The Wicked Duke (30 page)

Lance tucked the paper into his coat. “I will think long and hard, I promise you.”

J
ohn Potter, lean and wiry and thirty years of age, stood to speak for himself. The magistrates settled back to hear his story.

“She is a shrew,” he said. “No man should have to live with such a woman. If you had to, you would a sold yourself into slavery to escape her.”

One magistrate leaned forward. “Mr. Potter, did you or did you not try to sell your wife in the market last week, rather than yourself? That is the only question you need to answer.”

“I was just explaining that I had good cause. I was defending myself. If she drinks a bit she starts yelling and cursing and—and—and taking the Lord's name in vain.” He brightened, as a new thought illuminated him. “She
was sure to get my soul damned. A man has a right to save his soul, doesn't he?”

“Not by trying to sell his wife for five shillings. We do not do that here in England.”

“I heard of it. It is done. I heard of a blacksmith up on Yorkshire who done it. Everyone knows it can be done,” Potter protested.

“That blacksmith should have been brought before magistrates, too, then. So, you did try to sell her, correct?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

It went on like that for several more minutes. Fortunately for Mr. Potter, he had not succeeded in selling his wife. Perhaps out of sympathy for what he faced when he went home, the magistrates fined him only one shilling and sent him away.

Marianne hurried outside and scribbled with her pencil on the paper she had brought. This was just the kind of humorous proceeding that the
Times
's purchasers liked to read about. Elijah Tewkberry had enough to finish his letter now. She would take care of that as soon as she returned home. The beginning of the letter waited on her writing table in the sitting room there.

She stopped at the grocer to buy a few provisions, before aiming to the edge of the village. Friends waved and greeted her as she passed. No one asked about her reasons for taking residence here again. All of those questions had already come her way, many times over.

The story she had given, that she visited to close up the house, would serve for now. When Aylesbury found
his way out of their marriage, she would simply admit the truth to everyone, that the duke had obtained an annulment. She did not think any of the folk here would find it at all odd, especially if sometimes men sold their wives in the marketplace. What they did find odd was that the duke had married her in the first place.

Didn't everyone?

Aylesbury. She tried not to think about him. She had taken up her correspondence again to occupy her days and her mind, so she might not mourn too much. It helped a little. At night, however, she grieved badly. Her heart just kept breaking.

He had written her two letters. One came three days after she arrived here.
Come back.
That was all it said. She had responded more fully, telling him he would realize she was right, and that she was sorry if her action had wounded his pride.

The other came a few days later. Almost as terse, he wrote he was going up to London.
Come with me.
She had not responded to that letter yet.

She pictured him in London, enjoying that life he was born to lead. She wondered what story he had concocted about her absence. Not for his family. He probably told them the truth. He would have to tell Ives at least, so Ives could begin finding the best way out. She wondered if all of them secretly were glad she had taken this decision. She suspected his brothers might be, since they knew most of the story behind the marriage.

She tried hard to put all of those thoughts out of her
head. That was her eternal struggle, but she managed now by composing the rest of her letter in her head as she walked to her home on the outskirts of the village.

She entered the cottage deep in thought on the matter. Her cloak was off and her bonnet untied before she realized something was wrong. Altered. A shiver danced up her spine. She was not alone in the house.

The sitting room was empty. She heard some sounds, however. Subtle movements. She grabbed a poker propped near the fireplace. As if drawn by a magnet, she walked softly toward the kitchen in the rear of the building. Grasping the poker like a sword, she entered.

A glorious, wonderful rush of emotion swept her. She would pay for this, oh she would pay, but she could not resist surrendering to the happiness.

Aylesbury sat at the kitchen worktable. He had helped himself to some cheese and bread. He glanced over, then back to the cheese that he cut. “I don't know why you bothered with a weapon when you are so good with your fists, Marianne.” He gestured to another chair. “Join me. I can cut cheese for two as well as one.”

She set down the poker. “You are lucky I did not swing it as soon as I saw my intruder.”

“You are lucky I did not throw you on the divan and take you as soon as you walked in the door.”

