The Duke’s Desire Read online

  “Mama does think you’re handsome, don’t you, Mama?” Jocelyn demanded eagerly.

  “I think the duke is not ill-favored, and I’m quite sure he knows that well enough without hearing it from me.”

  Jocelyn’s eyes widened, and Verity wished she had not sounded so snappish—but really!

  “I think your mother is very pretty, Jocelyn, nearly as pretty as you.”

  Jocelyn smiled and regarded her mother with pride.

  “I must say Italy is considerably warmer than England at this time of year,” the duke said as he pulled his supremely well fitting riding jacket a little tighter, and Verity was quite glad the flattery was apparently finished. “Jocelyn, if you sit on that log beside me, I shall tell you about the village where I live, if you would like.”

  Jocelyn nodded eagerly and did as he suggested.

  The duke looked at Verity. “There is room for you, too.”

  She lifted the basket that she had slung over her arm. “I am going to pick mushrooms.”

  “Oh, good hunting, then.”

  He didn’t look as if he minded at all that she wasn’t listening, she thought as she strolled a little way down the path. Well, what else could she expect? He was here to be with Jocelyn, not her.

  She went farther along the path, then looked back.

  Jocelyn sat as if mesmerized, staring admiringly at the duke and listening attentively, while he smiled down at her as if…well, as if he loved her as a father should love his child.

  She could believe that he did love her, just as she could believe his avowal that he was no longer the lascivious rogue of Eloise’s tales.

  Yet he was still exciting. Oh, yes, exciting and thrilling and altogether too tempting, perhaps even more so if he were as honorable now as he had been disreputable before.

  Making a few more halfhearted attempts to find mushrooms, she wandered back toward them, drawn by his deep, fascinating voice, as well as her own curiosity about his life in Italy.

  It sounded as if he lived very simply and quietly, with only a few close friends who visited from time to time. She wondered what he did to pass the days, for he was surely too vital a man to be content to sit in the sun.

  Then he spoke of the villagers, sketching their characters in a few well-chosen words that easily allowed her to envision them, from Guido, his tempestuous neighbor with an equally tempestuous wife, to the absentminded local priest, Father Paolo.

  He really was a wonderful storyteller, and if he were to confess that he had taken to writing books while he was abroad, she would have believed him.

  “So, although my villa is quite small and plainly furnished, it is near enough to the village that when Guido quarrels with Angela, I can hear every word,” he finished as Verity approached.

  “Do they quarrel often?” Jocelyn asked.

  “Nearly every day.”

  Jocelyn made a sour face. “How horrid.”

  The duke grinned. “They’re not really angry and they make up every night. I hear that, too.”

  Verity stared at him, horrified by the implication.

  “They sing opera when they’ve made up. Their favorite is The Marriage of Figaro. I would sing a little for you, but as I told your mother, I am no singer.”

  He paused and looked directly at Verity, his eyebrows rising questioningly. She flushed hotly, for she hadn’t realized she was that close by.

  “No luck finding any?” he queried.

  “Any…?”

  “Mushrooms.”

  “Oh, no. No luck.”

  “I saw some over there,” Jocelyn said, pointing a little way through the trees to a shady clearing. She reached out to take the basket.

  “I’ll get them, Mama,” she declared. She looked at her father. “I can always find mushrooms.”

  “She does have very sharp eyes,” Verity confirmed.

  “Then off you go and your mother can wait here with me.”

  Jocelyn took the empty basket and scampered off.

  “Stay in the clearing,” Verity called after her. “Don’t go into the trees where I can’t see you.”

  Jocelyn nodded her acquiescence and Verity turned back to the duke, who patted the log where Jocelyn had been sitting. “Won’t you sit down?”

  “I am content to stand.”

  “I don’t sting, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “I won’t kiss you again, either.”

  “Good.” She decided she could sit beside him without repercussions. “Did you tell Sir Myron you were going to the blacksmith?”

