The Only One (17 page)

“True, we took risks.”

“We are lucky to be alive.”

“Lucky?”

“Damned lucky! And I will never forget you saved my miserable hide.” Morgan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Maybe I didn’t care if I lived or died then, but I’m bloody well appreciative now. I have a wife I love to distraction. Never thought my life would take such a turn. Never thought I deserved such happiness. I find, not only do I like it, but I am worthy.” He looked pointedly at Giles. “So are you.”

“You misunderstand, my friend. I too, loved. A complication I cannot afford.”

“Not afford?”

“Her father convinced me.” Giles tossed back the liquid in his glass and reached for the bottle.

“What does her bloody father have to do with this?” Morgan dropped into his chair.

“Quite a lot. Alexandria is an infant compared to me.”

“She is of a marriageable age. She must be something of a woman if you love her.”

Giles gave a harsh laugh. “I tried to convince myself she was a child. Instead, she convinced me she was a woman.”

“Then get up off your arse and go get her. Do not marry Harriett Pendorgrass.”

“You want me to commit social suicide. No doubt a grand scandal would come of it. The
ton’s
delicate sensibilities would not recover.”

“Scandal be damned! Fight for the woman you love.” Morgan showed more energy being angry than Giles could amass.

“Come down off your pulpit, Morgan. I don’t need a bloody sermon. Besides, the banns have been circulated.” Giles tossed back the remainder of his brandy and poured more. He’d have a deuced headache on the morrow. Perhaps a fitting one to match the pain in his chest.

Morgan shook his head. “Looking back, I appreciate your actions on the night you came to Whetherford and gave me a trouncing. Had no idea—being on the receiving end—how difficult your task of kicking me in my well-deserved arse.”

“Thank you. But I do not see what reference your drunken squalor has to do with my situation.”

“For God’s sake, Giles. You expect me to believe you have not fallen into the same dark hole? Where is the man who kicked my arse that day? Where’s your passion? Where’s your spirit? You’ve been allotted one life. Do you really want to live it according to others’ wishes? Society’s decree?” Morgan’s voice lowered with a harsh edge. “Your father’s behest?”

Giles’ fingers tightened around the glass in his hand, so firmly, it should have shattered.

My father.
“A spawn of Satan himself.” He breathed deep for control.

“Do not let yourself succumb to the temptation of giving in to his ghost.” Morgan shot out of the chair again. For a big man, he paced the room like a deadly tiger.

Giles closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cushioned leather. Did he do this for his father? His obligation as a duke? He would lose his mind if he continued this back and forth battle of indecision.

“Spare me your wisdom in how I should live my life,” he growled. “You are my most trusted friend. As my friend, let it be.”

Morgan stopped his pacing and pinned Giles with a hard glare. “If you refuse to listen to your heart, you will grow bitter. We cannot change the past. Even if it were possible, I would not do it. I found Kat. Our love is stronger for what we went through. If you give up your heart’s desire, you will have another regret to add to your list of many.”

“God’s breath, I cannot bear anymore.” Giles threw his glass at the hearth, watching it shatter into pieces.

Morgan stared for a matter of moments. He picked up his hat and strode calmly to the heavy door, then paused with his hand on the knob.

“You and I know exactly how short one’s existence can be. There is nothing so cold as regret.” Morgan tipped his hat and left.

Chapter 24

Two men ambled along the London docks undetected in the midst of other sailors. Even their size went unnoticed, for most crewmen sported muscles resulting from the hard labor necessary in keeping a ship topnotch. After months at sea tugging on ropes and swabbing decks, a man was bound to be in brawny form.

Sea Dancer
had docked earlier this afternoon. The time of day made no difference to a sailor’s thirst. Shouts and boisterous laughter came from the open door of a tavern. Kit and Ben stepped inside. A cloud of smoke hovered in the air. Barmaids scurried about serving drinks and flaunting their wares. Kit made his way through the crowd searching for an empty table. Spying one to the side, he slumped onto the wooden stool.

“What say you, Brother? I’ll flip a coin to see who pays.” In the opposite chair, Ben pulled a coin from his pocket.

“Heads, I win. Tails, you lose.”

The coin was in midair before Ben’s face twisted into a scowl. “That doesn’t seem quite fair.”

“Well now, luv? Whatever’s ailin’ ya, a draught will take that frown right off yer handsome face.” A buxom woman with fiery red hair balanced a tray in one hand while her other rested on a plump hip. A smile bright enough to illuminate the dark was aimed at Ben.

“And who might you be?” His grin showed a full set of teeth. Once Ben turned on the charm, a lady was bound to fall for his appeal.

“Gilda.” The girl thrust out her bosom and twirled a lock of her long hair.

“A lovely name for a lovely lady.” Ben gave her a saucy wink. “Sounds like just the thing. Would you kindly bring my brother and me a pint of your best ale?” He flipped his coin. “I’d be most appreciative.”

“Why, ya near blind me when yer lips turn up in such a winsome smile. What a handsome brute ya be.” She winked right back. “Coming right up, luv.”

Ben watched her backside as she sashayed away.

