In Bed with the Duke (19 page)

‘Oh...'

She gazed up at him with eyes full of what looked like understanding—at least he hoped it looked like understanding. And appreciation. And love.

‘You really are the most darling of men,' she said at last.

‘Event though I'm a duke?'

‘Yes. Although...'

‘What?'

‘Well, it's just that I don't want you to ever regret marrying me,' she said.

‘I couldn't.'

‘Are you sure? When you were so set against marrying? Even more than I was, by the sound of it...'

‘That was only because I hadn't met
you
,' he countered, seeing the real anxiety in her lovely brown eyes.

‘No, be serious,' she said, swatting his bottom again.

Which he was starting to like.

‘I want to be the best wife I can be for you,' she said. ‘Only I don't understand how I can do that. I'm certain to let you down...'

‘You couldn't! Because you love me. The reason I was so unhappy in my first marriage was because of... Well, you know the way Millicent behaved.'

‘Yes, you explained a little of that. It sounded perfectly horrid.'

‘It was. And they said
she'd
be the perfect duchess.' He couldn't help grimacing at memories of the pain and humiliation he'd experienced as a young man. ‘She couldn't
ever
have been the perfect duchess. For all that she was born with a title and came from a noble family. And she had money—yes, all the things you say you don't have. But she didn't love me. Nor have any of the other women who have made an attempt to lure me into their clutches loved me. They've merely coveted the title. You are the only woman who has loved the man and rejected the title. That
is
what you've done, isn't it?'

He looked at her keenly, wondering even now if she was going to recoil from the duties and status that went with marrying him.

‘Well, not
rejected
the title, exactly. It's just that it...it scares me a bit. Well, a lot. I don't know how to be a duchess, Gregory. And you ought to have a wife who can do you proud.'

‘I ought to have a wife who can
love
me,' he came back swiftly. ‘That's all it will take, Prudence, for you to be my perfect duchess. For you to love me.'

‘It's lovely of you to say so, but surely it will mean more than that?'

‘Prudence Carstairs,' he said, pretending shock. ‘Are you admitting to being afraid of something? You who faced down a farmer with a gun?'

She blushed. And wriggled. Which almost made him abandon their conversation and simply give in to the physical appetite she was arousing. It took a serious effort of will for him to concentrate on what she was saying. But he made himself do so. Because this was important. To her, and therefore to him.

‘Physical danger is something I'm used to,' she said dismissively. ‘Running the gauntlet of indignant society matrons, all pointing their fingers at me and whispering behind their fans, is quite another matter.'

He took hold of her chin. ‘If anyone dares to whisper behind their fan about you, you will simply look down your nose at them the way you did at me when I had the effrontery to try and stop you from singing in public. Remember that? I thought at the time you could have outdone any of the patronesses of Almack's for haughtiness. Even dressed in rags and singing your heart out at the market cross, you looked like a duchess to me.'

‘Oh, Gregory...' She sighed, shaking her head. ‘You aren't looking at me the way everyone else will. They'll say I'm an upstart. That I smell of the shop.'

‘So what if they do? Why should you care about what anyone thinks or says but me? And don't forget,' he murmured into her ear, swirling his tongue round the shell-like whorls for good measure, ‘if anyone dares to criticise you, and I find out about it, I will make them rue the day.'

‘Would you? Yes, I suppose you would.' She bent her head to give him better access to her ear, and in doing so her neck. ‘I shouldn't think anyone would dare do anything much, would they?'

‘Of course not. I'm not a man to cross, Prudence. You can trust me to keep you safe...' he paused to apply his mouth to her throat ‘...and happy.'

‘Yes...' she breathed as he reached the spot he'd been seeking and sucked. ‘After all, I trusted you with my fortune and my future when I thought you had nothing at all, didn't I? I don't know why I thought you were suddenly someone else the minute I discovered you had a title.'

‘I am not anyone else, Prudence. I'm just the man who loves you.'

‘And I love you.'

‘Thank God,' he breathed. ‘I thought you were never going to admit it.'

‘But—you knew. Didn't you?'

‘No,' he growled. ‘You kept me guessing.'

