The Dangerous Duke (20 page)

“You say it was entirely Penelope’s idea?” Devlin stammered. Although he had suspected as much, it was still a shock hearing that his suspicions were, in fact, the truth.

“Yes! But don’t blame her completely. I am also responsible. Once I had met Miss Preston, you can understand how my motives changed and how I wanted to win her for myself, not discredit her for Penelope’s advancement. Nevertheless, it remains that I wished to continue with the courtship. If I had refused, perhaps we would not be in this difficulty.”

“But Penelope was prepared for you to ruin this woman? To go as far as seduction?” Devlin murmured, with his thoughts once more in complete turmoil. This information changed everything.

Sir Marcus reddened slightly. “I can’t deny my reputation as a dissolute scoundrel, Deverell, and I don’t know if you will understand when I say this, but Miss Preston is not the kind of woman one with whom one dallies.”

“I do understand, more than you can imagine.” Devlin’s response was almost mechanical. He was stunned at the revelation. Fenella did not love Sir Marcus. He could hear Sir Marcus’ voice, but was not listening to the words. His own thoughts consumed him.

“No, she does not love me, she loves you. Deverell, did you hear me?”

Devlin jerked out of his reverie. “What did you say?”

“It’s you she loves, that’s why you’d better get back to her as soon as you can and explain matters.”

Devlin rose, almost in a daze. His worst enemy had done him the greatest favour; he had told Devlin what he longed to hear.

“You must sever this tie with Penelope,” Sir Marcus urged.

“I cannot.” Devlin sat down again with a heavy sigh. “You know it’s impossible. She’ll never release me.”

“No.” Sir Marcus shook his head. “Not possible by social means, but the threat of exposure will be too much for her. You must say you will make this news public; even go so far as to suggest placing an advertisement; anything to frighten her into ending the engagement.”

Devlin gazed at Sir Marcus, whose eyes met his in a steady stare.

“I have to ask you …the night before the ball, when I found you outside your bedroom.” Devlin coughed in embarrassment.

“Yes?” Sir Marcus was puzzled. “I was trying to get in and I thought my damn fool of a valet had locked the door.”

“So Miss Preston was not expecting you to join her?”

Sir Marcus roared with laughter and then winced with pain. “No, by God. I was quite alone, well not quite, if you count the brandy decanter. And set your mind at rest; when I offered Miss Preston my heart at the ball she sweetly, charmingly but firmly refused it.”

Devlin stood up. He shook Sir Marcus by his good hand. “You have been my enemy and yet you have done me a favour. How can I repay you?”

“Acknowledge me.” Sir Marcus’ gaze was steady. “We will not move in the same circles; we will not be friends in the way of friendship; but acknowledge me and take away this sword of Damocles you have over my head. You have my word it will never happen again.”

“It is forgotten.”

“My thanks. Now you had best be on your way.”

Devlin strode out the inn, and rode back to Deverell House with fiery determination speeding him onward.

Devlin arrived back at Deverell House in a foul temper. After flinging Lucifer’s reins into the hands of a gawping stable hand, he strode into the house. Blenkins, as impassive as ever, received his master’s hat and whip and awaited further instruction.

“Where is Lady Vane?” Devlin demanded.

A flicker of dislike crossed Blenkins’ wooden expression. “I believe her ladyship is in the fountain courtyard, Sir.”

“See that we are not disturbed.” Devlin strode toward the courtyard.

Blenkins scuttled off to share his opinion of the impending tempest with Mrs. Perkins, who was lecturing several parlour maids on the poor state of the dusting. As a result, it was a small but anxious gathering clustered on the second storey, overlooking the charming fountain courtyard. The courtyard in question was delightfully situated within a square formed by the various wings of the house. Surrounded on three sides by the house, but with the fourth side opening up onto a splendid vista of garden greenery, the courtyard boasted a large, beautiful fountain with Greek statues in the shape of Nereids, a dominant Poseidon, and a number of mythological stone creatures as the centrepiece. Several stone benches allowed visitors to rest while admiring the fountain; a variety of miniature flowering trees and shrubs in pots completed the enjoyment. The water tinkled delightfully as the large gold and orange inhabitants of the fountain swam slowly round, peeping out from under lily pads for unsuspecting insects to alight on the water’s surface. The last of the overnight guests had departed early that morning, anxious to get back to their homes. Deverell House was still.

