All About the Duke (The Dukes' Club Book 4) (16 page)

“I’m glad to hear it but you’ve never been presented to my daughter, Your Grace,” the earl said tightly. “At least, not to my knowledge.”

“Indeed I have not and yet, I know her quite well.” Roth paused. There was no way to soften this. So, he forged on, “You see, she has been on my estate since her disappearance from your household.”

The earl gaped at him.

“I discovered her.” Trying to convey some lightness to what would usually be a catastrophic conversation, he smiled fondly at the recollection of his first sight of Allegra. “She was in disguise as a stable boy, you see—” 

“It’s not necessary for you to explain, Your Grace,” the earl bit out.

Unaccustomed to being interrupted, Roth cleared his throat. The earl was distressed. Clearly.

“But it is,” Roth returned calmly.

“No, it is not.” Portmund’s mouth tightened before he managed a look of sorrow. “My unfortunate daughter has ruined herself and I am sorry that she has entangled you in her illness.”

“She didn’t entangle me,” Roth corrected. “One might say I entangled her and. . .” One of the earl’s word reverberated in Nicholas’ thoughts. “Did you say
illness
?”

“Yes.” The earl gave a tight nod. “My daughter is quite ill.”

“My God. When did this happen?” When he’d last seen Alfred, she’d been the picture of health, aside from the heartbreak and betrayal in her eyes. Had she befallen some ague on her return?

“It is a long-standing illness, Your Grace, and explains why she was behaving so scandalously in your presence. She told us nothing of it. Dressing as a boy is simply symptomatic of her condition.”

A niggling sense of deep unease sent the hair on the back of Nicholas’ neck standing. He cradled his brandy snifter carefully, wondering what had befallen his Alfred since he had more or less abandoned her.

Aston’s castigation was appearing more and more warranted.

“
Condition
?” Nicholas challenged.

“It is a family matter.”

“Yet, I find I must insist,” Nicholas gritted. “Given my recent interactions with her.”

The earl turned away, his coattails swinging about his legs. “She is mad.”

Nicholas’ ears rang with the word. In fact, the ringing dared him to believe he had completely misheard Allegra’s father. “I beg your pardon. Did you say—“

“Mad,” Portmund said with surprising firmness. “Yes. I did. Ever since her sister died, she’s declined. Finally, after this recent act we’ve had to take matters seriously.”

Cold rage settled in Nicholas’ gut. Not at this arse of a man who was so cavalierly throwing his daughter aside to save his own family’s skin, but at himself. How could he have been so naive? How could he have betrayed his Alfred to the likes of this?

“And what does that entail?” Nicholas asked very quietly lest he throttle the earl.

Portmund took a deep swallow of his own brandy, his lips shining in the firelight from the moisture before he began, “Your Grace, as you know, she, a well-bred young lady, went out on her own. She purposely submitted her person to the possibility of the most vile assault by traveling the open roads without a chaperone. She ruined her position in society. She gave up her maidenhead. . . To you? To a rogue on the road?”   The older man closed his eyes and shuddered. “I do not wish to know. Please do not speak of your relationship with her if you had one. I wish to speak little of her. Only understand, she can no longer be trusted without intense care. Care which will keep her protected from herself and her wild ideas.”

Everything the earl said made terrible and horrifying sense. To many, Alfred’s actions did seem mad. She’d flung herself quite willingly out of the safety and circle of society. She’d gone alone onto country roads and stayed amidst the company of men without anyone to chaperone her. She’d desired to take a lover. She had done everything a young woman of her class should not. But mad?

Roth felt the muscle in his jaw tighten. “Surely, you cannot mean what you say.”

Portmund lowered his head in apparent sadness. “Indeed, I do, and have had a doctor in to examine her. The doctor has verified that she is, indeed, out of her wits. It shames me to admit this to you, Your Grace, and can only beg that you will speak of it to no one, but Lady Allegra is to be committed. We are currently deciding where she might best be treated, either in a private asylum or on one of our most Northern estates with private medical servants.” 

