The Dastardly Duke (26 page)

His heart thundering in his chest, Julian jumped to his feet. And hoped Hannah would forgive him for interrupting her sleep.

Chapter
Twenty-
Four

An inner power flowed through her hands to the keyboard. She was at one with Beethoven in this, one of his most introspective and noble works. The sonata’s grandiose, contrapuntal allegro advanced to breathtaking dimensions. Then came the scherzo, with its brusque contrasts, and the long adagio, its somber melancholy interposed with moments of brightness and calm. Then the fugue. Fugues within fugues. And filially, Beethoven crashed the piece to a halt.

I
n her dream, Hannah heard every note. Her hands no longer depressed the keys in pantomime, but drew forth every grand theme Beethoven had written for this majestic key of B flat major.

His passion, his melancholy, his triumph were hers, and when the piece ended, Hannah’s joy went on and on. She would always hear the music in that part of her that was beyond speech, beyond hearing. Perhaps it was time she accepted the music within—and the deafness without
.

Gradually, Hannah became aware that someone was shaking her arm. She frowned. She was so tired. It had been such a busy day, and her night of sleep had only just begun. Burrowing deeper into the covers, she tried to shut out the distraction.

But the shaking grew more persistent, and she grabbed for her pillow, trying to cling to the last vestiges of sleep. “Go away,” she murmured grumpily.

In answer, a pair of strong hands ripped the pillow from under her head and pulled her abruptly to a sitting position. Hannah’s eyes shot open, flashing angrily.

“What in heaven’s name...?” Her voice trailed off as she saw Julian, his face illuminated by the light of a single candle. Fear, joy, determination filled his gaze, along with something else that jerked her heart to a halt.

“Are you fully awake?” he demanded.

Hannah rubbed her eyes. “Julian, what is it?”

“I want to make certain you are awake. I have never said this before.” He put his hands on her shoulders. To her amazement, he was trembling.

She regarded him intently. “Whatever you have to say, be assured that you have my complete attention.”

“I love you.”

Hannah knew she could not have understood him correctly. “I did
not ...
”
Her voice trailed off. This brooding, cynical man was suddenly looking at her with all of the shy eagerness of a puppy, so perhaps she had. “Did—did you say love?
”
she stammered.

“Yes. And I want to shout it to the skies.” He pulled her into his arms. His lips moved against her skin, and Hannah felt his warm breath on her ear. Gently, she pushed him away.

“You must look at me when you speak,” she pleaded, suddenly shy herself. “I want to understand why, why you—” She broke off, not daring to say the words.

“Why I suddenly realized that I love you, when the truth has been staring me in the face for who knows how long?” Julian
grinned.

His wild exuberance caused the tender kernel of joy that had taken root inside her that long-ago night in his study to hope that it would be nourished at last.

“I have been so blind,” he said, caressing her cheek.

For a long moment their gazes held. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “I am not a bastard, Hannah. My aunt has the marriage papers. I discovered the truth in one of her letters.

Hannah threw her arms around him. “That is wonderful, Julian. But your background never mattered to me.”

“I know that now.” He cocked his head. “The strange thing is, somewhere between our wedding and the aftermath of Itard’s visit, it stopped mattering to me, too. You are all that I care about, Hannah.”

She could only stare at him in wonder.

“Somehow I have managed to forgive the past. And to forgive myself for letting my father nearly destroy me.” He studied her intently. “It is the same for you, is it not?”

“I think I understand,” she said slowly. “I suppose I have finally forgiven myself for being deaf. I was afraid it would ruin things for us, but—”

“Never,” he swore fiercely. “I love everything about you. Hannah, including the fact that your deafness forces me to face those lovely eyes of yours every time we speak. You brook no compromise, Hannah. You demand the truth. Now I demand it from you.”

The loving power in that boundless gaze caused the little kernel inside her to throw joyous shoots heavenward. “I love you, Julian,” she confessed, “so very much.”

With a great whoop, he caught her to him. “Now
that
I shall certainly shout to the heavens,” he declared. Before she could catch her breath, he carried her to the window,
flung
it open, and hurled the words into the
ni
ght
.

Years lifted from his face. Pure joy erased the harsh lines of cynicism. Eyes that had held deep pools of despair now reflected the glowing fires of love.

Looking up at that boldly planed face and the shock of unruly hair that would not be tamed, Hannah held her breath.

Life burned within him. H
e had never looked more vibrant—
like a fierce god
w
aking from an endless sleep. It was as if she were witnessing a rebirth.

