To Pleasure a Duke (26 page)

Chapter 34

S
inclair had changed out of his wet clothes and returned to the Burdocks’ cottage. The sun was setting, the long evening beginning, as he climbed the stairs and found his sister still asleep. He reached for her hand where it lay curled on the bedclothes and her eyelashes flickered, lifted sleepily, and she smiled.

He shook his head at her in mock anger. “What a mess, Annabelle. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Her mouth turned down, but he could see she wasn’t as repentant as she was pretending. “I thought I wanted to be ordinary but when it came to it . . .”

“You didn’t.”

“No. That awful coach Terry hired. I was so sick. I’ve never been so sick. That’s why we decided to use the canal.”

Remembering the coach he himself had hired Sinclair understood her objections completely. “Just as well you took to the canals or I wouldn’t have found you.”

“No.” She sighed. “I’ve decided I do want to marry Lucius. Do you think he’ll still have me?”

“As I remember it Lucius is so besotted with you he would marry you if you grew another head.”

She giggled. “He is, isn’t he? I’ve been such a fool. But at least I know what I want now, at least I will never die wondering if I’ve made the right decision.”

“You’ve chosen rather a desperate way of discovering it.”

“I know. I’m sorry. But Lizzie was with us, you know. I think Terry prefers her to me,” she added with painful honesty. “Not that I mind, of course. They deserve to be happy, too.”

“Of course.”

Sinclair watched her, but he wasn’t seeing Annabelle. He was seeing Eugenie, with her freckles and her wild curls and her wicked little smile. He didn’t want to die without having the happiness of her in his life every day and every night. It would be such a waste. What was the point of living a life without love in it?

“Sinclair?” She was looking at him oddly, and he realized she’d been calling his name while he’d been miles away. “What is Terry’s sister doing here with you?”

He thought about his answer.

“I was a little surprised to see her. She’s hardly in your class, Sinclair, is she? Mother will be cross when she finds out. What a scandal!” She gave a false laugh, but her eyes were watchful, doubtful, waiting.

“Do you know, Annabelle,” he said, “I have an urge to discover what it is like to be at the center of a scandal?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Her eyes were big.

“Well . . . I have been so good all these years. I think it is time I was bad.”

Annabelle sat up. “Sinclair, you had better tell me what you mean!”

“I have decided to elope with Miss Belmont, Annabelle. I think that is the best way of diverting the scandal from you. In fact we can turn it all around and say that it was Eugenie and I who were heading for the border while you tried to stop us. No, that would not do. Best just to pretend you had nothing to do with it, while I take all the blame. Do you know, I am quite looking forward to it?”

She seemed to be finding it difficult to speak.

“You see, Annabelle,” he said, leaning closer, “I am in love with Eugenie Belmont, and I don’t think I could live my life without her. I don’t think I would want to live my life without her.”

“Sinclair, you can’t mean it! Mother will be furious . . .”

“I know.” He grinned. “But I won’t be there to hear her scalds.”

“No, but I will,” Annabelle said glumly.

“Yes, but when you tell her about me then she will forget all about you, Annabelle. And she will have your wedding to busy herself with. No, I think she will put me aside and never mention me again. And do you know? I think being on the outer with Mother will suit me quite well.”

His sister put her face in her hands.

Sinclair hesitated. Her shoulders were shaking. She was crying. He hadn’t meant to make his sister cry, but he couldn’t help it now. He wasn’t about to change his mind because of Annabelle’s tears.

She lifted her face and to his surprise he saw that she was laughing, not crying.

“Oh Sinclair!” she gasped. “This is wonderful, truly wonderful! I will be Mother’s favorite at last.”

S
inclair felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He’d walked into the lockkeeper’s cottage as one man and walked out another. Why had it taken him this long to recognize that responsibility and position did not mean he had to be miserable all his life? He could be happy. He could do all the things he did, that it was his duty to do, but with Eugenie at his side.

And that was exactly what he intended.

It was only when he reached the narrow boat and went below that he saw it was empty and, worse, Eugenie’s flowery carpetbag was gone. Which meant that Eugenie was gone.

She had left him.

E
ugenie glanced back over her shoulder yet again and sighed. Terry was ambling along in the twilight as if he had all the time in the world while she wanted to get to the town and arrange for their seats on the mail coach before it was completely dark. Once that was done she could close her eyes and try to forget any of this had ever happened, try to put it behind her.

A moth fluttered against her cheek and she brushed it away.

How long did it take for one to recover from a broken heart? A month, a year, a lifetime?

“Terry, do come on.”

He put his hands on his hips. “I don’t know why you’re in such a hurry, Genie,” he grumbled. “I didn’t even get to say good-bye to Lizzie.”

“I would have thought you’d be grateful for that,” she said tartly.

“Do you know, when we were in the coach, Annabelle was ill?”

“Coaches have that effect on some people.”

“But you don’t understand. She was ill on me. And then Lizzie sewed on my button and stuck me with her needle and I didn’t even care. Do you think that’s love?”

