Son of a Duke (12 page)

She could do none of the things she wished would come easily.
 
She had her son to care for, and she needed her good name and a solid reference to keep him safe, warm and fed.
 
She could not just leave in the morning and think all would be well.
 

Sleep would not be coming to her that night.

~

Nathan punched his pillow for the tenth time, this time adding whispered curses as if they would somehow make the pillow more comfortable.
 
After laying his head back down, he discovered swearing at pillows did not in fact make them more comfortable.
 
He groaned, swooped the pillow from under him, and stuck it on his face, to groan even louder into it.
 

He had been lying there for more than an hour.
 
It was not like him to not sleep.
 
He was a champion sleeper.
 
He always had been.
 
He just had to lie down and roll over and bang, he was asleep.
 
So why could he not do that tonight?
 
He knew why.
 
It had red brown hair and freckles.
 
That was why he could not sleep.

And what was he to do about the red brown hair and freckles?
 

Nothing.
 

That was the answer that was keeping him from sleeping.
 
There was nothing he could do.
 
He remembered a time long ago, as a little boy, when he had been witness to a tragedy another woman he loved had faced, and then he had been helpless, too.
 
He wrestled with the sheets, wanting to wrestle with the unfairness in life instead.

But he sat up and threw the pillow into the corner.
 
It was childish, but it made him feel better.
 
He got up and walked over to the window, drawing back the curtains to look out on the sleeping city.
 
The houses were built up in this area, blocking his view.
 
He saw the edges of the park in the distance, a few of the larger homes off to the west, and the tip of St. Paul's on the horizon.
 
It was all cast in a silver cloak of moonlight, encasing it, preserving it until the sun returned.
 
Nathan swung the curtain back in place, not caring in the least how magical it all looked.
 

He just wanted sleep.
 
But he had a feeling he was not going to find it tonight.
 
He reached for his dressing robe, not wanting to be discovered wandering around his brother's home stark naked by some young maid, who would either faint or jump him.
 
He preferred neither tonight.

Out in the hall, things remained in darkness, the light of the moon not penetrating far from the window at the end of the hall.
 
Nathan did not need the light, however, and moved quickly to the stairs and down, in search of some strong drink.

Not only did he find the strong drink, but he found his brother drinking it.
 

"Cannot sleep tonight?" Nathan asked Alec's reclined body on the sofa by the fireplace in what might have been a library if Alec had ever bothered to read the books that were in it.
 
As it was now, it was just a storage room in which the books could collect dust.
 

Alec mumbled something from underneath the arm he had thrown over his eyes.

Nathan poured himself a drink from the liquor cabinet and sat down on the floor, leaning back against the sofa.
 
He waited for Alec to summon the energy to speak more clearly and surveyed the room in the mean time.
 
Alec had tossed his coat on the chair behind the mahogany desk that he never used.
 
His collar was on the floor by the liquor cabinet.
 
And his cravat had somehow become draped on the hilt of the crossed swords above the fireplace.
 
Nathan took another swallow of drink, not wanting to contemplate how the article of clothing had gotten up there.
 

It took him a whole two minutes, but Alec finally spoke intelligible words.
 
"Sarah is coming."

Nathan choked on his drink.
 
"Sarah?"

Alec might have replied in the affirmative, but he was back to mumbling, and Nathan could not be sure.
 
Nathan felt a sudden surge of delight that he was not the only person plagued that night with thoughts of womanly woe.
 

Sarah involved a whole lot of explaining most of the time.
 
Technically, Sarah was Alec's wife and thus, the Countess of Stryden.
 
But in reality, Sarah could not stand to be in the same room as Alec for more than three seconds.
 
(Nathan had counted once.)
 
And she was only married to Alec because the War Office had made them get married.
 
Sarah was an orphan, the result of a prostitute and a man with some extra money.
 
She had been taken in by St. Mary's in The City and pounded with the Bible, day and night.
 
She later had been rescued by an old woman with a lot of money she did not feel like leaving to anyone in her family.
 
She adopted Sarah and conveniently died three days later, leaving Sarah with a fortune at the age of fourteen.
 
Of course, Sarah being only fourteen did not exactly have control of the money, but neither did anyone else.
 
The money was left in trust until Sarah completed her education.
 
And what an education it was.
 
It rivaled the education of some of the men of the upper echelons in England.
 
And that was how Sarah came to work for the Office.
 
She was smart and rich.
 
The two important aspects of being a good spy.
 

The only problem was Sarah's unmarried state.
 
A single woman could not go to the same places as a married woman, especially not alone.
 
That was where Alec had conveniently entered the scene.
 
He would marry Sarah (in name only or it would be over Sarah's dead body) in order to allow her more freedom to carry out Office business.
 
But a marriage meant every once in a while, they actually had to appear to be married or the whole thing would be seen as the rouse it was.
 

And this was probably one of those times they were meant to appear actually married.
 
Which would then account for Alec's less than chipper disposition and the empty glass on the floor, just beneath his dangling fingertips.
 

"When is she due to arrive?"

Alec moved his arm to look at the clock above the fireplace.
 
"Seven hours, four minutes, and five seconds."
 
He slid the arm back over his eyes.

"Ah."
 
Nathan took another drink.
 
