A Duke Never Yields (28 page)

In half an hour, the flames were out. Burke stood at the remains of what had once been the long counter, near the cabinet where Lady Morley had hidden herself all those months ago. A large black hole split the wooden surface in two, right near the window.

“It was the gas ring,” Burke said quietly. “I must have left it on.”

“Nonsense. You’d never have left it on,” said Wallingford. He glanced around the room and shook his head. Most of the space had been spared, but the corner where the flames had burst out was charred and blackened, the contents irreclaimable. He cleared his throat. “I’ll clean up the glass outside, before someone comes to grief.”

Burke said nothing. Wallingford found a broom and went outside, where Lady Morley still pumped frantically into a bucket. Her hair was loose, her dress soaked and streaked with black. “That’s it,” he called out to her, but she didn’t seem to notice, simply went on pumping.

He went to her and put his hand on her arm. “Alexandra, it’s out. You can stop now.”

She looked at him blankly. Her eyes had that glassy look of a prizefighter at the end of the bout, not quite certain who has won.

“It’s out,” he said again.

She turned to the workshop and stared at the broken window, the hole gaping in the roof. She pushed back a lock of hair and tucked it behind her ear. “Where is he?” she asked huskily.

He gave her arm a little squeeze. “Inside. I’m awfully sorry, Alexandra. We did the best we could.”

“Thank you.” She gave his hand a pat and hurried into the workshop.

Wallingford looked down at his bare chest and went to retrieve his shirt and waistcoat from the spot where Abigail had fallen. He put them on swiftly, closing his eyes at the memory: the flash of light, the crash of sound, Abigail landing in the grass. The bolt of pure terror in his heart, until she’d lifted her head and met his gaze.

He picked up the broom and walked back toward the workshop and stopped. Abigail stood there in the grass nearby, bent over, one hand braced on the pump, sick as a dog.

In an instant he was at her side.

“My God! Are you all right?” He took her by the shoulders.

“Yes, I’m quite . . . just . . .” Abigail straightened and patted herself, as if searching for a handkerchief.

His own handkerchief was long gone, of course. He tore off a strip from the bottom of his shirt instead. “Here.”

“Thank you.” She wet it from the pump and wiped her face, not looking at him.

“I’ll take that,” he said, shoving the linen in his pocket.

“I was just gathering the buckets, and . . . all that smoke and excitement, I suppose . . .”

“Abigail, I . . .”

“But I’m quite all right now. Thank goodness we found the fire in time. Was Mr. Burke able to save his machine?”

Her voice was false and bright, and her eyes lay fixed on the stone walls of the workshop, avoiding him. Wallingford’s throat ached. Had he really made love to this woman, not an hour before? Had he really held her in his arms, kissed her, laid atop her, and taken her innocence? She spoke to him as if he were an acquaintance in a ballroom.

“Yes,” he said. “We managed to roll it out back, through the carriage doors.”

“Oh, good.” She looked at the broom in his hand. “Shall I sweep up the glass, then?”

“I’ll do it. Sit and rest.”

“Oh, but I . . .”

“Abigail, you must. You must rest.” He put his hand to her cheek, and she drew away instantly.

Cleaning the glass was the work of a moment. When he finished, she was sitting on a stack of buckets, staring at her hands. “Come,” he said. “I’m taking you to your room.”

She rose. “We must say good-bye first.”

Inside, Burke and Lady Morley were standing together, embracing quietly in the darkness. “I’ve stashed the buckets and swept up the glass outside,” said Abigail. “How are things in here?”

Lady Morley disengaged from Burke. “Absolutely buggered, but we’ll manage. The automobile’s all right.”

Burke stood still, arms empty. Behind him, the cabinet was a charred ruin, the long counter all but obliterated. But the rest of the room had been largely spared, Wallingford saw. He couldn’t tell if the blackness were soot or shadow, but the furniture was intact, the machinery and tires still standing.

“Burke, old chap,” said Wallingford. “What a damned nuisance. Are you all right? Anything I can do?”

Burke made his way across the puddles and debris and held out his hand. “You’ve done more than enough, my friend. I can’t begin to thank you.”

“You know damned well there’s no such thing as thanks between us.” Wallingford grasped Burke’s hand and met his gaze. A steady gaze, a living gaze; no signs of shock, thank God.

