What a Duke Wants (25 page)

He held himself a moment more before collapsing, twisting to pull her atop him, before allowing his body to relax.

I
t was over. She’d given herself this one last time and now it was done. His heart beat steady against her ear. The sound of comfort—even if the leather breastplate was not. Stirring, she rearranged herself so her head was cradled in his arm. They were lucky no one had heard them. Neither of them had been careful or silent at the end.

She kissed his shoulder, soft, gentle, wishing there were words to portray the way she felt, full of joy and sadness, bittersweet in a way she could not remember.

“You never answered,” he kept his voice soft. “Was it all a plan to make me realize how much I needed you? You pretend to leave and then come back in this delicious fashion.”

She wanted to ask if he had realized he needed her. If she knew she was needed it would make leaving both harder and easier. It would mean something to know that she was valued, that she had not just been a conquest for him.

But it was time for truth, at least as much as she could tell. “No. It was no game. I really did leave. It never occurred to me that I would see you here, that we would meet up here.”

“Then why did you not avoid me during the dancing? You could have lost yourself in the crowd.”

“I should have, but I could not. At first I did not believe that you did not recognize me. I knew instantly that it was you.”

“I should be ashamed of that. It sounds false now if I say that on some level I did recognize you—but in truth I must have. Nothing else could explain what happened. It is not the way I behave.”

“Strangely I believe you. Whatever it is between us, it is strong, uncontrollable. I could no more have not come with you than I could have stopped breathing.”

“Then we are together? You will come home with me? We will go back to the way things were—or start again if you like.”

She could not impose upon him the trust she’d have to demand, the protection, the compromise of his position in society. She could not believe he would—or even necessarily should—hide what she’d done.

“No. This is the end,” she answered. “It is why I could not resist. When you came to me across the dance floor, it felt as if the fates were offering me a gift, a gift I could not refuse.”

“I do not understand.”

“I am not made for the life you offer me.” She shifted up and laid a kiss upon his mouth. His tender lips softened beneath hers, and then pulled away.

“I offer you everything.”

“Except what I want, what I need.”

He pushed to sitting, and then stood. He walked slowly across the room. She heard the light scratch of a finger as he ran it against the wall, seeking the curtains. Suddenly there was light, not much, but enough. The pale moonlight shone through the window, filling the room, driving their isolation away.

He turned back to her, his costume fallen into place. Only the mask was missing. It lay scowling on the ground beside her.

She traced its brow line with a finger. “I wish I could take what you offer—or explain to you why it could never work.”

“Why don’t you try?” He walked back to her, standing above her like a conquering king. Her mind formed the image of them, the proud Roman warrior and the half-dressed maiden supine at his feet.

She sat up, pulling her knees to her chest, but not trying to restore her gown. “What if I had a child? I know some mistresses do, but I cannot imagine such a life. I would want more for my baby.”

“There are steps we can take to prevent that.”

“But they are not reliable—they help, but nothing prevents a child that wants to be born. And even if it did work, do you want to leave me without the chance to hold my own baby, to never know the joys of motherhood?”

“We discussed this in the carriage, before you agreed to be my mistress.” He shoulders pulled back. He had returned to being the duke.

“Yes, and we did not resolve it then. You merely said you would take care of everything. And now I ask how? I gave in to you because I felt I had no choice—and I will admit it was what I wanted, the chance to lie in your arms, to know all the pleasure I would find there. I just never imagined how all the rest of it would feel. How it would feel to see how the other servants look at me, to know what your valet thinks, to have him drop a purse to pay me for my services.”

“I realize now I did not handle that well. I can do better.” A bit of Mark peeked through; she could hear the man beneath the façade.

She pushed to standing, imagined herself a brave goddess queen with her mortal lover. Her breasts stood bare and she made no move to cover them, let him look—and remember. “I do believe you. I believe you would try, but there are too many problems. What will happen when you marry? I know you want to believe it will not make a difference, but how can it not? How can it be fair to me—or to her? How will I feel when you hold your child—yours and hers—in your arms and I will know that it can never be me?”

“I will let you go when I marry. I will see you well settled. But that will not be for years yet.”

