The Duke Can Go to the Devil (27 page)

The truth was she loved him. Deeply. Honestly. Wholeheartedly. Whatever their differences, he'd proven that when it came to love, there would always be a way. She was nervous, but not apprehensive.

She smiled at him now, her heart so full of love and happiness, she could barely breathe.

“May,” he said, the word a prayer and a plea at the same time.

She smiled, stepping forward one tantalizingly slow step at a time, drawing out the anticipation for when she could be in his arms once more. “It recently occurred to me that there was more than one place to find a tropical wonderland.”

He stood completely still, his eyes piercing in their intensity as he watched her. “Is that so?” The hope in his voice made her bold.

She nodded, coming to a stop only a few paces away. “Just as there is more than one place a person can call home.”

He surprised her, moving forward to close the distance between them and wrapping her up in an embrace tight enough to steal her breath. “You came,” he said, the two words full of emotion.

Nothing had ever felt more right than being tucked in his arms, chest to chest, heart to heart. She had little thought for the life she had left behind, thinking only of the life she was choosing, beside the man she had fallen wholly and completely in love with. “I couldn't
not
come,” she said, pulling away to meet his gaze. “You made it impossible to forget you, to imagine my life
without arguing with you. Laughing with you.” She licked her lips and said, “Loving you.”

His lips curled at the corners. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Squeezing her close, he kissed her with all the passion that had been building for weeks. A lifetime, really. She eagerly returned his kiss, wrapping her arms fully around him and holding him just as tightly. It was the best feeling in the world, knowing she was here, and that he was hers. The life that awaited her was not the one she had always imagined, but so long as she was by his side, she knew that it would always be happy.

Pulling away at last, he smiled down at her, his firelit eyes glittering gold. “You do know that this is completely beyond the pale, us being here alone together. I'm afraid you have quite ruined me.”

She lifted her eyebrows, grinning broadly. “Excellent. I knew if I worked hard enough, I could bring a little scandal to your life.”

“Is that so? Well, I'm afraid I must demand you make things right.”

“And how am I to do that?”

“Marry me,” he said, emphatically, the words a plea and a declaration all at once. “Be my wife, my duchess, and the love of my life. Bring passion to both my days and my nights. Let me be the place that you call home.”

The parts of her she hadn't even known were empty filled with a joy she hadn't known was possible. “Nothing could possibly make me happier.”

Applause erupted from behind them, and they turned in unison to find the children, both in their nightclothes, jumping up and down and clapping, their small faces wreathed in smiles. Lady Radcliffe stood behind them,
her hands clasped to her heart as she grinned back at them.

William laughed and shook his head, not loosening his grip on May one bit. “Spying again, are we?”

At that, Julian and Clarisse both giggled and pointed to their mother. “She made us do it!”

The older woman lifted her brows and shrugged in that Parisian way of hers, though there was no missing the mischievous glint in her hazel eyes. “She did just come from Portsmouth. We had to be certain she wasn't a smuggler.”

Laughter filled the warm air as William's family—and May's family, soon enough—joined them for hugs and congratulations. She couldn't remember ever being so happy in her entire life, which was remarkable, given how far she was from what she thought she had wanted. Who would have thought that her love, her heart, and her future had been waiting for her in England all along.

Eight months later

A
knock at the door interrupted the flurry of feminine conversation that had filled the small room that had been set aside for the trio's use. Raising her voice, May called out, “Yes?”

Mr. Green pulled open the door, his mouth pressed in a flat line as he gave a little bow. “Pardon me, Your Grace, Lady Cadgwith, and Lady Evansleigh. The committee respectfully requests your presence at your earliest convenience.”

May offered a regal nod. “Thank you, Mr. Green. We shall be ready momentarily.”

He nodded again, gave an awkward half bow, then slipped away, closing the door in his wake. May shared a devilish grin with Charity and Sophie. “That may have been the highlight of the entire festival thus far.”

Sophie laughed as she rolled her eyes. “We are all of four days into it, so that's not really saying very much, but I know
exactly
what you mean.”

Gray eyes sparkling, Charity shook her head. “Reluctant respect has never felt so good. I imagine he's heartily wishing he hadn't been so rude to us last year.”

