The Dark Duke Page 4

  “Don’t use such vulgar terms in my presence, if you please, Adrian,” the duchess replied tartly. “And I don’t excuse you.”

  But the duke had already gone out the door.

  Chapter Four

  Hester led the way along the walk to the rose garden, feeling not unlike the Pied Piper as Reverend Mc-Kenna and Damaris, Sir Douglas and Canon Smeech followed. Reverend McKenna caught up to her quickly, matching her pace. Damaris soon joined them, walking on the other side of Hester.

  “Well, isn’t he just the most wicked man!” Damaris exclaimed quietly, with an anxious glance over her shoulder as if she expected to see the Dark Duke pursuing her like Hades after Persephone. “Papa says he’s simply a spirited young man—spirited! I can believe everything I’ve heard, and more.”

  That Adrian Fitzwalter had a streak of devilment in him was all too obvious, Hester thought as she recalled his words this morning. He must have been awake when she entered his bedroom, a humiliating realization. And yet, if he was as evil as the duchess and everyone except Sir Douglas seemed to believe, he wouldn’t have continued to feign sleep. He would have done something horrible, like leap from the bed and kiss her.

  Moving his full lips, which curled with such secretive, knowing smiles, over hers. Slowly. Seductively. Pressing his hard, muscular body against hers. Embracing her with a fierce and wild passion, perhaps even picking her up and carrying her to the bed—

  “Oh, dear, have we been walking too fast?” damris asked. “You seem all out of breath, Lady Hester.”

  “No, no, I’m fine”, she replied, trying to compose herself. She had never known she possessed such a vivid imagination!

  “We should be charitable,” Reverend McKenna offered meekly, although his tone seemed to imply this would not be an easy task. He gave the lovely damris a sidelong glance and Hester was sure she heard him sigh.

  “He is very handsome,” Hester said.

  “Handsome in a sly, nasty way!” Damaris said. “And, my dear, I have it on the very best authority that he doesn’t confine his unsavory activities to London. The butcher’s girl told my maid that she actually saw him leaving that house on Stamford Street when he visited here once before.”

  Hester knew to which house Damaris was referring with that knowing, condemning tone. Even Bar-roughby had a brothel. “She was quite sure it was the duke?” Hester inquired, finding it hard to believe that a man of the duke’s attributes would have to pay for services of that sort.

  “Well,” Damaris equivocated, “she did see only his back—but the man was the right height, and very well dressed, and when he said good-night she recognized his voice.”

  Hester didn’t respond, and Reverend McKenna only stared at the ground.

  “Why has he come here again?” Damaris demanded. “He and the duchess have no liking for each other.”

  “He was hurt,” Hester replied.

  “How?”

  “A duel, or so I understand,” she said.

  “Oh, dear!” Damaris responded, her eyes widening. “No wonder the duchess dislikes him! And to think Papa—” She paused and colored, then continued. “It’s illtego to duel!”

  “I daresay many things the duke is alleged to have done are illegal,” Hester noted.

  “Are you going to stay here?”

  Hester paused and looked at Damaris. “Why should I not?”

  “Because of his reputation, my dear!” Damaris said. “No woman is said to be safe around him!”

  Hester began walking again. “No beautiful woman, perhaps,” she replied, hoping Damaris would take the hint. “I think I shall not tempt him.”

  “Nevertheless, it might be wise to advise the duchess to suggest he leave,” Reverend McKenna said with unusual boldness.

  Hester could easily envision what the duchess’s reaction would be to Hamish McKenna’s advice, clergyman or not, so she said, “I believe he shall soon grow bored and go back to London, so let us not cause more dissention in the family.”

  “But still—!” Reverend McKenna began.

  “Oh, let’s not talk about such a disagreeable subject!” Damaris ordered with a very pretty pout.

  Reverend McKenna fell silent.