She accepted some cheese and munched. He looked very dashing, although he had started that beard again. Stubble shaded his face. She thought it made him look like a pirate or highwayman.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“I came to bring you home.”

“This is my home now.”

“Actually, it is my home. It was given to you by Radley, at your request, as part of the wedding settlement, but as your husband I have the use of it while we are married.”

“Which, if you have any sense, and if Ives is half as good as you say, will not be for long.”

He folded his arms over his chest. His gaze pierced her. “I should have followed my inclinations and just thrown you on that divan and settled this the easiest way.”

“You do not even need me for that. You managed well enough before you had a wife.”

“I may not need you for that, but I want you for that. Now, we will stay here tonight, and hire a carriage to start back in the morning.”

Her heart yearned to agree. Seeing him had her close to tears. “Why?”

“Because you are my wife.”

She shook her head. “Due to the worst reasons.”

“You were as much used as I was by your uncle's scheme.”

“I was made a duchess. You were made the victim.” She had to smile at his stern expression. “Why?”

He unfolded his arms. He rested them on the table. Discomfort poured off him. “It will be awkward to attend the coronation without you. You need to start preparing for that too. I have heard that the best dressmakers are already being given commissions. If you do not act fast, you will be left with the dregs.”

She shook her head. “Why?”

He rose and strode to the window, looked out, then turned abruptly. “You owe me an heir, that is why. A husband has rights and a wife has duties and—”

“Did Ives tell you to say that? If so, better if you had sought advice from Gareth.”

“Hell, isn't that the truth,” he muttered.

He returned to his chair.

“Why?” she asked, as earnestly as she knew how.

He groaned with exasperation. “You and your infernal whys.”

“I want to know if there is a good answer besides your passing pride.”

“Of course there is. I don't ride for hours without a good reason.”

“Actually, sometimes you do. However, I would be honored if you would share the good reason with me, because I cannot think of one that you could have.”

He appeared a man undergoing an inner struggle. A torture. He reached across the table and grasped her hand. “Here is the thing. I miss you. Badly. And do not ask why again. I will tell you. Just . . . give me a moment.”

She waited, savoring the hand in hers, memorizing its strength and warmth. God help her, how she loved him.

“I miss your company,” he said. “And your smile. Definitely your smile . . .” He pondered some more.

“You are very green at doing this, aren't you?”

“Hell, yes. Oh, and I miss your naked body against mine. Under mine. Above mine. Begging for mine.”

He said
that
easily enough. No struggle on that
why
.
Perhaps that was the only reason he was here, although surely he knew where to find better.

She did not, however.

Would it be enough to make a marriage livable? A marriage begun in such deception, and for reasons that could soon breed resentment? She did not think so. Yet he was here now, wanting her, and she did not have the fortitude to deny her heart.

She stood with his hand still on hers. “Come with me.”

He followed her up the stairs. The cottage had no luxury. No dressing rooms or expensive drapes. A prosperous farmer might live in such a house, with his wife and children and maybe one servant to cook and clean.

She brought him to her bedchamber with its white coverlet and pillows. They undressed each other between kisses. First sweet and tentative, those kisses reached back to the recent past of their wedding night, when he tried to take care with her innocence so he did not shock her.

That did not last long. With each physical contact, her arousal grew. By the time the last of their garments fell to the floor, it stormed in her. Their embraces and caresses turned fevered and impatient. They fell onto the bed, entwined and grasping for more.

He tried to make it lovely and slow. He was not a soft man, however, and all his restraint could not make him one. Nor did she want that. She pulled him to her and held him close. “Now,” she whispered. “Now.”

Arms extended, shoulders high, he entered her slowly. So slowly that her breath caught because the feel of him
awed her. For a long time, as he withdrew and entered, her love luxuriated in the most poignant pleasure.

His need strained against its bonds, then broke free. She did not mind. She wanted this part as well, this man revealing his desire and commanding hers too.

They joined in their releases. His exploded violently. Hers did not. Rather than a wave, it broke in strong ripples that went on and on, carrying pleasure and love through every part of her.

*   *   *

T
he late sunlight streamed in the window. It washed over Marianne's body.

