The Dark Duke Read online

  Hester paused and he halted, puzzled, as she turned toward him, an expression of earnest concern on her face. She took her hand from his arm. “My lord, why do you go to such places?”

  He made no attempt to hide his surprise. “What places?”

  “Sally Newcombe’s.”

  “Who said I have been there?”

  “Are you saying you have not?”

  “You have no right to ask such a question.”

  “I know.” She colored, but regarded him steadfastly, again with that studious expression, as if he were some kind of strange animal.

  Maybe to her, he was. “I am surprised a woman of your background could even bring herself to speak of such things,” he remarked, trying to sound cool and unconcerned.

  “You do not have to answer, my lord. I merely wanted to understand.”

  “I don’t think you know what you’re asking.”

  She frowned in frustration. “My lord, I’m not a child. Granted, I don’t know about the world the way you or most men do, because my father didn’t think young women should. But I want to know why men patronize such establishments, when…”

  “When?”

  “When there are lonely women in the world who would enjoy their companionship.”

  “Like you?” He surveyed her with mock astonishment. “Lady Hester, are you telling me you would offer yourself for such intimate companionship as Sally provides?”

  He was genuinely astonished when her eyes began to glisten with angry tears. “Please do not make fun of me, my lord.” She swallowed hard, and he upbraided himself for being so derisive. I thought you might tell me, that’s all. I know it’s none of my business, but it cannot be…good for you, either.”

  However he felt about hurting her feelings, and although he was truly touched by her apparent concern for his health, he had no desire to discuss Sally Newcombe and her ilk with this young lady. “As you say, it is none of your business, and Sally’s business is her own, too.”

  “Sally’s business is sinful.”

  “You sound just like Smeech,” he replied. “What could he, or you, know about Sally’s life? Do you know she was abandoned by her mother and sent to an orphanage when she was five? Do you know that by the time you were leaving the tender care of your governess she had already been attacked more than once?”

  “I know that I am fortunate. I understand something of the fates many women suffer,” Hester responded. “But not many of them have the acquaintance of a duke. Couldn’t you do something to help her?”

  “I tried. She refused. She has her pride, too, strange as that may sound to you. As for the women in her house, they don’t have many alternatives, either.”

  “You do,” she retorted, still determined to understand him. “You can have any woman and yet you still…”

  “Visit Sally?”

  She nodded.

  “Today when I went to see Sally,” he said quietly, gazing at her intently, “I went as a friend, and only a friend.”

  “I am glad to hear it, my lord,” she said, truly relieved. “Those places aren’t safe.”

  He grinned sardonically, and she felt their relationship, such as it was, had returned to its normal course. “This from a girl who’s walking alone and unchaperoned through the warehouses!”

  She gave him an accusing look. “My lord, you know as well as I that the warehouses aren’t dangerous during the day.”

  “Are you not afraid of the scandal of being seen alone and unchaperoned in such a location?” he asked in mock dismay.

  “This from a man who has been involved in more scandals than days of the week!” she replied with similar sarcasm.

  “My God, you are an impertinent miss!” he said with something approaching a laugh. “My stepmother couldn’t have picked a better companion if she’d searched a hundred years!”

  “I am rarely impertinent to my elders,” Hester observed somewhat primly, for she prided herself on keeping her temper.

  “That’s the beauty of it, my sly young lady. To think of you sitting so silent and demure, knowing that inside that clever head of yours, you are contemplating such snide opinions!”

  Hester flushed, but more from pleasure and his warm regard than shame that he had discovered one of her secrets. “Alas,” she said, imitating his melodramatics she well remembered from the stable, “the secret is out! I fear I must disappear into yon misty moors. Oh, for shame!”

  She looked at the duke, expecting to see him smile. Instead, he was regarding her with a most peculiar and serious expression. “Why aren’t you married?”

  “Because…because no one has ever asked me,” she stammered. “Nor have I ever been in love.”

  “Not ever?”

  She shook her head. “Have you?” she asked softly. “Been in love?”

  He slowly shook his head, too. “Not ever.”

  Suddenly he cleared his throat, and Hester found she could breathe again. “I haven’t married because I have yet to find a suitable woman,” he continued nonchalantly. “Given my reputation with the ladies, surely you realize I am not particularly troubled by this lack.”

  “A brief liaison satisfies you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I beg your pardon?” he demanded incredulously.

  “I don’t believe you are satisfied, or content”

  He moved away from her, his expression wary and annoyed. “You don’t know me, Lady Hester. You don’t want to know me. Nor can you possibly understand me.”

  “I can try,” she said staunchly, seeing beyond his wariness and annoyance to the loneliness that had appeared in his dark eyes. “I’ve been lonely, too. Many times.”

  “You have your family.”

  “So do you.”

  He sniffed dismissively.

  “I have two beautiful sisters, and I am homely. I have a father who wanted sons, a mother who thinks only of entertaining. I wanted an education—it was not considered fitting.” She tried to smile. “Sometimes I think I must have been a foundling left on the doorstep.”

  “I don’t think you are homely,” the duke said quietly.

  Hester stared at him in disbelief, telling herself his compliment had to be meaningless, a polite pleasantry and nothing more. “You can’t mean that.”

