Mistaken for a Lady (23 page)

‘Your father loved you, Tristan, I am sure of it.' Lifting his hand, Francesca kissed the back of it. ‘The pity is that we shall never truly know your father's motives. We can't know everything.'

‘No.' He rubbed his brow. ‘All these years I thought him indifferent.'

‘You will need to come to terms with what we have learned. However, I believe your father loved you as much as he loved your mother.' Reaching up, she slid her hand about his neck, tugged him close and kissed his cheek. ‘You are easy to love.'

The response she hoped for, the response she ached for—an answering declaration of love—never came. Instead, he looked enquiringly at her. ‘Francesca?'

She held in a sigh and her hand fell away. ‘Aye?'

‘Do you ever wonder about
your
parents—your real parents?'

‘After Lady Clare came to Fontaine I thought about them endlessly. I never stopped wondering who they were, what sort of lives they lived and whether they were still alive. Lately, I've hardly thought of them at all.' She pressed another kiss to his cheek, and a wave of sadness swept over her. ‘Since you came to Provins I've had other things on my mind.'

He gave her a sombre look. ‘Saying farewell to Count Myrrdin. I know it was a wrench.'

‘It does hurt, in part because I feel guilty for staying away so long. However, since coming to des Iles, I am learning to think of him as my father again. When I fled to Paimpont, I seemed to forget it.'

The wind tossed a lock of raven-dark hair into his eyes. Impatiently, he pushed it back. ‘Count Myrrdin died more easily for seeing you. Francesca, he loved you and I am sure he always thought of you as his daughter.'

Francesca blinked, Tristan was talking about love, how extraordinary. Her heart thumped, she couldn't breathe for hoping he was leading into admitting that he loved her.

‘Count Myrrdin might not be your sire, Francesca, but he was your true father. He taught you everything of importance.'

She gave him a quizzical look. ‘You're talking about my training? About learning to run a household and putting visitors at their ease? Keeping servants happy?'

‘Nothing so mundane, I assure you.' A strong arm went round her waist, drawing her against the warmth of his body. ‘He taught you how to do what he did best, namely to inspire love and devotion in other people.'

‘In other people?'

‘Mari adores Brittany, yet she trailed all the way to Champagne simply to stay at your side. Mari loves you. Your new sister, Lady Clare, loves you. Everyone who meets you learns to love you.'

Francesca looked deep into Tristan's eyes. ‘Everyone?'

His mouth went up at a corner. ‘Everyone,' he said firmly. ‘And I include myself in that number. Francesca, I love you with all my heart.'

Francesca's vision misted and her throat tightened. Blindly, she reached for him and smiling lips met hers.

Time stopped. As the kiss drew out, she could no longer feel the salty breeze toying with her veil. The gulls stopped crying; the bees stopped buzzing. Tristan was warm and strong and his arms were wrapped tightly round her. There was nowhere else she would rather be.

Tristan loves me.

When she came up for air, she was breathing hard and couldn't stop smiling. ‘It's good to hear that you consider me more than just a weakness. Say it again, if you please.'

His mouth curled into a warm smile. A loving smile. ‘Francesca, I love you.'

With a sigh, she slid her fingers into his dark, wind-ruffled hair. ‘I've waited a long time to hear that.'

He gave her a confused look. ‘I've been telling you for years.'

‘No, you haven't.'

His gaze was unwavering. ‘My heart, I have.'

My heart.
She blinked.
My heart.
Her throat tightened. ‘Saints, I never realised.' She curled her fingers into his hair. ‘You should have made it plainer.' Even as she spoke, she realised that Tristan's harsh upbringing had made that impossible. His father's apparent rejection had led him to believe that love was a weakness. She had been his weakness. ‘We almost lost each other. I was convinced you needed a dynastic alliance.' She tipped her head to one side. ‘Admit it, you married me because you thought I brought you Count Myrrdin's lands.'

‘I can't deny it, back then I thought I needed them.' He shook his head, a rueful smile playing round his mouth. ‘If I'd held the entire duchy, it wouldn't have been enough. My father's death, you see. I felt such shame. Such guilt.'