Eugenie blinked at him, uncertain whether she wanted the image of Lady Annabelle being ill on her brother in her head. “How would I know, Terry?”

“Because you love the duke,” he said bluntly. “Don’t you?”

She opened her mouth to deny it but the words caught in her throat. Tears sprang to her eyes and she turned blindly away, stumbling on the road. “Nonsense,” she said huskily.

“I’m not an idiot, Genie. I know you do,” Terry retorted. “And he loves you, too. I could see it. Why are you running away from him? You’re not even giving him a chance.”

“I’m running away because if I do, as you say, love him, then there’s no future in it. How can there be?”

“Well, you’d better tell him that.” Terry spoke just as she heard the pounding of hooves approaching from behind her. She spun around, wide-eyed, and there was Rufus looming up behind her, and seated on his broad back was the duke.

“My—my goodness me,” she managed.

Terry smiled and turned without a word to begin the walk back to the lock, lifting his hand in a wave as Rufus went by. Sinclair drew the big horse to a halt and slid down to the ground, his feet bare and, now, dusty. He was panting, his eyes were wild, his hair windblown, and . . . he was the most handsome, the most wonderful man she had ever seen.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded, and spoiled the image with that arrogant duke note in his voice.

“Home,” she snapped.

“What, by foot? A singular plan. Was that one of yours or Terry’s?”

“There’s a mail coach from the next village,” she retorted coldly. “I intend to take a seat on it.”

“I have a better idea.”

He took her hands in his and, although she tried to shake them off, held on tightly. “Eugenie . . .” he began, then shook his head. “No, not like this.” And he dropped to his knees on the dusty track, still holding her hands and gazing up at her. “Eugenie, will you elope with me to the border?”

“Elope?” she croaked.

He searched her eyes but found only mistrust and confusion. Impatiently he shook her hands. “I’m asking you to marry me, Eugenie. We can elope to the border if you like, or we can go home and get married at Somerton. I’ll even ask your family,
all
of your brothers. I suppose it’ll be impossible to ignore them when we’re related.”

She seemed stunned to silence.

“Eugenie, I know I’ve taken some time to come to this decision. I know I’ve fought against it. But that was because I didn’t understand. I do now. I want to marry you and live my life with you.”

“Sinclair,” she murmured, “how can we? It’s impossible. The—the scandal! And your family . . . no, I can’t allow you to do it.”

Sinclair had a sick feeling in his stomach. It had not occurred to him that she might say no, that she might not want to marry him for the very reasons he’d used before. He didn’t know if he could bear to hear her reject him.

“My family will be polite, I will make certain of it. They may not approve, they may not love you as I do, but why should we care for that? As for the scandal . . . there are new scandals every day. Something bigger and better will soon come along and occupy the minds of the gossips. Perhaps when they see how happy we are they will be shamed into letting us be.”

“They will never forget, Sinclair, and you know it.”

“So what? I will be the Bohemian duke who paints naked portraits of his wife, and you will be the girl whose great-grandmother was the mistress of a king. We will be asked everywhere; no society function will be a hit without us.”

For the first time Eugenie giggled. The shock of his proposal had swamped any joy she felt, but now the happiness was rising up to drown all doubts and negative considerations. And then she remembered the letter she’d written to her friends and the nonsense of the Husband Hunters Club.

“Sinclair, I should apologize again. I never meant to tell my friends I was going to marry you. They are all so much more eligible than me and I felt as if I should have something exciting to tell them, a possible husband who would be better than all of their choices. And you were the best, the most wonderful, man I could think of.”

“You can talk about this later. Right now I would like an answer. Will you marry me?”

He looked overwrought, as if he thought she was going to refuse him. What a turnup that would be, Eugenie Belmont refusing the Duke of Somerton! Turning down a proposal from the most eligible man in England!

She smiled.

He finally stood up. “Say something, for God’s sake!” he roared.

Eugenie put her arms about his neck and kissed him.

“Yes, Your Grace,” she whispered. “I will marry you.”

He gave a shout of joy, and then he lifted her and swung her around on the dusty road. Rufus raised his big head and gave them a quizzical look, and then, satisfied all was well, went back to cropping the grass.

L
izzie was sitting on a bollard by the towpath, gazing into space. She didn’t hear him approach and he hesitated, wondering whether he should just creep away and leave her alone. She deserved better than him. And what if she rejected him in her kind, gentle way? No, he couldn’t bear that. But neither could he bear not to know.

Gathering all his courage, Terry walked toward her.

She must have heard him then because she looked over her shoulder. Something flashed through her eyes but it was getting too dark for him to read, and then she had dropped her gaze and turned away again.

“I thought you had gone,” she said.

He tried to read the emotion in her voice but failed.

“My sister was eager to leave as soon as possible, but the duke had other ideas.”

She looked at him then. “Oh.” Her soft mouth curled into a smile.

“He’s promised me a commission in a good regiment in the army.”

Her smile faded but she forced it back, pretending at a joy she didn’t feel. Watching her closely he thought he understood her now; it was time to take a chance.