Lady Penelope made a lovely picture as she sat watching the fish. The clatter of Devlin’s boot heels on the flagstones interrupted her thoughts. She leaped up and turned to gaze at him, her face glowing. Devlin noted her beauty. It was impossible to ignore a woman so exquisitely attired in butter-yellow muslin, her hair caught up with gold ribbons in a simple Grecian knot and stray curls tumbling loose onto her shoulders. She ran to him with her hands outstretched, reaching for him. The magnificent Deverell ring glittered on her left hand. Devlin shouldered past her.

Lady Penelope stopped, her mouth open in disbelief.

“My love,” she gasped. “What on earth is the matter?”

“You dare to ask me what the matter is?” His tone was scathing.

“Yes.” Lady Penelope clung to her strength. “Something has distressed you and I would like to know what it is.”

Devlin raised his eyebrows. It was clear his fiancée would not shrink from this battle. He would have to play his moves carefully. He related to her exactly what Sir Marcus had told him.

“What?” shrieked Lady Penelope, affecting shock and horror. “How dare you insinuate that I put Sir Marcus up to seducing that silly little girl? What a dreadful accusation.”

“I am not surmising at all,” Devlin shouted. “I am repeating what Sir Marcus himself has told me.”

“Of course he would say such a thing!” Lady Penelope folded her arms and assumed a haughty expression. “Any fool can see that since he has been caught out, he wants to shift the blame to me.” She sank down again on the stone bench and tossed her head. “Given that you had him at the point of a sword, he probably made a false confession out of sheer cowardice.”

“No, I think not,” said Devlin, sensing a protracted battle.

Lady Penelope rose from the bench and twirled to face him. Her face was triumphant and her smile smug.

“I see your machinations, my dear Devlin,” she sneered. “I am nobody’s fool. You want to taste the charms of this fresh young country girl, perhaps to revive your jaded city palate.”

She folded her arms and looked him up and down. Her lip curled in scorn.

“Well, you may do as you please once we’re married, although I hope you will be discreet. But if you think to cheat me out of what I have worked so hard and so long to attain, you had better think again. I will never release you. Never!”

She tossed her head again and looked away. Her face was hard and cold, her mouth a thin red line of malevolence.

“Then you leave me no option,” Devlin said as calmly as he could.

Her head flew round and her gaze locked with his.

“What do you mean? You’ll never allow any adverse publicity. I know how you cherish your precious good name and the family honour. Poor Mama must not be bothered with something as ugly and nasty as a scandal.” Her tone was mocking. “She’ll never stand for it.”

“I know my mother will put my happiness first and will remain confident I have done what is best,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

Devlin saw the fear in her eyes and pressed home.

“I shall place an advertisement in the papers giving a detailed and true account of events, and with Sir Marcus’ admission of his role in this sordid saga.”

Although Devlin had no such promise from Sir Marcus, he was playing a desperate hand, hoping she would take the bait. It would all come out once Sir Marcus admitted his part. She would be disgraced, ruined. There would be no chance of a titled marriage with anyone else after that. However, a string of respectably placed names flew through his mind: she could have any of her devoted admirers in a flash, with no questions asked, just the happy suitor’s gratitude.

Lady Penelope blanched and gnawed her lower lip. Then she gave a squeal of pure rage, wrestled the Deverell heirloom ring off her finger and held it aloft.

“Very well then,” she screeched. “Take it! Damn you to Hell, Devlin Deverell!”