Burke spoke up briskly. “I’ll just tidy up a bit. You head on back to the house and let the stable lads know. I shall require carts to haul off the rubble, that sort of thing.”

“Done. Lady Morley?”

She lifted her chin and smiled at him. It rather suited her. “I’ll stay and help. But I’d be much obliged if you’d see my sister safely back to the house.”

Abigail made a little snort. “I should think I’d be much safer without his help.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Wallingford took her firmly by the elbow and led her outside.

“That’s not necessary.” She drew her arm away and increased her pace.

“Abigail! You will not run away from me again!”

Abigail stopped and turned. They were standing in the trees, shaded from the moon, and Wallingford couldn’t see the expression in her face, couldn’t tell if she were angry or tired or sorrowful. He wanted to touch her, but the air around them bristled with her disinclination to be touched. “I am not running away,” she said.

“You are.”

“I’m simply going back to my room to sleep. It’s late, it’s been a trying day, and I’m eager to go to bed.”

“Very well. And I shall see you there. It is both my duty and my right.”

Her chin snapped up at that. “It’s neither your duty
nor
your right.”

“Do not pretend, my dear,” he said quietly, “as if nothing has passed between us.”

“Do not pretend,
my dear
, as if what passed between us gave you any right over me, any dominion over me.”

“By God, it does!”

“It was brief, and unpleasant, and I would prefer simply to forget it occurred at all.”

A curious ringing began to sound in Wallingford’s ears. He clenched his fists at his sides, to prevent them from closing around Abigail’s shoulders, from holding her to him as securely as she held him. “But it
did
occur, Abigail. We lay together, you and I, and it does
not
mean nothing. It means everything. It has bound me to you in honor, if not in fact.”

She folded her arms. “Has it, now? What a string of brides you must have collected by now. You might set up your own harem with them, like those marvelous Persian chaps.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t understand me. A gentleman does not take a young lady’s innocence without . . .”

She turned and began to stride up the path. “Oh, don’t recite that rubbish to me! You know I wanted a lover, not a husband. I made that clear from the beginning. You have no obligations whatsoever.”

“We might have conceived a child. Have you thought of that?”

“No doubt you have dozens of natural children running about by now. One more won’t make any difference.”

“I have none, as it happens.”

She hurried between the trees, tossing her words at him as she went. “Oh, rot. I do know my pistils from my stamens, Wallingford, and I assure you, you can’t have spread your seed about so freely without some sort of harvest, unless you’re incapable of children altogether.”

He took in a steadying breath. The air smelled of smoke, everything reeked of smoke: his clothes, his hair, his skin. What a sight he must be. No wonder she wouldn’t look at him.

“I may or may not be incapable,” he said. “That remains to be seen, I suppose. But I have not spread my seed about, as you so candidly put it. Until tonight, I have taken the greatest possible care not to do so.”

Abigail walked on steadily. “I don’t believe you. Why would you care?”

“Because.” He hesitated, then said softly, “I made a pact, long ago.”

She did not reply. The terrace wall loomed ahead; she found the steps in the moonlight and climbed them, her loose hair swinging around her shoulders and back. Wallingford followed her up, watching the curve of her backside slide beneath her dress, wanting her again with a kind of agonized soul-deep desire.

They were halfway down the first row of vines before she spoke. “With Burke, I suppose. You promised Burke, because he’s illegitimate, because he knows what it means.”

“Yes.” He wondered if she knew he’d just delivered her a piece of his soul.

Silently they climbed the terraces together, walked down the rows of vines. The grass was soft and silent beneath their feet, dampening slowly in the night air. Wallingford breathed in the lingering reek of smoke, the lazy hint of ripening fruit, and thought how much he should like to draw Abigail down into the sweet-smelling turf, to lie with her in the enchanted Italian midnight, to watch the glow of her skin as the moon crept across the sky.

The courtyard was empty and quiet, the trestle tables removed, the musicians and villagers gone home. Abigail crossed the flagstones without looking and found the door.

“Wait,” Wallingford said, and she turned with her soot-smudged fingers on the latch. “I must go to the stables and tell Giacomo what’s happened. May I walk you to your room first?”

“Of course not. If I can find my way around Tattersalls on auction day, I can find the way back to my own bed. Do excuse me.”