“I’m glad everything has turned out as you wanted it,” she was saying, still with her fake-happy smile.

“Somerton has promised not to punish you,” he added. “He knows none of this was your fault, that you were only trying to help.”

“I expect I will go home anyway,” she said. “I won’t feel comfortable staying.”

“There is another option.”

She stiffened as if preparing herself for bad news. Terry decided it was time Lizzie learned that the world held more than disappointment. “Oh?”

“You could come with me.”

“With you?” Her eyes were wide now, and he could see hope in them, mingled with doubt.

“You could be an army wife, Lizzie. I don’t know whether you’d want to travel about and live in barracks and set up camp in far and foreign lands. But for me it would be so much better if you were there.”

Her smile was broader now. Her eyes shone.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, yes, yes!”

He caught her as she flung herself at him, happiness overflowing. And Terry knew as he held her that this time he had made the right choice.

Epilogue

T
he ball was one of the grandest of the season, but then the Duke and Duchess of Somerton had the means to see that it outshone all the others. Greenery and flowers were banked against the walls and satin hangings and ribbons fluttered in the breeze from the open windows. Hundreds of society guests chattered and danced like peacocks beneath the glittering chandeliers.

Sinclair was speaking with his uncle Lord Ridley, when he heard her voice behind him. He came to with a jolt, only then realizing that he’d been waiting for her like a thirsty man longs for water.

His wife. His duchess.

She was making her way toward him, her fashionable gown molding the swell of her bosom and her waist, before flaring out in a waterfall of ribbon and lace and silk ruching. A necklace of green emeralds rested about her neck and her wild curls were contained, for the moment. She was smiling and elegant, perfectly at ease in the company in which she found herself and if she was aware of his eye upon her she didn’t show it.

Sinclair knew she’d always had this quiet dignity. It was just that he’d been too blind to see it. Like a precious jewel, Eugenie shone in whatever setting she was placed.

He’d been surprised how soon she was accepted by most of the members of society. There were a very few who still refused to acknowledge her, but that was their loss. The others found her charming and refreshing, and the story about her great-grandmother was a great hit.

“You have royal blood?” they cried, eyes wide. “How marvelous! Does Her Majesty the Queen call upon you, Your Grace?”

“I could not possibly say whether she calls or not. It is rather a scandal, you know.”

Sinclair, who’d always thought of her royal blood as a minus, was amused by Eugenie playing up to her heritage, and rather nervous. “You know how your tongue runs away with you,” he murmured. “I don’t want you falling into another scrape, Eugenie.”

“I’ve learned my lesson,” she assured him.

He hoped so. Eugenie’s friends from Miss Debenham’s Finishing School had come to the wedding, and he’d been sorely tempted to tell them the truth. Eugenie had sworn him to silence and, he had to admit, she’d behaved herself—more or less—ever since.

Still he couldn’t help but admire her ability to play the duchess. Was this the same girl he had met in the lane long ago? The girl who rode bareback, showing her legs, her curls tumbling about her?

That was why he loved her.

Because in a moment he could brush aside the elegant duchess and bring out that hoyden again. She was always there when they spent time on their narrow boat on the canals. Sinclair, painting in the sunlight, shoes off and trousers rolled up, while Eugenie paddled in the water or sat dreaming.

“Lucky old you.” His uncle was watching him, smiling with satisfaction. “You made the right choice, eh?”

“She’s been the making of me. Everybody says so.”

Eugenie had reached them and now she took his arm. The curve of her growing belly beneath her gown was only visible to him, and he felt a swell of pride. Their child. An heir to the dukedom, or perhaps a girl with wild curls? Whatever it was they would love it.

Sinclair was happy, and gazing into Eugenie’s emerald eyes he saw his happiness reflected. Even his mother had come around, now she knew there was a child on the way. Eugenie said the dowager duchess was lonely, without Annabelle to fuss over. His sister was happily married and reigning queenlike in London society.

Even having the Belmonts for in-laws was not quite as bad as he’d feared. The house he’d bought them was far enough away that he did not have to see them too often, although he was happy to have Jack stay at Somerton whenever he wished. Jack had always been his favorite Belmont.

Apart from Eugenie.

At night, when he closed the bedchamber door, he had her all to himself. Then they were simply Eugenie and Sinclair, wife and husband, together. No one to judge them with cynical eyes, no one to care about who they were or had been. They were perfectly matched.

“Sinclair,” she whispered, her breath warm against his skin, “I can read your mind.”

He smiled and lifting her hand, kissed her fingers, heavy with rings. “Can you now? What am I thinking then, Duchess?”

“You are wishing you were a wicked baron and could ride off with me into the night.”

She’d made him laugh. “You know me very well.”

Her green eyes glowed. “What if I dared you to abduct me?”

His eyebrows rose. “Here? Now?”

She thought he wouldn’t do it. She didn’t believe him capable of it. Sinclair grinned and reached for her. They were about to create another scandal and he was looking forward to every moment of it.