“Looks like you’re paying for this round and a bit more.”

Ben uttered a hearty laugh. “Well worth it.” His gaze met Kit’s. “Why so glum?”

“Not sullen. Just quiet.” Kit shifted in his chair. “Best place to garner information.”

“Information on what?”

“On anything. The latest scuttlebutt spreads the quickest in taverns.”

“I thought we were here to see the duke.”

“Never hurts to keep up with goings on in the town, and at the docks.”

“Here ya are, luv.”

Ben tucked a coin in the barmaid’s plump bodice, taking an exorbitant amount of time removing his fingers. The girl laughed with enthusiasm and leaned forward while Ben whispered in her ear. She danced away with a promise in her twinkling eyes.

“A toast to the Duke of Nethersall.”

Kit stiffened. Ben jerked his head in the direction of the voice.

“May he enjoy his wedding night.” Loud guffaws followed clanking glass.

“Hear, hear,” another man bellowed.

“To the bride. May she scream the walls down.”

“Will she be screaming her pleasure or crying out in indignation?”

“She’s a virgin bride. She’ll not know how to pleasure a man.”

Ben’s eyes flashed with enquiry. Kit concentrated on the next man’s voice.

“My money is on the duke. He’ll be showing her the way of it.”

“Come now, Buxley. All the man needs is to consummate the wedding night.”

“Right-o, Saxon. A man’s mistress does the pleasuring.” More guffaws and shouts.

Ben made to rise.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Kit said in a low voice. “Your last round of fisticuffs cost me a stint of months.”

“You can’t blame me for the squall that blew your ship south instead of north. Not to mention the damage to the vessel. Besides, there’s the legacy of the Cape Verde islands. ‘Americans are arriving. There are tears of joy, lighting up the women’s eyes.’”

“You abandoned me,” Kit growled.

“‘Twasn’t only me who jumped ship and dallied with the women of the island. Besides, you had to make repairs to your ship, and the whalers worked for much less money than American seamen.”

“But I can blame you for the stretch behind bars.” Kit leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the round table. “Or do I need to remind you of a certain woman and her brother who threw you into a shabby hold on his ship?”

“Whaler ships are revolting. Mate thought better of the idea, once I pounded some sense into him.”

“Still, we’ve lost close to a year.”

“Not to worry, Brother. We are in England now.” Ben glared toward the celebrating men. “And I’ve not forgotten why we are here.”

“I’m in no mood for fisticuffs in a tavern.”

“Well, I am.” Ben stood, taking his mug with him. “Pardon me, gentlemen. You seem to be celebrating. If you share your news, I’ll be happy to join you in a toast.”

Several pairs of eyes landed on Ben.

“Who might you be?” The man they’d called Buxley addressed him.

“Sailed in on the
Sea Dancer
. Docked this afternoon. Name’s Ben.”

“Was down at the warehouse when your ship entered the harbor. She’s a beauty.” The man seated to his right spoke up.

“We’re with Langston Shipping.” Ben returned his gaze to the man standing.

“This is Saxon, Chauncey, Lafayette, Phineas.” He gestured to each of his cronies as he spoke their names. Then he turned his attention on Ben. “And they call me Buxley.”

“Pleasure to join your company, gentlemen.”

“The biggest building on the docks is the Langston warehouse. If you have cargo going there, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait till tomorrow. The earl has it locked up tight for the duke’s wedding.”

The man called Chauncey lifted his mug. “We’re celebrating.”

“The Duke of Nethersall is getting leg shackled this very eve.”

Kit narrowed his gaze on the man speaking. An ache formed in his chest for Alex. He’d tarried in coming after the duke. Hoping to give Alex time to accept the man’s leaving, he had planned a journey to France on business. Of course that was before the Cape Verde Islands debacle. Seemingly, it would have made little difference if he had come straightaway. The duke had wasted no time in acquiring a wife.

So the man was to marry. How in the world could he break the news to Alex? First, he would make sure of the truth of the matter. Apparently Ben had the same idea.

“You are speaking of Giles, the Duke of Nethersall?” Ben asked.

“Giles Heathcliff Montague Litscomb, sixth Duke of Nethersall.” The man stood and swayed before setting his mug on the table.

Clearly the gents had been celebrating for quite a while. Unstable on his feet, Ben steadied the man. His brother was not one to hold his temper. At the moment, Ben did a fine job of doing just that. His back muscles bunched, his voice low and hoarse with anger, Kit recognized all the signs of fury.

“The last time I saw Nethersall, he was as free as the birds flying out to sea,” Ben ground out in a controlled voice.

“My good man, he is a duke. His nobility requires him to carry on his line. Can’t have a bastard claiming the title.”

“Is there a bastard?” Only Kit noticed the rage lacing Ben’s words. The possibility of Giles begetting a bastard had the hair standing on his own neck.

Buxley scratched his head. “Don’t think so.”

“Ain’t heard a flicker of gossip regarding anything of the sort,” the man called Saxon added. “He’s clean as a whistle.”