She rested in his arms, spent and breathing hard. He pulled her closer and inhaled the scent of her.

This was right. How it should be. Surely she had to see that.

His nose pressed her head, with his mouth close to her ear. “You must come home with me. Merrywood, London, here—wherever you prefer. But with me.”

Her fingertips stroked his arm absently. She did not respond.

“You keep asking why, pretty flower. This is why.” He moved his hand until it covered and held her breast. “And this is why.” He kissed her shoulder. “But the biggest reason is because you are mine, and I am yours, and because of what we know and share right now, in the peace afterward.”

She turned her head and looked at him. Her eyes filmed. “It would have been easier, I think, all of it, including the
years ahead, if I had not come to love you, Aylesbury. Can you understand that? There is a special pain in a marriage like ours if one person loves.”

He kissed away a tear on her temple. “Call me Lance, please. There is no duke, and no title, when you declare your love, Marianne.”

She managed a crooked smile. “Lance, then.”

“I do understand, I think. However, there can be perfect happiness if
both
of them love.” He kissed her, and discovered it would not be hard to say now. Not at all. “You illuminate my life, pretty flower. You have stolen my heart. You must come back, so we can love each other all our lives.”

She wiped her eyes. “Yes, I must.” She embraced his neck and pulled him close. “Yes.” She gave a surprised, joyful laugh. “Yes.”

He held her in that perfection for a long time. Finally, as twilight claimed the day, he thought of one final thing he needed to say. “Marianne.”

“Yes?”

“Mr. Tewkberry must stop writing his letters. The one now on your writing table should be his last.”

M
arianne worried about her party more than she needed to. By the designated day she had worn out her welcome in the kitchen, and the housekeeper responded to her calls with strained forbearance.

She could not help herself. This might only be a small party for family, but it served as her debut as hostess. Nor would it be a commonplace party. Rather it served as a celebration, welcome, and farewell all at one time. To make it even more important, Nora had agreed to come, and Lance had insisted that Vincent, who was visiting town for a few days, be invited too.

The last month had passed quickly and quietly, an idyll of love and intimacy. They had been just Lance and Marianne, together. That would end soon. Duties called.
Starting soon, they would have to be duke and duchess on the world stage.

She waited for her guests in the drawing room, wearing the newest of her duchess dresses, one designed for such a dinner party, and sewn of an unusual color silk close to that of new copper. A necklace worked in gold with a single large topaz pendant set off the color. It had been a gift from Lance, a surprise last night buried deep in the bedclothes.

Nora and Mama arrived first. Nora had improved much the last few weeks. Marianne had doubted she would ever witness her cousin joining a dinner party. Yet here she was, looking ethereal in the palest green dress and her fair hair swept up and curled. She looked older this way, and no longer a frightened child.

Mama grabbed Marianne's hand and pulled her to a divan. “I must tell you before the others arrive.”

“She has a beau,” Nora said.

“Nora! It was for me to reveal it, not you.”

Nora ignored her. “A man has been calling. A Mr. Stafford. He is the brother of someone important. I suppose that makes him important too.”

“He is the cousin of a viscount, not just someone important,” Mama said. “He has been very attentive, daughter. I think perhaps—well, we will see.”

“We will indeed.” Marianne was glad to see her marriage benefit her mother. Between that and Uncle Radley's glee at being received on a regular basis by Lady Barnell, the connection to Aylesbury was bearing the fruit hoped for by any smart family.

“That is a lovely dress, Mama. Is it new?”

“Thank you. Yes, it is.”

“It looks very expensive.”

“It is.”

“I trust that you continue to help Uncle Horace spend Papa's inheritance, and send the bills to him.”

“Of course. We all have our duties, and right now milking Sir Horace for all he is worth is mine.”

“If she marries him, I will be stuck alone with Papa,” Nora said, forcing the conversation back to Mama's beau. “I will just go live in the garden then. I will make him build me a little house out there. Then we might never have to see each other.”

“If that happens, you will come live with me,” Marianne said. “I have already spoken to Aylesbury about it.”

That lightened Nora's mood. She turned her attention to the appointments in the drawing room.

