had four girls.”

“If it is a girl, or if she fails to be with child at all, I will destroy you.”

Flora raised her brows. “Destroy us? Because a bride fails to produce a child in a few short months of marriage? Rose took three years to make an appearance. There is no scandal you can threaten us with, Your Grace. Marguerite has done her part, played the role you wanted. No one can fault her if your grandson—”

“No scandal?” the old lady said, advancing on Flora. “There are rotten apples in every tree, Countess. There’s the fact that your husband died by—”

“No!” Meg cried, and stepped between the dowager and her mother. “Leave it. I will go to Temberlay Castle,” she said.

Flora set her hands on her shoulders and moved her aside. “Nonsense. You will go where you please, Marguerite. Just because we do not speak of family tragedies, it does not mean they are unknown to us. If you spill your venom, then your grandchild must live with the consequences. Have you considered that, Your Grace? I doubt you’ll jeopardize the reputation of Temberlay while there is a chance Nicholas will return.”

“He
did
come back from war the first time,” Hector said. “And he came back a hero.”

Meg glanced at him. He regarded her steadily. Somehow, the secret she had buried, kept hidden to save her family the pain of knowing the truth, wasn’t a secret at all. She thought of the comfort they might have given each other if they’d talked about it.

“Mama?” she whispered the question. “You knew?”

“The doctor told me, Marguerite. I insisted. How could I tell you I knew when you were trying so hard to protect us? I didn’t want to think of it, and what the future would bring. You managed the thinking and doing for all of us, and I am sorry I was not more—capable, but I never have been. Until now.” She sent the dowager a warning glance. “I’ll help you pack.”

There was doubt in the old duchess’s eyes, defeat. “You will bring him back, insist that he does his duty,” she commanded, but it was feeble in the face of Meg’s own determination. “A man with no heir has no business going to war at all,” she said. “D’you hear me, Marguerite?”

Meg turned. “I will find my husband. I will give him sons if he wants them—”

“Or daughters,” Flora put in.

“—and I will spend my life showing him that I love him. I am through with lies and deceit.”

She left the old lady standing in the ducal bedchamber, and went to pack.

“M
eg, I have something to tell you. I should have told you sooner. Please come and sit down for just a moment,” Hector said, and led her into her sitting room while Flora directed Anna on what to pack.

He opened the folio of documents. “This first.”

She took the bill of sale and looked at it. “Papa was cheated! Arabella alone was worth five times this much!”

“Nicholas found that in your father’s room, at Wycliffe. It’s one of the reasons why he was in such a hurry to return to London.” He handed her another bill. This one was for much more, signed by Temberlay and the Earl of Eldridge, for the sale of two horses.

“Nicholas bought Papa’s horses?” she asked, tears stinging her eyes.

“Wilton forfeited them months ago. Gambling debts. John told Nicholas how much the horses meant to you. They cost him a fortune, since Eldridge didn’t want to part with them.”

“He did that for me?”

“A wedding gift,” Hector confirmed. He handed her a small notebook. “This is David Hartley’s journal, kept during the last year of his life. It explains how your father lost his fortune, why he—” He swallowed. “Meg, I should have been there to protect you. Nicholas challenged Wilton and Augustus Howard to a duel yesterday morning. I was his second. Wilton didn’t arrive, and I told Nicholas you’d gone to buy the foal, sent him after you.” He looked at her with love in his eyes. “Even in such a situation, against such a man, you managed, didn’t you?”

“I shouldn’t have been there. I should have trusted Nicholas.”

“Everything he’s done in past weeks was for you. I believe he loves you, Meg, though I’m a bachelor and I know nothing of such things.” He studied his hands. “I thought I might find out though. Would you mind if I proposed to your mother?”

Happy tears sprang to her eyes. “Are you sure? There’s still Lily and Minnie to raise and marry.”

He looked through the door of her bedroom at Flora, who was selecting a dozen evening gowns and wondering if it would be enough. “Yes, I’m sure,” he said fondly. “I’ve grown used to her way of thinking, you see. I don’t think I could live without it.”

D
elphine arrived an hour later with Sebastian in tow. “Delphie, I’m going to Brussels. Do you think I could stay with your sister Eleanor and Colonel Lord Fairlie?” Meg asked.

“Get me pen and paper,” Delphine instructed the nearest footman. “I’ll write to her at once, and I’ll go with you.”

Sebastian glared at both women. “Don’t be a fool, Del! Everyone thinks they are off on a grand adventure. You’ll all be back in a few weeks, sunburned and complaining about how rude the Belgians are and never having seen Napoleon at all.”

“Sebastian is lily-livered,” Delphine told Meg. “I can be ready to leave when you wish. Sebastian, make yourself useful and go and arrange our passage.”

Sebastian reddened. “I most certainly will not take any part in this fool’s errand! This is all your fault,” he said to Meg. “He had no thought of going back to war until you took up with Wilton. The news is all over Town. And I’m not lily-livered. I am Father’s heir. He’s forbidden me to join a regiment.”