“Actually,” May said, shaking her head, “I doubt he is.
But knowing he has to be nice or face the committee's wrath must be the worst sort of torture for him. I'll readily admit—that alone is enough to make the hassle of being a duchess worth it.”

She was teasing, of course. Becoming William's duchess hadn't been without its trials, but it had certainly been much less difficult than she ever would have imagined. There were those in the
ton
who had been appalled by William's choice to marry her, and though no one had been brave enough to say anything directly to her, she knew some felt she was quite unqualified for the role.

Not that she was at all bothered by the sentiment.

They might have had a point about her role as duchess, but there was no one more qualified to be William's wife. She loved him to distraction, and was secure in the fact that he felt the same way about her. He was so supportive, so willing to grant her whatever thing she wished, it had been an easy transition. He even joined her every morning for her routine, which even now made her smile to think about. Many of those sessions ended up leading to an entirely different sort of exercise.

Their days were full and busy, but in the best sort of way. May disliked idleness, and between the mill, the household, and the children, there was always something to keep her occupied. And as good as the days were, the nights were even better. The passion between her and William had only grown since their marriage last November. She had never known the kind of happiness and fulfillment she now enjoyed was even possible, and very soon that joy would be increased tenfold.

She smiled and put a hand to her middle. This year was sure to be even better than the last.

Sophie came to her feet, adjusted the canary diamond
necklace at her neck, and looked around at both of them. “Well, do you suppose they are ready for the three Esses?”

Charity raised an eyebrow. “The what?”

“The three Esses,” she repeated, grinning broadly. Pointing to each of them in turn, she said, “Baroness, countess, and duchess, of course.”

May half groaned, half laughed. “That is terrible. Did you come up with that?”

She shook her head. “Actually, no. I ran into Mr. Wright, the vicar, yesterday at the Pump Room, and he told me that's what people had been calling us. It may be terrible, but it did rather make me laugh,” she said, grinning that irrepressible grin of hers.

“Well,” Charity said, reaching for their hands, “it's not everyday a trio like us comes along.” There was no conceit in her voice, merely gratefulness.

May nodded as she readily joined hands with the others. “Indeed. I'm so happy to be a part of this with you. Although . . .” she trailed off, drawing a breath as she looked back and forth between them, “technically it's more of a quartet.”

Two seconds ticked by before the others understood her meaning and erupted in cheers. Charity grinned hugely before saying, “Actually, that makes us a quintet.”

May gaped, then let out a whoop of excitement. She hadn't thought her joy could be any greater, but she had been wrong yet again. After a moment, Charity and May sent identical looks of expectation to Sophie. She held up her hands, laughing. “Don't look at me! Perhaps someday soon, but at the moment, I'm still on my honeymoon.”

They all hugged then, each grinning ear to ear with
delight. Things had changed so much for them all this year, but thankfully, it had all been for the better. “Are you ready?” May asked when they had finally stepped away.

“Absolutely,” Sophie answered, anticipation thick in her voice. They had all been looking forward to this moment for months.

They opened the door and headed into the Assembly Rooms ballroom, which was filled to capacity. As they made their way to the stage, May smiled to new and old friends alike. Lord Cadgwith stood against the back wall, with tiny, telltale tufts of cotton poking from his ears. His arms were crossed as he followed the group's progress toward the stage, a soft smile tugging up his lips.

They passed Charity's sweet grandmother, who sat proudly in the front row, Cadgwith's niece Isabella on her lap despite the festival's no-children rule. May had personally informed the committee that they wouldn't perform without their families present. Since theirs was one of the most anticipated performances, the committee had readily agreed. Beside the dowager sat Felicity, Isabella's mother, and beside her was her brother and vicar, Mr. Thomas Wright, followed by Lord Derington, whose oddly hooded gaze seemed focused on Felicity, interestingly enough.

To the viscount's right, Sophie's three sisters sat in a row, identical smiles on their faces. Lord Evansleigh grinned broadly as his gaze followed Sophie. May couldn't help but chuckle at the besotted look on his face—she adored him for loving Sophie so well. To his right sat his sister Julia and her husband, Sir Harry.

May smiled as she caught her father's eye in the next row over. His arm was settled around Julian, who waved
at May when she winked at him. Vivian patted his knee and whispered in his ear, then pulled a giggling Clarisse a little closer to her other side. William sat on his sister's right, his amber eyes brimming with pride as May locked gazes with him.