She threw the ring into the fishpond. It fell with a plop into the greenish water. He remained impassive, his face expressionless.

She whirled upon him again, her face contorted with evil glee. “I have something to tell you, high and mighty Duke of Wyndlesham. Whatever your plans for your little milkmaid, they will all come to naught. Not only will your pride forbid marriage with her, but also you cannot because her father was a gambler who lost all his money, and besides he is a
suicide
. Let’s see what the gossips make of that. Will you be putting
that
into your true and detailed account of what happened here?”

She shrieked the last words at him before rushing off in a flurry of skirts, screaming for the hapless Maria to begin packing at once.

Devlin bowed his head. Outwardly, he remained impassive under her verbal onslaught; inwardly he reeled. A gambler? Suicide? Her words struck him like a fatal blow. All his worst fears had come true. Not only was Fenella far beneath him socially but her father’s suicide effectively prevented any kind of liaison between them. He wondered idly why he kept thinking of marriage and Fenella at the same time. Then he knew.

With Fenella, it could only be marriage. He would never insult her by offering her
carte blanche
.

Devlin made his way to his mother’s apartments. He might as well tell her that her worst fears were over; there would be no union with Lady Vane.

“Mama,” he announced, bursting into the room. He stopped in surprise when he saw his mother had a visitor, a grey-haired, bearded man dressed as if he hailed from the Continent.

“Mama?” Devlin walked further into the room, his eyebrows contracting in a frown. It was too early for visitors and yet his mother seemed perfectly at ease with the man seated next to her on the sofa.

The Dowager stretched out her hand. “Dearest Dev, I’m so glad to see you. Please let me introduce a very special visitor. Don Diego Nunez.”

At these words, the man rose and bowed to Devlin, who returned the courtesy with the correct degree of civility. His puzzled face caused his mother to burst into peals of laughter.

“My dear,” she cried, clapping her hands, “such interesting news. This gentleman has come all the way from Spain. And why do you think?”

Devlin shook his head. He felt light-headed, possibly the effects of the duel the night before and very little sleep afterward.

“I have not the faintest idea, Mama, but please enlighten me.” He gave the visitor a small smile.

“He has come expressly from Fenella’s grandfather who is called …?” She turned to look at the visitor who helpfully supplied the name.

“Don Miguel de Carvalho.”

“Fenella’s grandfather?” Devlin repeated the words as if in a daze. “But her parents are dead.”

“That’s correct, they are no longer alive, Devlin,” said his mother sharply, “but her parents had parents, or more specifically, Fenella’s mother had parents.”

“Yes, of course they did,” said Devlin, feeling as if he had wandered into a stage theatrical and did not know his lines.

“Devlin,” sighed his mother. “You are very dull-witted today. Fenella’s grandfather is Don Miguel de Carvalho, a Spanish grandee—a kind of nobleman, I surmise—and he lives on a huge estate in …?” She looked questioningly at her visitor.

“Andalusia,” said Don Diego. He then took up the thread of the conversation. “Senhor, I come as ambassador for the noble Carvalho family. I have been with the family many, many years, both as friend and advisor. Don Miguel became estranged from his daughter, Dona Pilar, when she ran away with Colonel James Hawke. He never forgave her for leaving since it caused her mother to die of a broken heart. He also never forgave Colonel Hawke for marrying his daughter. However—” He shrugged expressively. “What else can be expected if the parents they forbid the marriage?”

Devlin snapped out of his daze. He looked closer at the gold medallion hanging around the man’s neck. It resembled the worn locket Fenella owned. He pointed to it.

“The emblem …is it the crest of the family?”

“Oh, yes!” Don Diego smiled proudly. “It is of the Carvalho dynasty, a very old family, you understand. That is why Don Miguel he is so much the proud man.”

“Why has he waited so long to look for his granddaughter?” asked Devlin, slow realization dawning in his mind. Fenella was of noble birth. All this time he had despised her, the girl came of more than respectable lineage.