‘But you knew.'

‘No, I bloody well didn't.' He reared up onto his elbows and glared down at her. ‘You have kept me on my toes ever since you ran from that ostler and climbed into my cart. From that moment on I've always been half afraid you would run off and I'd never see you again.'

‘Well, I won't, my darling.' She reached up and stroked his cheek. ‘My love, I will marry you, and stick to you like a burr for the rest of my days.'

‘Thank God,' he breathed again. And lowered himself back down.

Chapter Nineteen

T
he sun was high in the sky and the fire was nothing more than a pile of embers when they finally emerged from the summer house.

Gregory didn't think he'd ever witnessed a more lovely morning. There had been a heavy dewfall in the night, which made even the dank shrubbery sparkle as though it was bedecked with jewels. The gloss didn't even fade as he caught sight of Hugo, pacing up and down the terrace. Nor even when, upon catching sight of them, he came jogging down the steps and headed across the lawn to intercept them.

‘Good morning, Halstead,' said his cousin. ‘Miss Carstairs.'

Gregory didn't have to look at Prudence to know she was blushing at being caught outside. Everyone must know they'd spent the night together in the summer house. Especially since she had the quilt wrapped round her shoulders, across which he'd draped his own arm. And with that glorious abundance of hair rioting all down her back she looked thoroughly loved this morning.

‘Need a word,' said Hugo, completely unabashed.

What a pity he didn't have the tact to consider sparing her blushes.

‘Last night, what with all the...er...fireworks between you two,' he said with a grin, ‘we never did get round to settling up.'

‘You need to confront me about that
now
? Is the case that urgent?'

Hugo's face fell. ‘You must know it is—or I would never have lashed out at you the way I did. Fact is, I was jolly glad to have the excuse to get out of Town and hide away up here.'

‘If you had only explained I would have bailed you out, you young idiot. And I shall, of course, settle all your debts—as agreed in the terms of our wager.'

‘You'd have bailed me out anyway?' Hugo planted his fists on his hips. ‘I wish I'd known that. I would have wagered on something worth having.'

‘Such as?'

‘A commission with a good regiment. In fact it would probably be to your advantage to get me into one which is serving overseas anyway. Then I won't be able to do your reputation any damage by letting the cat out of the bag about all this.' He waved his arm in a way that encompassed the pair of unmarried lovers and, by implication, the way they'd met. ‘Inadvertently, of course,' he said, going slightly pink. ‘When I'm in my cups, say.'

Gregory narrowed his eyes and hardened his jaw. ‘You have first a more pressing duty to perform.'

‘Oh?'

‘Yes. I need you to go and procure a licence, so that Miss Carstairs and I can be married as soon as possible. And then to stand as my groomsman.'

‘Of course,' said Hugo, standing a bit straighter.

‘Only then will I purchase your commission. Not because I fear anything you might inadvertently do to my reputation,' he pointed out, ‘but because this past week has taught me that every man deserves a chance to find out what he's made of.'

Hugo whooped with glee, darted forward and kissed Prudence's cheek.

‘What was that for?' She tried to clap her hand to the spot where Hugo had kissed her, but he grabbed it and pumped it up and down.

‘To thank you for agreeing to marry him. For putting him in such a mellow mood. Welcome to the family, Miss Carstairs,' he said, and then, with another whoop of delight, went haring off back across the lawn in the direction of the stables.

‘You don't think badly of me?' he said, after they'd walked a little further across the dew-spangled lawn. ‘For agreeing to purchase him a commission? You understand why I did so?'

‘Of course.' She smiled up at him. ‘In fact I was thinking only last night that it would be the making of him.'

‘There—you see.' He smiled down at her. ‘We are of one mind already. How can our marriage fail to prosper?'

* * *

Prudence could still think of plenty of ways their marriage might fail to prosper. If, for example, she ever decided to find his dictatorial manner objectionable. For he had decided they would get married within two days at the local parish church, had set Lady Mixby to arranging their wedding breakfast, Mrs Bennet the local dressmaker to furnish her with suitable clothing, and Benderby to organise their subsequent departure for London.