She filled her chest, watching his eyes follow the rise of her breasts. His desire fed her strength. “So I shall be discarded later? Besides, I do not believe it will be years. Do you think I do not hear the whispers? They are not always quiet. There is pressure on you to wed. There is no heir to the duchy. If you die then it will revert to the Crown. Nobody wants that, not even the king, I daresay.”

“You are right about that—but I can delay them. You are what I want.”

“But not enough to marry.”

“You know that is impossible.”

She did know it, knew it better than he did—it was just not for the reasons he thought. He could not marry a nursery maid, but Miss Isabella Hermione Masters would have been a suitable bride—not a good match by any means, but an acceptable one. “Yes, I know. But I do not feel your regret, as you will feel mine every time we are together. And over time that regret may grow to resentment, anger, even hatred. Neither of us wants that, I am sure.”

He did not answer. Not a flicker of emotion showed upon his face.

She turned from him then, picking up his sword and mask and placing them on the harpsichord’s bench. She retrieved her own mask, debating whether she would wear it again. She only needed to slip upstairs—while letting Mark believe she had departed. The servants had seen her face already and had not realized her identity. She should be as safe as ever.

She glanced about. The pin to hold her dress was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter 25

S
he was going to leave him—again. Mark felt as if a small piece were being ripped from his chest, a piece he could not live without. He could function, but not live.

He was not sure why this was so much worse than believing her gone earlier, but it was. This was final. If she left now he would never see her again.

He had to say something. “Of course I regret, but what good does it do to talk about it? I do not make a habit of considering the impossible. Can you not take what is possible?”

“I wish I could.” She held her dress up, peering down at the floor. “Damn it. I cannot find the pin. I can’t leave with my dress about my waist. And you have me swearing. I never swear.”

“Come here. Maybe I can tie it.” The last thing he wanted was to enable her to leave, not to mention that he could happily have kept her near naked forever, but it was the gentlemanly thing to do. Unfortunately the silk did not agree. It twisted from his fingers, unknotting itself and sliding loose again. The fine weave refused to stay tied.

“Do you have a pin? You must have something,” she asked, her voice laden with worry.

“No, normally I’d have a pin in my cravat, but obviously on this occasion I don’t. What about an ear bob? I am sure you were wearing some earlier.”

“They’re attached to the wig.”

He considered for a moment and then pulled the heavy ruby ring from his pinky finger. “Here. I’ll see if I can loop it through this and make it stay.”

It was done. A few twists through the ring and it held. Perhaps not for long, but hopefully for long enough. He might regret covering her, but he did not wish to share her glory with any other man.

Her hand rose and touched the ring, caressed the knot. The ring had been his father’s, the ruby brought from India decades ago, but he would not regret it. It would be one last gift he could give her. She might not appreciate its value now, but hopefully if she ever did need money again, she would use it.

“Before you go, tell me, is there anything you need? I could write you a reference or get Mrs. Wattington to. Or funds? Do you need more money?”

“Now you are prepared to offer these things? Why not before?”

“I should have, but I did not. Do the whys matter now?”

She nibbled at her lower lip. “No, I suppose they do not. And no, I do not need anything from you.”

“What if you are already with child?”

Her face froze. He could see that she had not considered the possibility. “I will let you know. In those circumstance I might need aid and I would not be too proud to ask.”

“Is it pride that stops you now? I cannot bear to think you might need me and I might be unable to help.”

“There may be some pride, but truly my problems cannot be solved by you.”

“Do you have a place to go, people who will care for you?”

He could tell she did not want to answer.

“Yes,” she said at last. “I have found an old friend who has offered to help.”

“And this friend can help you, solve your problems?” He could only hope the friend was not a man.

“No, my problems are beyond help.”

“What are these problems that you think a duke cannot solve?” He felt affronted that she did not consider him capable.

“They do not matter between us.”

“Are they part of why you leave—is it not just me, my inability to make you happy?” Gad, he sounded an insecure fool.

She walked toward the door, placed her hand upon the handle, easing it open. The light from the hall lit her like an angel, reminding him of their first encounter weeks ago. She had not donned her mask. Lifting the silver confection, she stared at it a moment and then looked out into the hall. Then she fitted it over her head, the blond wig covering her red-gold curls. It felt as if she removed herself from him with that simple gesture.

She stepped out the door and he thought it was over.