She studied him. ‘You thought more responsibility would help you atone for your father's sin.'

‘Just so.' Leaning closer, he nuzzled her neck. ‘My guardian angel must have been watching over me because my desire for atonement led me straight to you. Francesca, you are infinitely more important than any estate. I thank God we have found each other again.'

‘Amen to that. I pray that nothing comes between us. Ever.'

A warm kiss landed on her chin. ‘So, you'll not be returning to your friend in Provins?'

She gave a swift headshake. ‘I think not. If you are still in agreement, I shall invite Helvise to des Iles.'

‘She would be most welcome.'

‘Thank you.' Even as she spoke, Lady Esmerée's face swam into focus at the back of Francesca's mind. She frowned pensively at the pot of rosemary.

A large finger angled her face back to his. ‘Why the sigh?'

She shrugged. ‘I was thinking about Lady Esmerée. Her child will be born soon, I think.'

Tristan stiffened. ‘You don't want her to stay at des Iles.'

‘No, that isn't what I'm saying. I admit I wanted her to leave at first.' She smiled and touched his cheek. ‘That was when I believed you to be a hopeless case.'

Dark eyebrows came together and she held in a laugh. ‘There's no need to scowl, but for a long while I thought you so far beyond love that all you ever thought about was your duty to the duchy. Ironically, it was Lady Esmerée and your treatment of her that gave me hope. This was a woman, not a duty. You didn't simply discard her, when many men in your position would have done. Besides, how could I ask you to send Sir Roparz away?'

‘Thank you, my heart, you are all that is generous.' Tristan took a deep breath. ‘There is something you need to know, it concerns Kristina.'

‘Aye?'

‘As you know, it is my earnest wish that you and I should have children. That is in God's hands. However, Kristina will always be my daughter, even if she would never take precedence over our children.'

‘You wish to acknowledge her?'

‘Yes. The rebellion is over, there is no longer any reason to hide her away.' He shoved his fingers through his hair. ‘I shall give her a grant of land, a manor that will be ring-fenced from my other properties. What I am saying is that Kristina's land won't be available for any children we might have. Francesca, I don't have to have your agreement to do this, but I should be pleased if you would give it.'

Her lips curved. ‘Of course I give it. How could I not? Papa allowed me to keep St Méen, after all.'

‘So he did.'

Heart full, Francesca sifted his hair through her fingers, gently measuring its length. She drew back with a frown. ‘Tristan, your hair really needs cutting, you do realise it is longer than mine?'

Tristan laughed and pulled her fully on to his lap. ‘Francesca des Iles, I do love you.'

* * * * *

If you enjoyed this story, you won't want to miss
the other great reads in Carol Townend's
KNIGHTS OF CHAMPAGNE
miniseries

LADY ISOBEL'S CHAMPION

UNVEILING LADY CLARE

LORD GAWAIN'S FORBIDDEN MISTRESS

LADY ROWENA'S RUIN

Keep reading for an excerpt from
AN UNCOMMON DUKE
by Laurie Benson.

Get rewarded every time you buy a Harlequin ebook!
Click
here
to Join Harlequin My Rewards
http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010003

Get rewarded every time you buy a Harlequin ebook!

Do you want to earn
Free Books
and More?
Join
Harlequin My Rewards
points program and earn points every time you shop.

You can redeem your points to get more of what you love:

Free books
Exclusive gifts and contests
Book recommendations tailored to your reading preferences

Earn
2000 points
instantly when you join—getting you closer to redeeming your first free book.

Don't miss out. Reward the book lover in you!

Click
here
to sign up
Or visit us online to sign up at

http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010001

We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Historical.

You dream of wicked rakes, gorgeous Highlanders, muscled Viking warriors and rugged Wild West cowboys from another era.
Harlequin Historical
has them all! Emotionally intense stories set across many time periods.

Enjoy six new stories from Harlequin Historical every month!

Connect with us on
Harlequin.com
for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!