"Want to talk about it?"

Alec moved his arm again to scowl at the back of him.
 
"No, I do not want to talk about it."

The thing Alec did not want to talk about was the fact that he was completely and totally in love with his 'in-name-only' wife.
 
He had been since the day they were married four years ago.
 
Four years was a long time to be in love with someone who absolutely hated you.
 
Nathan felt very fortunate that he was not in Alec's shoes.
 
He only wished he had better shoes to be in himself at the moment.
 
One's that did not remind him what a useful man he was.
 

"Have you spoken to her recently?"
 

"No, just a letter, letting me know when she was coming."
 
Alec swung his arm off his face to rest on the back of the couch.
 
"How quick does arsenic work?"

"Not quick enough.
 
Let me know when you want the deed done, and I will just shoot you in the back of the head."

"Oh, thank you, brother."

"You are welcome."
 
Nathan swirled the liquor in his glass.
 
"As long as you will do the same for me."

Alec studied Nathan's profile.
 
"She is the reason you cannot sleep?"

"Yes."
 
Nathan set the still full glass down on the rug to rub his face with his hands.
 
"I cannot seem to rid her image from my mind."

"I hate to be crass, but I did tell you so.
 
When will you see her again?"

Nathan looked up to the clock as Alec had done before, but unlike with Alec, it held no answers for him.
 

"I do not know.
 
I think that may be a part of the problem"

"Ah."
 
Alec looked back at the ceiling.
 
"Have you thought about what you are going to discuss the next you see her?"

"How to get her dress off."
 

"Good topic.
 
Do you think she will agree?"

Nathan felt his mood dampening.
 
"No."

"Thought not."
 

The two were silent for a while, listening to the fire and the tick of the clock.

Alec finally broke the silence.
 
"Why do you think God created woman?"

"To give all men an idea of what Hell would be like, so they would lead better lives in order to avoid going there."

"Oh, yes, that does sound right."

CHAPTER SIX

Nora pinched her cheeks again, harder this time and winced.
 

"Ow!" she hissed.
 

Why on earth women submitted themselves to such torture regularly, she had no idea.
 
Instead of her cheeks turning delicately pink as desired, her whole face had gone red from the exertion.
 
Her decision to forgo the rice powder this morning was starting to look unwise, even if Mr. Black had expressed a dislike of the stuff.
 
She stuck her tongue out at her reflection.
 
Now she certainly looked attractive.
 

It was not as if there was any certainty that she would be seeing Mr. Black that morning.
 
It had been four whole days since last she had seen him.
 
Four whole days of wondering and waiting and watching.
 
The anticipation was enough to do more than keep her awake at night.
 
She had been eating even less than usual, and Cook had begun to notice.
 
She struggled to keep her demeanor as pleasant as usual, but even that was becoming a strain.
 
Her head ached, a consistent dull pounding just at her temples.
 
It was as if the anxiety teased her with a constant reminder but refrained from taking any shape she could rail against.
 

And now she stood in front of a mirror pinching her cheeks like a green debutante.
 
The maids were cleaning the drawing rooms today.
 
All four of them, and Nora had to be there to supervise.
 
She especially needed to monitor the young maids who had just joined the staff a mere three weeks before.
 
They had reminded Nora of herself, young and unknowing, and bumping about in society without any real direction.
 
They required her attention like none of the other staff did, and yet, she was trying to make herself...

What exactly?

More attractive?

And if so, for whom and for what?

Four days was a very long time not to hear from someone even if he had said explicitly to her that he did not know when he would return or what information he would carry with him.
 
When she sat awake at night, her gaze often strayed from the warm glow of the coals to her sleeping son, and she wondered again what was to become of them.
 

What was a little murder really, she thought to herself.
 
Surely she and her son meant nothing to the great behemoth that was the War Office.
 
Nora and Samuel were sure to go unnoticed.
 
It was at least possible, she continued to tell herself, at least for the sake of Samuel.
 

"Mama?"

Nora jumped, sending her hip into the table below the hall mirror she had been scrupulously studying her reflection in.
 
Goodness her son was much too quiet for a child his age.
 

"Yes, Samuel?" she asked, rubbing carefully at her hip so as not to disrupt her starched apron.

"Mr. Black has arrived.
 
He is waiting in the servants hall," Samuel said.
   

He had a streak of dirt above his left eyebrow, and his hands had turned brown from beating out all the drapery that could be found on the second floor.
 
But Nora suddenly did not notice how unkempt her son appeared.
 

"I beg your pardon?" she asked and realized she need not be so formal with her son.
 
Perhaps this was why he now spoke as he did.
 

"Mr. Black, Mama.
 
He is here.
 
In the servants hall."

Nora did not have a response.
 
After four days of waiting, she would have thought something would stir in her mind, but there was simply nothing.
 

"Mama?
 
Are you all right?" Samuel asked then.

No, she was not all right, but she was not about to discuss why she was not all right with her nine-year-old son.
 

"Please tell Mr. Black I will be down shortly."
 
Her voice did not sound right, and she looked toward the mirror again.
 
Perhaps she had pinned her cap on too tightly this morning.
 
Her sudden change in condition had nothing to do with Mister Black or the news he carried with him.