  The young people turned down the footpath to the rose garden, leaving the older men to follow some distance behind. From the snatches of conversation Hester could overhear, they were discussing the duke’s financial situation, as best as people could who had no real knowledge.

  If only Sir Douglas could be a little more aware of the danger! He was naive if he thought the duke would see Damaris only as an object of matrimony, not seduction, yet it was obvious listening to him speak of the estate with Canon Smeech that the knight considered only the title and wealth that would belong to the wife of the Duke of Barroughby. The taint of scandals and gossip clearly meant nothing.

  Hester thought Damaris’s denunciation sincere enough, yet she didn’t doubt that Adrian Fitzwalter possessed enough persuasive abilities to make the most virtuous woman’s honor falter, if he cared to exert himself, which he might very well do for the beautiful Damaris. Add to that his good looks and muscular body—well, a woman might be tempted to overlook many things in the face of such attributes.

  This did not bode well for Damaris, or Reverend McKenna, either, Hester thought, as she saw the young man glance at the beauty again. It didn’t take a lot of perception to see that he was completely smitten with her, and extremely worried about the presence of the duke.

  Poor man! Hester feared his romance was doomed to failure, for even supposing Damaris’s father did not succeed in his plans concerning the Duke of Barroughby, Hester was sure Sir Douglas would set about searching for an equally advantageous marriage for her.

  Hester repressed a sigh of her own. Her parents had no such ambitions for her. After Helena had made a match with a rich manufacturer’s son, and Henrietta with a clergyman who had a wealthy lord for a patron, they seemed to feel they had reached the end of their responsibilities. After all, Hester was no prize—or so their attitude seemed to suggest.

  The reflection stung her as it always did, for she knew it did not have to be so. She had a lively and intelligent mind; if she could but have been taught more, she would at least have been able to find solace in learning. Instead, she was reduced to being little more than an elite companion for a difficult old woman, who complained about everything except her dear son, Elliot.

  Could it be possible for one son to be such a paragon of virtue and the other apparently the very devil in human form?

  If Adrian Fitzwalter was a devil, Hester thought him a perceptive one. No one else seemed to feel as she did about Canon Smeech, whom she had disliked from the moment she had met him, when he had looked at her with such condescending pity. She had listened to him condemn the duke with nearly as much venom as the duchess, only to see him smile at the duke as much as he dared while the duchess was present. Still, the duke shouldn’t have been so rude to the man’s face. The canon did represent the Church of England, after all.

  Perhaps the duke’s animosity to a clergyman wasn’t so surprising, if one considered that the duke seemed to sin with such regularity and relish.

  “Isn’t the scent delightful?” Damaris said, holding up a rose for Hester’s inspection and catching her quite off guard. “Don’t you think so, Reverend McKenna?”

  “Beautiful,” the young man murmured, blushing, as Damaris bent her head toward another bloom. She colored very slightly, and Hester couldn’t be sure if it was because of her action, or because she, too, realized the remark was not strictly intended to refer to the flower.

  Hester hoped Damaris would fall in love with Hamish McKenna. Damaris could do much worse for a husband, and she wanted the young woman safe from her father’s machinations.

  And those of the Dark Duke, if she was being absolutely truthful.

  Adrian spent the next few days closeted in his bedroom, where he did not have to put up with his stepmother, or make pleasan
t conversation with Sir Douglas and his daughter, who visited every day, or listen to the canon attempt to lecture him on the errors of his ways while trying not to offend him.

  He saw nothing of Lady Hester, but he could guess that she was spending her time attending to his stepmother, whose various and sundry ailments would all have been made worse by the arrival of her prodigal stepson.

  If Adrian regretted anything about his self-imposed confinement, it was missing the opportunity to study that interesting miss a little more. She certainly did not seem to begrudge Damaris Sackville-Cooper her beauty. Perhaps that could be explained by Lady Hester’s lovely sisters. She was probably used to being the plain woman in any gathering. However, he had been rather more surprised by her apparent lack of jealousy where the attentive young reverend was concerned. Adrian was quite sure of his ability to gauge reactions, and he was certain that Reverend McKenna was smitten with Miss Sackville-Cooper. Did Lady Hester see this, too, or did she simply not care?