Other ways to keep in touch:

Harlequin.com/newsletters
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
HarlequinBlog.com

An Uncommon Duke

by Laurie Benson

Chapter One

London, England
—1818

B
eing shot at always left Gabriel Pearce, Duke of Winterbourne, in a foul mood. It didn't matter that this time he wasn't the intended target. It didn't matter that he had saved the Prince Regent by tackling him to the floor of his coach. And, it didn't matter that the shot had narrowly missed Gabriel. Being shot at was a nuisance that meant his orderly life would be thrown into chaos for the unforeseeable future.

Three hours after his coach had sped down the rutted country road, whisking the Prince Regent to the safety of Carlton House, Gabriel stood in his dressing room attempting to tie his cravat into a perfect
Trône d'Amour
. He had performed the task countless times. One would think he could do it in his sleep. Apparently, with the events of today playing out in his mind, one would be wrong.

Peering closer at his reflection in the mirror, he tore the linen from his neck.
Bloody hell! There should be no ripples in the knot, only one dent!
Hodges, his valet, immediately handed him another freshly starched neckcloth.

‘Just tie it into a waterfall and be done with it,' his brother Andrew called out, walking into the room and dropping into the wingback chair beside the mirror.

‘Too plebeian,' Gabriel bit out, his attention fixed on the task at hand.

‘That's how I tie my cravats.'

Raking a critical gaze over Andrew's brown tailcoat and the unimpressive shine to his shoes, Gabriel arched a brow.

‘Ho, I see now,' Andrew said with a smirk. ‘Some day I will shock you and wear something you deem acceptable.'

‘If you would finally allow me to find you an acceptable valet, that might happen sooner rather than later.'

‘I'm quite content with the one I have, thank you. How many neckcloths have you handed my brother, Hodges?'

‘Six, my lord.'

Andrew sighed and studied the coffered ceiling. ‘Shall I wait in your study? If you continue on this path to perfection it might take some time and I could be enjoying your fine brandy while I wait.'

‘I'll be but a moment. There is brandy by the window.' Gabriel closed his eyes and managed to push all thoughts of gunshots, shattered glass and a frightened Prince Regent from his mind. Concentrating on each specific turn of the cloth, he finally tied a perfect knot.

Now he could attend to more important matters.

He nodded to Hodges, and the elderly man quietly left the brothers alone behind closed doors.

‘Please tell me we caught the blackguard,' Gabriel said, accepting a glass of brandy.

Andrew dropped back into the chair and stretched out his long legs. ‘Spence jumped from his tiger's perch the moment the shots were fired and caught the man. He was taken to the Tower—however, he refuses to talk.'

Gabriel took his first sip of brandy since returning home. The heat sliding down his throat did nothing to relieve the tight tension in his muscles. ‘We need to know if he was working alone. I don't care what it takes. Make him talk.'

Andrew pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and held it out. ‘My thought is he had assistance. We found this on him. I don't believe our gunman had access to Prinny's plans. Someone had to have given him this information.'

Scrawled in pencil were the date, the name of the road and town they had travelled to, as well as a sketch of Gabriel's coat of arms. Apparently whoever had supplied the information to the gunman knew Prinny would be travelling with Gabriel today and knew where they'd be going. But how was that possible when Prinny had only approached Gabriel last evening about taking him to purchase the painting?

Bringing the paper to his nose, Gabriel sniffed the unfamiliar pungent oily scent mixed with tobacco. The letter ‘m' had an interesting swirl to it, but other than that there was no way to identify the author. ‘There's no cipher, so it appears we are dealing with an inexperienced lot.'

As he took another sip, he organised the information before him. He was the man ultimately responsible for protecting the Crown. Unrest was rampant throughout the country. If his people failed to protect King George and the Prince Regent, there was no telling what anarchy might occur.

‘How is Prinny faring?' Andrew asked, interrupting his thoughts.

‘He is shaken but unharmed.'

‘And you?'

‘I have this scratch on my forehead from shattering glass and my right shoulder is a bit bruised. As you know, I've survived worse.' He handed the paper back to Andrew. ‘Show this to Hart. He may be able to identify the smell. Then remain at the Tower and notify me when the gunman is broken. I need to know who else wants Prinny dead.'

