The Dark Duke Read online

  Chapter Seven

  Elliot whistled a tuneless air as he watched the stable doors from his bedroom. Interesting what unexpected things one could see from this vantage point, he mused, such as Lady Hester entering the stables, and Adrian going there a short time later.

  While his valet continued to unpack his baggage in the adjoining dressing room, Elliot drew out his watch and checked the time. He made it fifteen minutes since Adrian had entered the stables.

  Before he could close his watch, Lady Hester came hurrying out as if she were being chased.

  What to make of this?

  The first and most obvious conclusion was that Adrian had gone to the stables for a private meeting of some kind with Lady Hester. For what purpose?

  It could hardly be business, for Adrian jealously oversaw the estate and the family purse. He would not need or want any input from his stepmother’s companion.

  They could be discussing the duchess, but that seemed far from likely. What was there to talk about, after all? Adrian had no liking for the woman who had supplanted his own, apparently saintly, mother, especially after she provided his father with someone else to love.

  There then remained but one reason Adrian would wish a private conference with a young woman. He was either in the process of, or had already succeeded in, seducing her—an astonishing concept, given Lady Hester’s lack of attractive features.

  Perhaps it was simply that there were no other suitable females at hand. Indeed, his mother seemed to have picked the servants with an eye to the least attractive.

  Or maybe it was that Lady Hester possessed no obvious charms. The fact that Adrian apparently found her attractive enough to pursue at all was not something to be dismissed lightly.

  Elliot recalled the other Pimblett girls, for Helena had been the belle of her debut season. But she was a coldhearted wench, and the youngest sister a fool. This Hester he recalled not at all. She would have made her debut when he was involved with the Spanish dancer, so it was no wonder he didn’t remember such a lackluster creature. Consuela had been exciting and volatile and completely time-consuming.

  Right now she was surely duping some young foolinto thinking he was madly in love with her, wherever she was. He had been wise to get rid of her when he did, before she took him for even more money.

  Adrian always had interesting taste in women. He had been the one to discover Elizabeth Howell, who had not been particularly striking until Elliot had provided her with finer clothes and a hairdresser.

  Such ruminations were fruitless and a waste of time. Farbetter to think about the situation developing here.

  He recalled that Lady Hester did have lovely hands, delicate and long fingered. He liked women with such hands, so much better for stroking.

  Perhaps Adrian had discovered some untapped passion in the seemingly reserved young woman. And if Lady Hester was already a soiled dove, it would take considerably less effort for him to woo his way into her bed.

  All in all, this visit with his doting mama might prove far more interesting than he had anticipated.

  “Guiseppe, I believe I shall have a little chat with Lady Hester,” Elliot said, and as he exited his bedroom, his whistle became very jaunty indeed.

  “Oh, Lord Elliot!” Hester gasped, halting abruptly on the staircase at the sight of the duke’s sibling coming toward her, his crooked smile on his handsome face. “Isn’t it time to dress for dinner?” she asked, trying not to sound too anxious to be on her way, for that might call for an explanation on her part, or speculation on his.

  “I thought I had time for a turn about the garden,” he said. “Perhaps you would do me the honor of accompanying me?”

  The duke’s reminder not to trust his half brother came to her mind, and yet, as she regarded Lord Elliot, smiling so charmingly, his expression gently inquiring, she thought it no great danger to agree. Besides, she reasoned, Lord Elliot might cast some additional and welcome light onto his brother’s mysterious personality. “I would be delighted,” she replied.

  He held out his arm for her, and she placed her hand lightly upon it. He covered it with his other one, and she was surprised at how distasteful this innocuous gesture was. It was too intimate, considering their brief acquaintance, and too possessive, as well.

  “Mama seems most delighted with your company,” Lord Elliot said, leading her toward the large front door.

  “I am pleased to be of service to the duchess.”

  “I hope you will be able to remain here at Barroughby Hall for quite some time,” he remarked. “Mama is more pleasant when she has a patient companion.”