  He took her hands and stared into her eyes. “Shall I tell you what I see when I look at you?”

  She could only nod.

  “I see a kind and patient young woman who makes my home more bearable than it has been for years. I see beautiful, honest blue eyes. I see strength of purpose, intelligence, true modesty, thoughtfulness and diplomacy.” His fingers stroked her hand, and she could feel the blood throbbing through her body. “I see—” He stopped and drew back, letting her hands drop.

  “Yes?” she said breathlessly.

  “I see my barouche and four coming toward us.”

  She stepped away from him quickly, acutely aware of how close together they had been standing seconds before, and what construction might be put on such intimacy.

  A construction she was putting on it.

  “It’s Elliot,” the duke said. Suddenly he turned to her with a fierce and determined air. “Hester, don’t listen to Elliot. Don’t believe a single word he says. And don’t ever be alone with him.”

  “But why—!”

  “Because I tell you not to.” He lowered his voice and stared at her with that intensity she found so intimate and compelling. “Because you must trust me in this.”

  Before Hester could even begin to formulate an answer to his impassioned request, the barouche rolled to a stop in front of them.

  “Hullo, Adrian. Afternoon, Lady Hester,” Lord Elliot called out as the coachman climbed down from his seat and opened the door for Lord Elliot to disembark. “I came to find you, Lady Hester,” he said, “because I noticed a change of weather upon my return to Barroughby Hall. When Mama told me where you had gone, I thought it wise to meet yo
u.”

  Hester suddenly realized the sky was much darker than it had been; she had been too involved in the conversation to notice before.

  “How thoughtful,” the duke remarked flatly.

  With an equally nonchalant manner, Lord Elliot regarded his half brother. “You smell like a whore.”

  While the observation was not without merit, Hester was shocked that any gentleman would use such language in a lady’s presence. It demonstrated a lack of respect for her as well as the duke. “I must beg your pardon,” she said, affecting a repentant air. “I spilled a bottle of scent in a shop. Most careless of me, wasn’t it?”

  She dared not look at the duke, but trusted he would take the excuse she provided.

  “How fortunate you returned from your rambles in time to come searching for Lady Hester,” the duke said, and Hester was careful not to look pleased that he had taken the out.

  “I spent a very lovely afternoon in the company of the charming Miss Sackville-Cooper,” Lord Elliot revealed with a smile.

  Hester risked a glance at the duke, just in time to see an angry scowl cross his face. She thought of the warm feelings he had inspired within her only moments ago. What was she to make of his annoyance that Lord Elliot had spent time with Damaris?

  Surely this was a timely reminder that she must remember the Dark Duke was a master of seduction, and that she could put no credence in his apparent sincere liking for her. What he had said was merely flattery, and probably second nature to him. Perhaps she should doubt his revelation that he had gone to Sally Newcombe’s only to visit an old friend, too.

  Which did not explain why she took his warning about Lord Elliot so seriously.

  “Hatley, put up the roof before it rains,” the duke ordered the coachman. “I suggest you get in, Lady Hester.”

  There being no excuse to linger, she obeyed quickly, Hatley handing her in. Lord Elliot sat opposite her in the carriage and gave a swift, sharp order. The carriage began to move, turning back toward Barroughby Hall.

  Hester wished the roof was not up, for she did not enjoy feeling enclosed in such intimacy with Lord Elliot.

  Then she realized the duke was riding beside the barouche, on her side, and a sense of relief filled her, which, she realized, was quite the opposite of what most people would feel. Still, it was quite true. If Lord Elliot tried anything improper, the duke was within easy call.

  Despite the spirited nature of the duke’s horse, he controlled it easily with his strong, long legs, and she was hard-pressed not to stare at the muscular limb displayed so near.

  “It was kind of you to make my mother’s task a little easier,” Lord Elliot said, drawing her attention.

  “I was happy to go out,” she replied honestly.

  “You enjoy walking?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “You have such lovely, long fingers, Lady Hester,” he said, reaching out to take one in his gloved hand. “Tell me, Lady Hester, what instrument do you play?”

  Lord Elliot should not be touching her in any way, and she most certainly did not want him to. Not here and, she realized with absolute certainty, not ever.

  “None, my lord,” she said, gently but firmly extricating her hand. “I fear I have not a musical mind.”

  “A great pity,” he replied, apparently not offended by her action. “Is painting your forte? Or netting purses? Perhaps decoupage?”

  “Sadly, I am not clever with my hands, my lord,” Hester admitted.

  “My dear Lady Hester,” he said, leaning toward her with a smile that did nothing to dispel the sense of entrapment that had descended upon her, “must we be so formal?”

  Hester frowned slightly, wondering if it was a family trait to despise formality—which was, if nothing else, a useful means of keeping one’s distance from someone one would rather not know well.

  “I would be delighted if you would call me Elliot”.

  She had been pleased when the duke had made a similar request, and now she realized that one reason she found his proposal so much less offensive than the one currently being made to her was that he was simply exchanging one title for another, both equally proper, whereas Lord Elliot’s proposal was completely improper. “I could not, Lord Elliot.”