Andrew stood and placed his glass on a nearby table. ‘Please give my regrets to Olivia and Nicholas. I'm sure you'll devise a plausible excuse as to why I had to miss his breeching ceremony.'

Demmit! Nicholas would be devastated his favourite uncle wasn't there for such a momentous occasion, but Andrew was the only person Gabriel trusted completely. He needed answers and Andrew would make certain he got them. He shook off the guilt trying to settle in his gut. ‘Make an appearance, but slip away shortly after the ceremony begins.'

‘Very well, I will send word when we know more.'

‘And watch your back.'

‘I always do.'

Glancing at the ormolu clock on the mantel, Gabriel let out a curse. He was late. Now he would have to endure the customary icy demeanour of his wife. Tonight they might even be forced to actually hold a conversation. He took another sip of brandy, bracing himself for an encounter with the woman he had married.

* * *

Olivia, Duchess of Winterbourne, bounced her nephew on her knee and stole another glance at the longcase clock beside the drawing room door. The breeching ceremony should have begun twenty minutes ago. Her son was eager to take this first step towards manhood. How much longer would Gabriel keep them waiting?

She shifted her attention to her mother-in-law, who sat nearby talking with Olivia's mother. When their eyes met, the Dowager gave her a slight sympathetic smile.

The sofa Olivia was sitting on dipped as her sister, Victoria, leaned closer. ‘Do you think he forgot?'

‘What man forgets his own son's breeching?' Olivia rubbed her forehead and prayed her husband was not such a man. ‘Mr James is a reliable secretary. I'm certain he reminded Gabriel of the occasion.'

‘Perhaps Mr James was unclear of the time.'

Olivia had reminded him of the time during their daily meeting that morning. This delay fell directly on Gabriel's shoulders. She would give him five more minutes. Then she would ring for Bennett to locate him. It should be of no surprise to her that he was late. She had learned long ago Gabriel only thought of himself. ‘I'm certain Mr James relayed the correct time.'

‘Do you truly not speak at all now?'

‘Being in his presence is still a constant reminder of what he did. It's best if I avoid him.'

‘Mother taught us to expect nothing from the men we marry. She always said that to them we are simply means to an heir. You should have listened to her,' Victoria said gently.

Their mother knew first-hand how true those statements were and Olivia had never expected more. Their father married their mother to create a political alliance with Olivia's grandfather, the Duke of Strathmore. He had never shown any interest in his wife as a person and their brother had followed suit with his wife. When he'd sought the Marquess of Haverstraw for Victoria, it was because the man had lands bordering their family's Wiltshire estate. And he could not have been more pleased when the Duke of Winterbourne, a favourite of the Prince Regent, had shown an interest in Olivia. His pleasure had nothing to do with his daughter's feelings on the matter. Not once had he discussed Gabriel with her before or after he consented to the marriage.

But Gabriel had taken her by surprise. This was a man who listened to her—really listened to her opinions and interests. To have the complete attention of a man who was that handsome and powerful had been intoxicating.

After having courted her for a month, he gave her the consideration of asking her for her hand before approaching her father. Foolishly she fell in love with him and believed some day he would grow to love her in return. But he never did.

‘You cannot direct your heart's actions,' she said to Victoria. If she could, Olivia would have saved herself many tearful nights.

‘I never understood why your heart became so engaged. The two of you fought quite regularly.'

‘We did not. When did you ever witness such behaviour?'

‘Usually during dinner.'

‘A discussion of contrasting opinions is not an argument.'

‘I would find such interaction with Haverstraw tiresome.' She held her arms out towards her son. ‘I can take Michael from you. I fear he has become rather heavy.'

Olivia bounced Michael higher, pleased she was able to make him giggle. ‘Nonsense, he is a feather. I remember when I could pick Nicholas up this easily. Now he will have his ringlets cut and leave behind his gowns to don skeleton suits.'