  “She cares for you a good deal,” Lady Hester noted, realizing he was headed toward the tall shrubbery. “There are some beautiful flowers this way,” she said, nodding toward the formal flower beds.

  The nobleman immediately began to walk in the direction she had indicated. “I’m surprised your family can spare you.”

  “My parents are traveling in Europe at present, and my two sisters are recently wed. They would not care to have me underfoot.”

  “Their loss is our gain,” he remarked, “especially when Adrian is here. Mama gets so agitated.”

  “She is happy now that you have come. It is a pity you were delayed.”

  He glanced at her sharply, and Hester thought he must have understood that she thought him remiss, for he immediately said, in a low and rueful voice, “I should have written more about my affliction. Unfortunately, I did not think Mama would care to hear that while in Europe, her dear boy had developed a hopeless passion for a young Frenchwoman of great rank and fortune. The woman in question was quite plain in her renunciation of my attention, and I was too upset to present a cheerful countenance to Mama.”

  “How thoughtful of you, my lord,” Hester replied, wondering if this was true. Somehow, she couldn’t reconcile this man beside her with a broken heart. Even as he spoke of this excuse, there was a levity in his tone that belied his words.

  “You know Mama by now. She would never believe that any woman would reject me, so I made up the story about being ill.”

  “You lied to spare her feelings?”

  “Please do not be censorious, Lady Hester. I do confess I wanted to spare myself having to listen to her response, but surely that is not a crime!” He stopped and turned toward her, smiling with all the sly sweetness of a youngster cajoling an adult. “Is it?”

  He was not a youngster, and Hester couldn’t help feeling it was wrong to lie to his mother. The duchess had been worried about him, thinking him sick and far from home. “I think it was inconsiderate of you to frighten the duchess by saying you were ill.”

  “You are a hard-hearted creature!” her companion exclaimed with a chuckle. “Quite impervious to my appeals, merciless lady.”

  Hester did not appreciate hearing herself so described, even in jest. “I believe you’ll find the roses grew very well this year,” she said, turning back to walk farther down the path.

  Lord Elliot stopped again, and this time he raised her hand to his lips. “You are a sweet young woman, and I am sorry for my sins,” he said softly, looking at her with a pleading expression in his shining blue eyes.

  Which would have been most effective if Hester had detected any sincerity there. However, she did not, even as she blushed at his action. “I believe we should return to the house, my lord.”

  “As you wish, Lady Hester.” They walked some way in silence, until he halted and faced her abruptly. “What do you know about the duke?”

  Has he been reading my mind? she thought wildly. “I never met him before he arrived here,” she answered.

  “Have you not heard of him?”

  “Yes, a few times.”

  “You know what people say about him, and his disgraceful conduct?”

  “I have heard the gossip, Lord Elliot.”

  “Sadly, he does not act any different here than he does in Town. The good citizens of Barroughby could tell you many tales of his di
ssolute ways.”

  Hester recalled Damaris Sackville-Cooper’s comment about Stamford Street, and remained silent.

  “What knowledge have you of his latest disgrace?” he asked intently.

  “Very little. All I know for certain is that he dueled, and was wounded. I believe a young woman was involved.”

  “That should be enough to warn you to beware of him.”

  Hester looked at the warm, masculine hand still covering her own. Strange how everyone wanted to warn her. So much apparent protectiveness—and from people she barely knew.

  The fact that the brothers apparently disliked each other could be enough to account for their cautions.

  Who to believe?

  If she were to listen to rumor and gossip, it was the Dark Duke she should beware of, and didn’t that surprising kiss in the library provide evidence of his lustful proclivities? In contrast, Lord Elliot Fitzwalter had so far behaved as a gentleman should, if in a somewhat overly friendly manner.

  Her heart told her to trust neither of them. Yet “Shall we go inside, my lord?” she said. “I am getting cold.”

  “Pa! Pa!” the elderly Mrs. Bolby said, gently shaking her slumbering husband. “Pa, look here! It’s the young duke himself, come to see you!”