All without asking her opinion once.

But since he had made it clear that he needed her at his side every moment of the day, and she had no wish to stir from that position, it was hardly worth mentioning. And anyway, did she really care where they married so long as it was soon? And wasn't a quiet country church preferable to a grand society wedding where a lot of strangers would come to gawp at her?

He was going to have to return to London and take up his responsibilities one day. The longer they put it off, the more nervous she was likely to get about taking her place at his side. Besides, Lady Mixby and the redoubtable Benderby were coming, too. Both of them were in high spirits over the prospect of overseeing her presentation, her first ball as Duchess of Halstead, and the many and varied delights of the subsequent season in London.

It wasn't that she was letting everyone ride roughshod over her. She wasn't. She was just so blissfully happy that she didn't want to do anything to spoil it. And, really, what would be the point of throwing what might amount to a tantrum because her husband was anticipating her every need before she could even voice it?

She would be wise to choose her battles carefully—not rip up at him over every little thing. Or the combination of his autocratic nature and her independent spirit would result in them spending their whole life fighting.

* * *

They had been in London for a week before she finally had no choice but to take a stand.

‘There—what did I tell you?' he murmured as yet another doyenne of society bowed to them as their carriages passed in the park. ‘Nobody has shown you anything but the greatest respect. Not even your grandfather.'

They'd gone to visit the Earl of Sterndale privately only the day before. And, just as Gregory had predicted, the old man had welcomed her with open arms.

‘You have a look of my boy,' he'd said, with the suspicion of a tear in his eye. When she'd bristled with indignation that
his boy
had died without ever having been forgiven, the old man had said, ‘Ah, yes, just that look.'

‘It must be very gratifying to be always right,' she said now to Gregory. And then, because he'd raised one eyebrow at her, she hastily added, ‘Even about your driving. You are managing
these
horses very competently.'

‘Baggage,' he responded, though at least the brow had gone down. ‘I would defy anyone to make the creature Hugo foisted on me go in a straight line.'

‘It may be less cantankerous after having that week's rest at the inn, eating its head off,' she replied, paraphrasing the landlord.

‘We will soon find out,' he replied with an evil smile. ‘I'm making Hugo a present of it.'

‘I wouldn't be a bit surprised if it doesn't make a very good sort of horse for a cavalry officer,' she said. ‘It will need very little encouragement to lash out with its hooves, or bite persons who dare to attempt to get near its master.'

‘Providing Hugo can persuade it that he
is
its master.'

They both laughed at the vision of Hugo attempting to train the horse, and harmony was restored.

‘Good afternoon, Your Grace,' said the butler of the house in Grosvenor Square of which Prudence was now mistress, when they returned later that afternoon. ‘Wrothers has informed me that the person you have been expecting from Liverpool is waiting in your study.'

From the way he'd said
‘person'
, Bispham clearly did not think much of Gregory's visitor.

She half expected Gregory to tell the butler to dismiss them, as he'd dismissed so many people since their arrival in London. Gregory's secretary appeared to do nothing but turn away people who wished to have an interview with her husband.

Instead, Gregory turned to her with an abstracted air after tossing his gloves into his hat and handing them over.

‘You will go to the morning room and take tea with Lady Mixby,' he said sternly. ‘I will deal with this.'

He then strode off, leaving her standing in the hall staring after him.

Fuming.

She was not his servant to order about.

‘Who is this person, Bishpham?' she asked as she shrugged her furs into his waiting hands.

‘I really couldn't say, Your Grace,' he replied. ‘But His Grace frequently has to have dealings with all sorts of odd people in the performance of his duties to the Crown.'

‘Yes, I suppose so...' she began. Then went rigid as she heard a voice raised in anger. A female voice. An all too recognisable female voice.

All thought of meekly going upstairs to drink tea, as she'd been told, went flying out of the window. She stormed past the butler, across the hall, through the room over which Wrothers presided, and straight through into her husband's inner sanctum.

And she saw that she had not been mistaken.

‘Aunt Charity!'