As she rubbed her nose against Michael's fuzzy blond head, he grasped a tendril of hair resting along her neck. ‘How I miss the smell of a baby.'

‘Should you hold him after he's eaten, you might change your opinion.'

Olivia grinned in understanding.

Then, she felt it.

Even though she had tried to ignore the sensation, somehow she always knew when Gabriel entered a room. It was as if a ribbon was tied from one end of him directly to her.

His tall, broad frame obstructed the view beyond the doorway and his unruffled demeanour told her he was unaware he delayed the ceremony—or, perhaps, he didn't care.

As if he felt the invisible connection as well, his unreadable hazel eyes found her and he nodded politely. He surveyed the room, his square jaw and carved features remaining impassive, until he spied Nicholas looking out the window with Gabriel's brother, Monty. Only then did his lips curve into a smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

She forced herself to look away. Years ago, that smile was given only to her, and it would always make her heart swell. Now, whenever she witnessed it, her heart would squeeze painfully.

Gabriel paid his respects to their mothers before advancing across the room to where Olivia sat. His eyes softened briefly when they settled on Michael, who was shoving his entire chubby fist into his own small mouth.

‘Duchess, Lady Haverstraw, I hope you're both well.'

The brandy on his breath told Olivia how he had been occupying himself while their families waited patiently for his arrival. ‘Thank you, we are. I dare say I thought you might have been feeling poorly since you arrived so late, but I see you were relaxing with some brandy while we were debating on how long we could occupy the children before they began climbing the curtains,' she said in the sweetest tone she could muster.

‘Forgive me. Urgent business kept me occupied until now. Had I been able to disengage myself and join you here, I would have.'

As he turned his head and watched Andrew approach Nicholas, Olivia noticed a thin red line over his left brow.

‘Did you injure yourself getting dressed today?'

He began spinning the gold intaglio ring on his pinkie. ‘I rode into a low-hanging branch in the park this morning.'

The only other time she'd witnessed him fidget with that ring was when he'd stood at the side of her bed after Nicholas was born—before she threw him out of her room. ‘I imagine you would like to say a few words before the ceremony begins.'

He stared blankly at her for a fleeting moment. ‘Of course.'

‘Very well, while you collect your thoughts, I'll inform Nicholas we are finally able to begin.' She placed her nephew in Victoria's arms. As she stood, another whiff of brandy filled her nose. He was making it very difficult for her to resist the urge to step on his foot as she sauntered past him.

* * *

Once the carriages of her last few guests had departed down the drive, Olivia returned to the Green Drawing Room to find her mother-in-law seated on a sofa watching Gabriel and Nicholas build a house of cards across the room. Gabriel's muscular form was stretched out across the Aubusson rug, while he supported himself on his elbow. She recalled the last time she had seen him reclining in such a casual pose. It was six years ago on a rug in her bedchamber. Squeezing her eyelids shut, she tried to force the image from her mind.

She needed wine. Unfortunately there was only tea. Heading to the table with the cups, Olivia looked at Gabriel's mother. ‘Would you care for more tea, Catherine?'

‘If you are having another cup...I recall how trying it was to prepare for this occasion. Tea will be just the thing.'

Olivia handed Catherine a cup and poured another for herself, resisting the urge to steal another glance at Gabriel. It would be close to impossible to endure his presence much longer. Resentment rippled through her and tea would never relieve it.

‘Your sister's youngest is beautiful,' Catherine said, shifting so Olivia could sit next to her. ‘Watching you with him reminded me of how you would play with Nicholas when he was an infant. Now look at him. In those clothes and with his hair cut, he looks like a small version of his father and his uncles.' She studied Olivia over the rim of her cup. ‘Soon he will be able to attend Eton.'

Olivia's heart stopped. Gabriel wouldn't do that to her. Would he? ‘Has your son mentioned something to you about sending him away to school?'

‘You're the mother of his heir. Haven't the two of you discussed plans for his education yet?'

Olivia shook her head. ‘I assumed he would continue to be tutored at home like his father until he was ready to attend Cambridge.' Glancing at Gabriel, she wondered if he had other plans.