Aylesbury's family arrived. Eva carried her enormous pregnancy as well as could be expected. Gareth insisted on plumping some pillows to prop her up. Padua, stunning in a dress the color of celadon pottery, laughed at something Ives said as they passed through the doorway.

Aylesbury followed them in. “Are your plans set for next week?” he asked Ives.

“Tickets bought and berths secured. We will sail into Genoa, and proceed from there.”

Aylesbury cast a glance at Padua's torso. “Would it not be wiser to put this off until after that child is here?”

Ives laughed. “That would put it off a long while, Lance. We have only just learned of the blessing.”

“Special care should be taken.”

“You just do not want him to go,” Padua said. “Why not admit it? You know the physicians in Italy are equal to any here, should such be needed.” She took a few steps and kissed Lance on the cheek. “I promise to take good care of him, and let him come back. It will not be forever. Besides, Marianne has a glow about her that suggests you may have your own announcement soon.”

Mama overheard that. She turned wide, questioning eyes on Marianne.

“It appears so,” Marianne whispered. “I will know for certain soon.”

“While he is overcome with joy at the news, be sure to ask for more jewels,” Mama whispered back.

A squeal interrupted any further advice on the matter. Nora jumped up, ran, and threw her arms around a tall blond man who had just been brought to the doorway.

Tall, handsome, and dressed in his naval uniform, Vincent's gaze took in the company. Nora danced around him with happiness. Marianne rose to make introductions.

Did she imagine that Lance examined him most closely while welcoming him to the group? Was that a glint of jealousy in those dark eyes? She led the way down to dinner, rather liking the idea that it was.

*   *   *

A
fter dinner, Ives and Gareth retreated from the dining room after a half hour of port and conversation. Lance asked Vincent to stay.

He inquired after Vincent's commission and ship, and the plans for the next voyage. He poured more wine, and took the man's measure. Vincent answered with enthusiasm. His apparent love for the naval service added its own high notes, but Lance recognized a man hoping a duke's interest would open possibilities in his career.

“Your sister is much improved,” Lance finally said. “Marianne has great hope that will continue, and that Nora will return to her former self.”

Vincent's interests switched from himself to Nora. “I can never thank Marianne enough. I could not be here, and without her . . .” He drank more wine.

“She has a friend. A gardener. I saw them together when we visited Marianne's mother last week.”

“A gardener? That is good. She needs friends.”

“To live a full life, she may also need a good man. One who understands her, and who asks for no more than she can give. I have asked and he may be such a man. I am not sure he is just a friend either. I think I witnessed a stolen kiss in the conservatory. Of course, with the glass so distorting—” He shrugged. “Would you object if she formed a tendre for this gardener? As her brother, you have some say.”

Vincent frowned over the question. Lance did not blame him. Nora had not been born to marry a laborer.

Then Vincent laughed tightly, to himself mostly. He looked Lance in the eyes. “It is hypocritical of me to be particular, when my first tendre was for a gardener.”

In the silence that followed, Vincent looked for a reaction. Lance gave him none. He cared not what preferences
men had. Vincent would not be the first officer with these, not by far.

“Does Marianne know?”

“I doubt she is even aware of such—she does not know. I wanted to tell her, long ago and many times since.”

“I expect so. Now, as to your sister, and her gardener, if affections develop, I will bring the man to Merrywood, and ensure she has a secure future. I will back him in whatever he chooses to do in life. You are not to worry about her.”

“I thank you for that.” Vincent glanced at the door. “Are they not missing us?”

“Probably. However, I have something for you, before we join them.” Lance reached in his coat and removed a paper. He set it in front of Vincent. “The valet removed that from the bottle, and kept it. You are fortunate that he also removed and destroyed the bottle.”

Vincent looked at that paper a long while. Then he picked it up, and held it to a candle's flame. It began burning.

“If he had left the bottle, nothing would have been found. I have traveled far and wide, Your Grace. There are cultures with medicines and herbs we never see here. There are shamans who concoct all kinds of potions unknown to our chemists.”

Expression firm, and not the least contrite, Vincent dropped the burning remnants of the paper into his glass.