  That Sir Douglas was making grandiose plans for his daughter was also painfully obvious, and completely useless, for Adrian did not intend to marry for a very long time. He had enough responsibilities without adding those of a wife and subsequent children.

  Nevertheless, by this time Adrian was heartily sick of his own company. To make matters worse, it began to rain, making his bedroom unremittingly gloomy. If the weather brought any comfort, it was that no unwelcome visitors would come to Barroughby Hall on such a day. Therefore, Adrian reasoned, he could venture to the library, a room his stepmother never entered. Jenkins could be counted on to have a fire there, for he lived in perpetual fear of the late duke’s library falling prey to mildew. It would be warm and cozy and he could find himself something new to read.

  As he had hoped, a fire burned merrily in the library’s grate, making the dark-paneled room seem like a book-lined cavern. Adrian felt like Robinson Crusoe, marooned with only books for company. This did not particularly trouble him, for he had spent many such hours in this comfortable room, which had been his father’s favorite. His mother’s, too.

  The peace of the room enfolded him. How much better it was to be here, instead of clubs and theaters with the men people liked to call the Dark Duke’s Dandies. Not a one of his London cronies was what a man could call a good friend. They simply amused him, and helped him pass the time.

  He chose a book at random, something silly by Mrs. Radcliffe, and settled into a wing chair. He propped the foot of his sore leg on the grate as he prepared to read about the terrible dangers faced by the virtuous heroine in The Mysteries of Udolpho.

  Soon Adrian was lulled into sleep by the warmth of the fire and the dull pit-pat of the rain on the window.

  He drifted down into a dream, a memory. Of finding Elizabeth in that hot, filthy, dingy room. The efforts of her labor. The way she wailed and sobbed. The long, terrifying wait for the doctor and the dismissive look on the man’s face when he entered the room. Then the doctor’s fear when Adrian grabbed him by the throat and identified himself.

  Too late. He was too late. The doctor was too late.

  But there was someone else in the room. A woman. Quietly and competently swaddling the dying baby, cooing softly. Then, with infinite tenderness and patience, she turned to Elizabeth and wiped her feverish brow before looking up at him, with calm forgiveness and understanding.

  It was Lady Hester, her smile like a balm on his tortured soul.

  “Your Grace!”

  Adrian awoke at once, to find Lady Hester shaking him gently, her face close to his, looking at him with worry and concern. Without thinking, he took her face between his two hands and pulled her toward him, kissing her deeply as if he could drink her in, like a dying man who finds water in the desert. For the briefest of moments she yielded, her lips soft and pliable against his.

  How much he wanted her, he realized, the strength of his desire shocking him.

  But only for a moment. She pulled back, staring at him with what could have been surprise or horror, her hand wiping her lips of his unclean touch—so different from his dream.

  He cursed himself for a fool. Why, she wasn’t even pretty! It had to be because of the lingering effects of his dream that he had kissed her. “What do you want?” he demanded, wearily leaning back in his chair and waiting for her to slap him, or denounce him, to start crying, or run from the room.

  She did none of those things. Instead, she took a step back, watching him, the expression in her large and shining blue eyes changing from shocked surprise to puzzlement. “Why did you do that?” she asked softly.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it was not a gentlemanly thing to do.”

  “Given my reputation, this surprises you?”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” she answered calmly.

  What a strange woman! Does she never react like other females of her age and rank? he thought. He smiled cynically. “My stepmother would tell you I am no gentleman.”

  Lady Hester nodded her head slowly, although not with agreement, he didn’t think. It was more a pondering of his words with a gravity he found extremely disconcerting, considering what they were discussing. “You were very rude to Reverend Canon Smeech.”