I think in all this you’ve gotten your parents confused with her parents. Not everyone has loving ones
. Aston’s words hit him again. Only this time, they weren’t a slap. They were a blow so hard Nicholas couldn’t breathe.

It had simply never occurred to Nicholas that such a fate would befall his Alfred when he had so righteously condemned her for running away. . . like a child. He'd thought her a child. He had condemned her from his place. His place as a man and duke where he could flout all society’s rules. Now, he was finally understanding that, for a woman, a single misstep could mean the declaration of madness.

How had he been such a fool? His Alfred had run away from home because she had been unable to live within the boundaries of what society had set out for her life. And no doubt, the husband that had been chosen for her, while kind, would have, indeed, killed her. If not her body, then her mind and spirit by murdering every natural thing about her.

He had played a vital role in her present circumstances and now, nothing would stop him from extracting her.

"Lord Portmund, you may not wish to hear me speak of my relationship with your daughter but I have to tell you that I did, indeed, compromise her. She came to me a virgin and I took advantage of that."

Portmund shook his head woefully. ”Your Grace, the position you were in was an impossible one. She presented herself as an unprotected female. She did not tell you who she was. In fact, as you say, she attempted to mislead you into thinking she was a boy. Of course you took advantage of her. It is the nature of all men."

Was it? He supposed for many men it was their nature. He certainly knew that unprotected women in their society were constantly fraught with perils he'd, no doubt, never even considered.

"Even so,” Roth forced himself to remain polite. “I'd like to make her my duchess."

"The gesture shows you to be a man of honor, but I cannot allow it."

Who was the mad person? Allegra? Nicholas very much doubted it. In fact, as Portmund continued, Nicholas couldn't help feeling the old bugger was half mad on the drink of righteousness himself. Or perhaps, he simply had to keep insisting his daughter was mad so he wouldn’t hate himself for tossing her away.

Portmund poured more brandy into his glass and took another long swallow. ”She cannot be trusted. Given her current state, she will almost certainly bring your ducal name great shame, Your Grace. In so doing she would bring my family even more woe.”

The earl shook his head, his wig dancing about his shoulders. “No, we mustn't risk it. She will retire to the country where she can be looked after."

Nicholas stared. He wasn't used to being told
no
. Mrs. Thackery had assured him that it was good for him. He was sure it was, on occasion, and he'd even accepted that brutal no from Allegra's lips when he'd longed to force her to his will and his proposal of marriage.

He supposed it was possible that Allegra might even refuse him still, though he didn't see how she could without risking a torturous future. But he was, at last, done with this present nonsense. He'd been told
no
one too many times.

"Portmund," he said quietly, but clearly. "Let me make myself absolutely clear. You will allow me to see your daughter tonight. You will allow me to marry her if she consents. Don't forget who I am. If you refuse me, I'll drag your family through the worst scandal in a century and don't think my name won't survive. The Roth dukedom is as old as William the Conqueror. Do I make myself clear?"

Portmund's face turned a dangerous, reddish color in the firelight. Apparently, earls were not particularly used to being countered either. "I do. And since you insist, I cannot deny you. But I will reiterate my disapproval—"

"Reiterate until you’re dead of exhaustion, but you will give your consent to the marriage. That is all that matters."

Portmund opened his mouth several times, like a landed cod fish, then did the only thing he could. He nodded.

“Good,” Nicholas growled. “Now where the Devil is Alfred?"

***

T
wo days of continued imprisonment in her room had induced a sort of panic in Allegra that she'd never known before. She’d paced the length and width now at least four thousand times. She'd stopped counting when she got to four thousand and one.   She's spent several hours staring out of the window contemplating how she might descend. Unfortunately, her room happened to be the highest in the townhouse aside from the attic rooms of the servants. The beautifully formed pavement below awaited her if she were to attempt the jump and she was aware enough of the concept of mass and force that she knew she wouldn't be getting up again from such a leap.

To add to dire matters, the nearest trees were across the road in the park. Why were there no trees beside the house? When one read novels there was always a convenient tree in which to hie down.