  Adrian walked farther inside the two-room cottage, smiling at the man who had taught him to hunt, taken him on long rambles about the estate and listened to him complain, always silently sympathetic. “How are you, Bolby?” he asked softly.

  “Sit here, Your Grace, please,” Mrs. Bolby said, offering him her stool, which had been drawn up beside the bed that had been moved into the main room close to the hearth.

  “Oh, no—”

  “Please!”

  With a nod of agreement, Adrian took the proffered stool and reached out to take Bolby’s gnarled hand.

  The old man opened his eyes. “It’s you, is it?” he demanded in a whisper, but with a mischievous twinkle in his eye that made Adrian believe it would take more than death to subdue Bolby. “It’s me,” he responded, in their customary greeting.

  “I’m a-dyin’, young master,” Bolby remarked.

  His wife began sobbing from her place in the corner, and Bolby rolled his eyes. “Poor old girl, she can’t get used to the notion. But when the time’s come, the time’s come.”

  Adrian nodded. “So you always said. I daresay the foxes are having a party.”

  Bolby chuckled silently, until he had to stop to catch his breath. “I taught young Tom here all I know, but he’s a slow study, Your Grace.” He winked at his son, standing in the other corner, tall and thin and silent, but Adrian saw the young man’s dry-eyed anguish. “Not like you, Your Grace.”

  “I daresay he’s too kindhearted.”

  “Who was it bawled like a baby when he found he’d killed a fawn?”

  Adrian shrugged, but his grip on the old man’s hand tightened.

  “Ah, those were good days, young master. Do you remember the time you got caught in the leg hold and I said you’d have to stay there until you chewed your leg off?”

  “I shouldn’t have ignored your warning.”

  “God, yes, I was some mad! You took it with good humor, though.”

  “I knew if I waited long enough, you’d forgive me and come back.”

  “Still, not many boys would sit and wait in the dark, and be humming a merry tune to his self.”

  “Probably other boys would have cut the line.”

  “And ruin a perfectly good snare!”

  The old man’s breathing was growing labored, and Adrian began to think he had stayed long enough. He started to rise, but Mrs. Bolby moved from her place and gestured for him to sit again. “You’ve cheered us all up considerable, Your Grace,” she said between sobs. “Stop a bit yet.”

  Bolby regarded him steadily, a serious expression on his wrinkled face. “I’ve got something to ask of you, Your Grace,” he said slowly.

  “I’ll be happy to oblige,” Adrian replied. What was one more deathbed promise? Surely Bolby’s request, whatever it was, would not cause him more trouble or money than the first.

  Bolby struggled to sit up, and leaned closer to Adrian. “The wife’s a worryin’ about where she’ll go,” he whispered. “Tom’s a good son. He’s gettin’ married in the spring, and he says she can come live with them, but I say two women in the house are trouble.”

  “I’ll see to it that your wife will not want,” Adrian said, understanding what Bolby was asking. “You have my promise.”

  “Ah!” Bolby sank back onto the pillow. “I knew I could count on you,” he murmured.

  John Mapleton, walking home after being called to attend to a man who had fallen from his horse and cut his head, turned down a narrow, cobblestoned street. Along one side of the way was the stone wall of a warehouse; on the other, doors led into run-down row houses that had small windows and shabby curtains. He quickened his pace, for this was not the place for a lone man to be after midnight.

  Another figure entered the street from the other end, a tall man walking toward him, if walking was the proper term. The man wasn’t quite staggering, but moving in a way that was somehow in between a walk and a lurch. However it could be described, Mapleton recognized the effects of too many drinks, just as he regrctfully thought he recognized the man, who should not have been wandering about in such a condition and in a public place. “Your Grace?” he called softly.

  The man stopped. “Who the devil wants to know?” he demanded.