  “He’s a greedy hypocrite.”

  She didn’t look at all shocked. “That is no excuse. He is a representative of the church.”

  “That excuses him, I suppose.”

  This plain woman in her simple, unadorned gown of gray regarded him so steadily that despite his efforts to assure himself that her opinion could not be important, he was quite nonplussed. “No, it does not,” she said, “although I agree with your estimation. However, you can’t expect him to change because you are discourteous to him. You would do better to use your influence to get him appointed to a position where he will have less opportunity to be a greedy hypocrite.”

  “Well, well, well,” Adrian said, rising slowly. “You seem very confident of my influence.” He went to the fireplace and leaned against the mantel.

  “Your rank alone assures it.”

  “If not my personal attributes?”

  “I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Your Grace. If you will excuse me—”

  “I don’t excuse you.” Surprisingly, despite moments of discomfort, he was enjoying himself, perhaps because it had been years since anyone had responded to him with something other than blatant animosity or fawning flattery. “What are you doing here?” he repeated.

  “I came for a book.”

  “And instead you found me. Why didn’t you creep away?”

  “You were…dreaming. I thought…”

  “I take it I did not appear to be enjoying my dream?”

  “No, Your Grace.”

  “As it happens, I was not. Grateful to be awakened, I kissed you. A moment of weakness.”

  “I gather you have many such moments,” she noted dispassionately..

  Adrian frowned slightly. “Where is my stepmother? Doesn’t she require your constant attendance?”

  “She fell asleep. That’s why I came for a book. I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Your Grace.”

  Quite unexpectedly, he realized he didn’t want her to go. “There is no need for you to rush off. I haven’t had a decent conversation in three days. Sit here beside the fire and tell me how you come to be living in my house.”

  Hester hesitated, torn between the desire to flee and the desire to stay. She knew she should leave, especially after the duke’s impetuous and impertinent kiss, which would seem to lend credence to the popular opinion of the duke as a notable lecher.

  However, she felt more confident in his presence now, because of the look on his face when she had awakened him. He had not been the handsome, sardonic, provocative nobleman then. He had been as vulnerable as anyone she had ever seen, and his eyes had been full of anguish, as had the soft moans that had escaped his lips as she had entered the library, sounds that had compelled her to approach him.

  As for the kiss, she had
never known anything more unexpected and exciting in her entire existence. She had never been kissed by a young man, and the sensation had been every bit as wonderful as she had ever imagined. Nor had she ever felt so flattered. To think that the Dark Duke, known for his taste in women, had bestowed that mark of favor upon her, even if she had been returned to prosaic reality by his admission that he had kissed her because of “a moment of weakness.”

  Propriety demanded that she leave, but her own lonely heart told her to stay, and for once, Hester decided she would follow her heart. Surely they would be safe from discovery, for the duchess was a sound sleeper, and she had only just nodded off in the drawing room. They were in the usually empty library, and nobody even knew they were there.

  She sat in a chair near the one upon which he had been sitting. “So, Lady Hester,” he said in a low tone that set her heart beating rapidly, “what are you doing at Barroughby Hall?”

  “Your stepmother corresponds with my mother, and when she heard the duchess was looking for a companion, she thought I would do,” Hester replied matter-of-factly, trying to regard him with composure, reminding herself that he was a flirtatious man by nature, and his attention had nothing to do with her personally.

  “What did you think?” He strolled behind her chair, and she wished she could see his face.

  He sounded as if he truly cared, which created a sense of intimacy far more dangerous than his kiss had been. Nevertheless, she would remember who and what he was, and who or what she was. “Since I had no better prospects, I agreed.”

  “No better prospects?”

  She didn’t answer. He knew very well what she meant.

  “But you cannot like it here,” he said, as if she could not possibly disagree.

  “This is a lovely estate. I enjoy the garden very much, and—” she smiled and gestured at the walls “—the library.”