Then she stopped, turned back to him, her lips stiff beneath the mask. “Do you remember that ride in your carriage, that first hour, when you bargained with me to be your mistress?”

“Of course.”

“Do you remember offering to protect me from anything?”

“I meant it. I still would.”

“Only that wasn’t all you said.”

“I—I don’t recall.”

“You said that you, the duke, Strattington, could protect me from anything, that you would protect me from anything—because it wasn’t like I’d killed a man.”

“I remember.”

“Well, that is the problem.”

“I am lost again.”

She looked him straight in the eyes, the bright candles of the hall lighting her blue eyes despite the shadow of the mask. “My problem is just that—I did kill a man.”

She shut the door with a decisive click, leaving him to the twilight of the conservatory.

S
he wanted to lean back against the door and collect herself, but she dared not. She had told Mark her secret, seeking to offer his bleakness some comfort—if her confessing murder could be considered comfort. For the first time she had seen Mark and the duke as one man, and she had given him the only gift she could.

It would take him a moment to recover from his shock, but then he would be after her, wanting to know more, wanting to see if he could be all-powerful, if he could solve this problem too. No, she needed to be gone, to lock her dreams deep in her heart and keep them there.

She would be happy in the country with Annie’s children to care for. It might be that she would never have her own, but at least she would not have to pretend to have all she wanted as Mark left her bed to head home to his wife.

She walked swiftly down the hall, head bowed as she let her thoughts run free. If she took the small corridor to the left she could sneak up the servants’ stair and hide herself safely above.

She gasped when strong fingers reached out and grabbed her arm. Turning, she found herself staring at Caesar’s robes. Why was everyone fascinated with the classical world this evening?

Caesar was tall, with thick dark curls standing out about a hard face hidden only by the smallest of masks. “You’re heading the wrong way, my lady. I suggest you join our guests in the ballroom. You would not want anyone to wonder about where you had been.”

“But I am not—”

“Don’t bother with the different voice, Georgiana. I’ve observed your compatriots and it is very clear they are not you. Now go, before I decide to see just who is still waiting in the conservatory. I do not wish a scene—not the night before the coronation, not when the king could arrive at any moment.”

Caesar stared down at her coldly, his eyes drawn to her kiss-swollen lips. He was clearly Lord Richard, Annie’s husband. She was about to clarify that she was not Annie when she stopped, considered. If he knew the other two Graces were not Annie, and she denied it also, then what would he think? She lowered her head, staring at his sandals. “Yes, my lord,” she answered softly.

“See that you do that, then. We will talk later.” He turned and left, the leather of his soles slapping against the floor.

She was about to give a soft sigh and make a dash for the servants’ stair when another voice spoke, a low, harsh whisper. “You’d think a man would know his own wife, wouldn’t you, Miss Masters? I don’t see a resemblance between you and Lady Richard, but then I’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

She started to turn, but a hand came down on her shoulder, stopping her. “No, don’t turn. I’ve had my agent talk to you before this, but I think it is time I made myself clear. I want the letters you took from Foxworthy and I will not wait much longer. I do not care what you need to do to get them. You have shown yourself most ingenious. I am sure you will find a way. You were given until the day after tomorrow and you had best meet the deadline. If I fear that you will run again—and I will know—I will take no time before spreading word of your deeds to all of London.”

“I am still not sure which letters you mean.” Did he hear the desperation in her voice?

The gentleman, and she was sure he was one, gave a soft sigh. “That is why I have come to address you myself. You must give me everything that you retrieved. I can find what I seek.”

“But it is all junk. If you told me what I was looking for I could be more sure of having it for you.”

Could you feel debate and consideration?
The man’s hand twitched upon her shoulder and her gaze dropped down to his long, lean fingers, a heavy ring, a fringe of lace with plum-colored edging.

“Bring it all. This is the last warning you will get. I have been far too generous already.”

“And if I do not bring it?”

“Then I will make sure that everyone knows what you have done. Do not think Strattington will protect you then. He will cut you from his life in the blink of an eye. I will make sure the authorities take you and that you hang.”

Before she could even ask, “What authorities?” his fingers squeezed even tighter.

“And do not try to run again, Miss Masters. I am getting very tired of chasing.”

“Where do I bring the papers? I cannot just walk around with them at all times.”