  “Not when we are in company, perhaps,” he said persuasively. “But when we are alone…”

  “I could not,” she reiterated firmly.

  “Of course, you are quite right.” He leaned back against his seat and stared out the window.

  The only sounds to disturb the silence were the wheels upon the road, the heavy tread of the carriage’s team and the lighter step of the duke’s stallion.

  “I fear I have made a terrible blunder. Lady Hester,” Lord Elliot said, regarding her contritely a few minutes later. “My suggestion was very gauche.”

  She did not answer.

  “I hope you won’t ignore me completely, for there is something I must speak to you about,” Lord Elliot said softly, gazing at her with something of the intensity of his brother, but with some indefinable quality missing. “I want you to beware of the duke.”

  “Why, my lord?” she asked warily.

  The young man sat forward eagerly. “You know his reputation. Surely that is reason enough.” He glanced toward their mounted companion furtively.

  It was then that Hester realized what was different in the way the two men looked at her as they delivered their warnings. The duke had looked sincere and as if his concern was for her alone; his sibling’s expression bore more malice than any thought for her. “I thank you for your interest, my lord,” she replied, “and I promise you, I shall be very careful indeed.”

  He gave her a shrewd look, which quickly changed to one of wounded sensibility. “Oh, please. Lady Hester,” he said softly, surely you know you have nothing to fear from me.”

  Hester berated herself for not being more circumspect. “I am sure you are a gentleman” she replied, hoping rather than believing this was true.

  Lord Elliot smiled warmly. “I am glad of that.”

  “And I am quite aware of the duke’s reputation,” she continued, careful to keep her tone one of calm modulation, for an extraordinary reaction might give rise to suspicions of…what?

  That she was certainly no longer wary of the duke. That she was intrigued by him, and even sympathized with him. Perhaps that she was beginning to feel something akin to love for the unloved man.

  Whatever she was feeling, anything other than dispassionate regard would be a mistake. She could and must have no hope that he would ever return any deeper feelings. She was plain, unexciting Hester Pimblett, and he was the handsome, roguish Dark Duke of Barroughby.

  The carriage drew up to the steps leading into Barroughby Hall. “Here we are,” Hester said rather unnecessarily, and with every effort to mask her relief. The barouche door opened and she began to get out, expecting to be aided by Hatley.

  Instead, the duke waited to assist her. A swift glance over her shoulder showed that Lord Elliot was scowling in a manner that made her wonder if there was something in the Fitzwalter blood to create such black and angry looks; however, that became much less important when she put her hand into the duke’s and glanced at his face.

  His expression was impassive, his gesture merely polite, and yet what a tingle of excitement sped along her veins when she touched him! And how erratically her heart seemed to beat when she looked at his dark eyes, for try as he might to look nonchalant, she saw a question there.

  A question she must and would answer, somehow.

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said in a normal tone before lowering her voice. “For everything, my lord.”

  Then she walked into Barroughby Hall without so much as a backward glance at the man she now regarded as her protector, whether he knew it or not, and whether she should or not.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Adrian preceded Elliot into the house and, after both had given their hats and gloves to a waiting footman, turned on
him with a fierce and angry eye. “Come to my study,” he commanded.

  “Who do you think you are, to order me in such a fashion?” Elliot replied.

  “I am the Duke of Barroughby,” Adrian growled, and for once, Elliot thought he would do well to ignore Adrian’s manner and obey as Adrian turned on his heel and led the way to his study.

  “What is it this time?” Elliot asked as he entered. “Upset because I used the barouche without asking?”

  Adrian shut the door firmly behind his half brother and glared at him. “Don’t you ever speak so in front of a lady again!”

  “How so?” Elliot queried, forcing a lightness to his tone that he certainly did not feel, suddenly mindful of Adrian’s prowess at dueling. He sat casually in one of the large wing chairs while Adrian paced like a caged bear.

  “To speak of whores in front of Lady Hester, you disgusting sybarite!”

  “Ah!” Elliot said, ignoring the insult because he was aware that there was something different about Adrian’s manner, something that made Elliot feel that he had the upper hand. “Apparently it is quite all right for one to patronize such establishments,” he continued, affecting a mockingly studious air, “and to reek of them afterward—no matter what pretty excuse Lady Hester makes for you—but one should never speak of them before a lady.”

  Adrian realized he had made a terrible mistake by confronting Elliot so quickly. The sly rogue had interpreted his concern as genuine regard for Lady Hester, which placed Hester in great jeopardy, as Adrian well knew from sad experience. He reminded himself that Elliot must believe the beautiful, vacuous Damaris was his target. Yet when he considered how his heart had soared to think Hester had placed her trust in him—with his soiled reputation and fresh from a brothel!—he very much wished he did not have to.

  “I hope you don’t speak that way to Damaris Sackville-Cooper,” Adrian said coldly.

  “I didn’t this afternoon. She seemed very happy to see me, too,” Elliot noted.

  “As long as seeing is all you have in mind.”

  “Jealous, are we?” Elliot inquired slyly.

  “I won’t have you do to her what you did to Elizabeth Howell.”

  It was Elliot’s turn to scowl.