Her stomach gave a little flip of awareness, even after all these months of marriage. He looked so blasted handsome, looking at her like that, it was all she could do to turn her attention to her guzheng as she took her seat. As much as he had claimed to dislike her playing when they met, he had quickly come around. There were many evenings when he sat by her side on her bench as she played the music of her heart, quietly sharing the moment with her.

She wasn't sure if she would make it back to the Far East anytime soon, especially with the baby coming, but she had made peace with that. She would always carry the influences of her upbringing close to her heart. In fact, she had even convinced William to hire Smita and her family to embroider a special line of trim for a higher quality range of fabrics they were selling to a dressmaker here in Bath, since May's exotic fashions were catching on with the
ton.

The crowd seemed to hold its collective breath as Charity placed her hands on the keys, Sophie lifted her oboe to her lips, and May stretched out her fingers over the strings. Here with her closest friends, her dear family, and the husband she loved to distraction, she knew that she was well and truly home. For her, contentment was an almost physical thing. Her whole body was filled with it, and her heart grew a little more each day.

As the first notes sang forth from their instruments, May closed her eyes and smiled. This was the life she
never knew she wanted, and she couldn't have been any happier to call it her
own.

T
here she was.

Standing by the alcove alone and searching the crowd. The filmy white fabric of her gown looked cloudlike against the blue velvet drapes behind her. She was beautiful, but that wasn't what made Gavin Stark, Viscount Derington's stomach drop at the sight of her. No, it was the fact that it was
her,
Felicity, the girl he knew better than any person in the world. More to the point, it was what he had come to say to her.

He'd seen her skinned knees, heard her laugh so hard she'd actually snorted, and comforted her as her tears had soaked through his best shirt following her mother's funeral. He'd seen her tired, angry, stubborn, and even frazzled, but she'd never been anything but beautiful to him. As far as she was concerned, they'd been the best of friends since they were children.

And as far as Dering was concerned, he'd been desperately in love with her since they were fifteen.

It had been five long years since he'd fallen for her, and yet, in all that time, he had never once been able to bring himself to say anything. How could he, when he knew that the moment he did, everything would change between them? No more easy, lighthearted afternoons beside the river. No more stolen conversations in the folly or teasing debates about the merits of stowing away on a ship to the Caribbean when the first blanket of snow covered the Somerset landscape.

Dering—­the nickname his friends had given him at school, which Felicity refused to use—­knew that the moment he declared himself, everything would be different. It was a prospect that scared the hell out of him, but time was of the essence.

His stomach rolled with a wave of nerves at the thought. Biting hard on the inside of his cheek, he straightened his shoulders. It was now or never. Her coming out had been postponed first by her mother's illness, then by her mother's death, but in a few short months, she would be off to London to make her debut.

This, his break over Christmas between the Michaelmas and Lent terms, was the last time he would see her before she left. God knew the moment the
ton
got ahold of her, his chances would be destroyed. She'd be a diamond of the first water, an Incomparable, for certain.

What was the overly tall heir to an earldom when there were dozens of rakish noblemen to be had? He couldn't take the chance. Further, he simply couldn't wait anymore.

Five years was long enough.

That thought finally pulled him from his invisible moorings and propelled him forward in her direction.
He used his height and breadth to his advantage, gently but firmly bullying his way through the crush. He knew every last one of them there—­his father entertained constantly and had instilled the importance of socializing in all his sons—­but at that moment, none of the other guests meant a damn to him. There was exactly one person he wanted to see, and she had just noticed him coming toward her.

Felicity's lips spread into one of her adorable, overwide grins, which made her entire countenance come to life. “Gavin,” she exclaimed, wrapping her gloved hands around his and giving a tight squeeze. “I'm so glad you're here. I've been waiting for you for ages.”

His mind instantly went blank as he leaned into her touch. Her fingers fit so well in his hands. Struggling to understand her meaning, he said, “Did I forget a meeting?”

Shaking her head, she pulled him the slightest bit closer so she could whisper by his ear. “No, but waiting for your return has been torture. Meet me in the library in five minutes?”