Don Diego’s face fell. “I am afraid that very often pride leads to the wrong kind of actions. Don Miguel could not forgive for a long time. He heard of the death of his daughter and later of her husband. It broke his heart because he had not made peace with his daughter before her death. He did not know about the child until two years ago. He waited until he could bear to wait no longer, and then he sent me to look for her.”

He smiled at the Dowager. “It was not easy because the aunt of Dona Fenella had changed the girl’s last name, so the search went cold for a while. It is only recently, and by chance, I was able to discover the whereabouts of Dona Fenella.”

“When did you arrive?” asked Devlin.

“Very late last night,” interjected his mother. “I’m surprised you did not hear the horses.”

“I …er …” Devlin’s voice petered out.

“Never mind, ring for Blenkins and ask him to send for Fenella. What a surprise this will be for her.” She patted Don Miguel’s hand. “Such a darling girl, a ray of sunshine in our lives. She will be delighted to meet you. She has always wondered and agonized over her parentage.”

She shot a sharp glance at Devlin, who reddened with discomfort. He knew what his mother was implying.

Don Diego inclined his head. “Don Miguel will be overjoyed to be reunited with his granddaughter.”

“Reunited?” Devlin’s query came out as a croak. His throat was suddenly dry.

“Naturally,” chirruped his mother. “Fenella will be returning to Spain, of course. There’s nothing to hold her back here, is there, Devlin?”

Again, he felt his mother’s words dig sharply into him. He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts.

“Of course, she will probably take her aunt with her as a duenna and settle in Spain.” The Dowager turned to Don Diego. “Fenella will have no problems adjusting to Spanish society, Don Diego. She is fluent in several languages; she can ride and is well educated with very pretty manners. She will delight any Spanish suitors.”

At this last riposte, the Dowager trilled with happy laughter. Devlin felt insane rage rising up inside him. What Spanish suitors? Pah! Why was his mother almost encouraging her departure to Spain? Devlin felt as if the situation was slipping out of his control.

Don Diego’s face broke into a wide smile. “What wonderful news,” he cried. “Don Miguel was worried she would have no recollection of her Spanish heritage.”

“I think you have Fenella’s father to thank for that.” The Dowager’s rebuke was gentle, but pointed.

Don Diego bowed his head in perfect understanding.

The Dowager looked at Devlin. “Ring for Blenkins, my dear.”

Blenkins appeared and the Dowager asked him to call Fenella. He looked uncomfortable.

“I’m afraid Miss Fenella is not here, Your Grace.”

“Not here?” asked the Dowager. “Nonsense! Of course, she’s here. She’s probably in the garden. Send Roberts to look for her.” She waved a dismissive hand.

“Beg pardon, Your Grace.” Blenkins appeared more disconsolate than ever. “Mrs. Perkins has been informed by Molly that Miss Fenella has gone.”

The Dowager raised her eyebrows and Don Diego looked anxious.

“Gone? Where could she possibly have gone, Blenkins? Are you telling me Miss Fenella has left the house on foot and carrying her luggage?”

Blenkins was not generally given to squirming but at that precise moment, he squirmed.

“Ah, it appears that Miss Fenella had some form of transportation, Your Grace and …” His voice tailed off in surprise when the Duke leaped up as if electrified and thrust past him out of the room.

* * * *

The Dowager patted Don Diego’s hand and whispered, “Do not be alarmed, Sir. Leave this all to me. I am aware of what is happening.” She waved a letter under his nose. “She is perfectly safe and I am sure she will be back within the hour.”

Don Diego, who had formed his own opinion of the situation by observing Devlin’s reactions, nodded. “I trust you, my lady.”

“Good,” she smiled. “Now let us have tea while my son puts matters to rights as he should have done long ago.”

Don Diego hid a grin: who said the English were cold fish in matters of the heart? Here was passion enough unfolding before his very eyes.