Her aunt was sitting on a hard-backed chair to one side of her husband's desk. He was standing over her, looking particularly intractable. Wrothers was standing in a corner, his arms folded across his chest.

‘I told you to let
me
deal with this,' said Gregory upon seeing her.

‘Deal with this?
Deal with this?
This is not a “this”—it is a her. I mean, it is my aunt.'

‘Oh, Prudence, Prudence... I never meant it,' her aunt wailed.

‘Didn't you?' Her heart was thudding uncomfortably high in her throat. As though she was going to be sick.

Gregory came round the table and to her side. ‘I told you to let me deal with this,' he repeated, murmuring into her ear. ‘This is likely to be an unpleasant interview.'

‘I don't understand. Where did you find her?
How
did you find her?'

‘Liverpool. And I had people search for her.'

Oh, yes, the moment Bispham had mentioned Liverpool, Gregory's relaxed demeanour had completely disappeared. He had known at that moment exactly who was waiting for him in here.

‘Liverpool? What on earth was she doing there, of all places? And why did you have people searching for her?'

‘I will explain it all later,' he said, ushering her inexorably towards the door. ‘Go and have some tea and—'

‘No. Absolutely not. I need to know what is going on. What she thought she was doing. How she could have done it.'

‘Prudence, will you just do as you are told?'

‘No. Not this time.'

He gritted his teeth. ‘And here was I, thinking you were becoming more malleable.'

‘Malleable!' She rounded on him with real anger. ‘I lost my virginity in that summer house—not my mind. The only reason I haven't objected to you giving me orders since then is because you haven't asked me to do anything I didn't want to.'

‘And there was I also thinking I had turned my tigress into a purring kitten with my prowess in bed,' he said ruefully.

‘Well, you thought wrong.'

‘Clearly,' he said. And then tipped his head to one side. He nodded. ‘Very well,' he said. ‘You may stay.'

May
stay? She was just about to protest at his choice of words when she caught a glimmer in his eye. And a twitch to his lips.

He was trying not to laugh.

And then she recalled that he had never minded her standing up to him. Out on the road they'd gone at it like hammer and tongs on more than one occasion and he'd never held it against her. In fact she wouldn't be a bit surprised to discover that it was one of the things that had made him fall in love with her.

Lifting her chin, she flounced over to another chair and sat down on it.

Her aunt, who had been watching the murmured and yet heated interchange warily, now burst into noisy sobs.

Gregory motioned for Wrothers to leave the room. He did so, looking mightily relieved. It was Gregory himself who went to the sideboard and poured a glass of brandy. And then strode to her aunt and offered her the glass.

‘Oh, Aunt Charity doesn't drink...'

Her aunt was a Methodist. Though not, apparently, a very consistent one. For she snatched at the glass as though at a lifeline and downed half the contents in one go.

Prudence waited in vain for her to cough and splutter. She simply gave a little shiver, then downed the rest like a seasoned toper.

When Prudence looked to Gregory he gave a wry smile, then made a gesture towards Aunt Charity as though to indicate that the lady was all hers.

She could ask whatever questions she liked. Though all she could think for a moment was,
How could you?

‘Perhaps you would like to begin with ascertaining what your aunt was doing in Liverpool?' Gregory suggested.

‘You know very well what we were doing in Liverpool,' said Aunt Charity crossly. ‘We were fleeing the country. It was all Mr Murgatroyd's idea,' she said, turning the empty glass round and round between stiff fingers. ‘He said it was the only way to escape the gossip. To start a new life in the New World. He made it sound so...' She shook her head and shut her eyes briefly in what looked like a spasm of pain.

‘He had lost all the money in Prudence's trust, I take it?'

Aunt Charity's shoulders slumped. ‘He said he was going to triple it. That we would be so wealthy nobody would think it odd for us to leave Stoketown and set up in a nice, fashionable resort somewhere.'

‘Why should you want to leave Stoketown?' asked Prudence.

Aunt Charity had been such a committed member of her congregation. So active in all the good works performed in the community.

‘Because I couldn't ever hold my head up there. Not after Alfred.'

Alfred?
Gregory mouthed at Prudence.