“She told me she had been raped, when I visited her in Wiltshire soon after her illness. She could hardly speak of it, and barely understood it herself, but she managed
enough to damn him. I knew your brother, you see. Knew him too well. Better than I ever knew you or Lord Ywain. I would visit my mother when on school holidays, and later. I saw him with his friends, and knew what was in him. He guessed what was in me too.”

“Did you confront him?”

“As soon as I could ride to Gloucestershire, I found him and called him out. He laughed. Then he described how he would break me, ruin me, if I breathed one word of my accusation. I knew he could do it. So I began to make other plans.” He gestured to the ashes in his glass. “If you read the note, you saw how contrite I was. He had interfered with a promotion last year, just to make sure I had not forgotten his power. I groveled in that note, begging his forgiveness so he would cease to act against me, saying I would speak no more of the matter that estranged us. I offered the wine as a gift of appeasement. I chose one of rare quality. I convinced the château to add this other label with my letter, so he would not want to drink it in company unless it was that of his accomplices. I imagined him opening that bottle, and toasting to my humiliation.”

“It was a long plot you hatched.”

“One has time to think on the details while out at sea. I could not touch him any other way, Your Grace. Not through the law. Not even through gossip. He was your brother, so I do not expect you to understand or forgive, but I did my duty as I saw it.”

“Do you know who those accomplices were?”

“I regret I do not. Perhaps, with time, my sister will remember.”

Lance knew he should feel worse about this than he did. Angry. Even vengeful. Blood was supposed to be thick, as Mr. Payne said. Only, when he looked at Vincent, what he really saw was Nora's dead stare during that first carriage ride.

“There is no proof. More importantly, my wife holds you dear,” he said, standing. “Let us join the others.”

*   *   *

M
arianne watched Lance and Vincent enter the drawing room. They had spent a good amount of time alone together. They appeared friendly as they came and joined with the company.

She made her way over to Lance. “Do you like him?” She nodded her head to where Vincent chatted with Eva.

“Very much.”

“I am so glad. I hoped you might become friends.”

“I do not know about friends. After all, he is competition, and I find myself jealous where you are concerned.”

“You know you have no competition, and never will, Lance. With all the love in my heart for you, there is no room for even the slightest flirtation with another man.”

“That is good to hear, darling. I will hold you to that, forever.”

“Besides, he probably has broken hearts all over the globe.”

“Undoubtedly.”

She stayed close, so she felt his warmth. She looked out over her company. “I think it has gone well, don't you?”

“Magnificently, although yesterday the butler petitioned me for mercy and deliverance from your rule. You will be a grand hostess, at many more parties.”

“None so important as this one. Look, they are all here. Every person who is important to me, together, in one place. My family.”

He kissed her cheek. “Important to both of us, Marianne. But come with me now.”

They slipped out of the chamber. Taking her hand, he led her up the stairs.

“I do not think hostesses retire before their guests leave,” she said. “I am sure it is not done.”

“Family will not mind. Nor are we retiring. We will return before too long.”

To her surprise, he did not lead her to her chambers, or even to his. Instead he went to the door down from hers, the one that led to the duke's apartment.

She had spent the last weeks emptying these chambers of everything. Even the walls had been stripped. Nothing of Percy, or any prior duke, survived. Then she had sought the aid of an architect in rebuilding and redecorating. It had only been finished three days ago.

Aylesbury walked around, surveying the results.

She followed him, until he ended his tour in the bedchamber. “Do you like it?” she asked. “Do you think you might use it all one day?”

He looked this way and that, nodding. “I believe I will. Your taste suits me. I like the gothic touches.”

“I am so glad. You were no help at all, and I thought I would do it all wrong.”

“I do not think you will ever do anything all wrong, darling.” He pushed on the bed's mattress, testing it. He glanced back at her. “Actually, I think I will begin using the chambers immediately.”

“Now you are being naughty. It can wait a few hours.” She looked down at her dinner dress, then gestured to it to remind him of the poor timing of his whim.

He pulled her into his arms. “If I ever stop being naughty, I hope you have someone shoot me.” He kissed her deeply, and caressed her the ways he knew would leave her helpless soon.