Dear God. In all of the scenarios he had dreamed up on how he could sweep her from her feet, he never imagined she might be the one to do the initiating. His Adam's apple bobbed against his suddenly tight cravat as he swallowed and nodded. “I'll see you then.”

Her smile was swift and glorious, making his heart hammer. “Excellent. I think I shall go nonchalantly take a turn about the room.” With a wink, she released his hands and slipped away, leaving him to stare after her and reflect that this might very well have been the greatest day of his entire twenty years on this planet.

Sucking in a deep breath, he set off to find a footman or, more specifically, a glass of champagne. No, make that
two glasses of champagne. If his dream was about to come true, he damn well wanted to celebrate with the woman he loved.

Precisely three minutes later, he was pacing the marble tiles of his father's prized library, his heart thundering with anticipation. In a few short minutes, Felicity would arrive. After all these years of wanting her so badly but knowing he couldn't say a word for fear of risking their friendship. It was impossible to believe that the waiting would be over. The not knowing would be over. The moment was finally here for him to show her the man he had become, declare himself, and allow the pieces to fall where they might.

Hopefully, right into his waiting arms.

The door squeaked open. He turned just as she slipped inside, her cheeks pink and her eyes fairly glowing. Drawing a steadying breath—­which failed utterly to calm his nerves—­he set the drinks down on the nearest table and held his hand out to her. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” she responded with a grin. She hurried to his side and slipped her hands right back into his. Heaven. He wished that the soft fabric of her glove wasn't there, so he could feel the heat of her skin against his, but that would come soon enough.

His mouth went dry at the thought.

“I've missed you,” he exclaimed, not willing to hide the truth even a moment longer. It had been almost four months since he had seen her—­far too long.

“And I you. Desperately,” she added, tightening her grip on his hands.

Desperately. He nearly closed his eyes against the pleasure the word evoked.
Desperate
was exactly the word to describe the way he had felt these last few months, waiting to see her again. “Lissy,” he started to
say, but his voice cracked on the second syllable. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat and tried again. “Lissy, so much has changed of late.”

She seemed to be humming with just as much energy as he was. She nodded, her pale locks swaying with the motion. “Yes, I know. Everything has changed. And there is no one with whom I can speak of it but you.”

He had been going mad, not being able to talk to anyone about his intentions. His school friends would have mocked him for actually wanting to marry, let alone for falling in love. His chest tightened as he reached into his pocket where he had stashed the betrothal ring he had commissioned. It had taken an entire quarter's allowance, but it had been worth it. As heir to the earldom, there were literally dozens of jewels he could have chosen from, but he hadn't wanted them. No old family heirlooms would do for his Felicity; he wanted her to have something created just for her. Opal, surrounded by a cluster of diamonds to represent the moon and stars that he knew she loved so much.

The gold was warm to the touch as his fingers grazed the delicate curve. “I—­”

“No, please, I can't wait another second.” She bit her lip, looking as though she would burst if she didn't say whatever was within her. “Gavin, I'm in love!”

His ears roared with the surge of exhilaration that washed through him. Those were the sweetest words he had ever heard. “Me too,” he exclaimed, relief and elation assailing him in equal parts. All this time, he had been so afraid she wouldn't return his regard, and here they were, declaring their love for each other. It was like a dream, even better than he had imagined.

Her eyes went huge, rounding to the size of twin
guineas even as she laughed with delight. “You are? With whom?”

Dering froze like a rabbit in a snare. With whom? The words reverberated through his brain like a ricocheting bullet. If she didn't think it was herself, then that could only mean...

She was in love with someone else.

His fingertips went numb as he stared back at her, thunderstruck. “You first,” he said, only barely able to push the words past his lips.

She sighed gustily, her eyes briefly fluttering closed. “Oh, Gavin, he's wonderful. He's kind and handsome and smart and I haven't told a soul yet, but we're getting married!”

The room dimmed from Dering's vision, fading to gray as he focused on her beautiful, beloved lips and the unbelievable words they had just delivered. “Married?” he whispered.

She nodded, her light brown eyes glittering in the room's dim candlelight. “He spoke to my father last night, and the announcement is to be made just as soon as the contracts are signed. I'm so happy, Gavin, I could burst.”

As she wrapped her arms around him in an impromptu hug, her scent enveloped him, that soft hint of gardenia that had taunted his dreams for years, and he breathed it in even as the shock numbed his thoughts.