  “Yes.” He looked at their daughter. “I assume Jocelyn knows the difference between a mushroom and a toadstool.”

  “Of course.”

  “We wouldn’t want anybody to get sick.”

  There was something in his tone that made Verity give him a suspicious look. “No.”

  “Forgive me for upsetting you,” he replied gravely. “I understand there was some…controversy…after your husband’s sudden demise?”

  He watched as Verity’s chest rose and fell with a weary sigh. Given her reluctance to let him see Jocelyn, it might have been wiser not to mention this subject.

  Before he could beg her pardon, she said, “The only people who had any suspicions about Daniel’s death were his sister and brother-in-law. Nobody else.”

  “I am glad, and I regret raising such a painful subject.”

  “Tell me, Your Grace,” Verity said after a moment’s pause, “what do you do in Italy?”

  “I read. I go to the taverna and indulge in arguments about politics. And I…”

  “Entertain?”

  He glanced at her sharply. “Not women.”

  “That isn’t what I meant.”

  “I won’t claim that I have been celibate these past ten years. My relationships have been mutually enjoyable, but not of long duration or serious intent, as the women knew at the outset.”

  “That isn’t any of my business, Your Grace.”

  “No,” he agreed, “but I would have you know it, all the same.”

  She didn’t reply, and he wondered if he should have kept silent about that, too.

  He didn’t even know why he had told her.

  Yes, he did. He wanted her to know he was free of any romantic entanglements. “When I do not have any company, I write letters for people, and help young men bound for university with their English.”

  “That does not sound like much for a man of your age and energy.”

  “No, and I would do more,” he replied, pleased, and yet not really certain if her words were a compliment or not. “Unfortunately, for some reason, the men in the village don’t like me chatting much with the women, so I find it best to stay near my property. And I do have matters of business to attend to, by correspondence.”

  Verity didn’t return his smile. “Will you be going back soon?”

  “That depends on what happens here.” He cleared his throat and raised his voice as he nodded at Jocelyn. “She looks as if her whole livelihood depended upon today’s mushroom harvest, doesn’t she?”

  “She is very diligent, most of the time.”

  “Myron told me about the stampede.”

  To his delight, Verity made a wry smile. “Ah, yes, poor Sir Myron. He fell in a puddle trying to get out of the way.”

  “He didn’t tell me that part.”

  “Perhaps it’s too humiliating a memory.”

  He wondered if she meant anything else by that remark. “I have heard it said that you spoil Jocelyn.”

  Verity quickly turned an angry visage toward him. Before she could speak, he held up his hand to forestall her. “I was about to add that I don’t agree. I have seen truly spoiled children, and she is not like them. You have done a marvelous job raising her, Verity. You should be very proud.”

  Verity relaxed somewhat. “I didn’t raise her by myself, Galen. Daniel was as good a father as a child could wish for.”

  “I am grateful to him.” />
  She gave him a sidelong glance. “I wasn’t aware you had any contact with children.”

  “I was referring to my half brothers.”

  “Oh, yes, I heard some talk of them at your cousin’s. The youngest sounds quite a rascal.”

  “Hellion would be more accurate. Hunt is the most spoiled one of all.”

  She cocked her head as she regarded him thoughtfully. “I cannot say I have ever heard you described as spoiled.”

  “I don’t think I was. Perhaps if I had been, I wouldn’t have been so self-indulgent when I was allowed the freedom of youth.”

  “Why were your brothers spoiled and not you?”

  “Half brothers,” he automatically corrected. “For an explanation for that, you would have had to ask my father, and he is now deceased.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Wondering what she would make of the tension and dread that had been his daily lot in his childhood, Galen shrugged. “I should be able to react more calmly after all this time.”

  “The wounds of childhood run deep,” she said softly. Sympathetically. As if she understood.

  Compelled by her gentle tone, the sense that she could indeed comprehend, and suddenly weary to the bone of keeping his troubled childhood buried, the Duke of Deighton did something he had never done in his life.