“I will let you know—you can be sure I will find you. I seem to have a talent for it. And now, Miss Masters, I suggest you head down that hall, as you so desire, and flee upstairs to your room. Do not look back. It would so complicate matters.”

S
he thought she’d killed someone. Mark was sure she hadn’t actually done it. Bella could barely bring herself to swat a fly. He couldn’t imagine the circumstances that would bring her to commit murder. He’d killed men in the war and could remember each one of them. Necessity could force actions that one would otherwise not take, but he could not imagine Bella—no, not Bella. . .

He had to find her. If she told him what had happened, he could help her, then she could stop running.

He might not be able to marry her, but this he could do. He’d set his investigators to proving her innocence—if there was anything to prove. He still couldn’t picture a circumstance that would lead his Bella to end a life.

He grabbed his mask and toy sword, staring at the latter with distaste and then dropping it back on the floor. Pulling the mask over his face, he followed her. She would not escape him. He needed to be sure she was safe, not running forever.

He yanked open the door—and stopped.

Caesar stood without.

“Lord Richard, can I help you in some way?” he asked. Damn it, he didn’t have time to greet his host, not now. He had to find her or she’d be gone. If she was back in the ballroom with the other Graces would he ever find her? He’d sensed her before, but would he really be able to tell?

Lord Richard spoke, each word ice. “I do not know who you are and I do not care to know. I would, however, suggest you leave my home immediately or I will have you tossed out like the refuse that you are.”

“Now, hold on—”

“I have been informed that the king is on his way here—anonymously, of course. If it were not for his arrival you can be sure I would not leave you unbloodied.” Lord Richard turned and was about to walk away.

“Stop, this is no way to treat—”

“I have said I do not wish to know you, sir. Please be gone.”

“But I need to find—”

“Do you not listen?” Lord Richard looked like he would spit. “I do not care what or who you need to find. If it is my wife you are looking for, then I would suggest you think again, unless you wish to meet at dawn.”

“But I don’t know your wife. I’ve seen her, of course, but I do not believe we’ve ever had a proper introduction.”

Lord Richard glanced past Mark into the dark of the conservatory.

“Apparently some things do not require an introduction. And if you truly do not know whom you just—just fucked, then I suggest you be more careful in choosing your companion for the evening. Not all husbands would be as understanding of their wives’ lovers. Now, be gone.”

I
sabella stood there shaking. Her hand shook. Her legs shook. Even her toes were quivering. It was all too much for one night. First Mark, then Lord Richard, and now the man with the purple lace. He was different from any of her previous pursuers. This man knew exactly what it was he wanted. And when he’d threatened her she’d had no doubt that he meant it. He had spoken with absolute authority. He clearly was the mysterious employer, and whoever he was, he was used to power. The memory tweaked at her mind. There had been something familiar about him, but what?

Her feet moved forward a step. She had to move. It would not do if Mark found her. She could not involve him in this mess, not if there was someone with power who cared about Foxworthy. Mark cared so much about becoming the perfect duke. He was willing to give up anything to achieve it. She would not ruin it by involving him in scandal.

“Isabella. Isabella, is that you?” The soft voice spoke from the direction of the ballroom.

She’d wondered what else could happen. Now she knew.

Could she run? Physically run away? She’d never seen her sister move at anything faster than a saunter; perhaps she could escape. No. There was nowhere to go. If she went in the opposite direction, she’d run into Mark—or the man who’d just threatened her. She couldn’t push past Violet, not with her husband, Lord Peter St. Johns, behind her. Besides, if she left Annie’s home and ran from her sister, she truly would be out of options.

Slowly she turned. She could still bluff, pretend.

One look at Violet’s face told her otherwise. There was no doubt, no question, only joy.

“Isabella, it is you. Don’t even try to pretend. Nobody walks like you do when you’re nervous, landing high on the toe and then lowering yourself slowly to the floor. You’ve done it since you were a child. And your hair is showing beneath your wig. You should have taken more care.” The angel wings of Violet’s costume flitted lightly as she stepped forward.

Isabella looked past Violet. Lord Peter stood just behind her, the look in his eye informing Isabella that she had better not disappoint his wife.

Isabella glanced about. She could not be found by Mark now. Trying to remember the layout of the house, she chose a door and opened.