Again and again he shouted their love to the heavens, holding her up so the stars could witness his victory and hear his symphony of joy.

The music soared within her, too. The breathtaking allegro, the turbulent fugues, the song of the lark, the cry of the wind—all of them swelled within her. In Julian’s pure, keening joy, she heard them anew.

Laughter bubbled up from deep inside, where that burgeoning kernel thrived and always would. Tears of happiness rolled down her cheeks. Overwhelmed, Hannah buried her face in his arms. Unable to speak, she simply shook her head and closed her eyes.

That was when he turned to the heavens and trumpeted his love once more.

And, to her boundless wonder, she heard every word.

“
I am glad that Hannah is recovering nicely,” Lady Huffington declared as the carriage lumbered over a particularly large bump in the road. “I could never have left Claridge House otherwise.”

“No,” Higgins agreed tersely. He sat across from her, having spent most of the journey staring silently out the window. There was an odd tenseness about him.

She shot him a sidelong glance. “I do wish you would think about your decision, Higgins. I—I will miss you.
”

“I have thought about it.”

“Oh?” she asked hopefully.

“I must leave your employ.”

Her face fell. “Then I suppose that is that.” She glanced out
the
window. “It is wonderful to see the dear Yorkshire moors again,” she said in a dull voice.

Higgins allowed his gaze to flick over the passing scenery. “I rather imagine”—he spoke carefully—“that you will enjoy the Scottish moors just as well.”

Lady Huffington frowned. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Scotland, madam,” he replied quietly.

“
Scotland?
But Huffington Manor is but a few miles away. I have no plans to go to Scotland.”

“Nevertheless, we should be there shortly, despite the fact that this infernal coach has the speed of a turtle.”

Lady Huffington put her lorgnette up to her nose and regarded the man who had been in her employ for so many years. “Higgins, have you lost your mind?”

“Not at all.” He paused. “I am abducting you, madam.”

The countess’ mouth fell open.
“Abducting
me? You
have
lost your wits!”

Higgins sighed.
“I
suppose that comes of seeing so
man
y
happy lovers recently united in marriage.”

Speechless, she could not reply.

His gaze was unreadable. “Once, you said that deep friendship can be a strong foundation for love. I wonder, madam: do you still believe that?”

She blinked. “I
suppose
...
at least with Charles and Lucy that is how it happened. With Hannah and Julian, it was a bit more complicated.”

“Lust.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Higgins allowed his gaze to drift over the feather that swept from her turban. Then his steady brown eyes bored into hers. “We decided that theirs was a case of lust providing the initial attraction. Followed by love.”

The countess tilted her head consideringly.

“What would it take?” he asked softly.

She eyed him blankly.

“What would it take,” he repeated, “for a woman to allow herself to return a man’s regard, even though the liaison may seem inappropriate? I asked you that once. Do you recall what you said?”

“Yes.” Lady Huffington lowered her lashes. “Something
..
.
outlandish.”

“
Outlandish,” he repeated, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

Slowly, a pink glow suffused her features. “We also decided that sometimes in life one must take chances,” she ventured.
“Is ...
is that what this is, Higgins? A chance?”

Something warm and electric radiated from his gaze. “An
outlandish
chance, madam,” he confessed.

A look of shy wonder crept into her gaze. “I fear I have been extremely slow-witted, Higgins.
Higgins
?”
Her eyes grew wide as he crossed the space between their seats.

“
And I, madam, have loved you for so long.”

Lady Huffington expelled a great breath. “Then
I ...
I was the woman you loved who—”

“Was wed to another,” he confirmed.

“Why did you not speak up after Leon died?”

“You were so far above me that I dared not—”

“Your father was a member of Parliament,” the countess interjected huffily. “I dare anyone to say a word against you.
Why I recall—”

Higgins grinned, an event so rare that it halted Lady Huffington mid-sentence. When he reached for her hand, she blinked
shyly.

“I confess I have
wondered...
even hoped,” she said hesitantly, “but it seemed
so...”
Her voice trailed off as he brought her fingertips to his lips.

“Outlandish?” he queried with a mischievous arch of his brow.

“Oh, Higgins,” she murmured, blushing furiously, “I declare, you have such a
rakish
mind.” She did not look at all displeased.

Settling back against the squabs, Higgins tucked her hand under his arm. “I confess I am vastly looking forward to seeing Scotland—Eleanor.”

“Oh, Higgins,” she said, sighing happily.

And with that, the ancient traveling coach lumbered down the road toward Gretna Green.