  He talked about his parents.

  Chapter Seven

  “I was never my father’s favorite, even though I was the heir,” Galen began matter-of-factly. “Perhaps if I had been more of a soldier or scholar…or perhaps if he hadn’t married my stepmother.”

  “She didn’t like you?”

  “No, not at all. She had me sent away to school the first chance she had, and with my father’s blessing, I’m sorry to say. She disliked me from the first moment she laid eyes on me when I was six years old.”

  “Why?” Verity asked softly.

  “I fear I made a very bad impression.”

  “How can a child make a bad impression? You didn’t hit her, did you?”

  Galen smiled ruefully. “No, I didn’t, but I wasn’t exactly delighted by her arrival.

  “I loved my mother very much. She was never so cold and distant as my father. When I saw my stepmother and understood what my father had done, I was upset. Indeed, it was frightening to see this strange woman clinging to my father’s arm like a leech. However, I tried not to cry. My father detested the sight of tears.”

  “But surely she could understand,” Verity protested.

  “Apparently she did not, for she said, ‘Why, what sulky little baby is this?’ My father was very angry with me, and …well, we never got on a better footing.”

  “But you were only a child!”

  “I was the heir, my dear,” he replied, bitterness creeping into his voice, “and heirs don’t sulk, or cry, or miss their mothers. Heirs keep a stiff upper lip at all times. Heirs do not have nightmares, or become homesick at school. Heirs do not hug or even touch their parents or their siblings or their servants, for any reason beyond the most necessary. They live without such base human contact.”

  “Oh, Galen, I’m so sorry!”

  His lips twisted into a sardonic smile. “I beg your pardon. An heir should not make excuses for himself.” His gaze faltered. “Unfortunately, sometimes an heir is tempted to do so by a pair of sympathetic blue eyes.”

  She reached out and took his hand. “I’m glad you told me, Galen,” she whispered. “We both of us had a less than happy childhood. I never knew my mother. She died shortly after I was born. As for my father…”

  “You spoke of him before. You need not open any wounds for me.”

  “You told me about your parents. Please let me tell you about mine. I would…I would like to.”

  He inclined his head in solemn acquiescence.

  “I have already told you my father was a drunkard who gambled away the family fortune. Fortunately, I didn’t see him often. I had a nurse when I was little, and then I, too, was sent away to school.

  “However, in my case,” she went on pensively, “I think that was for the best. School was a haven for me, especially after Eloise took me under her wing. It was also comforting to know what was expected of me, and how to behave.”

  She smiled a charming, wistful smile. “I wasn’t always well behaved, unfortunately.”

  “Neither was I at Harrow, and I was infinitely worse after I left school.”

  “While I was very much better, until…”

  “Until the night you spent with me.”

  “Yes.”

  He squeezed her hand, then reached out to caress her cool cheek. “Perhaps it is time we both forgave ourselves for that.”

  Still gazing into his eyes, she nodded. “Perhaps.”

  He reluctantly pulled his hand away and sought to lessen the tension between them. “I shall have to ask Eloise about your misbehaving when she comes to Myron’s.”

  Verity’s eyes widened. “She is coming to Sir Myron’s?”

  “He’s quite delighted George is bringing his hounds. I shall likely smell of dog next time I see you. I really believe George would sleep with them if Eloise would let him.” He frowned. “I won’t come with her if she wants to visit you, so she will not see me with Jocelyn, if that is what’s troubling you.”

  “I’m sorry, yet I truly believe we must be cautious. Eloise is a good and kind friend, but she does…”

  “Gossip? Gad, I know it!”

  Verity gave him a rueful grin. “Perhaps if she did not make her gossip so interesting, everyone would be less tempted to listen to her. She made you sound quite the romantic rogue, you know.”

  “The rogue may not have been much of an exaggeration,” he confessed, “but as for romantic…no, I was far too selfish.”