“Aye. Not a shadow of scandal on his family title. He’s above reproach.” Heads around the table nodded in agreement.

“This very night, you say?” Ben asked.

One man dug in his pocket for a gold watch, then flipped the top open. “At the church right now, in fact.”

“A toast.” Ben held his mug toward the others. “To the Duke of Nethersall.”

May he rot in hell.

If Kit had his guess, Ben toasted Giles to the flaming pit as well.

“Hatheridge looks a bit green around the gills.”

At Carstairs’ nod, Morgan glanced at his friend, standing just inside the church doors. Hatheridge pulled at his cravat, stuck his finger inside the starched white collar, and tugged. With the sweat rolling down his temple, one would think he was the groom.

Catching his attention, Morgan motioned him forward. The poor devil looked ready to bolt the next instant the doors opened. The younger man came forward.

“Your cravat is askew. Shall I lend you my valet?” Carstairs poked fun while he managed to look bored.

“Carstairs, you have the starchiest cravats of any gentleman I know,” Hatheridge retorted bitingly.

“My good man, if you are to be seen in my presence, you must be properly attired. I have a reputation to maintain.”

“Buck up, my boy.” Morgan couldn’t help but jab at Hatheridge. The younger man made it too easy. “Your time is coming.”

“You simply had to go and post that bet in White’s book. Have you any idea of the mockery I’ve endured? I’ve been scoffed at, poked fun at, and made a laughingstock, all around. If Roxborough weren’t a Viscount . . .”

“Yes?” Morgan taunted.

“Well, I can’t do anything to him.”

“And me?” Morgan shifted his feet.

Hatheridge glanced up. “A man would be a fool to tackle someone of your size.”

“Come now, Hatheridge, I know you. We’ve shared more than one round of fisticuffs.”

“Excuse me,” Carstairs interrupted. “Who is that chap in the back with thunder on his face?”

Hatheridge followed his gaze to the church entryway. “Certainly not dressed for the occasion.”

“One scorned by the look of him. Did Harriet have a lover?”

“Good God, Carstairs,” Morgan admonished. “Curb your tongue or you’ll have the girl’s father challenging you to a duel at dawn.”

A look of horror crossed Carstairs’ face. “Mayhap the fellow lost his way.”

“A pair of them, I see. By their clothing, looks like they just got off a ship,” Hatheridge acknowledged.

“Any ships dock today you know of?” Morgan studied the two men standing in the back of the room. Blonde hair, tall, but not as tall as he. Their stance reminded him of his wife’s brother. Definitely seamen. Both looked angry, but the slightly larger one appeared threatening, as if he were ready to pummel any man within striking distance.

“Maybe you should do something.”

“And what would you have me do?” Morgan raised his brow to Carstairs.

“We cannot have riffraff at the duke’s wedding. If Pendorgrass gets a good look at them, he and his wife will both have the vapors.”

Morgan smiled, thinking the wedding might not be a bloody bore after all.

“Did you see the new arrivals?” Witherspoon asked.

“We were just discussing the pair.” Carstairs nodded in that direction.

“Couldn’t help noticing the foreboding looks they are sending the groom.”

Morgan had noticed the same thing.

“Bloody bore, weddings,” Witherspoon complained. “By the by, Carstairs. You hate wedded bliss. Why the devil are you here?”

“I am here to show my face because I must. Appearances, my good man.”

“And you wouldn’t let the occasion to gloat a bit go by, I’d say.”

“He deserves every agonizing second of it.”

Witherspoon chuckled. “And what of you, Hatheridge? You have a case of the blue devils.”

“He’d rather be at a bordello than a wedding.” Carstairs clapped his friend on the shoulder.

“Who wouldn’t? Deuced miserable business, a wedding.”

“I need some air.” When Hatheridge turned, he perceived the two newcomers glaring at Giles. “Who are those brazen devils?”

“I shall mosey over and see if I can hear their conversation, find out who they are.” Carstairs intermingled through the crowd.

“We may have some entertainment at this dullard wedding.” Witherspoon patted the cigar tucked in his pocket. “Since we cannot smoke in here, how about a glass of champagne while we watch?”

“None for me,” Morgan declined. “The wedding should be about to start.”

“Not from the expressions on those two.” Witherspoon nodded in the direction of the unfamiliar men.

“I agree. Looks like we’re about to have a battle-
royale
,” Hatheridge said.

Swarming in greetings, Giles had not seen the newcomers enter the church. Morgan tapped him on the shoulder. Stiff and somber as driftwood, he looked askance to Morgan.

“I remember being a mite happier on my wedding day.”

“You interrupted me to discuss your nuptials?” Giles droned.

“Do you know those two?” Morgan angled a thumb over his shoulder.

The tightening of Giles’ muscles registered his surprise. “Good God, it’s Alex’s brothers.”

“Blood and the devil. What are they doing here?”

“Either to congratulate me or kill me.” Giles straightened to his full height. With unfaltering steps, he strode to the back of the church, straight for the two brothers. The first one’s expression never changed. The second one gave a menacing smile while his fists clenched, suggesting an eagerness for a thrashing.