He tried again. “Look here, Abigail. Are you really all right? Let me . . . let me do something for you. Warm water, or . . . or perhaps tea . . .” He had no idea how to make tea, but surely it couldn’t be that difficult, if kitchen maids could manage it.

A flash of white from her eyes. “Don’t worry. You haven’t rendered me an invalid, I assure you.”

He placed his hand on the doorjamb and leaned against it. He felt as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to his innards and demolished everything inside. “Abigail, I’m sorry. I was a brute. I’d been waiting so long, I was blind with it. I
do
want to please you, if you’ll allow me another chance. If you’ll
show
me how to please you.”

“I shouldn’t
have
to show you. That was the point.”

He closed his eyes. “For God’s sake, Abigail. I’m only a man.”

Something warm and soft landed on his cheek, and he realized it was Abigail’s hand. He reached up to cover it with his own, but it was already gone.

“Yes, you
are
only a man, Your Grace,” she said. “But you see, I was hoping for so much more.”

SIXTEEN

Two weeks later

A
bigail set the jugs of goat milk on the kitchen table with a significant clatter. “We have guests,” she called out.

Morini emerged from the scullery, wiping her hands on her apron. “
Che cosa?
”

“Guests. Or
a
guest. I’m not certain which, because of the dust. Alexandra’s receiving them in the library, as soon as she’s cleaned the goat droppings from her shoes. I expect she’ll want tea.” She turned to leave.

“Wait, signorina!”

“I haven’t time, Morini.”

“Signorina, please.”

Morini’s voice floated quietly behind her. Abigail paused, with one hand on the door. “Make it quick, Morini. I really am frightfully busy.”

“Signorina, this is not true. You only make yourself busy. You are making busy, so you do not have to do the thinking.”

Abigail turned around and crossed her arms. “I don’t know what you mean. I do a great deal of thinking, very lofty thoughts indeed.”

Morini stood perfectly still next to the open window, and the warm morning breeze stirred the tiny black hairs around her temple. “Talk to me, signorina. Tell me what is happening on the midsummer night. Why you and the Signore Duca walk around with your unhappy eyes.”

“I’m surprised you need to ask, Morini. I thought you were the all-seeing, all-knowing sort of person. In any case, there’s nothing to tell. We discovered we don’t suit, as I told you we shouldn’t. It was all a great waste of limoncello.”

“Signorina, listen. I have a plan . . .”

Abigail held up her hand. “No more of your plans. No more of your wretched curses. It was all great fun, a right old romp and all that, but you see how it’s ended. Disaster hither and yon. Mr. Burke’s bolted off to his automobile exposition in Rome, without a word to poor Alexandra. Heaven only knows where Penhallow and Lilibet have scampered, but I expect it’s something to do with that beast Somerton, which means pistols at dawn at the very least. Besides, we’ve run out of time, haven’t we? Midsummer’s been and gone.”

“Is not quite gone, signorina.”

“Close enough, I daresay.”

“You are not having much hope, signorina,” Morini said.

“Really, what is there to hope for? This is what comes of meddling in the occult, or in matters of love, which is much the same thing.”

Morini shook her head. “I never think to hear these words from you, signorina. Your sister, maybe. But you are so . . . so fresh, signorina. So full of the fun. Where is this fun now?”

“Where, indeed?” Abigail muttered.

“Oh, signorina.” Morini stepped forward, skirts swishing, and put her hands on Abigail’s shoulders. The air around her was warm with the scent of baking bread, of the familiar kitchen with its banked fire and old wooden table and worn flagstones. “You are so young, you are in love. The duke, he long for you, he ride about on his great black horse, he sit in the library with the books, with his head in his hands.”

Abigail’s heart gave its usual reflexive heave at the word
duke
. The silly organ had disclosed a singular and most unnatural streak of sentimentality in the past few weeks. It
would
ache so, whenever she thought of Wallingford’s soot-streaked face in the courtyard on Midsummer’s Eve, or whenever she caught sight of him about the castle or riding down the road. She told herself the ache came only from her conscience, for she
had
been rather hard on him that night, rather cold. He hadn’t meant to disappoint her. He had simply carried on in his usual selfish ducal way, which she ought to have expected if she hadn’t been so blinded by lust and by Morini’s talk of destiny and transcendent love and that sort of rot, and how could she blame him for acting according to his nature? It was her own fault for developing such an unwarranted tenderness for the man. For having expected so much from him.