  Her bright, intelligent, sympathetic blue eyes held his gaze. How wonderful it would be to have her near him always, to see that look and to know that here was one person who might understand him.

  Who had been as lonely and love-starved as he.

  “When are they coming?”

  Torn from his reverie, he said, “Tuesday. They are also bringing Lady Mary.”

  Verity bent down and removed a bit of grass stuck to her boot. “Oh?”

  “It is my fault, I fear. I told Eloise I wanted to get married, and it seems she has decided upon my bride for me.”

  Verity straightened. “And what do you think of the candidate?”

  Although he knew he should not be, he was annoyed she sounded so matter-of-fact about it. “I suppose she might do.”

  “You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”

  “Eloise is enthusiastic enough for both of us. She’s quite convinced Lady Mary is the woman I should wed.”

  “Are you convinced?”

  “There are worse women I could choose, I suppose.”

  “You do not love her.”

  Galen’s heartbeat quickened. “No.”

  “You have not changed your opinion, then, from what you so eloquently expressed at Eloise’s.”

  “Unfortunately, I think love in marriage is a luxury the upper classes are denied. We must think of wealth and breeding before love.”

  “And so you must take what you can get in the marriage mart.”

  “Exactly,” he replied ruefully. “Forgive me for insulting you that night.”

  “And you were very insulting.”

  “I was angry with you then.”

  Verity suddenly jumped to her feet. “Jocelyn!” she cried as she hurried into the clearing. “Jocelyn!”

  “What is it?” he demanded, likewise getting rapidly to his feet and following her.

  “I can’t see her!”

  “Jocelyn!” he bellowed, a panic unlike anything he had ever felt throbbing through his body as he quickened his steps, passing Verity.

  What if she had gone to the water and fallen in? Guido’s nephew had drowned in a brook that was even shallower than this one.

 
“Here I am!”

  Jocelyn peeked out from behind a large oak. He ran to her and scooped her up in his arms, as happy now as he had been worried before.

  Jocelyn giggled as he spun her around. “You’ve made me spill my mushrooms!”

  “I’ll help you pick them up.”

  “Jocelyn, what did I tell you about going out of my sight?” Verity demanded. “You frightened me!”

  “I wanted to see if I could find more and—”

  “And what did I tell you about going beyond the clearing?” Verity repeated. Her voice was not raised, but it was certainly firm, and her expression stern.

  As Galen bent down to retrieve the basket and spilled fungi, he was ridiculously glad she wasn’t chastising him. He was also glad he was not the one having to chastise Jocelyn.

  “You said I wasn’t to leave it,” Jocelyn said in a tremulous little voice.

  “You understand that you frightened me?”

  “Yes,” Jocelyn replied with a sniffle.

  Galen straightened. “But she is safe and sound and although some of the mushrooms may be bruised, all is well,” he said jovially, not wanting his visit to end on a sour note, for it was growing late.

  Verity’s smile was a little strained. “Yes, all is well, as long as Jocelyn understands that she is not to disobey me like that.”

  “I’m sorry, Mama.”

  Verity’s smile grew glorious. “I know, little girl, I know.”

  “Mama!” Jocelyn chided with a tone and look eerily similar to her mother’s only moments ago. “The duke!”

  Verity’s face briefly twitched with the most comical remorseful frown Galen had ever seen. She turned to Galen and very gravely said, “I beg your pardon. She is not a little girl, Your Grace. Jocelyn is a young lady.”

  “I was about to correct you on your error, for that is quite obvious to me,” Galen replied with equal gravity, as if this were a debate of national importance in the House of Lords. “Now, regrettably, I must take my leave of you.”

  An expression flitted across Verity’s face. Of regret?

  He reached out and took Jocelyn’s gloved hand. “Farewell, Miss Davis-Jones.”

  “Won’t you come visit me again?”

  “Perhaps if the duke is not otherwise engaged, he could visit us next Saturday,” Verity suggested.