  Although the man’s voice was very like the duke’s, Mapleton knew Adrian Fitzwalter well enough to realize that it was not Adrian, but his half brother standing drunk in the middle of the street. Mapleton hurried toward him. “You should go home, Lord Elliot,” he whispered sternly.

  “Ah, is that you, Mr. Mapleton?” Lord Elliot replied. “How kind of you to take such an interest in my welfare.”

  “You are making a spectacle of yourself.”

  “I am? Who can see?” Lord Fitzwalter’s broad gesture encompassed the narrow way. “Besides, they’ll just assume it’s the duke, up to his old tricks.”

  “I know. That’s all the more reason for you to return to Barroughby Hall.”

  “That boring old pile of stone,” Lord Elliot muttered. He turned toward the stone wall and opened his trousers. “God, that feels better.”

  Mapleton frowned in disgust. “How vulgar!”

  “You shouldn’t stand downhill,” Lord Elliot remarked sarcastically. He chortled nastily when Mapleton jumped away from the trickle moving down the gutter. “You don’t look so pleased to see me,” the young man observed. “Sorry I’m not dead, no doubt.”

  “To say I am surprised you are not would be more accurate,” the surgeon replied quietly. “I see you continue to drink to excess. Have you listened to my advice and given up opium, at least?”

  “It gave up on me,” Lord Fitzwalter remarked calmly and with absolutely no contrition as he buttoned his trousers. “Too expensive.”

  Mapleton made no attempt to hide his dislike of the young man. He knew full well what had happened as the fifth duke lay dying, so he understood more than any other person what the situation was between Adrian and his half brother. He would gladly have told the whole world, had Adrian not made him promise to be silent.

  “What are you waiting for?” Lord Elliot asked, sauntering toward him. “You’ll get no business from me.”

  “That also surprises me, given your predilection for whores.”

  “Trying to insult me, Mapleton?” Lord Elliot halted in front of him, a sneering smile on his handsome face, a lock of fair hair hanging over one bloodshot blue eye. “You’ll have to come up with something better than that. And you’ll be happy to know, for the martyr Adrian’s sake, that while I may like my fun, I’m not stupid.”

  “For Adrian’s sake, I am glad to hear it,” Mapleton replied.

  “I’m not the only one you should be warning about certain maladies, either,” Lord Elliot
continued. “It is not I who is on such friendly terms with Sally Newcombe and her girls. If you’re so concerned about Adrian, maybe you should ask to examine him. I know how you enjoy such things.”

  The implication of his statement was so apparent, so rude and so shocking, the doctor was rendered speechless as Lord Elliot Fitzwalter, swaying slightly, continued on his way.

  Chapter Eight

  Being an earlier riser than the duchess, Hester usually ate breakfast alone. This morning appeared to be no different, for there was no one else in the small dining room when she arrived.

  She paused for a moment to admire the effect of the early-morning sunlight shining through the lace curtains, making shadows dance on the delicately flowered wallpaper. The cherry wood furnishings were polished to a high gloss, and several prints of flowers and fruit adorned the walls. The woodwork had been painted white, and the draperies were of a soft white muslin over lace panels.

  Hester liked this room very much. It was much cozier than the large dining room, although not so well situated in terms of view. When she had expressed her admiration, Jenkins had told her it had been one of the late duchess’s favorite rooms, too, and he had remarked that the new duchess had not troubled herself to redecorate it since she had arrived, something he seemed rather pleased about.

  Now, as she enjoyed the sunlight and the fine breakfast, Hester turned her thoughts to the rest of the inhabitants of Barroughby Hall.

  The duchess was not hard to comprehend. She was a vain, selfish woman who doted excessively on her son, and who didn’t approve of her stepson. All Hester had to do to keep from upsetting her was to do as she was told, and keep quiet—nothing particularly difficult.

  It was in considering the duke and his half brother that the confusion arose.

  Lord Elliot Fitzwalter had been charming and attentive last night during dinner. He had talked to her often, whenever the duchess could spare his attention, in a way that almost made Hester forget her discomfort in his presence while they were in the garden together.