She was getting married. She'd soon belong to another man, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. If she was being forced, that would be one thing, but she had uttered the one phrase that could keep him from declaring himself, consequences be damned.

She was in love. Felicity was in love, and it wasn't with him.

He had missed his chance after all.

Ten years later

Setting his hands on his hips, Dering surveyed the scene before him, pleased that all had come together so well. His town house wasn't overly large, but enough people were packed into his drawing and music rooms to put one in mind of a proper London party, right here in Bath. Merely thirty or forty of his closest friends, of course.

The lighting was low, ostensibly in deference to the warmth of the June evening, but in truth to subtly encourage his guests to be a little daring tonight. What was the fun of summer if one couldn't relax the rules a bit?

“Quite the crush, it would seem,” Theresa, Lady Kingsley, declared as she strolled over to him. Every last one of her generous curves was on full display tonight in a shimmering silver gown that was impossible not to notice.

He smiled and lifted his glass. “On the eve of the festival's opening, we must properly celebrate. Where is your champagne, anyway?”

Her laugh was soft and throaty, as seductive as a siren's. “I've already had two glasses. You're not trying to get me foxed so you may have your way with me, are you?”

He offered her a wry smile. “I'm much too keen on self-­preservation to try, Theresa.” Her husband might have been as old as the pyramids and as lecherous as Lucifer, but Dering wasn't about to take chances with a married woman. Besides the obvious complications, he held too much stock in honor to dabble in such a thing.

She looked him up and down, taking her time as her gaze lingered on his chest. “A man of your impressive
size and strength has little to worry about.” Even as she said the teasing words, it was clear that she wasn't really serious. They had played this game for years, and it was exactly that: a game.

Smiling, he shook his head. “I do hope you'll save a dance for me tomorrow at the opening ball.”

“Mmm, perhaps. If you are very fortunate.” With a wink, she sauntered off toward the desserts, clearly aware that he would be watching her go.

He chuckled lightly. He lived for nights like this. Nights where he could flirt harmlessly with worldly women, laugh with friends, and immerse himself in the energy of the gathering. Silence was not his friend. Idleness drove him mad, and peaceful settings made him shifty. He thrived in the noise and movement and bustle of a roomful or even a city full of people.

Better to be with others than alone with his thoughts.

Marcus Trough, a friend and frequent rival at the card tables, paused at Dering's side, sliding a knowing grin his way before directing his famous blue gaze back to Theresa. “Good to see Lady Kingsley looking so well.” He was in full rakehell form tonight, with his brown hair dipping across his forehead and his jacket cut so close to his form, Dering suspected he could have seen the impression of the man's navel, were he so inclined to look.

“As always,” Dering replied easily. “Glad you could make it out, old man. I didn't think a music festival would be quite your cup of tea. Or whiskey, I should say.”

“After the buzz about it last year? Had to see for myself what it was about this place that could convince Radcliffe and Evansleigh to succumb to marriage in the space of a month.”

Dering snorted. “It was something to behold. I'll say that much. My mother was deuced disappointed that a
similar fate didn't befall me. Getting old, to hear her tell it. Me, not her.”

Trough laughed, shaking his head. “It's a wonder we can still chew our food, if our mothers are to be believed. Old girl told me just last week that if I waited much longer, she feared she may not live to see her first grandchild. She's not yet fifty, mind you.”

Chuckling, Dering patted his friend on the shoulder. “To our mothers,” he said, lifting his drink and tossing back the rest of it. Trough did likewise and, with a salute, set off into the crowd, no doubt in search of a proper prospect to woo. Or perhaps it was an improper prospect he sought. The man thrived on female company. Not that Dering blamed him. Truth be told, he himself was on the lookout for a good match this year. He was fast approaching his thirtieth birthday, and, though he'd never say as much to his meddling mother, it was past time for him to get on with the business of making an heir.

This wasn't the first time he had thought about taking the plunge. He'd briefly considered his longtime friend Charity Effington last year. Her loveliness, mild temper, and extraordinary talent in music had seemed a proper match for his tastes, but she'd gone and fallen in love with the baron. He was happy for her—­for them both—­but he had no interest in making a love match. As long as he lived, he would never make himself so vulnerable again.