She had even knotted all the bedclothes together, interspersed with some frocks, but she'd quickly realized that such a plan was dubious. She wasn't convinced the knots would support her and, frankly, she was hoping to come out of her escape alive. There was also the fact that her window was at the front of the house and dangling from the linens wasn't exactly an inconspicuous means of liberation.

The servants couldn't be bribed. She’d screamed. She’d banged. For one hour yesterday. At last, her mother had given her a dose of opium. Said application had dulled her wits beyond toleration for several wasted hours. She had stopped banging and screaming. Fortuitously, her mother had been pleased enough with her submissive behavior to refrain from administering more medicine.

In fact, Allegra had given up all discourse. Even with the young footman who brought her meals.

Hope was quickly evaporating.

The door was thick and the lock was sound. She didn't know how to pick it.

From what she understood, her parents were going to keep her locked here for a very short while whilst they determined where to store her for the rest of her life.

The resounding terror at her predicament had left her unable to do anything but force herself to consume what fare they brought so she'd have the strength to escape when the opportunity presented itself and it had to. Aside from preserving her strength, her brain had tortured her endlessly with visions of her future life locked up and alone and away from Nicholas forever.

Footsteps thudded down the hall.

Allegra tensed. Finally, after hours of contemplation, she’d come to one decision.

Violence was the only option.

She slipped one of the heavy, silver candelabras about her room into her hand, blew out all the lit candles about her boudoir, and slipped up beside the door.

The lock turned and the door began to open.

She held her breath, her heartbeat crashing in her ears as, for the first time in her whole life, she readied herself to do someone bodily harm.

A figure stepped into the room and she brought the candelabra down.

Before she could strike, the figure twisted and leapt out of the way.

Said figure was surprisingly swift for its size.

She quickly realized it was not the footman or her father.

In fact, as her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room, she knew those set of broad shoulders could belong to only one man.

"Nicholas?" she gasped.

“Yes, Alfred.”

That deep, intoxicating voice caressed her like the most wonderful of caresses.

Given the horror of the last few days, her voice shook as she exclaimed, ”My God, what are you doing here?”

"Well, thank goodness to your surprisingly poor attack, I'm living."

A laugh bubbled out of her. It clamored strangely to her ears. But then the laughter continued. It shook her whole body and it quickly grew wild and stringent. Why couldn’t she stop laughing? It made no sense. Why couldn’t she stop herself?

"Shhh, shhh, Alfred." Nicholas pulled her against his chest and cradled her. He easily slipped the candelabra from her hand and let it fall to the floor. "You're safe now."

She shook her head wildly, her laughter dying as abruptly as it had started. "No. No, I'm not. My father—"

"Your Grace, I tried to explain to you she's mad," her father's voice cut in from the hall.

Nicholas kicked the door shut with his foot, silencing the man on the other side. "To think I sent you home to that bastard."

She clutched Nicholas' shirt, hardly believing he was there. She drank in his masculine scent and held on for dear life. "I'm afraid I'm dreaming. I'm afraid you'll disappear and then . . . And then. . .”

Her breath started to catch in her throat.

"Alfred, I'm not going anywhere unless you are going, too.”

She buried her face in his shirt and simply allowed herself to feel safe. There wasn’t any question about it. Now that Nicholas was here, nothing could harm her. Just his very presence calmed her, giving her back her own sense of will.

She rubbed her cheek against the fine linen along his chest then she jolted. My God, she was acting like a hysteric. “Do forgive me. I’m behaving most missishly.”

“The only person who needs forgiveness here is me,” he said, his voice a rough rumble against her hair. “Can you?”

Nicholas rubbed his big, strong hands up and down her back. “Can you forgive me?”

“Right now, as long as you get me out of this room and house, I’ll forgive you anything.” She bit down on her lower lip. Pain blossomed and she gazed up at Nicholas as she realized that she wasn’t the only one who needed saving.

“My maid. Rose,” she said frantically. “She’s been dismissed. Without a reference. She might be dead for all I know. And because she helped me.”